The Knights of the Road

Knights of the Road - Part 1

By Pfantazm

Thom stood on the only patch of unpaved turf for a mile in any direction.

Thom had his sword at the ready. His hair was plastered down on the top of his head, away from his eyes. His opponent stood waiting, for what Thom didn't know.

The other man began his attack.

He brought his sword around to take a slice at Thom's left arm, but Thom's blade was there to block it. The other man made to cut Thom's leg from under him, but Thom arrived first.

Thom saw an opening and tried to catch his opponent in his exposed side, but he danced away in time to dodge. Thom used this momentum to keep his adversary retreating. There was the chance he would slip in the mud. The other man caught the blade near the hilt and parried one of Thom's thrusts. Now he was on the defensive again.

The swordsman prepared to make a high slash at Thom's head. He raised his sword to block, but it was a feint. The other man's sword detoured downward, slipping under Thom's arm and into his side.

When the sword struck him, Thom leaned into the pain, lost his balance and fell in the mud. The other man, whose name was Peleas, stood over his fallen foe and made one quick slashing motion in front of Thom's neck before he could react, signifying the killing stroke. Peleas stuck the wooden practice sword in the ground and helped the "dead" man to his feet.

Sir Peleas was King Dunstan's swordsmanship instructor. It was he who had convinced Sir Rhys to remove the paving stones from the practice field, and to institute practice sessions outdoors rain or shine. It seemed to work. The rate of deaths of High Guardsmen from swordplay had gone down.

Peleas was a very strict teacher. He had practice duels with each of his students to gauge their progress. The first time Thom and he had sparred, Peleas won easily. Thom found himself tripped up and breathless on the turf in less than a minute. When Peleas had offered him a hand up and Thom had accepted it, Peleas punched him in the stomach, the hilt of his sword still in his fist. "Never accept a hand up from an enemy. I hadn't killed you, so the fight wasn't over. That's your first lesson." From then on, no sparring match ended until one of them made a "kill".

Peleas had ridden Thom extra hard because of the short time Thom had to train. King Dunstan had given Thom, and his new partner, Madoc, two weeks to prepare for their new assignment. Tomorrow, they would begin chasing down the most ruthless band of marauders the King could find.

"I wish you wouldn't keep hitting me in that same spot. I'm getting a nasty bruise," Thom said.

"I wouldn't be able to hit you in that same spot if you didn't keep making the same mistake. You look in my eyes, Thom, not my sword, not my arms and certainly not my feet. You look down and you're dead. Go and practice with Dorian for a while."

Thom nodded and slogged over to the portico where his own real sword waited. He traded blades and walked out in the downpour toward Dorian's area.

Having Dorian around was another of Peleas' ideas. It made no sense, the reasoning went, to give a swordsmanship instructor a real blade to work with, since he would have to hold back to keep him from wounding his students. It also made no sense to arm the students fully, in case they wound their instructors which, if the instruction had any effect, should happen fairly often. This all explained the wooden practice swords, but the students also had to use their real swords so that they are comfortable with them. What you need is an instructor you aren't afraid to injure.

Dorian was a highwayman once, and instead of simply being executed when he was caught, he was made to fight for his life every day as the Guardsmen's target.

Dorian took it all in stride. He was paying for his crimes, doing valuable work, and his presence had an interesting effect on the guardsmen.

Quite often, when a guard would have a problem that he couldn't bring himself to discuss with his fellows, he would talk to Dorian. After all, the man might die tomorrow, so the secret was relatively safe. The guardsmen all liked him; he was affable and charming, and usually gave good advice.

Many new recruits purposefully refrained from trying to kill him, but only when Peleas wasn't around. This was one mistake Thom was thankful he'd only seen someone make. Peleas had kicked that poor man's arse up and down the field. The only reason Dorian was still alive was that he was a damn good fighter himself. A duel between Sir Peleas and Dorian - with wooden words of course - was something to see, Thom was told.

Thom walked over to the shack where Dorian lived, chained to the wall. The chain was about thirty feet, plenty of room. The man himself was about forty with sandy hair and brown eyes. Constant practice kept his muscles hard and lean. He was kept as well fed as the guards themselves, a necessity if Dorian was to be a worthy opponent. The man was asleep on his cot. Thom knocked.

Dorian's eyes opened. When he saw Thom, he smiled. "Tomorrow's the day, eh?"

"It is," he said, leaning in to stay out of the rain.

Dorian sat up, fully dressed, and rubbed his eyes. "You're not ready, you know."

"I know. I don't think I'm in a much better position than you are. The others all like you, though. They don't know what to make of me."

Aside from Dunstan and Madoc, Dorian was the only person around who knew exactly what Thom was. One short month ago, Thom At-the-Well had made his way through the world as the Dark Rogue, one of the most notorious thieves in all of Aragonia. That had all changed, however, when he himself was captured by Sir Madoc of Fieldgate. Later, they'd fallen in love and Madoc and Thom schemed to keep them together. Like Dorian, Thom was paying for his crimes through service, instead of by imprisonment or death. Thom sometimes still wondered which sentence he would have received.

"It doesn't much matter what they think of you. You won't be around here too much anyway." Dorian stood and began to stretch in preparation for the match.

