Elf-Boy and Friends

Elf Boy and Friends

Part 4 of 10

by George Gauthier

Chapter 15. The Twins

"Since when has the Army taken to robbing the cradle, Chief? Surely that pair of wet-nosed kids heading our way cannot be the new recruits HQ is sending over?"

The grizzled Chief of Scouts gave his sergeant his most lugubrious look. "Sadly, my friend, that would seem to be the case. We have been tasked to turn these younglings into trained scouts, as unpromising as the raw material seems to be on first impression."

"Well, if nothing else, those two cuties can warm our beds at night." the corporal chuckled. "We won't even have to strip the clothes off 'em. They're already naked."

"None of that now, Borden. You know the rules. No fraternization between superior and subordinate. It has been deemed by the highest authorities to be prejudicial to good order and discipline."

"And a good rule it was for the Army, Chief, but we are now civilian scouts, just like those twin visions of youthful male pulchritude walking toward us. Here there come now, in all their glory."

The older man appreciated his subordinate's point of view, but he intended all his scouts to follow what he thought was an eminently sensible rule. So the two blond boys would be off limits to both senior scouts. The Chief turned his full attention to the recruits as Jemsen and Karel stopped a little short of his position, stood to attention, and executed inept salutes.

"Recruits Jemsen and Karel reporting for duty, sir."

"At ease! I am Chief of Scouts Wroclaw. That's W-R-O-C-L-A-W. This is Sergeant Borden who will have charge of your training."

"Sergeant Borden, mark down proper saluting as the first thing these recruits have to learn. Now, let's see what else there is."

"Boys, it says here in your orders that you are expert archers, hunters, and trackers, and were trained with both quarterstaff and kukri. All well and good, though we will test you on those skills. Now can either of you ride a horse?"

The twins shook their heads.

"Too bad. The Army of the Plains is mostly cavalry and we scouts need to ride to keep ahead of it, though in forest or mountains, you would dismount and scout on foot."

"On foot, we could handle that already. Been doing it for years over all sorts of terrain." Jemsen assured him.

Wroclaw questioned them further, learning that they could read and write and figure and knew enough geometry and trigonometry to draw maps. The boys showed him the maps they had made of their journey across the continent based on Karel's journal notes. The maps and journal themselves were going with Aodh to Klarendes' library at Elysion for safekeeping.

Impressed despite himself, the Chief was even happier when they told him that their magical gift was absolute direction. It was quite a rare gift though usually of little value in most trades and professions. For a military scout it was a perfect match. That left the Chief feeling quite pleased, which showed on his face enough to put his new recruits at their ease.

"Quite the talented fellows, eh Borden?" the Chief said benignly. The sergeant nodded then put a question of his own to the twins.

"Right, Chief. Uh, kids, You must have heard that we don't prescribe uniforms in the scouts. But I do have to ask, is there any particular reason you kids are running around starkers?"

For answer the twins showed them the tattoos marking them as elf-friends. The Chief tsk-tsked.

"Ah yes, elves. Not much use for clothing with that bunch of pretty boys, that's for sure. Take it from an old campaigner, it's okay to ride bare-ass and bareback a little ways to water your horse or to bathe him. On long rides you will soon find yourself wishing for something between your skin and the saddle or the stiff hair on the back on your horse if you are bareback. Nothing like a pair of silk trews to prevent chaffing the skin off your butt and your thighs. And what about a cloak when you are on foot?"

"What for? We have no problem getting wet when it rains. It just cools us off." Jemsen said, speaking for both twins."

"Maybe so, but if you have to push through a thorn-brake or a briar patch or a swath of saw grass, you're gonna wish you had something between your skin and all those sharp points and edges. Now a silk cloak is light as a feather, folds into a small packet, and is as good as leather armor against thorns and burrs and thistles and such. With your blond hair, you will find the hood useful too when you are trying to sneak around. Nothing stands out against the green of forest and field like a flash of yellow. It's also useful as a ground sheet."

"I see you are skeptical. Well, let me tell you a story..."

As the veteran scout prepared to launch into what must be an oft-told tale, his sergeant looked over at the boys and rolled his eyes.

"I knew a fella once. He always wore loose silk trews like mine. Took an arrow in the thigh, a war arrow with barbs so we didn't want to yank it back out lest we tear the wound even worse. We didn't try to push the arrow through for fear the edges would cut a main artery. Instead we gathered the silk fabric of his trews and slowly drew the arrow back out. With that tough silk all around it, the barbs on the arrowhead could not snag on his flesh on the way back out. So we got the arrow out of him slick as you please."

"And this man, he lived?"

"Well, no." Wroclaw admitted, frowning. "Just his bad luck that the arrowhead had cut the artery going in but then held the blood vessel closed by pressing it against the bone. Ironically that was the only thing keeping him alive. Once we removed the arrow, the man bled out in a blink before a chirurgeon could do anything for him. The point of the story is not the man's untimely demise but that silk acts like armor against points. Which is why I wear both silk trews and shirt."

"I see. Then what is that coat of mail for, sir" Karel asked pointedly.

"Harrumph. It so happens, youngster, that mail protects against slashes just like silk does against thrusts and points. You see, the long edge of the blade falls across several overlapping metal scales distributing its force. A point may strike and penetrate a single scale, hence the silk next to my skin under the scale armor. Understand?" he said rather huffily.

"Aaah."

This from both twins.

With a nod to his sergeant to carry on, Chief Wroclaw turned and headed over to headquarters.

"Young whippersnappers!" the grizzled veteran grumbled on the way there. Meanwhile the sergeant spoke to the twins clapping Karel on the shoulder companionably.

"Thanks, kid. The Chief is a good man and you can learn a lot from him. Still, he tells that lame story to every recruit. You're the first to ever get the better of him. About time, I'd say, but don't quote me."

They all smiled.

Now boys, either of you ever fly in a kite?"

"Did you say fly IN a kite, Sergeant?"

"Yes, I did. You see, we strap scouts to big box kites and send them aloft for a better view of the country. Sorta like sending a sailor up the the mast to the crow's nest. Of course, it's not just anyone we send up. It has to be the small and slender sort such as yourselves."

"Er, how high are we talking about, Sergeant."

"Oh, one or two hundred man heights, that's all," he remarked ever so casually, though exaggerating by a factor of three.

The twins exchanged pained looks.

"Don't worry, lads." he assured them expansively. "The Chief and I will soon have you riding the winds like hawks, soaring above earthbound mortals, masters of all you survey."

Borden then took the twins around the camp to show them the barracks, the mess hall, the training grounds and ranges, baths, jakes, etc. They stopped off at the sutlers's so the twins could outfit themselves with silk trews and cloaks. Sergeant Borden had convinced the twins that the advice of the Chief of Scouts was sound. Their new kit was ultra-lightweight and fit easily into the small packs hung from the hooks at the end of their quarterstaffs.

At the barracks area the sergeant introduced the twins to the veteran scouts. Their keen memories helped there, letting them put names to faces after only the one meeting. For their part, the twins got that skeptical looking over which experienced men always give to newcomers. The twins knew they would have to prove themselves to these tough men before being accepted as one of them. It didn't help that, besides the normal reservations anyone would have toward a newcomer they also had to overcome the disdain that many men have for young males blessed with pretty boy good looks. Young as they were, just eighteen, slight in build, naked and glabrous, without a stitch or a feather on them anywhere, not even at the fork of the legs, and looking entirely too comely for a proper male, the twins had their work cut out for them. The fact is they looked entirely too much like rent boys and entirely too little like men of action.

The sergeant asked the twins to step over to the archery range to show what they could do with bow and arrow. Every scout in camp went along to watch. That gave the twins a chance to show their mettle. Practiced with the long bow since they were little kids, and with their magical gift, the twins put arrow after arrow into the black center of the target even at the longest range.

The sergeant also had them show what they could do with their staffs, first sparring with each other, then with the veteran scouts wielding a variety of practice or blunted weapons. Jemsen and Karel acquitted themselves well. They had had a good teacher in Balan. Months of practice under his tutelage plus real combat experience had honed their skills to a respectable level. Based on what he had seen, the sergeant devised a training schedule for the new recruits emphasizing horse riding, codes and cyphers, and military customs and organization. Kite flying would come later, much to the relief of the new recruits.

