Elf-Boy's Friends 4
Gifts
by George Gauthier
[The further adventures of characters from the novel 'Elf-Boy and Friends']
Chapter 1. Boot Camp
"Gentlemen, How many times do I have to remind you not to act on the preparatory command but to wait for the command to execute. If I tell you Left... Face!, don't turn till you hear the command to 'Face'. Here comes another: Dress Left... Dress!"
On the command to execute the recruits looked left, extended their arms to the side and touched the shoulder of the man on their left, forming a more or less straight line, though of course not straight enough to meet the exacting standards of Sergeant Holden, a grizzled veteran of the Plains Wars. Still he conceded that their latest efforts were an improvement.
Not the first time, young Drew Altair halfway regretted accepting a commission in the military reserves. Halfway. But his commission was the price which the druids of Haven and the Commonwealth had exacted for the newly developed healing magic that would extend his life to five or six centuries and keep him perpetually young. The druidical gift of extended youth and longevity was intended to increase the magical firepower of the Commonwealth of the Long River by slowing natural attrition among magically talented but short-lived humans. Not a bad bargain then, all in all.
It was just that four whole days of orientation on military courtesies and customs was a bit much for his civilian soul. Did they really need all this practice in recognition of rank insignia, forms of address, saluting, dismounted drill, and all the rest of their martial folderol?
Not to mention that his uniform fit poorly, hanging too loose on his slight frame, one which barely reached five feet. Appropriately for the tropical climate Drew's uniform was made of lightweight green silk and consisted of full length trews hung low on his hip bones. On top was a sleeveless shirt, split at the sides for ventilation. Whenever he could get away with it, he unfastened the ties in front to bare his pectorals and midriff, displaying his corrugated chest and abs.
Silk was the fabric of choice for the military since silk minimizes the damage from arrow wounds. Arrows actually do more harm when drawn out than when they go in. The fibers of wool, linen, and cotton fragment and contaminate wounds, which leads to blood poisoning for those who survive the wound itself and cannot reach a magical Healer in time. Silk retains it structural integrity, wrapping around the arrowhead. That allows it to be withdrawn while doing little further damage.
Drew was looking forward to the main part of the course where he would learn military organization and tactics, signals and ciphers, use of weapons, and better ways to employ his magical gift of Fetching, (telekinesis in modern parlance). Drew already had some pretty good ideas of his own on the effective use of his Fetching power but hoped to learn much more from his fellows reservists.
Drew was no stranger to the military having served six months earlier as a war correspondent for the Capital Intelligencer in the joint conquest by the Commonwealth and the Frost Giants of the former land of the centaurs now called New Varangia.
As a civilian volunteer Drew had fought in two pitched battles against the centaurs, alien six-limbed carnivores who treated the other sentient races of Haven as prey. In his first battle he used his magical gift of Fetching to fling glass globes filled with an inflammable oil at the charge of a wedge of centaurs which his friend Artor, a Firecaster, ignited turning their attack into a shambles. In his second battle Drew wielded a pair of steel balls the size of peaches, controlling their flight with his 'shadow boxing' technique, to make them zip left and right, up and down, back and forth and, most pertinently, through the heads and bodies of centaurs attacking the shield wall of the Frost Giants.
The small blue tattoo on his left shoulder showed that the Frost Giants had made him a giant-friend, one to whom all giants would automatically extend their hospitality and protection.
Drew reflected that at least the army hadn't sent its newest recruits to some dusty military camp in the hinterlands. The thirty recruits had comfortable rooms in the bachelor officers' quarters (BOQ) at a military caserne in the capital district. The campus was neatly laid out as a series of courtyards lined with trees for shade. The newly minted ensigns had access to the officers' club and a lending library. The food was pretty good too.
The builders had taken advantage of the flat terrain of the region and the prevailing south wind to cool the building. Wind catchers directed the airflow downward and through the city's underground aqueducts where the warm air gave up its heat to the cool earth and subterranean water. Natural air pressure then forced the air back up into and through the domed buildings. No machinery required. Awnings blocked direct sunlight from window openings which were not glassed in but set with wood lattices that afforded privacy without blocking ventilation.
Drew's platoon was an unusual cohort of newcomers to the military. First they were not rankers but men who had been directly commissioned as ensigns, the lowest of the officer ranks. Few were young. Almost all were in the prime of life, men who not only had strong gifts of Firecasting or Fetching but had shown imagination, courage, and public spirit in the use of their powers over the years.
For instance, two of the new ensigns were professional fire-fighters. In a career of more than twenty years the first man, a Fetcher like Drew, had saved untold victims trapped by flames in the upper stories of their dwellings or bureaux by Lifting them from rooftop or window and setting them safely and gently to earth. Sometimes he raised fellow firefighters and their hoses to otherwise inaccessible spots where they could better attack the flames.
The second fire-fighter was a Fire-caster. His technique was simple. He just told the fire go out, though that was far from the end of it. To make sure the fire stayed out, his crew used their pike poles to tear the smoking structure apart, uncovering hot spots and smoldering embers. They then directed their hoses to play water on the debris and cool the formerly burning materials below their kindling point, lest the fire spring up again when their backs were turned.
By contrast to these mature veterans, Drew was only eighteen and looked a year or two younger due to his small stature. Drew was a little guy, call it five foot zero (152 cm) and one hundred pounds even (45 kg) though he had a wiry physique with a well-defined musculature and a strong upper storey for one so slight of build. The young journalist was a vision of youthful male pulchritude with spiky auburn hair and narrow sideburns reaching below the ear lobe plus straight eyebrows with almost no curve to them. They framed a cute face with a high forehead, chiseled jawline, and a perky nose slightly turned up at the end.
When the group first met, many of the older males in his cohort were incredulous of Drew's place in their midst. How could someone so young have earned a place among them? Who was this youngster anyway, so slight of stature, so impossibly comely, and utterly androgynous in appearance? Why to look at him, a boy who fell far short of normal male standards in height, muscular development, and manly characteristics, you would think him to be a rich man's boy-toy or even a professional bum boy.
A champion spoke up for Drew.
"Daft ye are, the lot of you" growled a graying Fetcher originally from the League of Independent Towns by the name of Angus McFarden.
"Ken ye not who this laddie be? How do ye think he earned that blue tattoo on his shoulder that marks him as a giant-friend, a very rare honor indeed. Why 'tis none other than the brave Fetcher who turned the tide in two pitched battles against the centaurs not six months ago. And shame on anyone who has not read his eyewitness account of the war in the Capital Intelligencer."
"Oh, you mean that war correspondent" a firecaster in his thirties answered. "Sure I guess we all read his stuff, but everyone took him for a man grown, not some snot-no... er... that is, ah... someone so very young," he finished lamely. "Sorry about the misunderstanding. No offense, kid. Er, son. No, dammit, that sounds bad too. What do I call you anyway, Red?"
"How about just using my name, Drew, Drew Altair?"
"Fair enough, Drew Altair. Fyrd Kalmen here. Thanks Angus for straightening us out. How do you know young Altair anyway?"