While he waited, Thom began to think about the assignment to come. They had to bring in Kraid's Marauders almost single-handedly. Almost, because Thom planned to find help from a friend who'd once been with the Marauders, though no one else but Madoc knew that, and because the King was assigning another knight to their party.

"Dorian, we're supposed to meet up with a Sir Bastian before we start after the Marauders. What do you know of him?"

"Not much," Dorian said as he stretched. "I've heard of him, but I've never seen him. I know I've never faced him."

"Strange, I thought all the guards had to come by you eventually."

"Not all, but most. I know all of your names. It's odd how something like that can change your mind about breaking the law. I know more about you guards than I do about my own family. When I hear one of you is gone.... I'd gladly give my life to keep you all alive longer. And nobody needs the help more than you. You ready?"

Thom nodded and assumed an attack stance. Dorian picked up his mock sword and the fighting began.

Thom was killed twice more before a page came to fetch him. Sir Rhys was waiting for him. Thom sheathed his sword - in practice, the guards had to wear belt and scabbard - and shook Dorian's hand.

"If it chances that I don't see you again, Sir Thom, good fortune to you," Dorian said.

"And to you." Sir Thom, the ex-thief thought. I suppose that is my title, but it still sounds strange.

The page guided Thom to the top of the stairs to the dungeon, where the King's military advisor, and head of all the guards stood waiting.

Sir Rhys looked quite sturdy in his pristine white tabard with the ubiquitous golden dragon symbol, and well-used breastplate. The man himself had short greying hair, a ruddy, bulldog face and never smiled.

"Come, Thom," he bellowed. "There is something I want you to see."

Thom joined him at the top of the stair, and they descended into the dungeon, Thom one pace behind.

"I'm sure you're aware that on your mission tomorrow you will be joined by Sir Bastian. He and Sir Madoc are cut from the same cloth. Sir Bastian I know to be dutiful, conscientious and true." They had reached the bottom of the staircase. Sir Rhys looked back at him. "Incorruptible."

The stench of the dungeon wafted over him when the main door was opened. It stank of sweat, blood and disease. Thom had never gone down here, for obvious reasons. He'd almost ended up living in this hole.

They continued into the bowels of the castle, passing dank calls, some occupied, some not.

"I imagine you've been wondering why he was assigned to accompany you."

"I thought it was because capturing all of Kraid's bandits would be too big a job even for two men," Thom replied. Now and again, a hand or a face would appear in the small window in a cell door.

"There is that," Sir Rhys said, leading him around a corner. "The overriding reason is that Sir Bastian is a warlock. He has a talent you will find most useful."

Thom felt a chill. He distrusted magic.

They stopped before a large cell. It was obvious from the broken stonework that this chamber had once been two normal cells. The wall between them had been removed, and the front-facing wall replaced by thick iron bars. A rather frightened prisoner was being led out of the cell.

"Sir Bastian is just finishing a transfer of prisoners from the dungeon in Annisport."

Thom reached up to covers his ears as a grating, high-pitched squeal rent the air nearby. A blue flash marked the sudden appearance of a shaggy, dishevelled ruffian who had not been there a moment ago.

"He has tuned his mind to this cell. He can send anyone he gets his hands on directly here." Sir Rhys looked Thom right in the eye. "Anyone. And anyone that we find in this cell is to be executed at dawn the next day."

"What if an innocent citizen ends up in there by mistake?" Thom asked.

"Sir Bastian is not capable of such a mistake."

He knows, thought Thom. He knows exactly who I am.

Thom looked back into Sir Rhys' eyes.

Peleas the swordmaster had once told him, "There is no way to hide what a man will do if you look him in the eye. No way but by magic, and magicians don't use swords when they attack."

Now looking at Sir Rhys, he could see the contempt in him. It stood out a mile; how could he have missed it before? He looked back to the cell.

"I promise you this. You won't find me making a mistake," Thom said.

"We shall see."

After his confrontation with Sir Rhys, Thom was agitated. Now that he was aware of it, he thought he saw people staring at him everywhere.

A burglar, Thom didn't like to be seen. It went against his nature. His main goal in life was to blend in and not be visible to anyone. Not that people physically couldn't see him; none of them paid him any attention.

Out on the street or in the forest, he could be nobody. He blended in. Here everyone knew everyone else, it seemed like, and he was an outsider. More than a few of them had wondered where he'd come from. His silver tongue helped to provide a new past for himself, but the lies were wearing thin.

There was no privacy, either. While he was in Dragon's Keep, home base to all the guards, he shared a room with others, and there was never a moment's peace.

He made his way to his room now, to ditch his sword and dry out before dinner. One of his roommates, an unpleasant lout named Sir Eamon, was napping in his bed. Thom sat down after unbuckling his belt, and unsheathed his sword to examine it. Eamon roused slightly at the familiar, but threatening sound, muttered an expletive and rolled over. Thom considered his weapon.

There are two strategies, Thom recited from his lessons, in sword design. The idea behind Sir Madoc's large, wide broadsword was that a sword need not be sharp to cut if there is enough weight behind the blade. This saves a lot of trouble, since the sword does not need constant maintenance after use, and its wielder does not require much skill. The downside is that the thing is bloody heavy. The swordsman has to have a lot of strength to be able to use such a sword. Sir Madoc had the muscles to swing a blade like that. Thom did not.