Afterwards, as they all sat around a cook fire to get better acquainted, the twins talked about how, as hunters, they had shot dire wolves and brown bears, and even the occasional jaguar though they mostly sought deer and elk for their meat and hides. Karel mentioned how they had used silvered arrows against the pack of Trackers, though it took the giant and the unicorn to finally put the beasts down. No reflection on the lads. Everyone knew that the minions of evil like Trackers were very hard to kill. The twins also described their ambush of the black riders on the Western Plains, winning the respect of the other scouts These lads had been in a real fight and had slain human foes. No shrinking violets here.

From their fellow scouts, the twins learned that real trouble was brewing in the east. This time the barbarians might not be content with hit and run raids. Their next push might be an all-out invasion followed by the settlement of large numbers barbarians on the plains. That was why the scouts would soon move forward to give early warning of any incursions. The army did not want to wait for smoke from burning ranches and towns to know that the enemy was on the loose.

Mindful of what they said and careful to make a good first impression, the twins dialed back their normal ebullience, trying to come across to the older scouts as level-headed and respectful of their experience and long service. They did not want a reputation as callow know-it-alls. Instead they asked intelligent questions that showed that they were eager to learn from those who knew the score.

The veteran scouts were impressed by their good attitude though they would learn soon enough what chatterboxes the twins could be and how their curiosity would lead the twins to plague those around them with endless questions. But good questions.

The barracks were little more than a double canopy of cloth stretched over a rectangular frame. Its bamboo walls rose only halfway to the roof. That let breezes in, but there was no privacy. Each of them had a footlocker for his gear. Not that theft was much of a concern. Military justice came down hard on thieves.

It was obvious from their hungry looks that more than a few of the scouts fancied the twins, so totally on display before them. Others had slaked their lusts earlier. The second street beyond the main gate was lined with houses of joy with offerings for all persuasions. (The first street was all drinking establishments.)

The twins occupied two sturdy cots which they had pushed together. They politely but firmly discouraged any notion of fraternization, saying that the two of them preferred to keep themselves to themselves.

Left unsaid was that the twins were spoiled for the very best in male sex. Their usual bedmates were a giant, a lovely elf-boy, an exotic wir-panther, and each other. In simple terms, these rough looking scouts were just too plain and too ordinary to interest the twins. When your normal fare was meat and potatoes, why would you settle for gruel?

The older scouts had to content themselves with looking on as the twins went at it of an evening, uninhibited by their impromptu audiences who were treated nightly to a joining of slender tanned bodies, limbs entwined in every possible position of male lovemaking, throbbing organs seeking welcoming holes, and the essence of the male spurting from turgid members.

Yet somehow, afterwards, the twins looked so innocent, lying together in sleep, their pretty features relaxed in slumber, two supremely lovely exemplars of youthful male beauty.

Before retiring Karel took the time to update his new journal with his impressions of their first day. Inevitably he grumbled about the spelling of the chief scout's name.

"Can you believe that, Jemsen. The Chief pronounces his name something like Vrotswaf but spells it Wroclaw. Isn't the point of an alphabet to let people write things down exactly as they speak?"

An old story to Jemsen. Karel's brother just shook his head.

Chapter 16. The Wir

"The boys are out playing with the Molossians, Aodh. Care to join them?"

The young wir was in panther form stretched out on the bearskin rug, with Esmeralda snuggled up close. Disinclined to disturb her snooze, he shook his head then gave his feline friend a companionable lick from head to tail.

The wir and the Klarendes trio had been back in the valley for four ten-days and everyone was settling in to the new arrangement. The "boys" as they were always called collectively at the manor, respected their father's choice of partner. If the two shared a bed, who could fault them? Anyone could see that this was a love match between two males who expressed their feelings physically. The boys did give thanks for the manor's thick walls, deeming it not really proper for offspring to hear sounds of lusty sexual congress emanating from the bed chamber of a parent.

Aodh and Klarendes' boys got on famously. The three were near in age, all with exuberant personalities, very physical and athletic in their pursuits, and remarkably good natured with a keen sense of humor. And like the minstrel, the boys had little use for clothing while at home in the valley. That was for going to town. Really why would anyone so cute and sexy as themselves want to cover up in the first place?

And in coming years, when courting time rolled around, as it inevitably would, there would be no surprises for the local females who would have had a multitude of occasions to see potential mates in the nude, training or working or just rough housing around. In short, casual public nudity was a fine way for a youngster to display the robust good health requisite for a successful match.

Whatever their differences with Aodh, they "boys" did agree on that much. They thought nothing of working in the kitchen garden, kneeling on the ground, brown cheeks resting on bare feet, lithe torsos bent over, ribs and spinal bumps prominent, genitals dangling between slender thighs as, trowel or hoe in hand, they worked at their humble tasks.

Both boys helped the cooks in the herb and kitchen gardens. Artor was proud of his celery though its cultivation was tiresome. To blanch the stalks celery was planted in deep trenches then earth was mounded against the stems. Everyone agreed that Artor grew the crispest stalks around. Eborn gave special attention to his favorites, radishes and scallions. Klarendes and Artor tolerated his dietary foibles, drawing the line only at lima beans. The count sometimes wished for the powers of the old aristocracy, so he could banish the vile tasting vegetable from the entire valley. Just the smell of lima beans from someone's kitchen would turn his stomach. In his estimation whoever originally domesticated the lima bean had a lot to answer for.

Of course there was that one essential difference among the three young males at the manor house. Klarendes' sons liked girls and only girls. Oh they knew that some males were attracted to those of the same sex. They could appreciate youthful male beauty, though only in aesthetic terms. Artor and Eborn had no problem with casual public nudity and regularly joined Aodh's martial arts classes with other nude youths. But the bare bodies of boys did nothing for them sexually. There was just no "spark".

As Artor admitted one day to Aodh:

"You have been just great for my father and have made him very happy. And anyone with eyes can see how terrifically cute you are, so don't take this the wrong way, my friend, but ... I just don't get it. For the life of me I cannot understand all the fuss made over pretty boys, yourself included. No offense."

"None taken, Artor." he smiled" After all, if males didn't mostly fancy females, the world would come to an end in three generations. Which is why, in the fullness of time, you will go on to create your own 'heir and a spare'. And yet some males do like only boys, while others seek out those of both genders."

"So Aodh, I don't expect you ever bedded a girl, have you?"

"Actually I have. Three of them. At one go, in fact."

"Did you really?"

"Yep."

Aodh went on to explain how his people would not let him go off on his mission until he had taken steps to preserve his wir bloodline.

"So how was it for you?"

Aodh made a face. "I got through it. That's the best I can say for the experience."

That set Artor to laughing.

"Three girls at a time, a teenage boy's wet dream, and you make a sour face!"

"At least you cannot say that I don't know what I am missing."

"Ouch! Point taken, but I can hardly experiment with my father's lover, now can I"

"No, but what about the other boys? I am sure Arik would be glad to volunteer."

"Don't remind me. Arik has been panting after me the past couple of years. When he gets me pinned in wrestling, my rump pressed to his groin, he sometimes wriggles against me. Of course it is all in fun; he would never force me nor anyone else for that matter. He's a decent guy under all that macho assertiveness."

"Yes. I quickly realized that myself. I was wrong at first to think he might be a bully."

"So, if it's all right with you, I'll go my way, you go yours, and neither tries to convert the other.

"Fine. This is one area where we must agree to disagree without being disagreeable, Agreed?"

"Agreed!"

Aodh, Artor, and Eborn were all quick of wit and as formally schooled as their societies deemed necessary. The Commonwealth expected its citizens to understand and appreciate the world around them. That meant reading, writing, basic maths, geography, and the outline of history and natural philosophy.

Much as the three enjoyed reading serious books as well as lighter fare, none of them had any interest in further formal schooling. Indeed very few persons in that day and age went on for study beyond age fourteen. At which time the system of free but not compulsory schooling ended anyway.

Their society had few occupations that required professional training, and not all of that was done in classrooms. The armed forces' own academies supplied civil engineers and regular military officers. Attorneys read law under an established practitioner, in a form of apprenticeship. As yet the flourishing mechanical arts had not become professionalized. Manufactories had to hire un-credentialed and self-taught tinkerers, inventors, and machine designers to build machine tools and production lines, their only credentials their results. Factories did provide hands-on training for machine operators and mechanics.

