Chapter 20: Two Swords

20.1: Plans

It was hours later when Shenla left Ossarom’s tent. She stood outside for a moment and looked around. The world looked ... different, somehow. The towering trees in the park shifted this way and that as the wind tugged at them sporadically, just as it tugged at her hair and clothes. It was hard to tell time with the dense clouds blanketing the sky, but she thought it might be the early hours of the morning. She walked absently, only partially aware of the fact her body was moving. To which direction she was going, she paid no attention. She felt ... raw, and somehow numb at the same time. Waves of emotion crashed through her, threatening to bring fresh tears to her eyes despite the fact she had just spent the last several hours crying into Ossarom’s shoulder like a hurt child.

Such weakness, a voice began in her head, but she shoved it aside, unwilling to listen anymore. There was another presence inside her, now; a warm light nestled in her heart, giving her strength, though it was strength of a different kind than she was used to. Maloth had always warned against kindness, compassion, caring, saying it was the gateway to loss and pain, but if this was what love felt like, Shenla wanted to hang onto it. Is it love? She asked herself tentatively. Her body was so awash with warmth that she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. It wasn’t until she was almost back to the palace that she knew where she was headed, and a feeling of dread welled in her belly at the thought of what she knew she had to do next. It had been a long time since she’d felt real fear, but this time it wasn’t fear for herself; it was fear for those she cared about. She stood for a long time in the grand square in front of the palace gates, gazing up at the shining golden towers as if she could see into them. Steeling herself, she started for the gates.

It didn’t take her long to find her ahk’sheth; she could find them anywhere in the world, given enough time. They were in the deeper levels of the palace, down near the servants’ quarters, where they were less likely to be disturbed when they wanted peace. Shenla avoided attention as she made her way through the winding halls and passages of the palace; she did not want to be diverted from her goal. When she finally opened a small, nondescript door several levels beneath the ground, she found Barrog, Peldin, Torvin and Caeledrin all standing around a table littered with chips of various gems. They were facing the door as if expecting her arrival; they would have felt her approaching. A half-dressed Tar’elda girl was standing off to one side, her pale body exposed from the waist up and her hair somewhat dishevelled; obviously the men had been having some fun with her, and by the flush of her cheeks and chest and the sparkle in her eyes, she had been enjoying herself, too. The girl was forgotten now, though, as the four men only had eyes for Shenla.

“Mistress,” Barrog began. “Are you well?” A big fireplace at one end of the room kept the space warm enough that the men had all forgone shirts, and Shenla was treated to the sight of their fit bodies naked to the waist. Had she ever told them how beautiful she found them? How strong? How impressive they were? She couldn’t recall a single time such, and that was one more reason why she had to do what she had to do. Holding the door open, she looked at the serving girl.

“Will you leave us, please?” She asked the girl politely. Bending her slender frame in a quick curtsy, the pretty girl hurried past Shenla and out the door, pulling her robe back over her shoulders as she went. Shenla pushed the door closed behind her and stood for long moments, meeting the gazes of her men. Pets, she had regarded them once, but no longer. “You may have sensed a difference in me,” she began quietly.

Peldin nodded. “We did, Mistress. We were concerned but decided we shouldn’t disturb you.”

Shenla smiled at the Mor’elda. “You made the right choice, though whatever change I have made is still settling. I am unsure what will become of me, but that is of no import. I came to tell you that I am sorry.” All she got in reply for a moment was blank stares.

“Sorry for what, Mistress?” Torvin asked with a frown. “You do not need to explain yourself to us for anything.” Shenla cringed inside. This is what she had been afraid of; she had altered their minds to the point they could not function independently, which made her next act even harder.

“I enslaved you!” She cried suddenly, driven by a surge of remorse. She almost wished she could go back to how she was before, so she didn’t have to feel so ... rotten. “I took your freedom! Your will! I made you do my bidding no matter what you wanted! I made you betray your own people! Does that not make you want my head on a spike?”

There was silence after that, and Shenla was sure she’d gotten through to them. “Mistress,” Caeledrin began smoothly. “I, for one, do not see things that way.”

