Chapter 3

all characters are over the age of eighteen years

***CAELEDRIN VELENAR – Tar’elda City of Laefendell, Palistair***

Caeledrin lounged nude on the plush silk cushions, his hands folded behind his head. He sighed as he enjoyed the sensations of the two she-Elves diligently attending his cock with their talented mouths. Both in their third century, raven-headed Alendaes and golden-haired Gwynes were rounding out nicely, their hips, breasts and thighs generously proportioned. Alendaes was kneeling between Caeledrin’s spread thighs, bathing his balls with her tongue, while Gwynes was straddling his chest, presenting her smooth, pale buttocks and bald pink pussy for his enjoyment while she swallowed as much of his throbbing member as she could. Caeledrin was not small, but she made a valiant effort nonetheless.

This was what life was about, for Caeledrin; lazing about in his lavish quarters and reveling in the pleasures of women and food and wine. More than six hundred years he had walked this earth, and he’d figured out long ago that the world never really changed, no matter how much one tried to change it. Things stayed more or less the same, if you really looked at it, so why bother? Life was to be enjoyed, and Caeledrin planned on relishing every minute for the rest of time.

“Your Grace?” Wonderfully buxom and curved, Caeledrin’s high counsel, Velesande, looked down at him quizzically from where she was standing nearby. She was an excellent treat for the eyes, with that flowing golden hair and a voluptuous form easily discernable through the loose diaphanous robes that Tar’elda favoured. A treat for the eyes, but rarely for the ears, unfortunately, as she tended to drone on about matters that Caeledrin cared little for. What had she been saying? Ah, yes, further word had been received from Ellerion Velenar, Caeledrin’s wife.

Ellerion had vanished some time ago without explanation but had started sending regular letters back to Laefendell a few weeks later. Always one to pander to the common folk - ‘lifting morale,’ she called it - Ellerion had insisted on travelling with a supply caravan to a small mining outpost in the west, which had been raided by Orcs, according to later reports. While there had been plenty of dead Elves, none of the scouts had been able to locate Ellerion. The worst was feared; that she’d been captured by the Gor’dur, until the letters had started arriving. Apparently, she had escaped the raid and was in a safe place, but she had learned much about the enemies of the High Elves and was sending back as much information as she could.

Caeledrin could care less that his wife was gone, or whether she was in danger or not; he had plenty of women to occupy him, and his marriage to Ellerion was one of convenience, a unification of two powerful families. He also cared little for what the Orcs and Dark Elves, or anyone else got up to, as long as it didn’t disturb his fun.

“Forgive me, Velesande,” Caeledrin drawled lazily as he squeezed Gwynes’s ripe buttocks. The pretty Elf atop him moaned in response, and her slit was glistening with her moisture. Her smell was sweet, like fruit wine, and Caeledrin felt himself swell further in the wet cavern of her mouth. “I appear to have grown somewhat distracted.”

Velesande bobbed a graceful curtsy, her spectacular breasts swaying beneath the thin fabric of her robe. Before she’d left, Ellerion had been the most beautiful and coveted Elf in Laefandell, but Velesande was not far behind. “Forgive me, your Grace, I will repeat myself.” Velesande was always polite, always proper, at least when attending to political matters. She held a small roll of parchment in her delicate fingers and unfurled it to scan its contents again. “High Matriarch Velenar sends word that the Orcs and Dark Elves have formed a treaty and are moving on Amindaer City.”

That got Caeledrin’s attention. He sat up, rudely shoving Gwynes aside, though he allowed her and Alendaes to continue their work on his cock. “Truly?” He mused, stroking his smooth chin. “That could be problematic.” For the last half-century, the Orcs, Giants, Dark Elves and High Elves had stood at odds after fleeing the failing Seven Kingdoms of Ekistair and carving out their own realms here in Palistair, across the sea. Aside from the odd skirmish or raid, there was relative peace between these four races, as long as they left each other alone. If the Orcs really had sided with the Dark Elves, then they could march for Laefandell.

“Yes, your Grace,” Velesande said, her big, sapphire eyes floating down to where his cock was being attended to. She licked her full lips unconsciously. “As with the others, the High Matriarch’s letter was signed by her hand, and sealed with her seal.”