Would be healers studied theoretical and practical medical care at teaching hospices at no cost, though they had to demonstrate the magical gift for healing. Priests enrolled at the greater temples of their cult. Paying for it was your own problem though bursaries were available from a variety of sources.

And since most of those who married held off till their mid-twenties, that left the best years of their lives for young people to explore their options (and not so incidentally to sow some wild oats). Some boys shopped around, trying out different lines of work. Some sought their fortunes in the big cities. Some went into the armed forces which were glad to have a steady supply of unmarried recruits. Many apprenticed out, saving most of their wages, looking forward to the day they could start their own businesses or households. About the only thing was not tolerated was sitting on your duff doing nothing. Their society prized industriousness and expected everyone who was able to contribute to the functioning of that society. They had no tolerance for a class of idlers made up of over-schooled young men and women with too much time on their hands and nothing to do but to get into mischief.

For his part, Aodh quickly became popular for his role in training the young men in hand to hand combat and for his talent as a teacher. He showed the youngsters in the village school that maths could not only be interesting but actually fun. He introduced mathematical recreations and games and competitions to the stodgy curriculum. His maths students were soon taking up their slates with genuine enthusiasm. The minstrel also entertained in the taverns, drawing on the considerable repertoire he had picked up in his travels. Any coppers or silvers he collected went into the village welfare fund.

Aodh won the hearts of the entire village when he saved a young boy from a dire wolf, though it very nearly cost him his life. The six year old had skipped off to pick huckleberries but went a little too far into the forest. Suddenly the lost child came face-to-face with a near-grown dire wolf. The last of the cubs from the litter Klarendes had destroyed months earlier, it had escaped out a back exit when Klarendes had fired the den. The little boy reached temporary refuge up a tree. But he was too far away for his cries for help to be heard. The wily dire wolf waited patiently, knowing that sooner or later thirst would force the the child to climb down.

Aodh joined the search, traveling in panther form where others could not easily pass, crawling on his belly under thorn brakes or slipping between jumbled boulders, or taking to the trees for a better vantage point. He found the lost child just as it had climbed back down to earth, driven by thirst to find water. The sly dire wolf had retreated into the bushes just far enough to fool the boy into thinking he was gone. Thee great beast had emerged from hiding and now slunk toward its helpless prey, jaws slavering in anticipation of a feast of human flesh.

Aodh did not hesitate but threw himself between the dire wolf and its intended victim. Quick on the uptake, the boy recognized that the black panther couldn't be anything but the count's wir boyfriend. Even at six he knew their valley was not panther country. When Aodh pointed a paw toward a game trail, the boy understood, by that very human gesture, that the wir wanted him to follow the trail and get away, maybe even bring the help that Aodh was likely to need. The sleek panther was clearly outclassed by the huge dire-wolf.

Satisfied that the boy was out of immediate danger, the wir-panther turned his full attention on his foe. Aodh chose not to receive the dire wolf's charge but took the initiative and attacked the creature. With a swipe with his front claws Aodh took out the dire wolf's right eye. From that point on the panther kept trying to attack from his foe's blind side.

Theirs was a hard-fought struggle to the death, with no-quarter-given. The dire wolf was larger and much stronger than the panther and had a powerful bite that could shear through fur and flesh and bone. The panther had the advantages of speed, agility, fangs and sharp claws on all four paws, and perhaps just as important, combat experience. This was not his first duel to the death, not by any means.

The fight went on for some time. For the dire wolf, it was more than a fight over stolen prey. This was a grudge match. He had smelled the scent of Klarendes and his Molossian hounds on his foe, the very creatures who had wiped out his litter mates and parents.

Meanwhile the lost boy met a search party a ways down the trail and pointed them back to the scene of the action. The noise of the death struggle of the two antagonists guided the villagers right to the spot. They arrived in time to see the black panther with his fangs locked on the dire wolf's throat, holding on till it stirred no more. The dire-wolf's innards glistened in the sun. Aodh's rear claws had disemboweled the beast.

Nevertheless, with their blood up, the searchers made sure the evil creature was dead. Boar spears stabbed down time and again as the men growled "Die, Foul Beast, Die!". One villager used his axe to behead it. Another skinned it. The men then burnt the carcass on a fiery pyre constructed of fallen timber atop a rocky outcrop nearby.

Meanwhile other rescuers had taken Aodh into their care. His panther form was covered with blood, much of it his own. The flesh was torn in a dozen places, and one ear hung loose. Near death and too weak from loss of blood to transform, Aodh was carried on a litter back to the village infirmary.

There the healer invoked her magic to stop the bleeding, block infection, and to keep the wir from going into shock, but she was unable to fully suppress his pain or to mend his wounds. That were limits on what she could do for a panther. Her magic worked best on humans. The healer sewed and bound Aodh's hurts and reattached the almost severed right ear. The nobleman and the healer took turns nursing him through terrible pain for days and tending his other needs, sometimes spelled by the Klarendes boys.

Meanwhile, relays of mothers from the village knelt in prayer below his window. No one cared to which god his neighbor prayed. If there truly were benign gods up there in the heavens, surely they would listen to an honest prayer, no matter to whom it was addressed, a prayer offered in behalf of a brave youth who had risked his life to save a child.

A despondent Esmeralda kept vigil at the foot of Aodh's sickbed, saddened that she could do so little for her wounded friend. Several times she approached Aodh to lick his wounds, trying to help them heal. That is just what she had always done for her own hurts or for her kittens. Klarendes was touched.

"I know how you feel, Esmeralda. I feel so useless, unable to help our boy. It seems that there is little we can do now for our friend but to let nature take its course."

The ginger cat seemed to understand him or maybe she just knew that the man needed consolation. She clamberers over and settled onto his lap, staying there for the longest while before resuming her vigil at the foot of Aodh's bed.

After eight days the minstrel opened his eyes and looked around confused. The healer explained his situation and that she had done all she could for him in panther form. Now it was his turn. He must try to invoke his magic and transform back to human. Aodh nodded then concentrated. It took longer than usual to get back to his human form, and his wounds were only partially healed, but that was good enough. Able at last to work her healing magic on a human body the healer unleashed the pent up power she had been accumulating for days. A glowing nimbus surrounded them both as she completed Aodh's healing. In moments the now human boy was fully healed, though utterly exhausted and very hungry. It would be some days before he regained his strength, but soon he was up and about.

The village held a festival to celebrate both the rescue and the count's civil union with Aodh, for Taitos had decided to take Aodh as his spouse. Their legal bond in no way infringed on the rights of the count's biological sons but did ensure that, as a member of his family, Aodh would be provided for in the event of the count's demise.

The festival expenses were shared by the village council and the count. For the special occasion Aodh wore a sarong purchased from a shop in Dalnot. It was the first time anyone in the valley had seen him in clothing. Atop his head he bore a sort of crown or headdress woven from white flowers with a matching floral bracelet on his left wrist. Their scent was sweet but subtle, in keeping with the boy's tastes.

First there were speeches. The rescued boy spoke a few words and was presented with a rug made from the hide of the dire wolf. Happy applause. The head of the village council made another speech, not short at all. Polite applause. The count made a very short speech, which won enthusiastic applause. Finally Aodh made a speech which received wild applause though he didn't really say very much, but then he could have recited the alphabet and gotten the same clamorous approbation.

Then came the brief civil ceremony where the two lovers pledged themselves to each other. Simple and dignified, it brought tears to the eyes of all who watched. Next came the feast.

Prime victuals were laid out on trestle tables. The taverns around the village green opened their shutters to better pass mugs of free brew to the thirsty crowd. Servers also circulated through the crowd with trays of food and drink.

Next there was dancing. For a dance floor they used the threshing floor, an open air expanse of paving stone next to the village green, with music provided by the town band. At first it was just the two of them as Klarendes whirled Aodh around to a lively number. Then Klarendes waved to the crowd and it was everyone's turn to crowd onto the paving stones and dance and dance and dance.