“Of course, you don’t!” Shenla retorted. “That’s what my power does, may I rot for it. You are not yourself, Caeledrin. None of you are since the binding.” She was surprised, however, when Caeledrin shook his head. His long, silky hair shifted on his chest and shoulders with the motion. Desire stirred in her, ever present even now, but she stuffed it down.

“Once, I wanted to rule,” the tall Elf said. “But I learnt long ago that any difference I make to this world is fleeting and insignificant compared to the ebb and flow of the cosmos. All I wanted was the pleasures of life, to enjoy while I am here. You have given those to me in adequate quantities, and you ask very little in return. I resisted you, at first, but now I see the truth.”

“As much as I am loath to admit,” Peldin added. “I agree with the Tar’elda. Berenor was a fool and serving under him was a pain in my neck. The Mor’elda will be far better under Adelain than her brother.” It was true; Berenor had been weak-minded and impulsive. Shenla was under the impression that he never would have ascended to the throne of Eredor had Adelain not been pulling the strings in the shadows, keeping his enemies too busy fighting one another to contest him. Peldin’s disdain for his former king often surfaced in conversation.

“And what of my brother?” Shenla countered. “And the way he treats your queen? I ask that same question of you all, for each of you are in a similar predicament. Morana, Kreya, Ellerion, all Maloth’s to do with as he pleases, and they will run to do his bidding whenever he snaps his fingers, and I guarantee you, he does not consider their wellbeing beyond keeping them healthy for his own strength.”

Torvin answered the question. “Our loyalty lies now to you even before our rulers,” he said firmly. The others all nodded in agreement. Strange, to see four men so different, so opposed, all aligned. They all had one thing in common above all else: Shenla. “I, too, was less than happy with Morana’s rule. I think Kreya will do well, but her treatment under Maloth is not my concern, unless it becomes a concern for you.”

“I cared for my wife once,” Caeledrin said thoughtfully. “Though her ideals gradually became mundane, to me. We grew apart as the years went on, and she became more dedicated to her causes and earning the love of the people. I amused myself as I saw fit, and quickly I all but forgot about her.” Shenla couldn’t believe what she was hearing. They didn’t care? She shot a look at Barrog, the only one who had been silent on this matter. The big Orc was stroking his chin as he listened to Caeledrin.

“Beshok was a good Chieftain,” he said slowly in his bass voice. “But he is dead now. I see no point in lamenting what cannot be changed.” Shenla almost laughed hysterically. She had been dreading this conversation since leaving Ossarom’s tent, perhaps even longer, if her troubled feelings of late were anything to go by, and yet by all appearances she was the only one who gave a damn!

“He is dead because I killed him!” She spat, angry that they couldn’t see what she saw. “I would have bound him as you are bound to me, but for a flaw in my abilities!” Her hot gaze turned on Peldin and then Torvin. “The same goes for Morin and Berenor! They met their end at my hands, or close enough!” The men all looked at each other, and Barrog shrugged. Shrugged!

“They were weak,” Peldin said as if that explained everything. “They did not have the strength, or the brains, to save themselves, so they died.”

“Oh, fire and fury,” Shenla moaned in exasperation, putting her face in her hands. “Then what does that say about you four? You fell under my spell with so little effort on my part.” This was it; this was the part where they realised their mistake and demanded release, or even death.

“We chose you,” Barrog replied. That pulled Shenla up short. They chose her? She brought her hands down and listened as the Orc went on. “We have all discussed it, the moment you bound us to you. We all felt a chance, a window, to reject your hold over us, even knowing it would mean certain death, but we didn’t take it. Deep down, we wanted what you offered.”

Shenla let the words sink in in silence. She had never imagined this outcome. Could it really be? Could she keep her ahk’sheth? A strong pulse reverberated inside her body as the felt a shifting in the link between herself and the men. The four pairs of eyes across from her widened as new sensations were suddenly made available to them; the feelings of their mistress, carried back through a bond that had previously been largely one-directional. In that moment, Shenla knew that the relationship between her and these four men was now changed forever. She had considered them beneath her, but now she was seeing them as equals.

“I...” She didn’t know what to say. “Am in your debt.”