“How many fighters have we in our army, Velesande?” Caeledrin asked, idly pushing Alendaes’ head further onto his cock, forcing his way deeper until her throat opened and he slid all the way down. She was a determined thing, committed to pleasuring her King, and she looked up at him with large, emerald eyes adoringly even as her slim throat bulged.

“We have ten thousand warriors ready to march,” Velesande replied immediately.

“And how many are in this force of Orcs and Dark Elves?”

“The High Matriarch estimates their numbers at five or six thousand, your Grace. Her Grace suggests that we attack them once they begin their siege of Amindaer and pin them against the city’s walls.”

“Very good, Velesande,” Caelendrin said with a smile for the beautiful Elf. “Prepare the legions, but first I want scouts sent south, and regular reports sent back. I trust Ellerion’s word, but I want confirmation.” Ellerion was loyal to her people, and Caeledrin doubted very strongly that she had turned traitor, but it still paid to be sure.

“At once, your Grace,” Velesande said, curtsying again before turning to leave the chamber.

“You should stay and take pleasure with us,” Caeledrin suggested as Gwynes swung a long leg across his waist, straddling him while Alendaes aimed his thick shaft at Gwynes’ slick entrance. His view of Velesande was blocked by Gwynes’ perfectly symmetrical breasts, large and pale on her chest, but he heard her response well enough.

“I would like nothing more, your Grace,” she said genuinely. “But I would carry out your orders first, if you agree?”

Gwynes lowered herself down, her sodden snatch engulfing him inch by inch in delicious wet heat. He waved Velesande away impatiently, knowing she was right. The last thought Caeledrin had before he lost himself in fucking Gwynes was one of triumph; if Ellerion was right, then this was his chance to secure the HIgh Elves’ power on Palistair. With the Dark Elves and Orcs gone, he may even be able to take Amindaer City! With no enemies left to fight, and an impenetrable fortress around him, Caeledrin could enjoy the pleasures of his lifestyle with no fear of interruption.

A greedy smile crossed his face as he palmed Gwynes’ tits, images filled his mind of rooms full of naked she-Elves, all beckoning him to join them, to give them his cock. Changing the world was pointless, but carving out his own piece, free of threats, to enjoy as he would? That was worth pursuing.

***ARAN – Karvani Mountains, Ekistair***

The sun was at its peak as Aran, Smythe and Elaina led their horses up the long, winding stair. Statues lined their path, worn smooth by centuries of wind and rain, rendering their features indistinguishable from one another. Aran thought they had all once been monuments of people – Paladins, most likely – though he couldn’t tell for sure.

Ayla had awoken some time ago, and was now riding Elaina’s chestnut mare, Willow. Tavish walked alongside his mounted sister, one hand on the pommel of her saddle, which she covered with her own hand. Ayla had listened to Aran’s explanation of events – he’d been as gentle as possible – but she’d said not a word since waking, even to her brother.

Where Tavish had adjusted to his new circumstances remarkably well, Ayla seemed disconnected, riding with a distant look on her face. Aran supposed that was to be expected, considering what she’d been through. Hopefully, with time, she would recover from the ordeal. It was good that her brother was with her; he would be a source of comfort for the girl. Aran’s heart had clenched when Tavish told them what Eames’ had done to Ayla; ordering three thugs to violate her while she was defenseless. Luckily, Tavish’s vala had manifested, and he had spared his sister the worst of the men’s vile attentions.

Aran walked abreast with Elaina at the front of the party as they climbed, with Smythe bringing up the rear, leading Thunder behind Tavish and Ayla. He looked over his shoulder to see the Sorral Plain laid out below like a rolling green carpet dotted with clumps of trees here and there. They were almost at the entrance to Temple Sura – named after Edellein Sura, an ancient Paladin – and the view was tremendous. This high up, one could see almost all the way to Maralon, though the city’s walls were hidden by the horizon.

Aran opened his mouth to mention the view to Elaina, but the words fled as a distant rumble sounded, growing louder, as if something colossal was rapidly approaching. The horses whickered nervously, and Strider tossed his black head, though Aran held tight to the reins.

Elaina looked over at him, her emerald eyes widening. “What-”

The mountain beneath them shuddered and groaned, causing man and beast alike to stumble. Tavish yelled something, but his words were lost in the roar of the trembling earth. Ayla was swaying dangerously in the saddle, and Smythe was cursing as he tried to keep his feet and control Thunder at the same time, the black stallion rearing in panic. Clutching Strider’s reins in a death grip, Aran staggered to Elaina, and they clutched each other until the tremor finally subsided.