During a break from the feasting and the dancing, the villagers gathered around a pile of wood stacked for a bonfire. With a flourish, the count set the wood aflame, the initial whoosh sending sparks high into the air. Combining alchemy with his magical gift, the count threw powders of mineral salts into the fire that turned the flames first green, then blue, then bright violet. The best part came when the flames returned to their normal hue. That was when Klarendes really showed his mastery of fire.

Invoking his magical gift, the count morphed the flames into a pantomime depicting the boy's rescue. His characters were half-sized, rendered in three dimensions, and instantly recognizable,. First was the little lost boy himself, looking visibly forlorn with shoulders slumped. Next the vile dire wolf whose appearance brought hisses from the onlookers. Next the panther sprang between the wolf and the boy and sent him running off to safety. Then the two flame beasts reenacted their savage fight, leaving the victorious panther prostrate from his wounds. The pantomime skipped the boy's convalescence, instead showing him and the count in a warm embrace. Finally the couple made of flames reenacted the dance the flesh and blood couple had just performed on the paving stones.

From then on, as the village hero, Aodh could do no wrong. The cooks pretended not to notice when he filched late night snacks for himself and to share with his faithful friend Esmeralda. And so what if he occasionally dozed an extra hour in the morning instead of bouncing out of bed bright eyed and bushy tailed. Level-headed boy that he was, Aodh never abused his privileges.

All the children loved him. Even in panther form they were never afraid. To them, he was just a big old kitty cat. In whatever form, he was their friend and their protector. Their parents looked on indulgently while he played horsey for their toddlers. Everyone agreed that the young minstrel was the best thing to happen to the valley in a very long time.

Everyone included Klarendes, who was so relieved that his young lover was back with him, hale and hearty, with his health and beauty intact, not to mention ready, willing, and able to join him in bed. Their first night back together, their lovemaking was tender and sweet and gentle, less about sexual attraction and physical release than about sharing themselves, their love, and their happiness over Aodh's virtual resurrection. The following nights they were back to exciting, lusty, and noisy sex. Good thing for those solid walls.

Chapter 17. Preparedness

"You know, Taitos. I have been reading in your library. Military history and tactics mostly. According to the best writers, you have the ideal force structure and equipment given your militia's defensive role. Particularly clever is the way the militia men in the galleries along the entry road don't have to lean out to shoot at their foes, which would expose them to return fire. Instead they shoot left or right through slots slanted into the living rock, taking the enemy from the side in a crossfire that is impossible to return. Or they throw out clay jugs of flammable oil onto the road which burst on impact to be set afire with torches. Quite well thought out."

"Thank you, but it was my father who came up with most of that. The magical gift skipped his generation, so he found other ways for us to employ fire in our defense. He also set up that pair of catapults you saw the other day atop the Stone Castle, positioned to throw jugs of oil with a burning rag as a fuse. The weight of jug and oil gives the missile enough heft to fly quite a way down range."

"Right. Well the catapults gave me an idea of my own. A way to increase the effectiveness of your little army in open battle, if it comes to it. You know how you deploy the slingers on the flanks of the shield wall? Now it has to be that way for slingers to sight on their targets and sling their lead bullets. They also help guard the flanks. But what if you had an alternative formation, a second string for your bow, so to speak. Give the slingers a second pouch of glass balls filled with flammable oil. Each sphere should be small enough to close the hand over.

"The boys can't throw flaming projectiles." Klarendes objected.

"They won't have to. They just fling the glass globes. Igniting them is your job. On command their formation unleashes volleys of projectiles. Just as a volley arrives over the heads of the enemy, you yourself ignite them in mid-air, making them explode and shower anything or anyone below with liquid fire. That way you won't be using your gift to attack or kill directly.

The rain of fire will spook horses. And whether it singes their hides or sets fires around them, the confusion will become total. As you well know, once you deprive a cavalry charge of its momentum, it loses all shock effect. Against infantry, my technique will also be effective, burning them directly, their flesh and their uniforms. And the flames could set fire to the grass or the brush swordsmen are marching through. Just distracting swordsmen would help too. Make them raise their shields overhead at the very moment your axe-men slam into them."

"Excellent! This could make a real difference, Aodh, a sort of force multiplier for my firecasting, deputizing the boys as junior firecasters. That will at least double our effectiveness. As you know firecasting is one of the rarer magical gifts.

I don't have to tell you that the reports coming in from all over confirm that the barbarians are gathering their strength. Next time they march it won't be to raid but to slaughter everyone and to seize the plains for themselves. A dark prophet has stirred them up, promising them an empire if they would only seize it. That sounds like an existential threat to the Commonwealth itself. We have to prepare. That is why I am so grateful for your idea. It will make our valley that much more secure."

"Glad to help Taitos. Elysion is my home now too. And there's another advantage I just thought of. Right now you always station yourself up front, on foot, in the middle of the shield wall. That lets you hurl fire, yes, but it also makes you a prime target for the enemy. With this formation, you would be stationed behind the shield wall either on a horse or portable platform flanked by the bugler, messengers, and the reserves."

"Yes, I can see it myself. Behind the wall, mounted on a horse for a better view of the battle field instead of being on foot and maybe distracted by personal combat with a single foe. More like a general then than a war chief, seeing the bigger picture like that, I could see the best time for the boys to sling their glass globes or to commit the reserve foot or to lead my personal squadron of mounted armsmen in a cavalry charge, lances leveled at the foe.

The count suddenly chuckled.

"A bit silly, that. Calling my clutch of personal retainers a squadron when they really constitute no more than an oversized squad. Still the men are used to that grande appellation. It helps their morale, which is why I have never changed it from the old days."

"The valley folk sometimes wonder why I keep any arms men at all. It's not like the old days when nobles needed protection from their downtrodden serfs and had to keep armed men around to intimidate the lowly lest they rise in rebellion. And it is true that my armsmen seem to sit around much of the time with little to do except train.

Actually they help sharpen the skills of our axemen as well. In weapons practice and in our war games, they play the bad guys with swords ranged against our honest yeoman militia. Also one of them is always in command at the Stone Castle. They also act as constables when someone needs to be arrested or escorted to a court of high justice, and they maintain decorum during proceedings. Few in number, they are all tough soldiers, mostly local lads back from a stretch in the army, but landless as second or third sons of their families. And they are loyal to my house. Besides, the council of elders can hardly complain about the expense, which I meet from my personal resources."

"You should have heard them moan and groan when I asked them to keep at least two militia men up in the hidden overlook at the eastern edge of the gorge. From that high vantage point, watchers can give early warning of the approach of any hostiles. I pointed out that doubling the overlook watch was a lot cheaper than increasing the garrison at the Stone Castle. No need to go on a war footing just yet.

And if, really when, war breaks out, I expect the army to send a company of regulars to stiffen our defenses at the gorge. I have arranged an expansion of the barracks at the Stone Castle for just that purpose. I am covering one-third the cost, the village the rest. It is being tricked up to look weather beaten and ancient the better to fit in with the architecture of the Stone Castle, the quaint structures at the honeymoon resort, and the ruins of a cultic temple constructed of huge standing stones set in a circle. A mystery left over from the dark ages, no one really knows much about it."

"Now Aodh, thinking over your suggestion, I realized that for your idea to work, we will need to practice volley fire. I'll ask the bugler to devise a distinctive call. And I'll set the glassblowers to making up a goodly supply of projectiles."

"Sounds good, Taitos, but I do wonder, after your burnout as a young man, can you keep it up, setting fire to a continuing rain of projectiles?"

"What? Oh I understand. You think my 'burnout' as a youth weakened me. Just the opposite in fact. It opened up new channels in my mind for the magic to flow through and made me many times stronger. I found myself able to cast white fire [i.e. a jet of plasma]. Actually it doesn't burn so much as consume anything it touches, disintegrating it and making it part of the conflagration. No fortification or armor can withstand it. If I swept white fire across a battle field, I could wipe out an army in one fell swoop. Of course, the backlash would kill me, so I am saving that one for a final strike. If that is what it takes to protect our beautiful valley and the good people in it, then so be it."

"I once wrote about my new-found ability with white fire to the college of war mages in the capital. They told me to mind my own business and to keep my mouth shut. So much for my amateur enthusiasm."

This last observation was punctuated with a wry grimace.