The other strategy is to have a thinner, lighter blade with an edge that was sharpened, and to use that edge to make cuts. The problem is that, while Madoc's sword could dent or even pierce most armor, the sharp sabre, which was the sort Thom was holding on his lap in front of him, could not. Its blade had to find the chinks in the armor: weak spots or seams. This took time and accuracy, so a swordsman with a sabre like Thom's had to be proficient enough to keep himself alive until he wounded his opponent. Proficiency came with time, though, which Thom did not have. He could acquire some skill, however, and more than he could strength.

Thom hated the sword. It invited trouble and attention. Not many people would attack a man who wasn't carrying a sword, but if you did, most would have no compunctions.

It was one of the many things Thom had to grow accustomed to, now that he was a knight. Sort of. As a knight-errant, he could write his own rules, more or less, but there were standards even then, and all knights wore a sword.

He sharpened and cleaned the wretched thing as he'd been taught, hid it away, and readied himself for dinner.

As he entered the dining hall, he surveyed the room.

Thom wondered whether Sir Rhys would have told anyone else who he was. Might he set up an ambush for them, just to keep a thief out of his prized Guard? Any "accident" that might befall him would draw attention from King Dunstan, who had a personal interest in Thom's success or failure. On the other hand, Thom would find it impractical to complain or re- examine that logic after he was killed. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.

Thom collected his meal from the cook: a hearty stew with good meat in it, bread, cheese and half an apple. As a knight errant, he could expect to eat this well on the road as well, since because he would not be sent to an outpost for lodging and food, any inn he entered had to serve him without payment. The knight would simply mark a ticket with the seal he'd been given and the inn would give the tax collector the ticket instead of one gold coin. The knight had to make arrangements for his own lodging, though. Even so, many inns waived this in favor of the security of having a Guardsman on the premises.

He sat next to a man he hadn't seen before. The stranger was less than thirty - guards tend not to live long - with a curly reddish-blonde beard, a ruddy face and a scar over his eye. He offered his hand when he saw Thom was joining him.

"Goode'en, brother knight," he said brightly. "I don't believe we've met. You're Thom, are you not?"

Thom paused. What had he heard? "That's right."

"My name is Sir Fergus. I was one of the other men sent out to capture the Dark Rogue, whom I heard you and Madoc managed to bring down."

Oh, shit, thought Thom. "Is that so?" he said simply.

"Yes. I want to congratulate you on bringing that fiend to justice, though in the end he found his own justice, I hear, dying in a wagon crash while he was escaped."

"That's what happened, alright," Thom said, trying not to encourage this line of conversation. He stared into his stew, hoping the other man would take the hint.

"If I had managed to find him first, he would have felt the King's justice, you can be sure," Fergus mused, gazing straight ahead, chin on his hands. "He wouldn't have been permitted to escape if he was in my custody."

Thom realized the knight didn't know who it was he was really talking to, and probably didn't even realize just how insulting he was really being either way. He grunted instead of doing anything to egg Fergus on.

"Yes, if I'd laid hands on him, he'd have spent his last days going through his own hell in the dungeons. He was lucky he never saw me."

I was till now, the former Dark Rogue thought.

Just then, thankfully, Madoc came into the room. "If you'll excuse me, Sir Fergus, I see my new partner has just arrived, and there isn't room for him here." Without waiting for Fergus to respond, Thom stood up with his tray and quit the table.

Thom strode with his food straight to the door where Madoc stood. He sailed right by, saying, "I need to be away from this place." He left a startled Madoc behind to follow.

The Flier moon was full and low in the evening sky, casting a golden sheen into the half-shadows of the courtyard. Thom sat, his back to the wall, his nearly untouched dinner tray on the flagstones beside him. He found he only had the stomach for his apple.

He felt the early autumn breeze brush past him. He had to hug his arms around his chest to feel comfortable: not too cold, not too alone.

The Chaser moon was only making a show over the tops of the battlements when a dark-haired man, taller than Thom, handsome, with pure blue eyes that seemed to glow in the sepia pall of the evening, came up to him.

Thom looked up. The interloper held out another half of an apple. Thom smiled at Madoc. He accepted the apple. Madoc crouched down, deliberately not asking the question he needed to ask.

Thom answered anyway. "I thought it would be so simple. Just you and I righting the wrongs of the land like I always tried to do, but with the King's blessing. It's all so different though. There are so many rules, the King would rather see me fail, the other guards don't know what to do with me, and the only one I can talk to is Dorian and they're trying to kill him too." He took a deep breath. "I don't know if I can do this. I'm afraid, Madoc.

"Sir Rhys knows my secret. The reason we're getting Sir Bastian's help is so he can watch over me and get rid of me if I'm not doing what I say I'll do. They don't want me here. I'm a disruption to their order and they want to be rid of me."

Madoc spoke. "I know our king. He doesn't want to see you fail. He simply doesn't think you'll succeed." Thom glared at him. "I don't think you realize what the difference is there. If he wanted you to fail, you would be dead now, and so would I.