Aran took a deep breath as the mountain shivered a last time and went quiet. What a time to have an earthquake! “Is everyone alright?” They all nodded. Somehow, Ayla had not been unhorsed. The vacant expression was gone from her face, replaced by wide-eyed fear. “Come on. We should hurry inside.” He checked his melda, but thankfully, all his women appeared unharmed, if a bit shaken. He turned to continue up the mountain, but Smythe called from behind.

“Aran, look.”

Smythe was pointing to the northern horizon, in the direction of Maralon, where a line of black clouds was massing, stretching east and west as far as the eye could see. Billowing towers rose high into the otherwise clear sky. Aran looked at Smythe, confused. “Those clouds weren’t there a minute ago.”

“Aye,” Smythe said, his voice tight and his busy eyebrows drawn into a frown. “They were not, but they are now.”

As Aran watched, the storm advanced at an unbelievable pace, blanketing the Sorral Plain in shadow as it approached. Thick forks of lightning stabbed at the earth, and the thunder was distant crashing, but already audible. “We need to get inside,” Aran said, punctuating his own words by starting forward. An earthquake and now another freak storm? What in the Hells was happening? Intuitively, Aran thought he might know, but he dismissed the thought for now; there was nothing he could do about that particular problem at this moment.

Nobody argued, and the group hastened up the wide, shallow stone steps, wanting to be inside the Temple as quickly as possible. The wind picked up, gusting in from the north as if to push them toward their goal, flapping their cloaks about wildly and making the horses skittish. “Easy, boy,” Aran murmured to Strider as he tugged the stallion along. The midday sun suddenly disappeared, and Aran looked up to see the leading clouds already obscuring the glowing ball. ‘This cannot be natural,’ he thought to himself as he quickened his pace. Glancing behind, he saw the storm now lashing the plain below, a curtain of rain hiding the rolling hills from sight, only broken by frequent forks of jagged lightning. Thunder rumbled continuously like a growl deep in the belly of a monstrous beast.

They weren’t going to make it. The storm was moving too quickly and would surely sweep them off the face of the mountain as if they were loose stones. The wind gusted higher, and Aran felt the force of it trying to blow him down. “Hurry!” He bellowed over the now howling wind as he broke into a run, leaping up the stairs as fast as he could manage. Hail began to fall around them, fist-sized chunks of ice that shattered on the mountainside. If one of those hailstones hit someone in the head, they would likely not survive. “We’re almost there!”

Pain lanced through him as a jagged piece of hail struck him in the left shoulder, the force of it making him stumble.

“Aran!” Elaina yelled, bending to pick him up by the arm. She was strong, and she pulled him to his feet easily. Wincing with pain, he hurried forward, hoping that he had not broken anything. Finally, he sensed the entrance to the Temple, less than a hundred yards away. He closed the distance at a sprint, Strider eagerly leaping along behind him, whickering nervously all the way. Using his vala, he kept an eye on the party, so if anyone else got hit, he would know.

Reaching the stone archway, Aran stepped to the side, but did not enter. He let Strider go and slapped him on the rump, sending him trotting inside as he waved the others through. Elaina first, with her horse, then Tavish and Ayla and finally, Smythe. As Aran ducked in after, a piece of hail smashed into the stone where his head had been a moment ago.

Sighing with relief, he followed the others into the Temple. Outside, the torrential rain began to fall.

They got as far as the vast chamber with its forest of pillars and statue of Edellein Sura when the Servants came rushing up to greet them, concerned looks on their faces. Aran quickly scanned them, but they appeared unharmed by the quake. Visions had flashed through his mind of the Temple collapsing, but this chamber, at least, appeared undamaged. Two faces were not in that cluster; Sara, whom Aran had not laid eyes on for some time, now, and Kedron. Aran could sense they were both in the Temple, though not together.

Amina led the flock, all clad in their short, diaphanous purple robes, and Aran admired her lush form, breathtaking even in these dire circumstances. Not that there was a single unattractive woman in the bunch, by any means, but Amina shone like a bonfire beside candles.