“There is no debt, Mistress,” Torvin offered sincerely. “Unless it is our debt to you. You have granted us powers beyond what we possessed before. We are smarter, faster, stronger. You have raised us above our peers in every way. I am regarded highly among my people now, because of your gifts. If you offered to release me, I would refuse.” Again, the others all nodded.

“I like this change in you,” Peldin said suddenly. “If I may be so bold.” Shenla felt a tear slip down her cheek. She did not deserve this, she knew. With a sob, she flung herself into Peldin’s arms as the dam inside her burst once again.

Shenla awoke in the middle of the huge bed in her quarters. Light from the storm outside flickered in through the tall arched windows, and the wispy, diaphanous curtains billowed inward like a ship’s sails in the wind. Her ahk’sheth were laying around her protectively, all sleeping soundly. Barrog was behind her, one thick arm draped over her middle and a huge hand cradling one of her breasts. She could feel his hardness, down there, wedged between her buttocks. Hot desire flared in her - apparently, she had not changed in that regard - but a soft knock on the door forestalled her from acting on it. Like a whip, Peldin - the closest to that side of the bed - uncoiled and made for the door, his lean, ebony body sure and graceful in its movements, but Shenla halted him with a hushed whisper. The others stirred from their sleep at the sound, but she quietly urged them to settle while reluctantly removing herself from Barrog’s embrace. The big Orc rumbled in protest but let her go.

Dipping briefly into the well of energy inside herself, she nimbly launched from the bed, flipping in the air to land on her feet next to Peldin. Brushing a quick kiss onto his cheek, she made for the door, not bothering to cover up. She doubted there was any danger present; anyone who wished her harm would not knock, and if they did intend harm, they would be quickly disabused. She pulled open the tall double-doors to see Vegar standing there, almost filling the corridor with his size. Shenla looked him up and down, and he was doing the same to her.

“What are you doing here?” She asked him, leaning against the door frame and crossing her arms beneath her breasts.

“Ossarom sent me,” he rumbled in reply. He was dressed as he had been back in the Giant camp; shirtless and barefooted with only a thin pair of flowing cotton pants. “I am to assist you with whatever you need. He said to tell you that he could not come so soon after meeting Maloth, and that I am a token of his trust.” Despite his words, there was a wary light in his eyes, as if he expected her to do something to him.

Shenla smiled warmly, wanting him to feel at ease. “Well you had better come in, then.” She moved out of the doorway and ushered him inside before turning her back to him and moving further into the room. She could feel his eyes on her. “These are my companions.” She gestured to each of her ahk’sheth as she gave his name. Vegar gave a polite nod to each.

“I see you favour being unclothed in private, as do my people,” he said in his slow, booming voice. With no further ado, he divested himself of his pants, neatly folding them into a square and placing them by the door. “What is it you wish of me?” He asked when he turned back. The room looked too small with Vegar in it, despite the Elves’ love for open spaces in their designs. His shaggy head did not quite reach the high ceiling, yet he still stood slightly hunched, as if he thought he might hit his head anyway.

“Sit, please,” Shenla said. With no furniture in the room suitable for Vegar’s frame, she indicated a place on the floor covered by a thick carpet. He sat down, folding his legs beneath him. Shenla remained standing, for now. “Can I fetch you something to eat or drink?”

Vegar’s head swayed. “No, thank you.” He watched her expectantly, then his eyes flicked to the bed behind her. “Your ... Companions. Are they your mates?”

Shenla half-turned her head back to the bed, where Torvin, Barrog and Caeledrin were still lazing. Peldin was on his feet, standing nearby and keeping an eye on Vegar. “Yes, they are all my mates. We have a special relationship.”

Vegar nodded as if that made sense to him. “I have heard rumours in the camp, and in the city, about what happens to those who sleep with you, Shenla, though I did not believe them. Some say your lovers never wake up, or that you eat them after, but I am happy to see these creatures look healthy and well.” He boomed a laugh that rattled the windows in their casements. “Honestly, eating your partner after sex! Even for the Elves, that is madness!”

“Well, I can assure you that is not true,” Shenla replied, though the near-truth in his words made her feel queasy, especially as memories surfaced in her mind of those men she had drained dry to harvest their strength. Handle what problems you can, she told herself. “I’d like to discuss some things with you, if it pleases you, Vegar,” she said politely, wanting to get the Giant back to the matters at hand.