"Was it something somebody said that brought all this on?"

Thom nodded.

"Sir Fergus?"

Thom smiled and nodded again.

"He's a blowhard, but he's harmless." Madoc lifted Thom's chin to look in his eyes. "This was your thirteenth day here. Tomorrow we ride off to meet Bastian and find Lennox. You know that we can't...." Madoc looked around. "Not here. Can you last one more night?"

Thom had been studying Madoc's eyes as he had Sir Rhys' earlier. In Madoc he saw concern, compassion, and a love that was pure. He put his head back. He imagined Madoc's magnificent body, naked, sweating, touching him, around him, on top of him, inside of him.... "Yes."

"Don't worry. Our motives are true. We'll perform this duty for the King and we'll be fine." Madoc laid his hand on Thom's shoulder.

"We'll be fine," Thom repeated, and meant it.

"Eat up now. You'll need your strength for tomorrow. I'll get my dinner and I'll join you."

The two of them talked long into the night before returning to their separate rooms.

Thom woke early the next day. He and Madoc were to be leaving soon after dawn and there was much still left to do to prepare.

Thom dressed in his new clothes; as a servant of the king all of his needs were met. He wore breeches of a tough brown material, a forest green shirt and proper riding boots. He was also given one extra change of clothes, in addition to the all-black outfit he'd worn on arriving in Dragon's Keep a fortnight or so ago. He tried not to think of the fact that the clothes had probably belonged to a series of dead knights.

The other addition to Thom's wardrobe was the tabard which marked him as a Guard. The tabard was like a long undershirt without sides. Thom was to tuck the tail of it under his belt but not into his trousers. It was bright green with a gold dragon over the chest.

He also had a leather breastplate, or cuirass, as armor from the quartermaster. The quartermaster had also provided a large quantity of supplies, more than he knew Sir Madoc had carried. Some things, such as soap, could be replenished at any outpost, or from donations from grateful citizens. Other things, such as a second blanket made of the black material that could be magically stretched to any size, were one-time issue only.

Thom wondered what he and Madoc would do with the spare blanket, since they would be sharing one. Perhaps they could use it as a tent.

Thom had to pack all of these things away into saddlebags, and then ready his new horse for the journey.

Thom's mount was a beautiful black mare named Warrigal. He'd had to practice grooming her, and properly getting all the tack onto her. He'd been a quick study. His father had been a tinker, so he was used to dealing with fiddly bits of leather and metal. Warrigal herself seemed to be something of a fiery horse, but she had taken to Thom readily enough. The test of their relationship would be when they had to ride together for days.

Finally he was ready to depart. The official plan was that the two of them would ride out to the coastal city of Karelia to meet with Sir Bastian. The secret, revised plan was that shortly after leaving the capital city of Aragon, Thom and Madoc would split up: Madoc to rendez- vous with Sir Bastian, and Thom to find Lennox in the Greypoint Mountains to see if he would help them to round up Kraid's Marauders, the band of cutthroats it was their first mission to subdue. Lennox had been a sort of working prisoner in their camp and knew every one of them.

He met Madoc at the gate to Dragon's Keep.

Sir Madoc sat astride Fleetfire, the white war-stallion that had carried them through their first adventure. The man himself was beautiful: handsome, noble face, short black hair, tall at 6' 2", and with a body as big as his heart. He had square, broad shoulders, a barrel chest and thick, muscular arms. He was attired much like Thom was, except that his tabard was red, indicating that he was acting as a member of the High Guard for this mission, and that he wore tight hose that showed off his powerful thighs and calves in perfect definition.

They departed from the barracks, then from the city, and into the countryside.

Through the day, they rode as two ordinary knights would, though Thom could feel the sexual tension between them. Madoc hadn't been around much during the two weeks while Thom had been training. It was just as well; Thom needed all his concentration and energy for his preparations. But now he was very ready.

He thought of how it would be.... Thom might suddenly pull off the road. Madoc follows. Thom dismounts and moves over to Fleetfire. Thom pulls the bigger man down off his horse, his desire granting him strength. He lays his partner down in the tall, golden grass of the meadow. Thom climbs on top of his partner, straddling him and begins to kiss and lick all over his mouth and face, tongue attacking his exposed neck, teeth nipping at his earlobe, lips caressing his eyelids.

Off comes the red tabard, the armor, the shirt. The oral assault continues as Thom laps down Madoc's smooth chest, nuzzling each strong pectoral before licking and kissing each dark nipple until it becomes a raised, hard cone of flesh. Madoc moans, his voice a sultry, deep, purring growl of pleasure. Thom glides sideways to breathe in the heady scent of his underarm, the only area on his upper body where hair grows. His tongue tickles the tender skin inside, causing Madoc to shudder.

Thom continues down again, slathering over the shallow foothills of muscle across his love's stomach. His tongue explores new territory again as it probes deeply into Madoc's navel. Madoc thrusts his torso up, shoulders pressing into the crushed plants below, his breast arching skyward, his eyes closed and head bent back slightly.