“Thank Aros!” The golden-haired Priestess exclaimed as she came forward. “When I sensed that storm coming after the quake, I feared ... never mind.” Her sapphire eyes fell on the twins. “Welcome, children, to Temple Sura!” She beamed at them, and Aran saw Ayla leave her fugue long enough to blink disbelievingly at Amina’s transparent purple robe. Tavish’s eyes looked ready to fall out of his head.

“Are you well, my dear?” Amina asked Ayla, who had dismounted woodenly from the saddle with Tavish’s help. Ayla took one look at the Priestess’s compassionate gaze and broke down into ragged sobbing, the first sounds she’d made since being rescued. Amina clucked her tongue for all the world like a mother hen and clapped her hands together. “I need two women to take this poor girl and help her get cleaned up,” she said as she turned to the waiting group. “Jeira and Rayna, I think.”

Immediately, the two women came forward and Aran shared a quick smile with them as they passed him to gently collect Ayla and lead her off. The stricken girl appeared unwilling to let go of Tavish, however, and so he found himself being towed along, concern for his sister painted across his youthful face.

Amina watched them go with her full lips pursed. “I will go to her later,” she murmured to the three Paladins. “For now, she needs a bath and some rest.”

“I could use the same, I think,” Elaina said with a grin, shucking her cloak to reveal her shirtless body, nude from the waist up and caked with dried Troll blood. They had not dared stop again since encountering the Troll, even for Elaina to clean up.

Frowning, Amina delicately peeled away some of the blood from Elaina’s very considerable breast and studied it intently. “This is Troll’s blood,” she said after a moment, staring at Aran, Smythe and Elaina in turn.

“Aye, Priestess,” Smythe confirmed as he stepped forward. “Happened upon him out on the Sorral Plain. He’d just finished his dinner; roasted Herald.”

Had the situation not been so grim, Aran would have smiled at Smythe’s dark humour. Amina eyed the big Paladin with an unreadable expression on her face before turning back to the waiting group of Servants and friends of Aros. “I must discuss these matters with the Paladins in private, children,” she said kindly. The small crowd dispersed immediately, but not before Erik, Sylvia and Sorla each came forward to take a horse.

Aran squeezed Sorla’s hand briefly as she silently took Strider’s reins from him, and the pretty half-Orc returned the squeeze, winking at him before moving off. Love flowed through the melda from her, accompanied by a feeling of relief, as if she had exhaled after holding her breath for a long time. Aran could sense that same feeling from all his other melda, too. He hated making them worry; he would have to make it up to them somehow.

“Come,” Amina said once they were alone. “I must speak with the three of you about what happened out there, and in Maralon. Also, Elaina appears in need of a bath.” The Priestess eyed the busty Paladin up and down, a small smile curving her lips. “No matter how appealing she looks, even covered in blood.”

They all chuckled, at least until the Priestess turned her eyes on the men. “And judging by the smell,” she added, wrinkling her perfect nose. “You two are in even greater need of a wash.”

Aran just shrugged. “I figured we’d get a chance sooner or later, Priestess, though bathing didn’t seem all that important compared to Heralds and Trolls.”

“Indeed,” Amina said as she turned away. “Come, we will use the bath chamber in my quarters. There is less chance of us being overheard unnecessarily.”

They all watched somewhat transfixed as the Priestess swayed through the tall stone columns, her hips rolling hypnotically and her ample bottom wiggling delightfully beneath the flimsy material of her robe.

“That woman,” Elaina murmured as they followed her from a few paces back. “Makes me mad for pussy like you wouldn’t believe.”

Aran and Smythe chortled at that. “I think I would believe, lass,” Smythe said with a grin. “I’ve seen too much to believe otherwise!”

“I’ll second that,” Aran added, winking at his meldin when she looked at him.

“I wonder why she wants to talk in private?” Smythe mused, stroking his thick black mustache that ran from beneath his bold nose and connected to a strip of hair that ran along his jawline, leaving his chin bare. Aran had never seen facial hair in that fashion anywhere else.

“Probably to avoid worrying the others,” Aran guessed. “I’m sure they don’t need to hear all the gruesome details of what happened just yet. They’ll find out soon enough from Tavish and Ayla.” Pleasure suddenly flowed into him from several melda all at once, telling him that wherever they were, the others were having a good time.