"And while I am thinking about our slingers, maybe it is time we equipped them with bucklers. We recovered plenty of those from enemy dead on the battlefield fifteen years ago. You know what those are, Aodh, small lightweight circular shields covered with hide and worn at the elbow, leaving both hands free. That will give our youth more of a chance if infantry closed the distance and got in amongst them. We really don't want boys armed only with a long knife to trade blow for blow with heavy infantry. They would be overwhelmed. But bucklers could help them cut their way into the clear so they could take to their heels, get away, then re-form at a rally point."

"Of course it is different fighting with a buckler than with just a knife. Still a lot of fluid movement but more of that defensive moves. It would take retraining. Worth it though."

Aodh smiled, warming with admiration and respect to see the experienced soldier mull over the implications of the boy's original brainstorm, extending the basic idea to make it work even better but still keeping it simple. No military razzle-dazzle, thank you. Klarendes knew that real soldiers held such nonsense in contempt.

The young minstrel was particularly pleased that this veteran soldier has not just dismissed his suggestion of oil filled glass globes as a harebrained notion of a wet-nosed kid, a mere boy who had been in only one stand up fight in his life and even there he engaged his enemies as a beast rather than as a soldier. What could he know of organized warfare?

How could Aodh not love this fine man, so caring, so thoughtful, so well-meaning, not to mention so good looking and so very sexy. Now a man like Klarendes, in his early thirties, might, to an ordinary seventeen year old boy, seem the next thing to a graybeard, but Aodh knew better. Klarendes had not aged at all since his mid-twenties, thanks to his strong admixture of elf-blood. He had retained his youthful good looks. His face was unlined, his body strong, and his virility unflagging, as the young minstrel could well testify. How many mornings had he awakened, sore down there from repeated enthusiastic couplings.

One night, as the lovers lay in post-coital lassitude, with Esmeralda at their feet, the boy mentioned how glad he was that they would both keep their youth and good looks for a very long time, centuries at least for the nobleman, indefinitely for the wir.

"Yes, though I can expect in later years to develop laugh lines at the corner of the eyes and maybe even a bit of gray around the fringes. Would you still love me then, my dear kitty cat?"

Smiling wickedly, the young wir answered:

"Of course I would. In fact, sir, I think you would look even better than you do now," adding facetiously:

"There's nothing like a touch of gray at the temples for that 'distinguished look'".

"I'll give you distinguished, you little scamp." Klarendes growled with mock umbrage. "Bend over and take your punishment!"

As the big man twisted his much smaller lover across his lap in preparation for a playful spanking, the boy wailed and kicked his legs ineffectually, making a pretense of trying to get away. He never minded whenever Klarendes chose to bring a bit of color to his rump before a shag.

Abruptly Esmeralda jumped off the bed, getting out of their way, lest she be unceremoniously bounced off like the last time these two had played disciplinarian and naughty boy. She could not help being a bit cross that once again her humans were letting their roughhousing disturb her nap, going at it like that.

Not for the first time she wondered why those who walked on two legs spent so much of their time and energy trying to make kittens. Things were so much more reasonable with cats, weren't they: brief periods when their urges came upon them, and the rest of their time sensibly devoted to hunting, playing, eating, and sleeping (plus getting into mischief when no one was looking).

Anyway it was quite beyond her how two toms expected to engender offspring no matter how often the big male mounted the little one. It just wouldn't work, not with two toms. Yet these two kept trying, and one of them, the smaller one, was half feline himself and should know better.

Then again there was so much else that struck Esmeralda as odd about the two legged creatures she shared her home with. All of which she overlooked for the sake of friendship.

The happiness of the lovers in this period after their union wasn't so giddy as during their short "honeymoon", but this was when the minstrel boy stopped being a visitor and the valley became his home.

Chapter 18. Druids

Dahl was glad to have stout-hearted Balandur along for moral support on the long ride to the Great Southern Forest. They rode under the protection of a battalion of soldiers from the Commonwealth garrison at Dalnot. It was during that journey that the giant taught Dahl to ride a horse. The elf-boy was glad to acquire a skill that no doubt would stand him in good stead in the future, but it was a painful learning experience. Horses are so big. You never realized how wide the barrel of a horse is until you stretched your legs around it all day, a particularly difficult task for a little guy like Dahl with his slight stature and short limbs.

After that first day's ride, when he slid off his horse, his thighs were on fire. Never mind his skin was rubbed raw because he hadn't worn riding silks, the pain in his thighs muscles and groin was appalling. Gentle massage and salves from army medics helped, but he spent his first night as an equestrian thoroughly miserable and feeling quite sorry for himself. Why couldn't they provide a coach for him? He would much rather try that than travel atop a cantankerous mount who quickly sensed that her rider didn't know what he was doing. At one point, she took the bit in her teeth and ran off with him.

At least he had managed to stay in the saddle thanks to those newfangled iron triangles hung from the saddle by leather straps. Stirrups, the cavalrymen called them. Balan had pointed out that Dahl had it easy learning to ride with stirrups. Previous generations of riders had had to wedge their hips into the prongs of one of those old-fashioned horned saddles. Those on bareback could only wrap their legs around the barrel of their horses.

Stirrups not only helped keep a rider keep to his saddle. They let him wield weapons more effectively. A rider could brace himself or even stand up in the stirrups and swing a sword with his full strength, confident that he would not overbalance and fall off his horse. Ever better, stirrups let a cavalryman wield a lance without getting pushed off the back of his horse by the impact with his target. With his feet in stirrups a rider no longer held a spear overhand trying to stick it into an enemy. Instead he couched the shaft under his right arm and guided the spear head with his grip on the shaft. In a charge, the stirrups transmitted the full weight and momentum of both horse and rider to the point of the lance with irresistible effect. The spearhead would tear through any armor, gutting any opponent.

As if he wasn't feeling miserable enough already, after he dismounted Dahl's horse tried to bite him, Only Dahl's improved senses and reflexes let him get off unscathed.

"Bite her right back." Balan advised. "On the ear, but with your flat teeth. Show her who is boss."

So the elf-boy did just that. And damn if that didn't make the obstreperous animal settle down and let him ride her, no more nonsense. The unicorn, with his insight into equine psychology, explained why.

<Dahl, army mounts expect a firm hand on the reins. Any uncertainty is quickly conveyed by your seat, your posture, how you manage the reins, or the use of your spurs or bare heels in your case, to guide her. She won't take you where you want to go unless she is confident that you know what you are doing and can bring both of you back again.>

<She will warm up to you when she realizes that you are the one who will see to here needs by filling her oat bag in the evening, currying her coat, and checking her feet for injuries, especially the frogs of her feet.>

When they finally arrived at the stronghold of the druids, the biggest surprise was the druids themselves. Dahl had expected them to be men of middle years at least if not actual graybeards, tall and lean and stern of mien, their powerful bodies draped in full-length robes equipped with voluminous hoods the better to conceal their faces from the common herd. He could hardly have been more wrong.

Which lead to a faux pas on Dahl's part. Just inside the entrance to the druids' compound their party had interrupted a half-dozen teenage boys, as he supposed them to be, running around in the nude, kicking a ball around the lawn, laughing and joking and carrying on as boys will. They were of about average height or a little less, with builds ranging from slight and wiry to muscular. None looked to be over twenty. A mixed bag of cute twinks, pretty boys, and handsome youths, all were pleasant to look upon and some were real stunners.

Apologizing for the intrusion, he asked one of them, a diminutive boy with strawberry blond hair, to carry word to the druids that they had arrived. That is, his party had arrived, headed by Colonel Urqaart, the giant Balandur, a Hand of the Commonwealth, and the unicorn Meirionnydd. He did not mention his own name, which this servant boy would surely never have heard of.

The boyish blue-eyed blond beauty had smiled and, addressing Dahl by name informed, him that all the druids currently in residence at the compound were already aware of their arrival.

"How do you know my name? I never mentioned it."

"Ha, ha, ha. You must forgive us our little joke, Dahlderon, but if you were looking for the Druids of the Great Southern Forest you've found them, that is you have found us."

"What! You? A bunch of bare-ass kids horsing around? I didn't take you for druids yourselves. I figured maybe you were their pages or boys who served the druids as their cat-, er ... their special friends." he finished lamely.