Thom crawls upward again to lie completely atop the bigger knight. Madoc meets Thom's lips in a desperate kiss. Thom's tongue invades the other's mouth as Madoc grabs him closer, caressing the back of his head through his thick hair. Madoc presses back into Thom's mouth, but Thom remains the aggressor by sucking on his tongue.

Thom moves back onto all fours and reaches down for Madoc's grey hose. He unrolls them down, binding his strong legs at the knees. He yanks at the small knots keeping his underthings together. Madoc's freed cock swings up, brushing against the trailing end of Thom's tabard.

Thom draws his lips over Madoc's tongue as he lets it go. He rears up on his knees to behold the gorgeous naked specimen before him. Moist, tan skin stretched taut over a frame packed full of round muscle, slightly paler only across the hips, hairless everywhere except for a slight dusting along his legs and a thick thatch around his glorious penis.

Thom leans down over it. Straight and true, it has a single vein spiralling along its side. The pink head is round and full. It shakes slightly as its owner's heart beats.

Thom grips it gently between thumb and forefinger. He flicks at its underside near the head, and Madoc inhales. Thom makes more quick, cautious brushes around its head until the recumbent knight is ready to scream from the anticipation, but he makes no sound.

After some minutes of this torturous teasing, Thom touches the head to his tongue, takes it inside his mouth and begins to suck. Madoc groans with delight.

Thom's head slides up and down Madoc's member, while his tongue caresses every surface of it. Madoc fights to keep from thrusting deeper into his throat.

Eventually the tip touches the back of Thom's throat, sending a spark up past his balls and into his spine. Madoc pushes reflexively and probes into Thom's throat. Thom gulps, closing his muscles around Madoc's stiff dick. The black-haired knight grunts from deep inside his chest and loses control, sending spurts of creamy, tangy fluid right down his gullet. Thom continues to swallow as Madoc cums.

"Thom?" Madoc asked?

"What?" he said, focussing on the voice.

"I said, `Have you seen a stream nearby?' We should water the horses. I guess you haven't seen much of anything. What were you thinking of?"

"Tonight," he replied with a devilish grin.

"Oh," he said, leering back. "How were we doing?"

Thom licked his lips seductively.

"Oh," he repeated, blushing slightly. "I'm sorry I interrupted."

"Don't worry. It'll be better when you're actually there."

Madoc's grin broadened into a bright smile. "I love you. I'm so glad we're doing this together."

"I love you too. And I'll love you tonight."

Madoc manoeuvred Fleetfire closer to Warrigal and leaned in to give Thom a half-hug and a kiss on the lips. To Thom, it really was better than the fantasy he'd just had.

They continued riding south until sunset.

That night they followed Thom's fantasy fairly closely. Afterwards, Madoc gave Thom a similar treatment. They lay side by side, rolled up in one of their blankets, talking. Madoc had, over Thom's two weeks in training, been very busy, doing everything needed to prepare for their mission. They'd hardly spent a minute together while in Dragon's Keep. They were trying, very hard, to make up for that lost time.

They snuggled together, faces intimately close. Thom felt so much more at ease now that he was back in familiar surroundings. "Do you suppose we'll have to go back to the Keep very often? Other than for trials and such?" Thom asked.

"Not very," Madoc responded dozily. "Maybe if we are called in for an assignment we'd have to be there overnight, but we would want to set out again as soon as possible."

Madoc rolled over to face his partner. "You hated it that much?"

"Yes. I know it's really the only home you've known, but I couldn't stand it. I don't belong there."

"Are you having second thoughts?" Madoc asked.

"No!" Thom said, shocked. "By the gods, no! How could you even think it? All I know, and all I need to know is that I belong with you. I could last at Dragon's Keep if I needed to, so long as I was there with you." Thom reflected on this as he lay back to stare up to the stars. "That was the sappiest, most ridiculous piece of drivel ever to come out of my mouth," he mused.

Madoc broke up laughing. "That was rather... syrupy."

"But angels save me if it's not true."

"The others may come to accept you in time. And if they don't, it doesn't matter. I know you are truly worthy of wearing the dragon tabard."

"Thank you." Thom rolled over and gave Madoc a kiss.

"But tonight we need sleep. We have much to do on the morrow." Thom's love wrapped him up in his arms and they both drifted off.

The next morning Thom veered off the road westward to the Greypoint Mountains in search of Lennox. Warrigal seemed to take to the rougher terrain well enough, but the former thief had trouble keeping her moving in the direction he wanted to go. In the end, he let her have her way, since he really didn't know where to look for Lennox. So long as they kept moving south, that suited his plans.

Early on his second day, while he stooped at a brook to fill his waterskin, he heard someone yell, "Halt!"

Thom stayed still. He was in a lightly wooded area high in the mountains. Warrigal was some distance away. If the hidden person was an archer, he wouldn't be able to get to her. He couldn't draw his sword without being obvious about it, but he could pull out his dagger.

"Stay right where you are."

Thom heard plants rustling slightly very close behind him. He eased his dagger out, hoping this unknown man would not see his arm move. He turned the dagger in his hand, assuming a throwing grip.

Thom had heard stories of encounters like this. He was wearing his tabard, so it was obvious that he was a knight. Only one sort of person would tell a knight not to move: a desperate criminal who would kill any lawman. The former thief steeled himself.