"He interviewed me and wrote a series of articles about my new business. 'King of the Iron-Roads' he called me. I rather liked the sound of that."
McFarden's enterprise was the start of an transportation revolution. In the far north of the Commonwealth, near the river town of Grayling, the man had developed a whole new transportation system inspired by the small ore-trolleys used in the local iron mines. McFarden scaled the system up to transport iron ore to smelters on riverbanks miles away. Pairs of Fetchers used their magical gift in tandem to propel the loads along the tracks. A third went along to spell one of the pair in rotation.
The Fetchers did not have to lift the heavy loads, merely using their gift to overcome inertia to get the wagons moving, then to counter rolling resistance. The effort of going uphill was lessened by the track bed itself which conferred the mechanical advantage of an inclined plane. Hence a pair of Fetchers might move as much ore as a team of six. McFarden foresaw the day when a network of iron-roads would criss-cross the Commonwealth. The flat terrain of its central valley lent itself to his system.
McFarden had harnessed the magical resources of the Commonwealth to provide motive power, and to provide new and rewarding careers for those with a strong Fetching gift which might otherwise be wasted. No wonder the man was among the first chosen to receive the treatment.
"As to the boy's place among us," McFarden continued, "I don't doubt that endorsements from Lord Zaldor and General Urqaart helped with his selection."
Drew nodded.
"Yes, plus those from Artor Klarendes, son of the Count of the Eastern March and now a full Hand of the Commonwealth in his own right, and the famous twins Sirs Jemsen and Karel. All of them are good friends of mine."
"More than just friends, I don't wonder." Angus observed with an eyebrow lifted interrogatively.
"Well definitely not Artor, who 'consorts exclusively with the female half of the species' as he always puts it. More's the pity. But sure, the twins and I are boyfriends. Not to mention the Frost Giant Finn Ragnarson I also wrote about."
"Aye, that would be the Young Finn who stood with Old Arn in the Breach. They held the line long enough for others to rally to them. Your account downplayed your own part, but it was clear that you must have been standing right behind the pair at the maximum point of danger."
"You are making me sound like a hero when actually I just had to get close so I could see to wield my steel spheres without hurting anyone on our side. And if the centaurs had broken through, I think I could have held them off me, for a short time anyway, with my shield technique where I whip my spheres back and forth in an arc, one high, one low."
"Anyway, what's really great about my job as a journalist is that I get to meet so many interesting, exciting, and intriguing people. You Angus and Finn are just two of them. I am so glad Count Klarendes mentioned your name to me in that letter he sent."
"Yes, well the count is one of my investors. Smart man he is, getting in early. If he thought he was rich before, wait till my iron roads really get rolling. Anyway the good count thought I would make a good story for you."
"Oh, you did. Please, if you know anyone else I should interview, let me know. I should mention that I will be writing a series of articles about this program we are all a part of."
"Sounds good, Drew Altair," Fyrd Kalmen remarked.
"I ask only that you get my name right. You have no idea how many people call be 'Fred'." he added shaking his head sadly.
Chapter 2. Confraternities
Halfway through his orientation, on one of his free days, Drew went for some fun in Twinkle Town. Named for its clientele, Twinkle Town was a district or rather a cluster of drinking and dancing establishments favored by those who fancied pretty boys and by pretty boys who favored being fancied.
Meanwhile and unbeknownst to Drew, Jemsen and Karel had returned from a successful business trip upriver and rewarded themselves with a night on the town. They too headed over to Twinkle Town dressed, if that is the word for it, in kilts made of nearly sheer white linen, wrapped so low on their hips that the exiguous garments threatened to lose their tenuous grip on the twins' pert rumps and slip right to the floor.
Drew wore one of his trademark sleeveless tunics of white silk split to the waist that displayed and flattered the trim and taut body he had so recently grown into and was inordinately proud of. His revealing outfit, taken together with his slight build and impossibly pretty features, practically shouted 'boy-toy', which was fine by Drew. If that made him looked less than manly, so be it. Drew liked his look just fine, thank you, and was not the least bit interested in "manning up". And with centuries of unchanging youth ahead of him, he didn't see why he should have to.
Drew got there first. Timing his entrance to a lull in the dance music, Drew waltzed languidly across the nearly empty dance floor, turning slowly to let everyone get a good look at him and to admire him. With all eyeballs on him, Drew knew he was being naughty, nothing less than a brazen show off and cock-tease. But he couldn't help himself. Exhibitionism was in his nature, a way for him, as he saw it anyway, to share the physical beauty that nature had graced him with.
As the music returned, eager suitors sought Drew out on the dance floor. Quite the social butterfly, the auburn-haired lad changed partners with every dance, and sometimes let a guy cut in during one, to the intense disappointment of those whose hopes he dashed.
"You little heartbreaker!" a familiar voice growled in his ear. Drew turned to find the twins.
"Jemsen! And Karel too!" he exclaimed as they drew him into a hug.
A collective groan all around marked the definitive disappointment of the also-rans. Some patrons recognized the twins, who were regulars in Twinkle Town. Others noticed the triple tattoos that marked them as elf-friends, dwarf-friends, and giant-friends, all three, the only living persons to be so honored. The rest of the crowd saw that there was simply no contesting the twins in the looks department. Except for a couple of elf-boys and one really cute human lad, no one else was even in the same league as the blond newcomers.
Of fully human stock, Jemsen and Karel were identical twins, young palomino colts whose well-defined wiry musculature evidenced the high level of fitness the boys maintained from all that running and swimming they did. They were blessed with cute fine-boned faces, their heads crowned with cornsilk blond hair. As with Drew their vitality and youth had been extended by the druids so the scrumptious blond beauties practically glowed with good health. The total effect was incredibly sexy.
"I thought you guys were out of town." Drew exclaimed.
"We got back this afternoon, had a bite to eat, then headed over here, and just in time from the look of things. This horny crowd looked like they were ready to haul you off to the back room for a gang-bang."
"Not to worry. If anything untoward threatened, the bouncer would have stopped it. That's him, the huge fellow at the door. As I came in I tipped him a silver to keep an eye on me. That way I wouldn't have to invoke my gift and maybe hurt a guy whose only fault was too much to drink and too much enthusiasm."
"Boy-toy good looks like yours, Drew, can generate entirely too much enthusiasm with the wrong sort."
"Tell me about it!"
"So why don't we two show folks that you are already taken. Care to dance?"
"Sure. You'll have the next dance, Karel," Drew assured the other twin.
With that the happy couple picked up the beat and whirled across the dance floor in an energetic and athletic display of supple bodies and exciting dance steps just oozing with eroticism, proving the old saying that dancing is really a vertical display of a horizontal intention.
Quite some time later, the trio adjourned to the twins' comfortable rooms with the oversized bed the twins shared. The sheets were made of high thread count linen dyed a light green that complimented the twins' blond looks and sun bronzed skins.