Dahl blanched. Here he had gone and almost said in so many words that the most powerful magic wielders on the planet looked like a pack of rent boys.

"Oh?" the youthful druid said mischievously. "I had understood that to be your department."

Dahl blushed furiously. Merry and Balan could hardly contain their merriment. Of course, they sympathized with their young friend, mortified as he was. Then again, Dahl did look ever so cute peering through his bangs and biting his lower lip in embarrassment.

"Actually Merry filled us in with mind speech over a private channel as soon as he crossed the border. We couldn't resist the chance to tease you. You would think that, at our advanced ages, we would not indulge to such pranks. By the way, my name is Owain, and I'm 182 and much the youngest among us."

"I am seventeen." Dahl admitted in a very small voice.

Owain's senior colleague put him in charge of seeing that the new arrivals were made comfortable. Fresh victuals were sent to the battalion encamped in a nearby meadow. It was agreed that after a bath and afternoon nap, the travelers and druids would get together for an evening meal of welcome and celebration. Owain turned the three guests over to a gray haired couple, the head steward Forstal and his wife Megan. Forstal was kindly but taciturn as he showed Dahl and Balan their chambers then lead Merry to the special stables built for resident and visiting unicorns.

By contrast, the steward's wife was talkative and bossy. Taking charge, she bustled about, directing servants to draw baths, to take the traveler's dusty clothes to the laundry, and sent word to the cooks that there would be three more at the main table for the evening meal. She drew Dahl by the arm, saying. "Come along, child."

"Child, is it, after all I've been through?" Dahl thought to himself crossly.

Balan was pleased that the bath house had a tub large enough even for him. A pair of bath attendants, nude boys about fourteen years old, stepped forward to assist them. Megan handed each of them a sponge and armed herself with a long handled brush as she prepared to help them bathe. These people obviously had no problem with nudity.

"Nothing personal sir and sweet boy, Megan assured them, but I cannot abide dirt and disorder. Before you slide onto my clean sheets I want to be sure that you are clean yourselves. Balan, this lad will scrub your back. I sure you can handle the rest. I'll give this elf-boy my personal attention."

"Thank you madam," Dahl ventured, "but I can take it from here."

"I hardly think so, young man. In my considerable experience, boys your age have absolutely dreadful standards of personal hygiene. No offense to those in charge of your upbringing, but boys will be boys. And just look at those nails. If ever anyone needed a manicure and a pedicure it is you."

"No, the two of us, this bath attendant and I, will scrub you down then let you soak in the tub to ease your muscles, while he does your nails. And I have just the shampoo to bring out the luster of your raven locks. This will be so much fun. You remind me so much of my youngest at that age. What age are you really, thirteen or fourteen? No use pretending to be seventeen, not with me. If there is one thing I know it is teen age boys. Raised three of them myself, didn't I. Still you are a comely one. No doubt you will soon be turning heads, when you grow up that is."

"Already there, silly woman." thought to himself. "Why couldn't she realize that an elf-boy his age was done with growing up, physically anyway."

Dahl held back from confronting her even though she had just as much called him a lying child. She continued, oblivious to his growing irritation.

Dahl was mightily annoyed by her condescending tone not to mention all the frank talk. What was he, ten years old? He reached for a sponge to scrub himself, but snatched his hand back as the housekeeper rapped his knuckles with the back of a long-handled brush.

"Tut, tut, child. I will do the honors this first time as you are our guest. Just sit on this stool for a first scrubbing, then you may climb into the tub."

Seething that he was being treated like a dull-witted and naughty boy, he complied with ill grace and sat on the stool while the bath attendant worked away at his front and the woman scrubbed his back. The attendant fought him for the sponge to attend to his manly parts, but Dahl's enhanced strength easily let him prevail. He ignored the woman's express disapprobation. The final straw was when the presumptuous woman asked him to stand up and bend over, arms braced on the seat of the stool while she applied the soapy bristles to his bottom.

This was too much. Too much by far, for the elf-boy.

"For crying out loud!" Dahl exclaimed. "I can clean my own ass. I haven't needed a woman's assistance for that task since I was in diapers."

"So you say, but like every boy you get all sweaty or dusty or muddy from work or exercise then think a quick dunking will get you clean. Then there is the delicate matter of, shall we say, cleanliness at the nether end of the alimentary canal. I am sure you know what I mean. I am warning you elf-boy. I'll not tolerate brown streaks on my bedsheets. Now bend over."

"Not a chance!" he said defiantly, standing up and grabbing the brush out of her hands. "I am not a child. I am a man. I have fought and killed slavers and dark riders and Trackers and taken grievous wounds while crossing an entire continent with a small party of adventurers." Pointing imperiously at the door, he said. "Leave us, woman!"

The housekeeper backed off, abashed, then left with as much dignity as she could muster. Dahl finished his ablutions, then let the attendant do his nails. He was still angry, mostly with himself for letting things go so far. He should have stood up to her from the start. And would have done so, had not his faux pas with the druids thrown him on the defensive. No more. Not from now on.

"So, our boy has finally grown a pair." the giant thought to himself.

<I couldn't be more pleased. Pardon my listening in, Balan. I touched your mind to let you know that Owain cautioned me about her. She's a real battle axe though competent and conscientious in her own way. I am gratified to see that our boy has had his fill of playing the victim and has grown a spine. Adversity has tempered his mettle. To think, I found him as a callow youth, a sheltered farm boy. Now he is his own man.>

the giant replied with immense satisfaction.

Chapter 19. Training

Three weeks after his arrival at the Great Southern Forest, Dahl was still adjusting to the deliberate pace and sedate lifestyle of a student, finding it quite a contrast from his previous adventures during their months long crossing of the continent.

Dahl was the sixth of the new recruits to show up, with nine more arriving over the next few weeks, some escorted by unicorns the others by elves or humans. All of the recruits were male. The very first recruit had arrived about three months earlier. He was a Stone Mountain dwarf from a land far to the southwest, beyond the huge fresh water sea that the Long River emptied into. Of the fifteen recruits, ten were human, one big fellow was a shapeshifter, a wir-bear in fact, four were young elves, plus the dwarf who was about twice the age of the other recruits.

Only a few parties had run into trouble along the way, but nothing their escorts couldn't handle. In one attack by dire-wolves, the wir-bear, a near giant in human form transformed into a mountain bear and simply tore both animals apart. In another, it took both silver tipped arrows and a unicorn to put down a Tracker. The last attack was aborted when a wizard escorting the recruit blasted a possessed raven from the sky.

The druids were friendly and cheerful. No complaints about the food either, simple fare yes, but nutritious and tasty. Dahl's quarters were plain but cozy, quite comfortable really. He occupied one of four alcoves in a bamboo hut raised off the damp ground. Each space held a sturdy futon which doubled as bed and settee, a chest set against a wall, and a chair set in front of the window where a wooden shelf swung up to serve as a study desk. He had put all his belongings in his chest, but it still looked forlornly empty. He had no garments to store since clothing was not part of his lifestyle and never had been. His quarterstaff was propped in a corner, ready to hand though it was unthinkable it would to be needed this far into the sheltering forest, except for weapons practice.

Anyone looking in on him in his quarters would find nothing remarkable going on, just a small nude youth with his nose buried in a book. Dahl had stretched out on the futon, reading about the origins of the various races on their world and a brief sketch of world history with an emphasis on the evolution of the Commonwealth from an aggressive expansionist state into a benign hegemonic power. Fascinating stuff, a real page turner actually, a well written narrative told as an exciting saga with vivid characters.

Still he missed his friends terribly. They had been so close, the six of them. Of their little company of adventurers, only Merry was still with him. The twins had joined the army as civilian scouts, and Aodh had taken up with Count Klarendes in a fine match for the both of them. When they parted, Aodh had been practically glowing with happiness.

When all fifteen recruits had arrived, the Senior Druid assigned two recruits to each of the seven resident druids as their mentor and primary tutor. Dahl was delighted to be assigned to Owain. He and the strawberry blond had hit it right off. Their senses of humor were complimentary. The druid was inordinately fond of puns, which Dahl affected to dread but really loved himself, the worse the better. Dahl also loved to tell jokes. Unfortunately so did the druid. The elf-boy found himself playing straight man rather more often than he cared to. But the druid had many decades of experience in maneuvering interlocutors to feed him the straight line he needed to deliver his own carefully hoarded punch line.