Thom whipped around, eyes tracking to find the attacker. He raised his arm to throw.

His hand only just managed to maintain its grip after Thom recognized his target.

Lennox stood trembling, his knife in hand. He was deathly pale. His eyes looked sunken, with great, dark circles underneath them. The thief had been thin when Thom had last seen him about three weeks ago, but now he looked emaciated. His clothes were dirty and hung off him loosely. Thom couldn't be sure if Lennox even recognized him.

The redhead thief lumbered forward toward him. Thom backed up and kept his dagger ready. Lennox rushed forward. The knife fell from Lennox's hand as he stumbled to his knees and grabbed Thom about the waist. He began sobbing uncontrollably.

Thom safely sheathed his dagger and kneeled down to Lennox's level. "By the gods, Lennox, what's happened to you?"

"It's you! I thought-- oh gods...."

"Calm down, Lennox. It's alright. Now, what's been going on? You look terrible."

Lennox snuffled. "I haven't been eating, I haven't slept... I keep thinking I hear someone following me. I-- I can't go on like this." He was shaking. "I'm so glad I found you."

"Well, actually, I've been looking for you."

"What?" Lennox looked up. He saw the tabard clutched in his hands. "You're...? No!" He tried scrabbling to his feet.

Thom held him down. "Lennox, stop! I'm not going to arrest you; I need your help. But first you need food and rest." Lennox still looked scared. "Please, Lennox, trust me."

"But how are you...? Why are you...?" The thief's tiredness was beginning to show. The thought process was too much for him.

"Never mind all that. I'll tell you after you've gotten some sleep." Thom helped his friend to his feet, and led him toward Warrigal. "Come on, up you get."

"Where are we going?"

"To my safehouse."

They rode much as Thom and Madoc had on their original quest, with Lennox sitting behind Thom's saddle, tied to Thom with ropes to keep him from falling off the horse. Thom wouldn't have thought anyone could sleep like that, no matter how tired he was, but Thom had had to wake Lennox up several times when they'd stopped.

That night the two men ate some of Thom's supplies, provided by the quartermaster. Lennox was grateful and ate all he could keep down, which wasn't very much. Thom promised better for the next day.

When they'd bedded down for the night, Lennox had been unable to sleep again unless Thom was awake and keeping watch. So Thom sacrificed a night of sleep for his friend. No Marauders came upon them during the night.

Finally, in the afternoon of the day after they'd found each other, Thom and Lennox arrived at a glade of trees. Thom undid the tie that kept Lennox upright and shook one of his shoulders. Lennox roused slightly.

"C'mon, Lennox. Wake up. We're home."

Lennox looked around blearily and climbed down off the horse. Thom dismounted as well.

"Where is it?" Lennox asked.

Thom smiled and pointed up. "Are you going to be able to climb?"

"A tree? I think so."

"Good. It's not difficult, but it's not obvious how to get up there. Follow my lead." Thom hoisted himself into the tree and enough out of the way to let Lennox up.

The tree was an old one, of the sort that looks like several saplings had decided to team up and grew together. It had grown outwards almost as much as it had grown upwards. Branches spread out nicely to conceal the view from the ground of what was above. It was an easy climb going up and a logical spot for a hiding place. Thom's safehouse was not in this tree.

The former thief climbed past where he needed to go and let Lennox catch up. Then Thom tapped one particularly thick branch with his foot. "It's across there." The branch of the tree they were in was lashed to one from the next tree over. That tree was almost impossible to climb without a rope, since it had no sturdy limbs near ground level. The foliage was even thicker then in the first tree.

"Use the branches on your left to steady yourself as you cross. I'll be right behind you."

Lennox stepped onto the tied limbs. They seemed steady enough. He inched forward. Thom stepped down to Lennox's level. The redheaded thief was almost beyond the reach of the branch he was using to balance. He took one more hesitant step forward.

Thom gingerly placed one foot on the makeshift bridge. He wanted to keep his eye on Lennox. He was tired and his equilibrium wasn't at its best. "Use the next branch on your left to steady yourself, Lennox."

Lennox faltered. His body gyrated wildly to compensate for his poor balance. Instinctively, he reached out with his right hand.

"Don't use...!"

Lennox leaned out onto the thinner branch to the right. It bent carrying his upper body with it. "Whooooaa...!" he cried.

He was stretched precariously over empty space, heels on the bridge and uselessly clutching the young twig that threatened to snap.

Thom lunged forward and snagged the back of Lennox's tunic, while still straining to keep hold of the stronger limb behind him. The bridge bowed downwards with the extra weight, groaning ominously. Thom couldn't let go with either hand: if he released Lennox, Lennox would fall off, and if he released the branch, they'd both topple off. His grip on the tunic was slipping.

"Lennox, on three, shift your weight as much as you can toward me, understand?"

"Yes! Oh gods...."

"Don't panic, Lennox, and try not to look down. Here we go. One, two, three!"

Lennox pushed his backside slightly toward the knight-errant, who desperately made a second grab at his friend. He managed to hook his fingertips in the redhead's trousers. He wouldn't fall just yet.

"Again, on three. One, two, three!"