Vegar inclined his head. “Of course. I am yours to command. My orders were to obey you as if you were the Chief, excepting anything that would cause harm to the Amun’noroth.”

“I understand,” Shenla said, quietly thanking Peldin when he placed a heavy padded armchair opposite Vegar for her to sit in. She felt a small burst of affection through their bond, and wondered why, until she realised that she probably had never thanked him for anything. She made a mental note to start doing it more often. “Please know that I would not bring intentional harm to the Giants, and everything I do will be with the wellbeing of your people in mind.” That was true enough; she did not want to hurt the Giants. She needed them on her side if she was to execute the plan that had been gradually forming in her mind. If she could carry it out without unnecessary deaths, then she would welcome that outcome. She’d seen enough death for ten lifetimes already. The problem was, if Maloth was left unchecked, many more would die, so some sacrifices may be required.

“Then tell me what it is you wish, Shenla, and I will see it done.”

As Shenla began to speak, Vegar’s bushy eyebrows climbed higher and higher, and a smile slowly crept across his broad face. He seemed confident that he could carry out her wishes, which were not difficult to begin with; the less moving parts a plan had, the better it usually went. “You are as clever as you are beautiful, Shenla,” the hulking Giant told her. “I would offer to mate with you, but I fear your body is not built for my affections.” He looked down at his loins, then back at her, as if that explained everything. Indeed, Shenla followed his gaze to the enormous appendage between his thighs and smiled.

“As I said before, Vegar,” she purred. “I might surprise you, there. But in any event, it is best if we refrain from such activities. My charms have a way of ... altering the minds of those who sample them, unfortunately.” Truly, she did regret that particular aspect of her abilities, now. When Vegar looked at Peldin, Shenla shook her head. “No, not like that. Peldin is bound to me and is therefore stronger than he was before. A man without that protection, though, would slowly lose himself over time after making love to me, unable to think of anything but satisfying an insatiable lust, even to his own death.”

To Shenla’s surprise, Vegar directed a question at the men. “What is it like, being her slave?”

“We are not slaves, Giant,” Barrog said from the bed, his voice hard. “We accepted what she offered, and in return for our service, we received certain gifts.”

“But you cannot leave her? Or disobey?” Vegar looked at Torvin, this time. The stocky Warden was lifting himself from the bed and crossing the room to the large, ornately carved fireplace. The muscles beneath his pale, tattooed skin rippled as he moved. Shenla smiled as she admired his form and felt a warm burst in her chest. These warm feelings had once felt alien, uncomfortable, but now she was starting to appreciate them.

“Why would we?” Torvin replied without looking around as he began to set a fire. “We have everything we want.”

Vegar nodded thoughtfully at that, then stood. “If there is nothing else, Lady Shenla,” he said with more respect than he had upon entering. “I will take my leave.” Shenla watched him with interest as he redressed and showed himself out.

“He is curious about us,” Peldin said. He was standing with his arms folded, still looking at the door. “I think perhaps you you will end up binding him.”

Shenla shook her head firmly. “No, Peldin. No more bindings. I have all I need with you four, and I am lucky to have you. I see that now. I just wish I could take at least some of the last few months back.”

“It is of no consequence,” Caeledrin drawled lazily as he moved around in front of her. Gods, he was a beautiful creature. “You will bind the Giant, or you won’t. The universe will continue to spin regardless.” He looked her over with a definite light of avarice in his eyes. “Now, if I may, Mistress, I would very much like to return you to bed.” She offered no protest as he scooped her up from the chair and carried her to the bed. Her feelings of remorse receded somewhat once she was surrounded by the insistent, urgent and loving attentions of her men. For the first time she could remember, she stayed passive and let them lead. They took turns pleasing her in different ways, and allowing her to do the same for them. She didn’t know how long it took until they were done, but for that time, she forgot about everything beyond the five bodies in the bed.