Now on most of their nights together, two of the trio of friends paired off, though the sexy youths sometimes frolicked in a threesome. Jemsen was the most sexually aggressive of the three; next was his twin Karel, with Drew the submissive boy-toy often getting plugged at both ends at once. Drew loved surrendering his body to whatever use the twins would make of it as they took control of his limbs and contorted his limber body into all manner of naughty positions.
The twins like to fuck him either doggy style or more typically on his back, his own hands holding his knees to spread his legs apart as the boys pumped away at his hungry hole. Drew always shuddered deliciously as the impaling cock repeatedly stroked his joy spot, as it slipped in and out, sending his small body into paroxysms of erotic ecstasy. His eyes rolled up and head whipped around as he moaned and groaned, sweat pouring off him, utterly lost in the surge of sensation.
Jemsen like to punctuate his strokes with occasional slaps to the bottom boy's buttocks, emphasizing his dominance over the smaller male beneath him. Till, in the fullness of time, one of them would reach climax, usually setting the other one off as well. If Jemsen came first, the signal for Drew to orgasm was the wet warmth he felt as Jemsen spurt his seed into his innards. For Jemsen, the trigger was the sight of Drew's small but shapely cock spurting ropes of white gism onto his chest and even his face, he ejaculated that strongly. But then he was a teenager.
"You know Drew," Jemsen enthused, "I don't know which is more exciting: taking you while your are lying on your back where I can watch your pretty face and kiss those pouty lips of yours, or mounting you from behind, when you are down on all fours, rather like a stallion mounting a filly. Do you have any idea how shapely you are back there? You are just perfect with firm boy buns, round where they should be yet flat on the flanks. And they dimple ever so fetchingly when you walk in front of me. I am so glad you are as partial to total public nudity as we are, not to mention our old friends the elves who habitually go around 'skin-clad' as they call it."
Drew also like mutual oral sex, with him and one of the twins lying on their sides, head to toe, affording easy access. The twins were past masters of the proper technique and had taught the relatively inexperienced youth all their ways for pleasuring cock. Drew was an apt pupil, a natural you might say. In short order his new-found expertise in the amatory arts matched his unbounded teenage enthusiasm.
Drew loved waking up flanked by the slender bodies of the twins. All three were utterly smooth and glabrous, with skins like silk unblemished by any body hair. For the twins, that was due to the permanent depilatories the elves had applied to their skin when they were inducted as elf-friends. In Drew's case it was due to the healing magic of the druids which rendered his hair follicles permanently quiescent. That applied to their cheeks as well. None of the trio had been old enough to grown even peach fuzz much less a man's beard and now they never would.
The druidic healing magic that boosted the vitality of all three also transformed their sebaceous glands into ordinary sweat glands which produced only salty water, to cool their bodies. Put simply, these boys smelled and tasted ever so sweet. Their skin never reeked of that off scent produced by sebaceous oils turning rancid. What you got from all three was just the smell of clean healthy boy and the taste of salt.
Naturally curious, the twins asked Drew about his training. The young journalist was eager to share. The army trainers had told Drew that he was too small to stand in the battle line shoulder to shoulder with other fighters. No need then to learn to wield the sword, the axe, or the spear. Better he should practice the unarmed combat skills the twins had taught him. In a fight, he should try to break free from his opponent and take off rather than mix it up. They recommended the same thing with wielding the kukri that the twins favored as a close in weapon. Cut your way into the clear then run for it.
Actually Drew had some ideas of his own on wielding the kukri. The twins had already showed him the basics. If he had to make a stand up fight of it, his best tactic was to use his Fetching in conjunction with his blade. For instance, if some big guy came at him wielding a full sized sword. Drew should seize the moment when his enemy raised his weapon to strike. Right arm thrust out and braced, he should yank his enemy onto the blade impaling him, then cutting downward to spill his guts onto the ground. If a comrade was in trouble, he could yank their common foe backwards onto his outstretched blade. Or he could simply disarm a foe, Fetching his weapon right out of his hand.
Drew's small size and acrobatic skills gave him an advantage in climbing or vaulting obstacles. Any town or city offered a multitude of escape routes for anyone nimble enough to take to the rooftops, hop fences, or clamber over walls. Same thing in a forest. The trainers told Drew to take up the new sport increasingly popular around the country where agile guys learned to swarm up the facades of buildings via drainpipes, projections in decorative brickwork, window sills, awnings, clothes lines, etc.
"Our group shared the techniques each of us as individuals had developed to use our magical gifts. In my case, I demonstrated my shadow boxing technique to another Fetcher who also flings steel spheres around. He agreed that my technique helped his concentration and would make him more effective."
"A firecaster shared a powder he developed working with alchemists. When it burns it produces smoke that irritates the eyes and lungs but does no permanent harm. It gives firecasters a way to be effective without killing. No clinging balls of fire and no need to turning living beings into crispy critters either. With a simple fuse, anyone can use the powder tactically. The pellets can be delivered by arrow or cross bow quarrel or dropped from a running horse to discourage pursuit."
"Now if only there were a way for all the magically gifted throughout the Commonwealth to share techniques, not just our small group. It would benefit our whole society. Unfortunately the Army said that it is not their business to organize the gifted who were not in its ranks."
"So, why don't you and some of the others set up your own organization. Call it the Confraternity of the Gifted or maybe separate confraternities for the major magical gifts of Fetching and Firecasting, and any others you can think of, like Magnetism and Thunderbolts."
"That sounds good, Jemsen, but how would it work?"
"Well, your are the journalist here, Drew", Jemsen replied. "Publish a newsletter available by subscription and distributed via the postal service. Announce your new venture in the news sheets to drum up subscribers and contributors and advertisers. The venture will also give you invaluable experience as an editor."
"You know, I just might do that!"
And he did, publishing bi-monthly for starters. Drew persuaded Angus McFarden to lead the Confraternity of Fetchers and Fyrd Kalmen the Firecasters. As editor, he relied on their experience and expertise to evaluate the suggestions and contributions from the membership. As a contributor Drew wrote of his techniques with his steel spheres, drugged darts, and kukri.
Within a year the Transactions of the Confraternities of the Gifted had thirty thousand subscribers with that figure looking to double in the next year when the publication went to a monthly schedule. The gifted were being inspired to start new business which capitalized on their talents while prospective employers placed hiring notices to meet their needs. The Commonwealth could only benefit from the maximization of the talents of its citizens.
The publication was not a big money-maker, though something was left over after expenses. Drew did not draw a salary, viewing his work for the quarterly as his personal contribution to the betterment of the Commonwealth. His uncle's print shop ran off the copies at cost, which was his own contribution to the project.
Though the newsletter reached only a tiny fraction of the ten of millions of Commonwealth citizens, those it did reach were among the most gifted. Drew's publication had become a catalyst for the application of magical gifts to business and industry. All of which was just one more indication of the strength of civil society in the Commonwealth of the Long River, known with good reason, as the benign hegemon of the continent.
Chapter 3. Elysion
"Say, isn't that the druid Dahlderon waiting with Count Klarendes at the gate of the manor?" Drew Altair asked, somewhat perplexed. "I thought he was on assignment to the continent of Karelia."