Lennox bounced slightly closer and Thom tugged on his trousers. The thief's weight was no longer supported by the branch in his hands, and Thom was holding him up.

Thom said, "Let go and push back to me." Lennox flung the branch away from his body. Thom grunted and hauled on Lennox's pants once more. Finally, both men tipped backwards, where Thom braced himself against the limb. Lennox held Thom in a death grip.

When it seemed everything was under control again, Lennox said, "I'm awake now."

Thom chuckled. "Are you going to be able to cross?"

Lennox nodded, let go of Thom and gripped the branch on the left. He moved very slowly, but he crossed safely. Thom followed.

He stepped on the familiar planking on the floor of his safehouse. Lennox was looking around.

There were various rather warped boards nailed down into a makeshift floor. A tattered piece of oilcloth acted as a ceiling. There were leather bags and cloth sacks stacked on one side of the floor. A folded- up blanket was draped over top. "Watch your step. The boards are rather uneven."

"How did you come by all of this?"

"The wood was scavenged. About seven years ago, I was on the Polyny shore. It looked like there had been a shipwreck. I collected it all, stashed it and carried it as I could here."

"But who built it?"

Thom grinned. "My father was a tinker, and I'm not completely without talent. I built it myself."

"It's a nice place."

"Thank you. It's not much warmer than sleeping outside, but the sailcloth keeps the rain off. I built it myself from fairly scavenged materials. This place is completely mine."

"On the King's lands."

"Well, they're all his, now, aren't they? And he's welcome to try to take it back - if he can find it. That's the other thing," Thom said as he picked up the blanket. "It's completely safe. No one has found it in seven years, even when they've been looking for it twenty feet below us." He laid the blanket onto a piece of sailcloth hanging through a space in the floor. "You can sleep here and not have to worry."

Lennox crawled gratefully into the hammock and curled up into the blanket. Thom dug out a small pouch from his supplies and stepped back over to the bridge. "Where are you going?" Lennox asked over his shoulder.

"I promised you better food. I'll be back soon."

"Okay." Lennox settled in and fell asleep before Thom made it to the ground again.

Thom made sure that Warrigal was tied securely. Madoc's mount, Fleetfire, could be trusted without being tied, but Thom's mare still had to prove herself.

He folded up the tabard, lifted his shirttail and tucked it into the back of his pants. He now looked like the average traveller. On foot, Thom set out for a small market nearby.

The market was in a tiny village, a few meagre cottages built close together. It was little more than a meeting place for local farmers to trade goods.

Thom had been coming here all the time he'd had his safehouse in the trees whenever he was near. As he approached today, he saw a woman, her greying hair in a bun, step out from behind her cart and run his way, arms wide.

"Thom! I can't believe you're here!" she cried as she hugged him. Her blue dress swirled around their legs after it had caught up with them.

"Marita, what are you doing here? Where's Ches? And why such a warm reception?"

A lanky, balding man strode up to them. "I'm here. Marita just wanted to come to the village to gossip. How've you been? You said you'd probably be back a couple of weeks ago. We were worried."

"Now, Ches, you know my business sometimes takes me longer than I expect." Thom looked at the couple's relieved faces. "What is it?"

Ches spoke up. "Oh, Marita's been her usual self. Full of romantic ideas." He draped his arm casually around her shoulder.

"I thought..." Marita began. "Well, with all your coming and going, and you living way out here in the middle of nowhere, and no one's ever seen where you live, and there was always a story about him when you're gone--"

"She thought you were the Dark Rogue," Ches explained quietly.

"And then we heard he was dead and you were two weeks late coming back.... It sounds so foolish now."

"It's not so foolish," Thom assured her. "Let's go back to your stall."

They walked back and settled in where there was more privacy. "If I tell you something, can you promise to keep it a secret?"

Ches nodded soberly. Marita's eyes bugged out and her hands covered her mouth. "Oh, my! Do you mean--?"

"Now, Marita, I need you to promise," Thom said. "This is important. I know it's going to be especially hard for you."

She massaged her hands. "I may burst trying," she said, "but I won't tell a soul, Thom. I promise."

"I was the Dark Rogue, but I'm retired now." He lifted his shirt and pulled out the green dragon tabard. "I'm a knight-errant now."

Marita's hands flew up to her mouth again. "Oh my goodness! How did that happen?"

"It's rather a long story, but the short answer is, I fell in love."

"They say love can change the shape of the world, but this is something else again," said the farmer's wife. "Can you stay and tell the whole story?"

"I really shouldn't. I have a friend waiting who I should look in on...."

"Did you know that we had a son, Thom?" asked Ches, solemnly.

"No, I didn't. I've known you folks for years and you've never mentioned him. Where is he?"

"He entered the Guard about ten years ago. He was a patrolman in Aragon."

Thom didn't like the low tone in which Ches was speaking. "When did he die?"

"About three years later."

Marita took Thom's hands in hers. "Can't you stay and talk, for just a little while?"

Thom considered. Lennox really did need his sleep. "Alright. I'll stay a while. What was your son's name?"

"Graham. But everyone always called him Gray."

The sun had almost set.