“Holy shit!” Elaina breathed, putting a hand to her naked chest. “Is that coming from them?”

As one of Aran’s meldin, Elaina would be able to feel whatever he felt, including what came through from his other meldin, and the closer you were to your meldin, the more you felt them. “Sure is,” he replied, enjoying the heat coursing in his veins.

“How do you contain yourself?” She asked, breathing a little heavier than before. Her nipples had stiffened into points on her bare breasts. “I’d be a puddle on the floor!”

“I just try and enjoy it,” he said simply, putting an arm around her waist, not caring about the blood. It was dry, anyway.

Smythe seemed to know what they were talking about despite the lack of explanation. “Aran has an innate gift for creating melda,” he offered. “Perhaps that is why he can handle so many. It makes me wonder what Paladins like Palavus Ironrod experienced on a daily basis.” Palavus Ironrod was an ancient Paladin notorious for his multitude of meldin, which numbered over five hundred at one stage, according to texts in Amina’s library.

“Aros only know,” Elaina muttered, fanning her face with a hand. “I’m bloody burning up, here! What are those women of yours up to, stud?”

“No idea,” Aran replied. “Though I wish I was there to see it.”

Amina’s quarters were accessed through the far side of the huge columned chamber, through a tall archway that led deeper into the Temple. Aran had walked this path for the first time nearly half a year ago, full of uncertainty. Just before the arched opening that led to Amina’s bedchamber was another opening that led to her private baths. Sunstones lined the walls of a room that was much smaller than the huge communal baths elsewhere in the Temple, and filled the space with a warm, yellow glow that complemented the firelight from the fireplace that took up the entire far wall.

The water in the pool was the best thing Aran had seen all day – except for the women, of course – and he longed to get out of his dirty, smelly clothes and into the warm bath. Amina was just undoing her robe when they entered, and she smiled at them seductively as the garment whispered to the stone floor. Aran felt a pull at his chest and loins, as if she were a magnet drawing him to her. He was used to this; all female arohim had this effect on men, and Amina was very strong in the vala.

The three Paladins watched hungrily as the Priestess gracefully stepped down into the water, her wonderfully lush body slowly disappearing inch by inch until she was submerged to her chin. Smythe seemed to break free of the spell first, and Amina watched him with a lip caught between her white teeth as he undressed, not hurriedly, but not wasting time, either.

Aran’s attention was brought to Elaina as she stepped in front of him and unclasped his cloak, letting it drop before starting on the laces of his shirt. He watched her as she worked, admiring her focus as she deftly finished with his laces and pushed the shirt back off his shoulders, careful not to touch him where the big hailstone had hit him.

She inhaled sharply when she looked at his bare shoulder. “It looks as bad as it feels,” she said quietly.

Aran glanced down at the angry red blotch, which had already begun to darken into a bruise. The hail had not been smooth; the jags had broken his skin in several places, even through his cloak and shirt. “I’ll be alright,” he told her, liking the way her emerald eyes caught the firelight. “It hurts less now than it did before.”

Without saying more, Elaina moved her fingers to his sword belt, which clattered to the floor before she started on his breeches. Over her shoulder, Aran saw that Smythe had entered the bath and was kissing Amina passionately. The Priestess was wrapped tightly around the big Paladin, and her ample breasts were mashed into his chest and billowing out to the sides.

Aran kicked his boots off as Elaina tugged his breeches down, and his hard cock sprang forward to hit her in the cheek, which made them both giggle. Once he was naked, he attended to his lover’s clothes, pulling off her boots before peeling her skin-tight breeches down her long, luscious legs until she stepped out of them.

“Make love to me,” she whispered when he stood up to face her.

Wordlessly, he bent his head and brought his lips to hers, his hands encircling her slim waist and pulling her closer, until their bodies were pressed together. Not only were he and Elaina meldir, they were also something Amina called amatharn, which meant that their fates were tied together in a way that wasn’t fully understood. Being with Elaina just felt ... right, as if she was his home, the place where he belonged. He loved and cherished all the others; Jeira and Sorla, Rayna and Bella, Induin and Liaren, and they were all special, but Elaina was Elaina. It would be untrue to say that he loved her more than any other, for such a thing was foreign to him – you either loved, or you didn’t, there was no middle ground – but there was a depth to their connection that was vast and unique.