"Shh! That's a state secret, Drew." Artor admonished. "Don't repeat it anywhere, not even among friends. No till Dahl, Owen, and Merry get back."
"Get back? Then that isn't really Dahl with Klarendes yet that fellow looks like his identical twin. I mean I met Dahl only once. We spent three days together when the druids boosted my vitality with their healing magic. And anyway, where is Aodh? I am as much surprised not to find the little shapeshifter at the count's side."
"And thereby hangs a tale." Artor intoned cryptically.
Drew shot him a questioning look but realized he would get nothing out of Artor who wasn't a Dread Hand of the Commonwealth for nothing. Among the many qualities the Commonwealth's troubleshooters were known for was their close-mouthedness.
Klarendes greeted his son and heir Artor and his guest, the young journalist Drew Altair whom he had met twice before during interviews the count had granted some months earlier. Klarendes was also familiar with the Drew's reporting in the Capital Intelligencer.
In addition he had read Drew's new book with great interest. It was an extended account, illustrated with Drew's own sketches, of the recent war with the centaurs. Drew himself and Artor had fought heroically in two pitched battles against the creatures.
The account began with Finn Ragnarson's diplomatic approach to Klarendes, the peace talks with Lord Zaldor in the far North, the Long March of the Frost Giants across the Hot Lands and the Western Plains, the war of the Commonwealth and the Frost Giants allied against the centaurs which led to the latter's utter extermination, the emigration of thousands of Frost Giants from the Commonwealth to the newly conquered land they called New Varangia, and finally their early efforts to establish civilization in what had always been a hunting preserve for the carnivorous centaurs.
"No need to stand on ceremony with us, young Altair. Just set your kit in your room, make yourself comfortable, and come down for refreshments on the veranda."
That was an indirect way of saying that when Drew rejoined his host he would not be amiss showing up in the nude or skin-clad like the young druid or the count's spouse, the missing shapeshifter Aodh, or, by now, the young heir as well. When not professionally engaged Drew usually practiced total public nudity and not just during exercise or athletics. Whenever he was not on assignment Drew pranced around the capital with nary a stitch, not a breechclout, not even one of those genital pouches that he was now old enough to wear. Though eighteen, Drew looked a year or two younger because of his small stature and delicate features.
Casual public nudity was the usual thing among the youth and young men of the Commonwealth and most other lands and especially among male elves in their secluded vales. After a month in uniform, Drew was more than ready for an extended period of casual living, which was one reason why he had taken up his friend Artor's invitation to the spring festival in Elysion.
Another reason was his longing for the young shapeshifter. When they had met before, Drew was visiting Elysion in a professional capacity, so he refrained from making advances to Aodh. The fact is that Drew was strongly attracted to the exotic youth, spouse of the nobleman, sometime minstrel, and a wir or shapeshifter whose alternate form was that of a black panther. Nor did Aodh did seem indifferent to Drew's evident interest in him.
In his human form Aodh was so beautiful he took your breath away. Impossibly pretty, he was a melding of the innocent and the wanton, the epitome of a boy in the full bloom of his youth. Large green eyes dominated the stunning face of the androgynous youth which tapered from a wide brow down a pert nose to a narrow chin. Adding to his fey look, the wir was sloe-eyed, his orbs shaped like almonds and slanted faintly upward above prominent cheekbones. From there the planes of his face tapered to a small mouth with pouty lips just begging to be kissed and a sharp chin. Aodh's eyebrows bent in a angle rather than a round arch. The boy wore his hair in a shaggy cut with bangs and tapering sideburns that framed a face as cute as a kitten.
Small, skinny, and smooth muscled, standing five foot zero and only two pounds over a hundredweight, with a skin like porcelain, he looked utterly fragile and vulnerable. Actually, thanks to his magical nature, the epicene youth was twice as strong as he looked well as being a master of the martial arts.
"So do I call you Dahl or what?" Drew asked the young druid who wasn't one. "And am I right is guessing that you are really Aodh wearing someone else's form?"
"Correct, but you must call me Dahl to maintain the masquerade. My job is to give the impression that the druid Dahlderon is here in residence, working with the old manuscripts in the library and also regaining his mental equilibrium after a trying mission to the lands of the eastern barbarians. In a month or so, 'Dahl' will set forth on a mission and return next year for another visit."
"As to why the masquerade, the absence of three of the strongest druids on this continent might be seen as weakness. True there are now a score of druids all told, but most won't come into their full power for a century."
"I never knew you wirs could assume another human form!"
"That ability is not something we talk about much. We like to keep that trick up our sleeve, so to speak. The fewer who know about it, the more likely an impersonation will succeed. It might be the only way to escape from danger. Promise me I won't read anything about this in your newsletter for the Confraternities of the Gifted."
"Sure thing. My lips are sealed."
"I should explain that we wirs find it very difficult to master an extra form. The subject must be someone we know well, preferably intimately. And it has to be someone of the same mass. I could never impersonate the twins for instance since I cannot trade bulk for height."
"Right. Short and skinny as you are it has to be someone your own size. Someone our size really."
"With your permission, I hope to use you as a template too. Of course, I don't know you that well, Drew, not yet anyway, and certainly not intimately."
"We could remedy that, Aodh. If that is all right with you and Count Klarendes."
"Don't let any concern for me stop you," Klarendes said. My spouse is his own man and makes his own choices. I know that I am secure in his affections. I also know that we males crave variety. I can hardly expect a boy as highly sexed as Aodh is to be content with only a single partner for the centuries we can expect to share our lives. Besides, Aodh sees how much you fancy him, Drew. Your tongue practically hangs out whenever he's around."
"Am I really that obvious?" Drew asked.
"I'll take that for a rhetorical question." the count observed blandly. "So don't be surprised when Aodh slips into your room over the next few nights."
"I am looking forward to it." Drew declared fervently.
Just then Klarendes' other feline companion, the personable ginger cat Esmeralda, padded onto the veranda. Instead of going over to Klarendes she sniffed at the visitor and remembered his scent from his previous visits. Esmeralda jumped into Drew's lap, stood up on her hind legs, and rubbed the side of her face against his, marking him as one of her humans. Drew smiled and stroked her glossy coat.
In a stage whisper, and with a quick glance at Aodh, Artor said to him: "Let that be a lesson to you. Cats like to be petted."
Drew winked to show that he got the message.
That evening, as arranged, Drew made a production of being fatigued and went up to his room early. He stripped the bed of all but the bottom sheet and lay down. A half hour later Aodh slipped into the room, his nude body gleaming in the moonlight that streamed through the window.
"Aodh, tell me why you are sneaking around. It's not like our assignation is a secret.
"It's the feline in me. Prowling around at night is what we do."
"OK, just so long as you don't yowl like a feline when you make love."
"Very funny."