It wasn't long before Owain invited Dahl to his bed, an invitation the elf-boy was happy to accept. Here too they were compatible with the druid playing top to Dahl's bottom, though they sometimes switched. Thanks to the vitality conferred by his magic, the druid had the constitution and the sex drive of a teenager and an unflagging virility. He needed it to match the vitality the elf-boy enjoyed from his youth and his innate magical nature. Their couplings were enthusiastic, energetic, athletic, and loud. Afterwards they lay together, somehow looking as innocent as a pair of kittens snuggled together.

Theirs was a friendship spiced with sex; with every passing week, the two of them grew closer. The older druid was beginning to hope that he had found a life mate, but kept his deepest feelings to himself. It wouldn't be fair, not with Dahl as his student.

The recruit paired with Dahl was named Xebrek, the Stone Mountain dwarf from about as far away on the continent as one could get. He was Dahl's height but three times his weight, massively built with thick bones carrying an immensely strong musculature. His head was disproportionately large since it was the same size as the heads of humans and elves. Unfortunately, dwarves were not one of the comely races, and the squatness of his body held no attraction for the elf-boy or vice-versa.

The sandy haired dwarf usually wore light leather trews and vest. A maul or war hammer hung from his belt. This had occasioned some debate about whether a metal weapon was appropriate for a druid, but it had finally been allowed since it was not intended to draw blood. Maybe not, but a maul driven by dwarven strength would not just crack a skull, it would splash brains and blood all about. Their favorite tactic was to advance under the protection of shields and smash the feet and knees of their enemies instead of attacking their vital areas. One downed, their foes could be dispatched with a 'dwarven headache' as they called their coup de grace.

Dahl was curious and asked Xebrek to tell him about his people. Xebrek was glad to oblige. He explained that dwarves were not aggressive or expansionist. The stone dwarves sought safety underground, dwelling in natural caverns carved out of the rock by acidic waters in limestone strata. These were wondrously complex spaces, with some chambers as large as cathedrals and others just niches in the stone. Underground rivers supplied all the water they could want and carried away wastes. Everywhere were stone pillars called stalagmites thrusting up from the floor and stalactites hanging from the ceiling and curtains of stone, looking like they had been melted in place.

Given their subterranean environment, the most common magical gifts among the dwarves were those that helped them live in their stony labyrinths: calling light and a directional sense like the twins had. A few had the trick of creating long-lasting balls of light which were placed in glass lanterns to illuminate public places or were provided to those who could not call light themselves.

The surface lands were occupied by humans with whom they traded. The dwarves exchanged the results of their mining and metal work for food and other necessities. From their chthonian fastnesses they exported cast and wrought iron, copper, steel tools and weapons, and intricate clockwork mechanisms. You wouldn't think their massive hands were capable of delicate work, but obviously they were. They also grew a great variety of mushrooms, much prized by surface folk.

Despite lurid tales of fabulous hoards of gemstones, the caverns of the Stone Mountain dwarves offered no such wealth. Their mining operations did produce geodes which are hollow shells of rock which the dwarves split in half to reveal beautiful crystals inside. These had little commercial value, which was fine with the dwarves for whom the geodes had an aesthetic value. Virtually every household had a collection of the wondrous stones. Xebrek showed Dahl the favorite from his collection, a real beauty of a chalcedony shell filled with the delicate purple crystals of amethyst.

Over the next few days, Dahl told of his travels and adventures. The dwarf who was impressed with the matter of fact way the boy related the battles with the Trackers and the dark riders and his stoical endurance of the wounds he took and the discomforts along the way: thorns and sawgrass, lightning and hailstorms, drought and dust, and the painful process of learning to ride a horse. An introduction to horsemanship was something Xebrek was not looking forward to. Dwarves don't fit horses any better than elf-boys.

Still their training proceeded apace. As the elf-boy had quickly realized, for druids, training meant individual tutoring, self-study, field trips, and practical exercises more than classroom studies. The druids often hinted or spoke elliptically, expecting him to fill in the rest with a burst of insight. It was the strangest sort of schooling Dahl had ever known. He shook his head remembering an unfruitful lesson with Owain from the previous week.

"Reach out with your heightened senses, Dahl, don't perceive with only your eyes. Feel the warmth of the life all around you on your skin. Listen to the birds and the insects and recognize what the sounds they are making mean. Are they declaring mating territory, sounding an alarm, calling for offspring or parents to return to the nest. Are they disturbed or placid. Breathe through your nose and identify the various scents in the air. Is that the stink of a striper. If so, what could have alarmed it?"

Dahl thought all that was no more than an elaborate way of telling them to keep their eyes and their ears and noses open. He had learned that lesson on the long journey across the continent. As to feeling life with his skin, that already happened much too often for his liking with tiny many-legged things crawling or alighting on him. Few of them bit, humans never smelled like a meal to them, but who wanted six-legs or eight-legs crawling over them at night or buzzing at their ears.

The senior druid tried another approach.

"There is more than one way of knowing things. For instance, in an athletic game popular in the Commonwealth a player tries to lob a ball through a hoop set horizontally about eight feet high on a pole at the end of a court thirty paces long. Even from the far end, a player using a two handed throw can send the ball down range in a graceful arc to pass through the ring without touching the sides. I have seen it done many times. A lob shot they call it.

"Now natural philosophers with their mathematics can calculate the forces required to propel the ball to the target, to overcome the resistance that air presents to its passage, to define the rise and falling curves of the arc to counter the attraction between ball and planet, the angle of elevation and so forth. That is one way of knowing how to sink the shot. The players know nothing of this, and it would not help their play if they did. Even if they knew the technical terms how could they translate the degree of impetus demanded by the equations into how hard their muscles must work to achieve their goal. The obvious answer is that the cannot and do not. They think intuitively, with their muscles."

"There is nothing magical or supernatural at work either way, for ball player or natural philosopher. It is the same with us druids. What we do may be magic, but how we think is not magic. It is a simply different pattern of thought."

Owain offered further insight into their own thought processes. He pointed out that the sentences we speak are not really thought out in words beforehand and then expressed. Most of the time we don't know what the last word of the sentence we are speaking will turn out to be. In other words, our minds do not fully articulate what we say until we actually say it. There is no homunculus inside us writing a script for us to recite.

That sort of reasoning did get through to the apprentices. They found themselves more open to the senior druid's suggestions on meditation and thought processes and found it easier to touch the magical energy all around them.

The new trainees seldom worked or studied all in a group, though they did encounter one another frequently enough at the library or the refectory or the training fields. Students were pitted against each other in mock combat, going at it in every conceivable match up. Or they met on the running trails which everyone used to keep up their stamina. Even Xebrek gamely trudged around the track in an awkward shuffle. His stumpy body had not been designed for running.

Athletics were always non-competitive. It wasn't just that druids did not approve of competition. There was simply no point with every student getting stronger and faster and nimbler at his own pace. So their training concentrated on individual activities like running and swimming and negotiating obstacle courses. Which isn't to say the boys couldn't indulge in pick up games in team sports. They all trained in the nude, save only Xebrek. Dwarves usually kept their clothes on in their cool chthonian depths. Public nudity was simply not part of their culture. Dahl and the other elf-boys plus a human elf-friend were the only recruits who stayed nude full time. As for the rest, some favored sarongs, others breechclouts, trews, or kilts when it came to clothing.

For formal occasions the druids donned robes of office, tunics woven of silk, colored forest green that nearly reached the knees. When they went out in the field, they wore a silken camouflage cloak with a big hood. When a druid invoked his magic, it would shift colors and patterns making them very hard to see against any background as long as he held still. Otherwise it was sarongs or breechclouts when they weren't entirely nude, which was usually the case, especially for Owain.

Four unicorns were in residence including Merry. Each contributed his seed to his chosen elf-boy, strengthening him physically and magically. By now, Dahl was fully adjusted to playing the role of the filly mounted by the white stallion. He could now accept all of Merry's prodigious member as it poked and prodded and penetrated his innermost being. The unicorn's pheromones rendered the elf-boy delirious with lust, as his small body shivered and shuddered from the intense pleasure of their coupling till finally the boy could feel the equine's member swell within him then spurt his seed as a welcome wet warmth that set his entire body to tingling.