Eames’ hand trembled as he read the crinkled slip of parchment for the third time. It had arrived by pigeon this morning and been handed to him not more than a minute ago, the wax seal unbroken. The dawn had not yet broken over Maralon, and the only light was from a single candle on his desk, lit in haste in order to read the message. Vesovar has fallen. ‘Darkspawn,’ was all the message said. Four words that were making his hands shake like a fresh recruit on the front lines facing a cavalry charge. Where had this army of darkspawn - large enough to roll over an entire town in a single night - come from? The Emerin forest, no doubt. It was no secret that the Emerin was a breeding ground for all things dark and unholy. It was either the Emerin or somewhere deep in the Amarion Peaks. With all these earth tremors lately, it was possible that large numbers of darkspawn had been driven from underground caverns in the mountains near Vesovar, but Eames’ would never have believed there could be so many as this!

Wherever they had come from, there was now a war to be fought, and Eames could no longer spare the time and resources to search for arohim. With Vesovar gone, Ironshire would surely be next, and then Maralon. He would need to request reinforcements from the Dawnguard, which would raise questions that he would be hard-pressed to answer to the Council’s satisfaction. The High Council had never approved of his desire to capture and study arohim, despite it being the most logical way to learn about them, and when they discovered that Eames had been focusing his attention on that over the protection of his region from darkspawn, his leadership suitability would likely be brought into question. With a grimace, he realised he had crumpled the paper in his fist. Opening his hand, he did his best to smooth the slip out.

So close. Another week and I would have had something, I know it! Latham had been effective in his execution of Eames’ orders. Hundreds of houses had been turned out, and hundreds of people questioned, which had led to more questioning. The servants of the arohim had been so clever at hiding their presence that Eames would have believed there were none in Maralon if he didn’t know better. The discovery of the hidden tunnels beneath the city had been the most promising news in weeks, but so far nothing else had been revealed apart from some ancient symbols scrawled on the walls; old runes used by the arohim. Eames had teams working down there in shifts, day and night, knocking down walls and dredging the sewers. Any day now, Eames would find what he was looking for; a secret lair under the city, probably abandoned, but full of arohim paraphernalia and knowledge. That was what Eames really wanted; the knowledge to destroy the disgusting creatures utterly, and with that knowledge he would surely be risen to the High Seat of the Heralds of Dawn.

Pushing himself away from the desk, he returned to his bedchamber and began to dress. Frustration boiled in him, threatening to crack his composure, but he stuffed it down. Time, he reminded himself. And patience. Time and patience.

20.2: Vayani

“Where is this place?” Elaina asked, staring around at the endless dunes baking beneath a merciless sun. Her normally large eyes were narrowed to slits against the light reflecting off the nearly white sand. She did not bother to manifest clothes; she would not burn here, in amathani, nor feel the heat. Smythe had not gone to that extent when he’d created this place from memory.

“The Sands of Nazar,” he told his former par’vala. “I was thinking about Aran when I fell asleep, and the East.”

“This is indeed east,” she replied softly as she spun in a full circle. The desert landscape was uninterrupted as far as the eye could see, and its borders were much further. “Very far to the east.”

“Change it if you wish, lass. There are some pleasant oases scattered about the Sands you might appreciate.” The thought of watching Elaina bathe in a pond shaded by trees and lush grasses stirred his ardour, but he ignored it, for now.

Her shoulder-length hair swung slightly as she shook her head. “No, it is fine. You have been here before. I remember you telling me about it.”

“A long time ago,” he replied. “A foolish youth on a foolish task.”

She chuckled. “You told me that, too, though you never said why it was foolish, or why you were.” She stepped up to him and put her arms around his middle, burying her cheek into his chest. He stroked her hair fondly until she pulled away again. “I don’t suppose you will tell me now?”

Smythe grinned. “It is a story of such grandeur and scale that we would run out of time tonight, I fear,” he said pompously, making Elaina scoff lightheartedly. “But I tell you this: Once all this is done, and we are relaxing together in a world at peace again, I will regale you with the full account of my adventures as a young Paladin. How does that take you?” He held out his hand, and Elaina took it.

“Agreed,” she said happily. “I’ll bet you did something embarrassing,” she added slyly. “And that’s why you haven’t told me.” Her proximity to the truth made Smythe clear his throat surreptitiously.