Drew smiled as the beautiful boy settled beside him. Not giving Aodh a chance to take the lead, Drew rolled onto his side and laid a light kiss on the raven-haired boy's pouty lips then moved on to his chin and then his cheeks. Drew's right hand roamed over the exquisite body lying next to him, petting, and rubbing, and stroking, starting at the shoulders, then fingering the chevron of his ribs. Drew's thumb traced the depths of Aodh's navel, the blade of his left hip, and squeezed his butt cheek lightly. Aodh wriggled closer, his arms held loose at his sides to give Drew total access to his torso.
Drew's kisses migrated lower, first to the tiny red nipples which he licked and nibbled tantalizingly. Then his tongue explored Aodh's deep navel. The effect on the young wir was all too obvious as his cock swelled and turned red, engorged with blood. Drew touched the back of his hand to the sensitive area of the wir's inner thighs, drawing an intake of breath from the younger male as his legs spread involuntarily, opening himself for penetration.
Aodh's ball sac drew up tight to his body, the swollen cock cantilevered over his flat belly as Drew's tongue traced the vein of his cock from the balls up the shaft, linger to flutter the tip at Drew's sweet spot. Meanwhile, Drew's fingers were probing Aodh's sweet hole, their entry eased by the sweet oil the boy had applied as a lubricant.
It wasn't long before the stimulation of cock and prostate had its predicable effect Aodh's seed spurted onto his chest and belly to the vocal accompaniment of oohs and has, moans and groans though Drew's ears were spared a genuine feline yowl. As the wir lay back in post-coital lassitude, Drew gently thumbed his deflating cock, rubbing the sweet spot with his thumb, making the boy shudder in erotic torment.
"Ooh, ooh, ah."
"Hurt too much? Do you want me to stop?"
"No. It's a good hurt. I only wish these feelings could last longer."
"I know exactly what you mean. This is why sex with another male is so satisfying. We know each other's bodies. I am so glad the count was willing to share you with me. He is quite the understanding spouse, Count Klarendes is."
"As am I, if you take my meaning, my pretty red-head."
"What? You don't mean the count actually fancies me?"
"And why should he not? We are much the same type aren't we: short and skinny and smooth and impossibly cute."
"I prefer to think of myself as lithe or gracile rather than skinny."
"Have it your way, Drew. Uh, I have to ask, does Taitos have a chance with you, Drew?"
"Now that you ask, I would have to say yes. His handsome face suggests both strength and warmth of character, and his body is strongly built. All that clean country living. Anyway, let's leave him for the future. Now is our time together, hopefully not just once like your brief tryst with Finn."
"Not to worry. I just had to try it out, having sex with a Frost Giant. At seventeen, Finn stood only six inches over six feet, so small enough for me to handle. Now someone the size of Old Arn, more than two foot taller, well forget about it. Besides, I fancy you at least as much as you fancy me. And it's not just looks. Personality and brains count too with both of us. In the brains department we complement each other, me more with maths and you more with words."
"And the twins are strong in both areas."
"Fine, but that is enough talk about other boys. Come here, you."
As Drew straddled him and impaled himself on Aodh's manhood, Aodh braced his legs and thrust away for all he was worth. Drew raised and lowered himself onto the rampant cock, shuddering and shivering with lust and delight. In the fullness of time, both lovers reached climax with Drew spurting his seed on the young wir's belly and chest. Afterwards, they lay together, their sweaty bodies glued together by his ejaculate as they lovers kissed sweetly and sighed their contentment.
The next morning, as he woke up next to the lovely boy he had frolicked with so happily the night before, Drew asked:
"So, Aodh, now that you have known me intimately are you ready to become my double?
Aodh shook his head and explained that imprinting the template of another human takes time. Even then, after the new form is learned, the transformation itself takes longer than usual and is more difficult. Also Aodh could not transform from that new form directly into a panther but must take on his true human form first. Two steps then instead of one to bring out the beast in him.
As for a true impersonation, one good enough to fool people who knew the model for the template, magic could do only so much. It took observation and mimicry to copy the walk, body language, voice, speech patterns, and mannerisms of another person. Still good enough to fool strangers was usually enough to slip through a dragnet that was looking for someone else entirely.
Over the next ten days, the young lovers were inseparable. The pair traipsed around around the valley often hand in hand, obviously young lovers who had just found each other. Both boys were visions of youthful male pulchritude blessed with exquisite fine-boned faces and trim and taut physiques which they put totally on display as neither bothered with clothing.
Aodh took Drew on the grand tour of Elysion. The secluded valley was shaped like a bowl about eight miles across, ringed by mountains and closed off to the east by vertiginous cliffs through which the river that drained these lands flowed through a deep ravine to the Eastern Plains beyond.
The dark green of the forested slopes was broken here and there by cleared areas cut for timber. Sheep meadows and vineyards on the lower slopes gave way to flatlands with pastures, orchards, grain fields, kitchen gardens, and other works of man.
Everything within the mountain ring was Klarendes property save the village in the center and the arable lands immediately around it: fields, orchards, pastures, and hay fields. Farmers were yeomen freeholders, owning their acres. The other villagers were free men who worked in shops or smithies or taverns or were in the direct employ of the domain itself at fair wages. Most owned their own homes though some rented rooms.
All of which explained the obvious harmony and prosperity Drew saw all around in the cheerful faces of children off to school and the cleanliness, vigor, and robust good health of the yeoman and artisans, and women folk.
The counts of Elysion no longer exacted feudal dues and hadn't for centuries. Their income came from exploiting the lands they personally owned which lay beyond the farms and included the timberlands and sheepfolds in the mountains, the well-tended vineyards on the hilly slopes, a small silver mine, and the scenic waterfall, site of a popular resort. The count also drew an income from his considerable real estate interests in nearby towns as well as other investments farther afield.
Like everyone else the counts paid local taxes levied by a council of elders for the upkeep of roads and bridges, for the provision of public services such as the school and the infirmary, and the maintenance of the fortifications at the head of the gorge that lead to the outside world.
"If only every place were as peaceful and prosperous as Elysion. The people here are very lucky."
"Well they work hard for it Drew. It doesn't just happen. Yes we have peace but war has come to these lands before and might do so again, hence the fortified gate at the cliffs which we call the Stone Castle. The barracks are empty but stand ready to house the Army of the Plains in case it needs Elysion as a redoubt. A warehouse stocks enough rations to feed ten thousand men for a hundred days."
"Speaking of war, I should tell you that I am researching another book, this one about the recent wars with the eastern barbarians. I got a lot of information from the twins and I hope to get more insights from both you and Count Klarendes while I am here. As for the druid you are impersonating, I interviewed Dahl and Merry about their adventures and took notes during our three days together. Lord Zaldor has graciously arranged for my free access to the state archives in the capital."
"So you are both a journalist and an historian, not to mention your recent turn at soldiering as 'the Fighting Fetcher of the Centaur War'."
"Please! I am trying to lived down the silly sobriquet which my publisher used to publicize my book, much to my chagrin."
"Your publisher. That would be your father."
"Right."