Merry expanded Dahl's knowledge of Haven's geography including its political boundaries, the distribution of the sentient races, and of land forms, climate, languages, religions, plants, and animals. The unicorn tutored Dahl in the art of land navigation and ran him through practical exercises. Dahl would not always be in the company of the twins. So he had to learn to read maps, to tell direction by the sun and the navigational stars in the nighttime sky.

As for learning druidic magic, that had been a disappointment so far. What the recruits had learned was all theoretical, philosophical, and historical background information. No spells, no new powers though Dahl continued to grow in strength. His senses had become amazingly acute, and his agility was beyond anything he could ever have imagined. He could reach farther with mind speech and was able to initiate contact with anyone he had previously been in contact with through Merry. It wouldn't be long before he could talk to anyone, all on his own.

During one lesson, Dahl's mind wandered, and he speculated whether druids were shape changers. Could they transform into eagles and fly? Suddenly Owain's words intruded on his consciousness.

"... which I am sure your fellow student can explain to you, Xebrek. Isn't that right, Dahl?"

"Er, sorry, what was that you were you saying, Owain?"

"Just that students should attend to their tutors if they want to progress."

"I really am sorry, sir. Just now I got to wondering if druids were shape shifters like my friend Aodh. He is a wir and changes into a black panther."

"Hardly. We have no need of such transformations. We can influence and even take control of animals to scout and to fight for us. For instance, if we need an aerial view of the terrain we look through the eyes of an eagle by sending a portion of our consciousness to ride with the bird. Through him we see what he sees. Or we can enlist jaguars and bears to fight our enemies. Mind you, they will carry out our will as long as it is in keeping with their nature."

"Meaning?"

"Well, for example, no druid could get a brontothere to try to jump a ditch, not when the beasts can never get all four feet off the ground at once. They simply won't do it."

The dwarf interrupted to ask: "What is a brontothere anyway?"

"A huge beast, looking like an armored one-horn or rhino, only as high at the shoulder as a man is tall. Unlike the rhinos, their two horns point forward and are composed of bone and set side to side at the nose. Bizarre in the extreme and virtually unstoppable."

"It is a good thing that the beast cannot get all four feet off the ground at once. That limitation gives farmers a way to keep brontotheres out of agricultural lands, You surround the fields with a ditch too wide for the animals to step across and too deep to step in and out of. The builders usually site the ditches so they can double as military obstacles or canals for barges and small boats and sometimes for irrigation or drainage as well. These were techniques designed by druids and engineers working together."

"As you will learn, the way of the druid is not to force nature to our will but to combine nature with man's ingenuity. For example, I know you have traveled through the Commonwealth. Those sanitary wetlands downstream from their cities and towns were first developed by druids and engineers working for concerned rulers. The contribution of the engineers was just as important as anything the druids did to get the plantings established. It was engineers who designed the tunnels that carried the effluent giving them the cross-section of an egg standing on its pointy end. That squeezed the flow of water faster at the bottom of the channel thereby scouring it clear of anything that might settle there."

"Now Dahl, as an elf you have already shown you have a green thumb. So I expect your magic will be more effective with plant life than with animals, though you will be able to control both. You certainly will learn to see through the eyes of animals and listen with their ears. Taking control of say a herd of brontotheres might never be within your powers, though one never knows."

"OK, but when do we develop these powers?" Xebrek asked somewhat truculently.

"Soon. Though not soon enough for impatient dwarves, obviously."

"Hmmm. Plants, eh." Dahl mused. "So what do I do against a barbarian invasion. Throw flowers at them?"

"A military problem, is it Dahl? Well speaking from my own experience, I might induce a thorn brake to spring up across their line of march cutting off their vanguard from their follow-up formations. That would allow allied soldiers to fall on and overwhelm the advance force even though outnumbered on the battlefield over all."

"A druid often works with the military as a force multiplier. The soldiers need our unique abilities for reconnaissance and for battle, and we need their numbers and protection. Even a druid powerful enough to set a tornado against his enemies can be felled by an archer with bow and arrow. And we sleep as other men do if somewhat fewer hours. Which is why, along with our small numbers, there is no way we could ever try to rule the world, even if we wanted that burden, which we don't."

"So why are you so few in number, why triple it now, and why no lady druids?" Xebrek asked shrewdly.

"That's three questions. Let me take the last one first. There are in fact lady druids all around, quite a few in fact, only you call them healers. They combine magic with natural medicine to effect their cures. And since they cannot be everywhere, they extend their reach by training others in first aid, herbal healing, and midwifery, spreading best practices through their network. For instance, there are thousands of oldsters alive today because the healer's network spread the word about a way for anyone to revive heart attack victims. It relies on assisted breathing and rhythmic chest compressions to keep blood circulating until a heart beat resumes and the victim starts breathing again."

Also, and this is strictly for us to know, lady druids or healers can protect themselves and others. Their magic can induce a stroke or heart attack as easily as a cure, though the have to be close, not touching necessarily, but close. Not useful against a body of men, but one or a few, yes."

"As to your other questions. The innate ability to become a male druid is very rare among all races. Finding those few is difficult. We had to mount a huge effort across this content to find just the fifteen of you. The search continues on the other two continents. As to why now, what else but to meet a coming threat."

"So we are the arrow fodder in you magical army?" Xebrek declared belligerently. You'll send us into the meat grinder to spare yourselves."

Owain face grew sad as he shook his head.

"No, Xebrek. Just the opposite. We are training you as our replacements. Few of us expect to survive the next few years, but we could not leave the world without druids. And since the new set will be less powerful individually, for a century anyway, we doubled the number. That is the simple truth of it."

Abashed, Xebrek was quiet and subdued as he absorbed that revelation. Meanwhile, the druid turned to the elf-boy and resumed his war stories.

"There was a time in one of the southern kingdoms when I faced eight full-blooded giants marching at the head of a column of three thousand reavers. We had less than two thousand, half regulars, half militia. The job of the giants was to split our shield wall, letting their army through to turn left and right and roll up our flanks, destroying us utterly."

"So how did you stop them?" both students asked. "Not with a thorn brake. That would not have slowed giants down much."

"No. I grew a belt of ground-hugging vines, deeply rooted in the earth. When the giants crossed the vines, stems and runners grabbed at their legs holding them in place long enough for the vines to drive shoots anchored to tap roots into and through their feet, literally rooting them in place. Then I flash grew a bamboo grove, driving the burgeoning stalks into their bodies especially into their orifices, impaling them. I made the bamboo push through their body cavities and up and out of their mouths, while other stalks churned their brains to mush and forced the pink slurry out thru their ears and eye sockets. I made sure they were very dead."

"The horror of it destroyed the morale of the reavers. They raced away pell-mell, splitting into bands that were easy for our forces to surround and destroy one by one. I doubt that a hundred made it back to where they came from. Just as well there were some witnesses to transmit the lesson we taught their warriors: Keep the peace or die."

"And you know something, the skeletons of the giants are still there, standing like so many scarecrows in the grove of bamboo that spread out from the first patch that I flash grew, which was fertilized by their own decomposing flesh. Ironic isn't it?"

The student druids sat still, mouths agape. Here a single druid had taken out eight full-grown giants, saved one army, and helped destroy another. No wonder they had such a reputation.

"You can sign me up." Dahl said fervently.

"Already done, both of you." the druid reminded them.

[Continued if Part 5]

Author's Note

If you have enjoyed this story and others like it, consider making a donation to the Nifty Archive. It is so easy. They take credit cards.

This is my first pure fantasy tale for the Nifty Archive. It is entirely fictional, with no resemblance intended to any person living or dead.

Readers who like these stories might want to try my two series 'Daphne Boy' and 'Naked Prey' in the Gay/Historical section of the Archive. My 'Jungle Boy' series of Hollywood tales is posted in the Gay/Authoritarian section. The new series 'Andrew Jackson High relates the trials and tribulations of five of its gay students. For links to these and other stories, look on the list of Prolific Authors on the Archive.

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