Thom made his way back through the trees feeling guilty for having left Lennox so long, but not feeling bad because Ches and Marita needed to talk. It was a paradox of emotion he was quite used to dealing with.

His bag of supplies hanging from his shoulder, Thom climbed upwards into his hiding place, crossing the bridge in near darkness with ease.

Lennox was still asleep. He was turned away from the bridge.

Thom stepped carefully to put his bags away, but even though he was silent, any movements jostled the floor. He took down a battered lantern and lit it.

Lennox was gently shaken awake. He saw a shadowy figure moving over him and struggled to stand up, but the oddly-constructed hammock had him flummoxed. He yelped.

Thom kneeled at his side. "Lennox," he whispered, "calm down. It's only me, Thom. Stop it or you'll fall through."

Lennox stilled. "How do I get out of this thing?"

"Lift yourself with your arms and feet and shift your backside onto the floor," Thom instructed.

Lennox did as he was instructed. He pulled the blanket back around himself.

"You can't live like this," Thom said, putting his arm around the redhead's shoulders. "You have to put them behind you. By now, Kraid won't still be looking for you."

"I know," Lennox said miserably, "but - I mean, that makes sense, but I keep thinking I can see one of them or...." Lennox shivered.

"Let me tell you why I'm here, my friend." Thom gave Lennox a brief description of what their assignment was.

"By the gods, Thom, no! They'll kill you both!"

"We haven't completely decided whether that's the King's idea or not. We're supposed to meet up with this wizard who's going to be helping us, but I took this side trip to find you."

Thom moved to face Lennox. "Madoc and I would like whatever help you can give us to catch them. We'll take anything: names, descriptions, skills, where they're likely to be, but what I'd like to see is you right there with us. You'd be able to give us your advice as we need it, but you'd have to face them down, once and for all. You'd know they were gone and that they would never be able to hurt you. Will you help us?"

"I'll tell you everything I know about them, but... I don't know..." Lennox said.

"You don't have to decide right now. I'll be staying here for the night and leaving in the morning to catch up to Madoc. For now, let's eat. I'm starving."

Thom brought out the sack of food he'd bought at the market. There was some meat, cheese, and of course, apples.

Thom watched as Lennox ate. His appetite seemed to be returning and that was a good sign. He still seemed nervous, as though some horror would jump out from the rustling leaves around them. Thom had his dinner in silence and wondered what he could do for his friend.

When they were done, Thom passed his new stretchable blanket to Lennox. They needed the one Lennox had been using to lay on the floor. That hammock couldn't support two. Thom stashed the remaining food and hung it up, and then gathered the apple cores to be disposed of in the morning.

Together, the two friends opened up the blanket enough for both of them. They undressed for bed. Thom knew that Lennox was slender, but now he looked painfully thin. The redhead looked down at himself. It was as if he was truly seeing himself like this for the first time. Lennox looked at Thom with big, green eyes, quaking.

Thom, wrapped in the blanket embraced him. The former thief held him close, rubbed his back to warm him up and whispered, "It'll be alright. We'll take care of you."

Thom lowered Lennox to the floor, allowing him to sit in his lap. Lennox gripped him tightly. Thom continued to murmur comforting words and rocked him from side to side.

After a while, Lennox stopped shivering. His head was resting on Thom's shoulder. He kissed his neck gently. He began to lick at it.

Thom felt Lennox's erection grow, burning hot against his hip. He knew what was about to happen. He knew Madoc would be okay with it. Even if they hadn't discussed the idea that this would be rather likely, he would approve. In the state Lennox was in he needed all the love and security he could get.

Thom still stroked Lennox's back, but now he did it slowly, lingering at his sides, at the small of his back, tracing the bones of his spine, near his neck, in all the sensitive places that never get touched.

One of Lennox's hands snaked in between them. His fingers found both their cocks, standing straight up. Lennox was dribbling precum freely. He gathered it on his fingers and smeared it onto Thom's member. It twitched in Lennox's hand.

The redhead brought his other hand in and grabbed both men's cocks. He stroked them in tandem, slowly, rubbing them each against the other.

Thom kissed his friend and held him close with arms and legs. Lennox dug his ankles into Thom's back. Thom began to lick and kiss at Lennox's neck and clavicle. The thief's head rolled to the side and he moaned.

Lennox sped up on their cocks, squeezing them gently. He humped forward a little, brushing their balls together. Sweat trailed tauntingly down his body, rolling down his skin, then pausing momentarily before trickling further downward. Thom nipped and sucked playfully at his ear. He groaned at the stimulation.

Thom felt he was close. He licked at Lennox's jawline on his way to his mouth. He kissed him once more, filling Lennox's mouth with his tongue before his seed splashed against their chests.

Lennox felt the sticky wetness smack against his front and dribble down his stomach, and it drove him to the brink. He thrust upward, drenching them once again.

Thom shifted his legs and laid Lennox back on the ground, on all fours above him. He lay back down on top of him, pressing their spent juices between them. He kissed Lennox once more before getting back on his hands and knees. Over to the side was a clean rag which Thom reached over to fetch. He wiped up most of the mess between them, then extinguished the lantern.

Thom nudged Lennox over, then nestled in behind him, cradling him in his arms. They both fell into a peaceful sleep.