After breakfast Aodh took Drew by the kennels to see Klarendes' gigantic Molossian hunting hounds. The kennels proper opened onto a area some five acres in extent entirely enclosed by bamboo to keep the rambunctious animals from running loose without supervision. Aodh led Drew through the gate and explained that the Molossian were friends with him even in his panther form. As if on cue, a couple of the hounds bounded over and licked his face. Aodh wrestled a bit with them, and, after a moment of hesitation, Drew joined in the genial rough-housing. Fierce as they could be in the hunt, Molossians had a reputation for being good with people and kids.
As they left the enclosure Drew reminded Aodh that he had never seen him transform so he asked Aodh to demonstrate. Aodh nodded.
His figure blurred as his outlines flowed and assumed new proportions. Within seconds, the pretty boy-toy whom Drew had bedded turned into a sleek black panther. Aodh leaped and ran around a bit then reared up and slashed the air with his claws, snarling to look fierce. Then he dropped down and morphed back into the Aodh Drew knew.
Affecting a supercilious attitude, Drew noted: "I expected a full-throated roar from you not just a snarl."
Aodh patiently explained that panthers simply could not roar. Their throats were not shaped for it.
"I'll bet if I hooked my claws into you, you would roar, all right!" the pretty wir teased.
"Hmm. I liked you better last night when you purred. Actually I was amazed that you could do it in your human form as well."
"Purring is one of our most endearing characteristics. We cats rely on our charm as much as our hunting skills to prosper among humans."
"Speaking of transformations, how do you juggle which form to wear, Dahl's or your own?"
"Folks are used to seeing me run off in my panther form on a hunting trip that might last several days. It is easy enough to slip back into the manor house at night with no one the wiser. The next morning, the druid 'Dahlderon' comes down to breakfast and sits on the veranda showing his face in public."
"It's not like we have genuine spies in our midst. We just want word to get out that a druid is in residence here. We have even planted stories in the local paper to that effect. Remember the Commonwealth's hegemony does not go unchallenged along the periphery of our sphere of influence. The eastern barbarians are always restless and dangerous in the successor states that have arisen from the ruins of the military-industrial nexus built by the life-leech Urloch. Then too there is that militaristic state in the far west which occupies Lord Zaldor's attention. Actually I am not up on the geopolitical challenges the Commonwealth faces. If you need to know more, talk with Taitos. He is the grand strategist in the family."
Chapter 4. Brontotheres
A week later came bad news. A band of centaurs had attacked ranches in the northern stretch of the Eastern Plains. The regional governor wrote to ask for Klarendes' help in tracking them down. The count's Molossian hunting hounds, his tracking skills and firecasting gift, and his experience fighting centaurs were exactly what was needed to deal with the marauders.
This was a job for hunters not soldiers, hence the message was carried by an officer of the civilian constabulary, a Lieutenant Pieter Gern, along with ten of his constables. Unlike the patrolmen of the City Watch, the Constabulary operated in rural zone and in the wilderness areas. Constables were recruited from country lads who were good riders and trackers.
Unfortunately Count Klarendes had been called away just days earlier to the town of Sunda on urgent business. It seems a fire had ravaged one of the commercial districts and destroyed several buildings he owned there.
Wearing his silks, Artor received the officer on the veranda, read the governor's letter, then told the lieutenant that he himself would deal with the centaurs. He would also assume command of the expedition:
"Since my father Count Klarendes is unavailable, I'll be in charge. The servants will gather supplies, mounts and pack horses, and ready our Molossian hounds. I'll also bring four of my father's mounted retainers. They are lancers who have fought centaurs before. Meanwhile Lieutenant Gern, be so good as to fill me in on what you know already."
"Now hold on there, young Klarendes. Who said you were in charge? You may be the count's son and heir, but these men answer to me, not to you."
Artor let him down easy.
"Lieutenant, everyone answers to a Hand of the Commonwealth" Artor replied softly, displaying his credentials by triggering the small magic that made his right hand glow with a pearly effulgence.
The constabulary officer blanched. No one wanted to get on the wrong side of a Hand. The Dread Hands of the Commonwealth, to give them their full title, were the chief trouble shooters of the state, empowered with plenipotentiary authority should they see fit to exercise it.
"I didn't know, sir. Of course, we are entirely at your disposal."
"Fine. I would also like to invite a sometime comrade in arms to accompany us. Are you game, Drew?"
"Him!" Gern blurted out. "A bare-assed boy-toy! What can he do?"
"Don't be fooled by his looks. My friend Drew Altair has gotten very good at killing centaurs with those steel spheres of his, as he showed during the recent war."
"Steel spheres... war. You don't mean that journalist and deadly Fetcher? Him?"
"Yes, Lieutenant, him, that is me. And I don't wonder at your incredulity. I get that a lot, but I didn't earn this tattoo as a giant friend for nothing."
"And yes, I am a boy-toy all right, just not Lord Artor's toy. Artor Klarendes consorts exclusively with the female half of the species, whereas I lean exclusively the other way."
"I see that I have badly misjudged the whole situation. My apologies to both of you."
"No hard feelings, Lieutenant." Artor said speaking for both of them. "Now to business."
Leaving Aodh behind to maintain his masquerade as Dahlderon, the small detachment of centaur hunters rode north across the grasslands of the Eastern Plains. Both Artor and Drew were in uniform. Artor had invoked his authority as a Hand to activate Drew's commission as an ensign in the reserves. Both young males wore slouch hats to shield their heads and shade their eyes from the bright sun. The Eastern Plains offered little in the way of shade save in gallery forests along streams or scattered copses watered by the runoff from hills and slopes.
On his feet Drew wore short boots with thick heels that fit more securely in the stirrups than a flat sole, giving the inexperienced rider a more secure seat in the saddle. Like the constabulary officer, Drew wore a leather belt supported by a narrower strap passing diagonally over his right shoulder. The belt held the young ensign's weaponry: steel balls, tranquilizing darts, and the kukri at his left hip plus a water gourd.
"Now that you are on active duty, Ensign Altair, don't forget the rule against fraternization in the ranks. And yes I do mean our handsome young officer of the constabulary."
"I am sure I don't know what you are talking about, Artor."
"Right! I happen to know that besides petite guys like yourself and Aodh, you are also attracted to males who are tall and powerfully built like Finn and a certain constabulary lieutenant who goes by the name of Pieter Gern."
"Come on Artor. For all you know, the lieutenant fancies females."
"No he doesn't, not the way he looked at you just now."
"In which case, Young Lord Spoilsport, you can count on me to observe the proprieties -- under protest."
"Fair enough."
Drew accepted the situation philosophically. After all, his attraction to the young officer was casual and purely physical. Not like his bond with the twins, Finn, or now Aodh which were so much more than that. His new friends offered more than just sexy bodies. They were people with bright minds and engaging personalities, people he had come to like and respect, people he liked to spend time with, people he hoped to go through life with. That also applied to his firm friendship with Artor, forged in war as comrades in arms, though without any sexual component.