“Get in the bath,” Elaina said huskily, breaking the kiss and moving over to one side of the room, where a bucket sat on a stool. As Aran stepped down into the water, he watched as Elaina began to sponge herself off, wanting to wash off the dried blood before joining him.

The bath was probably only large enough for six people at most, and Smythe and Amina were right in the centre, still in the same position, the Priestess moaning in pleasure as she gyrated her hips against Smythe. Keeping an eye on Elaina – particularly on the way her fair skin glistened wetly in the firelight – he moved up behind Amina, who immediately leaned back against him and put her hands behind his head. Aran’s hands came up to her breasts, which weren’t as large as Elaina’s massive orbs, but still too big to fit into his hands, and massaged them while Smythe fucked the Priestess, his hands on her hips beneath the water as he delivered powerful thrusts.

“Mmm,” Amina moaned as she siezed Aran’s hair and tilted her face back, her lips parted in offering. Aran kissed her deeply for a time, and their tongues danced as the Priestess’s body rocked against him. “At some point,” she breathed. “I want both of you inside me at the same time.”

Aran’s cock twitched at the thought. Having to make himself wrench his lips away from Amina’s hungry mouth, Aran spied Elaina sitting at the edge of the bath, her smooth legs lazily swirling the water as she watched. With a smile, her creamy thighs opened and she leaned back on her hands, presenting her bald pussy.

Aran was moving before he realised, wading to Elaina and running his hands along the insides of her spread thighs. He planted soft kisses on the silky skin, lightly nipping with his teeth every so often, and the buxom Paladin sighed with anticipation as he neared her smooth cleft. Her scent filled his nostrils, sweet and heady at the same time, and he pressed his lips against her sex, delving into her folds with his tongue, gingerly at first, then increasing the pressure gradually.

Hands tangled in his hair, and his former mentor moaned as she pulled his face harder against her. Aran’s hands left the water and seized a mountainous breast in each, firmly squeezing the pliant flesh as he alternated between teasing her opening and lightly flicking her stiff clit, reading her with his vala to pleasure her exactly how she desired.

Elaina moaned loudly as he worked, bucking her hips up to grind herself into his face, and her thighs were locked around his ears tightly, encasing him in a delicious vice. She trembled as she came, her thighs quivering before opening to release him. She looked down at him hungrily as he planted kissed on the smooth skin above her slit. “I need you inside me, Stud.”

Needing no further encouragement, Aran gathered her in his arms and brought her down into the water, where she quickly entwined her limbs around him and expertly maneuvered her hips to put him at the entrance to her pussy. He could feel the heat from her bathing the head of his cock as it kissed her lower lips. Aran’s heart raced as Elaina lowered herself slowly, swallowing him inch by inch until he was embedded inside her once again. Energy flowed between them, a pulse more powerful than what he experienced from his other meldin, and Aran lost himself in Elaina as she pressed her lips to his and moaned into his mouth at their physical joining.

Elaina ground herself against him insistently, and she clutched herself to him in a fierce embrace, as if trying to press his very body into her own. Her lips were hot against his ear. “I never want this to end.”

Aran couldn’t agree more. There was something ... transcendent about sex with Elaina, even more so than his experiences with Amina, a High Priestess. His hands drifted down her slim back to her round ass, thick with muscle yet soft and pliant in his grip. He pulled her against him rhythmically, and the water churned around them as their pace increased. Voices penetrated his awareness which was largely occupied by Elaina.

“It’s quite something to watch,” Smythe was saying as he leant back against the edge of the bath off to one side. Amina was in front of the big Paladin, reclining against his chest and also studying Aran and Elaina, her crystal blue eyes hot with desire, but also fascination, Aran thought.

“This is what it’s like with amatharn,” she said quietly, moaning softly as Smythe ran his hands over her body, from her breasts and down over her flat belly beneath the water. “Do you see the glow?”

“Aye,” Smythe confirmed, though Aran didn’t know what glow they meant, nor did he care. Right now, he was with Elaina, and that’s all that mattered.

“The vala flows more strongly between them than other Meldir,” Amina explained in between luxuriant sighs as Smythe explored her body. Her hips were rocking beneath the water, and Aran could sense they were still fucking lazily as they watched. “They will do great things together.”