“Yes, well,” he said. “You will have to wait and find out, no?” He chatted with her a little longer as they waited for Aran and Amina to arrive, but they did not come. Their absence meant little, though it had been a week now since all four of them had been together. Smythe wished he could shake the feeling that something big was happening, but then, something big was always happening these days. He and Elaina talked for a while, and he was happy to hear that she had taken another meldin in this young man that had saved her life, Noah. Smythe shared in her happiness and congratulated her. He was glad she had an extra pair of eyes to watch her back with Aran off doing Aros knows what.

Smythe was considering taking another meldin himself, maybe two. The thought was amusing. Two more meldin to make three when he’d not had even one for decades! What a time this was becoming. He never thought he’d live to see it. Elaina’s news about Burin finally coming to his senses was certainly positive, and none too soon. Smythe was shocked to hear that Burin had fallen victim to Maharad for a time, and only some quick thinking from Elaina had saved him. The woman’s time in Dun’Arghol had not been easy, thus far. When Smythe asked her if Aran had sensed anything in Burin, she shook her head.

“I do not think he did,” she said slowly. “He would not have left the city, otherwise. I think perhaps Maharad acted quickly once Aran left, and Burin was susceptible.” Smythe nodded thoughtfully. “So have you left the city yet?”

“Yesterday,” Elaina replied. “With a hundred thousand Dwarven drengr.”

Smythe’s jaw fell open. “A hundred thousand?” When Elaina confirmed it, Smythe grinned like a boy who’d just had his first time with a woman. “Perhaps things are not so dark as we believed. Not quite, anyway.”

“We are marching north and will resupply in Vesovar,” Elaina said. “I have also asked for a company of ten thousand drengr to come past the Chapel for support. In case you are harried by more darkspawn.” Smythe found himself kissing her, her face captured in his hands.

“Thank you, Elaina,” he said sincerely. “To be truthful, I did not know how the Chapel was going to survive another attack, even with Solovir and the growing numbers. Solovir says the trees say nothing of more ulunn, but if the creatures are beneath the ground, then perhaps the trees are unaware.”

Elaina put her hands over his where they cupped her cheeks. “Hold out until they arrive,” she implored him with a sapphire gaze. “Help is coming.” She kissed him, this time, and soon their passion overtook them. Following his own earlier suggestion, Smythe changed the setting to an oasis he had visited once, long ago. There, he laid Elaina down on the soft grass and made love to her until it was time to return to the real world.

A week after his meeting with Elaina, Smythe stood at his bedroom window on the Chapel’s second floor and watched the two shirtless par’vali sparring with their practice blades in the hard-packed circle of earth behind the building. The sound of stick on stout stick echoed around the grounds. Kedron, the shorter of the two, yet a little heavier in the chest and shoulders, easily outclassed Ostin, his less experienced opponent. Despite the chill of the early morning, sweat glistened on their skin and plastered their hair to their heads. Kedron’s growth in ability had been significant since arriving at the Chapel - with everything the boy had been through, he’d learned some hard lessons, and he’d put them to good use. Ostin was a good student, too, but he was lagging behind Kedron. It was to be expected, really; Kedron’s vala was unlocked, while Ostin’s would not be for some time, yet. Smythe found himself wondering about that; since time out of memory, par’vali had been forbidden from prematurely awakening their vala, giving time for the necessary foundations to be laid before they reached their full power. Smythe thought of it like building a strong pipe before the water was allowed to flow, rather than build the pipe around the water; the latter being much more difficult.

Watching Kedron, however, Smythe was wondering if perhaps that rule could be discarded, or at least relaxed. Kedron had had access to his vala before Smythe met him, and his training was progressing swiftly. The lad was growing stronger by the day, and he kept up no matter how hard Smythe pushed him. Smythe pursed his lips as he watched the boys. Should he give young Ostin permission to be with a woman? It would not be difficult to arrange; even with his vala only just emerging, the wiry fair-haired lad was getting plenty of attention around the Chapel. Elsa would happily take on the task, if Smythe asked it of her; his meldin had mentioned several times how handsome she found the lad. Smythe grinned at the thought of Elsa giving Ostin a thorough education in the arts of lovemaking. Wouldn’t that be a memorable first time for a young man; an older woman, confident and experienced, showing him the ropes, so to speak.