Drew loved them all without being life-bonded the way Klarendes and Aodh were or the way the twins were with each other. Jemsen and Karel were not only identical twin brothers but lovers, comrades in arms, and each other's best friend.
True their backgrounds were different. Artor was an aristocrat, an heir to a title and lands. Though wealthy now and titled, Sirs Jemsen and Karel were originally country lads of modest means. Drew's family had been comfortably well off for generations -- not rich exactly but no one worried about money. Finn and Aodh's circumstances in their homelands were also modest. As a beneficiary of Balandur's will as well from being Klarendes' spouse Aodh was now very well off in his own right. He too had been knighted for service to the Commonwealth and was addressed in full as Sir Aodh of LLangollen and Elysion.
Of them all, only Drew himself was born in the Commonwealth and in the capital at that, which made him a real city boy. The twins grew up in the forests northwest of the League of Independent Towns. The land of the wirs from which Aodh hailed was a hidden valley thousands of miles to the east. And Finn Ragnarson came from the district of (Old) Varangia in the chilly land of the Frost Giants.
Drew reflected on how lucky he was to have such friends not to mention centuries of youth and vitality ahead of him. No longer a boy in a hurry to capitalize on his fleeting youth, Drew was less interested these days in shallow relationships.
Besides his friends, Drew's ties to his family were strong. He was the apple of his father's eye and worked well with both him and his older brother, his publisher and editor respectively. Drew somehow managed to juggle three careers as a journalist, historian, and activist for the community of the gifted. And while not exactly his personal friends, he had the good will of influential figures like Lords Klarendes and Zaldor, General Urqaart, and the chiefs of the Frost Giants.
Life was good.
The next day the expedition set off down the recently paved road to connect with the military road that ran north from Dalnot. Its right-of-way was really two roadways in one. One was a carriage-way paved with flat stones which served horses shod in iron, whether mounts or draft animals. The heavy infantry of the regular army also marched on the pavement in their sturdy hob-nailed sandals. Travelers who went barefoot or in soft foot gear took the other walkway. Its firm but resilient surface was designed for them and for the unshod feet of oxen, aurochs, and camels. The top level of that roadway was a composite made of sawdust and bitumen. compressed and heated, then laid in squares over the same substrate as the stone paved roadway alongside.
They made good time. As their horses tired, riders switched to remounts, which let them canter rather than clop along at a walk. They took lodgings at travelers' inns in the villages and towns they came upon. In these regions, farmers lived close together in villages, working the surrounding arable lands, but ranches were scattered across the landscape, each housing perhaps twenty persons.
After a hot day in the sun, their was nothing better than stopping at a village or town, to find some shade, put a roof over their heads, sleep in soft beds, eat hot food and quaff fortifying beverages. The more adventurous even sought out willing girls or wine boys.
When distances between towns were too long, the hunters camped beside the road, a much less satisfactory state of affairs, especially from a culinary point of view, having to satisfy their hunger with only way-bread, fruit, and dried meats and cheese, or whatever stew their cook could put together from chance-taken small game.
Late one afternoon, Drew lifted the spirits of the whole company when he brought down two fat bustards which their approach had startled into flight. Among the largest of flying birds, each weighed nearly thirty pounds (13 kilos). As the birds rose into the sky Drew fished out a small steel ball the size of a marble.
"Bird shot" he explained to Artor.
Flipping the ball into the air with his thumb, he sent it off at high velocity to intercept the birds. Startled squawks marked their passing as the steel sphere did its deadly work before zipping back into Drew's outstretched hand. Before the carcasses of the bustards could fall to ground, Drew Fetched them into the laps of two of the constables.
"Er, yes," the lieutenant said, quick on the uptake. "Pluck and dress those birds would you? You get first dibs on portions after Ensign Altair."
The two constables nodded, satisfied that their lieutenant was playing fair with them in the assignment of camp duties.
Raising his voice Lieutenant Gern ordered the column to halt and make an early camp. While the bird were being plucked and dressed, the cook buried wild tubers in the earth and built a fire over them to roast the tubers and grill the birds too.
The lieutenant was gratified with Artor's respect for his own chain of command whose attitude was that his command of the expedition as a whole did not mean taking command of the constables away from their officer. So Artor never gave direct orders to the constables and tried to consult beforehand with the lieutenant and Drew about strategy.
After the paved road petered out, their route took them through the nature reserve the Commonwealth had established a decade earlier for a herd of brontotheres transplanted from the land far to the East which they shared harmoniously with the wirs. This was familiar ground to the young journalist. Drew had visited the range a year earlier and written an article for his new sheet, the Capital Intelligencer.
Bizarre in the extreme, brontotheres were enormous animals, standing as high at the shoulder as a Frost Giant. Brontotheres had thick skin which hung in folds and served for armor. They were armed with two horns set side by side pointing forward. The charge of a herd of brontotheres was said to be unstoppable. Not for nothing were they called the juggernauts of the jungle.
The farmers who grew cabbages and sugar beets for the brontotheres told of a clash between their charges and the centaurs. It seems that after attacking the herds of local ranchers, a trio of centaurs foolishly thought to cut out several young brontotheres from the herd, the first generation of those born on their new range. Though still only the size of large steers, the five youngsters roared a challenge to the centaurs and squared off to fight them, unequal as the match might be. Their only advantage was that their thick skins protected them against the javelins the centaurs used in the hunt. The centaurs would have to get close enough to stab rather than just throw. The articulation of their arms meant that centaurs could not wield spears or bows.
Hearing their calls for help, the matriarch of the herd formed her charges into a defensive circle, heads and horns facing outward while two young bulls charged off to the rescue. Now brontotheres are much too heavy to gallop, a gait where all four feet are off the ground at one time, if only briefly. Their charge is more in the way of a fast shuffle, which, given the length of their legs, is very fast indeed.
The centaurs turned to face the oncoming bulls but their javelins just bounced off their skulls and thick skin. The beasts closed with their foes impaling them on their horns and bowling them over with their momentum to be trampled underfoot. The bulls turned back and reared up, bringing the full weight of their forequarters onto the prostrate bodies of the hapless centaurs, stomping them into the ground. It was over in moments. The centaurs had learned the hard lesson brontotheres had taught to so many foes down the ages: Don't mess with us.
"These marauders must be stragglers from the centaurs who besieged the Frost Giants in that military staging area up north." Artor opined. "There can't be too many of them left."
"Not yet, but suppose they have females with them. Given time their numbers will increase. And here we had thought they were extinct."
"Which they will be after we're done." affirmed the lieutenant.
"Actually centaurs are facultative hermaphrodites," Drew explained. "Most of the time and always when on the hunt or at war, their bodies are male with the female organs atrophied. If conditions are favorable for it, some will transform into functioning females, couple with males, and lay eggs. We were lucky in our war in New Varangia, that all the centaurs were in their male phase, evidently waiting for the depleted population of game animals in the homeland to rebound after the migration of thousands of centaurs to the Eastern Plains relieved the pressure from overhunting."
Chapter 5. Centaurs
Riding northwards on dirt roads, the expedition finally reached the zone the centaurs had claimed as their new hunting grounds. The column reined in outside the gate of a large ranch. Artor, Lieutenant Gern, and Drew rode through the gate up to the front porch of the ranch house.
"Welcome, strangers," a grizzled rancher greeted them. "My name is Tham Berro. This is my ranch. By your uniforms you must be the help we sent for to deal with these murdering centaurs. Killed two herd boys, they did, as well as a passel of livestock."
Artor introduced the three of them and asked about using the ranch as their base camp. Berro was more than willing. The number of livestock their efforts would save him dwarfed the expense of putting sixteen men up for a few weeks.
Berro showed them to an empty barn for a roof over their heads against the rain. Considerable rain fell on the the extensive grassland but mostly in the rainy season, turning the flat landscape into a temporary wetland and making the region unfit for raising crops. The rainy season was nearly upon them, which was why the hunters had pushed the pace on their way north.
Berro's spare barn had a corral and its own well, hand pump, and horse troughs. His ranch hands brought in clean straw, hay, and oats for their horses. The lieutenant had his men settle in with the intention of resting for a day after their long journey before going hunting.
Nearby was one of the continuous flow latrines so typical of the Commonwealth. A diversion from a nearby stream fed the constant flow of water under the seats. A trickle ran in a small trough behind the footrest. You did your business and wiped your butt with a fresh-water sponge on a stick. Then you rinsed the sponge in the trough and hung it where it was exposed to the sun which dried and sanitized it for the next user. The waste was flushed by gravity into the stream lower down. Hence no odors and no flies. The three holer had four walls, but the sloping roof covered only two thirds of the space enclosed as shelter from wind and rain.
The men also hung a portable shower, which was nothing more than a canvas bucket with a wooden shower head attached to the base. Hungry eyes feasted on the nude form of the young journalist as he performed his evening ablutions, the water streaming down his belly and back, sluicing through his rear cleavage and parting around the prow of his cock.
"There's a real beauty, Lord Artor," the ranch owner observed to his guest. "Young Altair has one of those physiques that is more about quality than quantity, petite but with a wiry musculature. His skin is smooth and entirely glabrous which looks good on a lively lad. The lad's prettier than any girl I ever lay with, that is for sure."
"I am aware of the effect that the boy's physical appearance has on many males though not on myself. To be candid, I have never really understood all the fuss some men make over pretty boys."
"I take it then that you are entirely conventional in your tastes. A pity. For myself, I take beauty where I find it, in the male as well as the female."
Drew stepped away from the shower and dried off in the late afternoon sun, electing to stay naked until supper. That was not just for comfort. He knew he was under scrutiny, and here was his chance to display the trim and taut body he had so recently grown into. All right, maybe he was being a show-off, but if there was ever a time for it, surely it was when you were young and beautiful and desirable.
Supper was a hearty meal for once rather the the usual light fare in the evening. The hot food went over well with the hungry travelers. As the men consumed the filling country fare, the rancher noted:
"I saw that four of your men are lancers, Lord Artor. Good. That is exactly what is needed against these creatures. Three of my own men wield the lance, all veterans of the Army of the Plains who fought at the Battle of the Great Entrapment. They know the lay of the land hereabouts and would like to help as guides."
"We are happy to have them. My personal retainers have also killed centaurs. That was during a raid on Elysion some years ago."
"I see, but those four are the only lancers among you."
"My constables are our trackers and night guards and camp factotums." Lieutenant Gern explained. "Three of them can call light so nothing can sneak up on us or our remuda out of the dark."
"Besides, two of our number have powerful magical gifts. Lord Artor is not only a Dread Hand of the Commonwealth, he is also a Firecaster. His friend Ensign Altair is a Fetcher who can fling steel spheres around with deadly effect. Both fought valiantly in the recent war against the centaurs."
"Of course! I knew I had heard those names before. Ensign Altair, would you oblige me by autographing my copy of your book."
"Happy to, sir."
The next day the hunt began. The hunters were in a race against the oncoming rainy season which made travel across the flooded or at least spongy landscape difficult. Once the rains fell, the livestock would be herded to areas slightly higher than the water-logged lowlands.
Berro's guides led the hunting party to the site of the killings of the herd boys. It was far too late to track the marauders back to their nest, but the guides pointed out what they had found at the time, how the centaurs used the patches of woodlands to hide their approach then rushed upon the hapless youths.
"Why kill a couple of skinny kids when there were all these fat steers around?" The lieutenant asked.
"Centaurs prefer the taste of human flesh to beef." Drew replied, drawing on what he had read in the only two scientific monographs ever written about the beasts, both published posthumously from reconstructed drafts and field notes. His remarks brought looks of grim determination on the faces of the entire hunting party.
Two days later, guided by the trackers, the hunters crested a ridge and spotted a pair of retreating centaurs in the open the better part of a mile a way, too far for Artor to throw fire either as a stream or as a great clinging ball of flame. Drew called a halt then dug a pair of glass globes out of his saddle bag. They held the dark oily liquid, the one that clung to its target.
"Artor, can you set oil aflame from this distance?"
"That I can do. So if you would be so good, Ensign Altair..."
With a jaunty salute, Drew flung the globes at the retreating centaurs in a high ballistic arc taking close control only as they neared their targets. As the glass globes struck the backs of the centaurs and shattered, Artor invoked his gift and set the oil alight. The centaurs writhed with pain, unable to continue their flight. Four lancers, two ranch hands and two of Klarendes' retainers charged the stricken centaurs and drove their lances deep into their bodies, killing them.
"This was a good beginning, with honors all around to our guides, trackers, lancers, and those with magical gifts," the lieutenant observed.
That set the pattern for the next two weeks. The hunters sometimes returned to camp with nothing to show for their efforts, but most days they killed one or two centaurs who lived scattered across the region. The Molossians proved their worth again and again as they flushed centaurs who had concealed themselves in thick brush.
Eventually the hunters found the nest or rather the nursery, for the eggs of the centaurs had hatched. With disgust on his face at the sight of the foul younglings and their dam, Artor invoked white fire [subatomic plasma] so that nothing would be left of the monsters, not even charred bits or ashes.
Centaurs were finally extinct on the continent of Valentia and good riddance.
On Artor's recommendation, the ten constables and their officer were later decorated and awarded a handsome bonus. Drew had his own bonus and the salary he had earned while on active duty turned over to the ranch hands who had taken part in the hunt. For the young journalist, the adventure itself was compensation enough, not least because once again he got to put his byline on a scoop published by the Capital Intelligencer.
Perhaps best of all was the welcome Aodh gave Drew when he and Artor returned to Elysion.
Author's Note
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This story is one of an occasional series about the further adventures of the characters introduced in the fantasy novel 'Elf-Boy and Friends' and published by Nifty Archive. The chief protagonist of the novel, Dahlderon, elf-boy and druid, will appear in these stories in a supporting rather than starring role. Each story stands on its own, with the focus on one or just a few of the original characters. This story 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 recent 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.
Comments and feedback welcome.