Chapter 4: War & Shadow

MALOTH – War Camp on the Ergar Plain, just North of Amindaer City

The frenzied orgy had lasted long into the night and then into the early hours of the morning. Bodies of all different shapes and sizes, spent and naked and glistening with sweat, lay atop the lavish furs carpeting the tent floor, strewn about wherever they had collapsed. Even Shenla looked grateful for a rest, lying next to Maloth on the massive bed, one rose-skinned thigh draped over his legs and her head on his chest. Resting or no, her hand still idly stroked his cock, and her midnight-purple eyes flashed greedily as she watched her fingers caress the length of crimson flesh.

Resting was the last thing on Maloth’s mind. Since Binding the Orc chieftess Morana last night, he felt he had reached a new level entirely. His thoughts had sharpened, as had his purpose, and raw power flowed through his veins, barely contained. He thought he might be able to face a hundred or more foes at once, like this, though he was loath to attempt that unless absolutely necessary. Only a fool took risks without need.

Today would be an important day. With Beshok under Shenla’s spell – his will would slowly erode a little more each time he tasted Shenla’s charms – and Morana’s soul bound to Maloth, the Orcs were now under his command, or close enough as didn’t matter. Morin’s uses had reached their end, as had Berenor’s; Maloth wanted their armies, and he had them now.

Queen Morin Veskash, Mistress of the Grave and ruler of the Wardens of Angavar, lay sprawled on the floor of the tent among the jumble of bodies, drying come leaking from every orifice and liberally coating her pale nudity. She stared blankly at the canvas ceiling, idly caressing the half-hard cock of Shenla’s Torvin, who lay next to her. Many of the men in the tent had had their time with Morin, and she had taken them all willingly.

There was little left to Morin now but an empty shell driven by lust. Similarly, King Berenor of the Dark Elves of Eredor lay on his back, his white-haired black head resting on Glinda’s mammoth bosom. The comely Dwarf was passed out where she lay, her plump thighs spread wide. Berenor’s ebony cock was still hard; he would have little control left over his desires, having been exposed to Shenla too many times, and he would literally fuck till he dropped dead, as would Morin.

Yes, Maloth had no further need for these two.

Instructions had already been given to the Morgai, who had joined the orgy for a time before leaving, much to the disappointment of many of the revelers. Baelor and Shaelor were impressive, stunningly attractive and always ready to fuck, but once their energies were charged from the sex, they had left to perform the task Maloth had set them.

“What are you thinking, brother?” Shenla said softly, tilting her pretty face up to his.

Maloth had not yet told her the details of today’s plan, but she was quick; she had probably already caught on. Maloth did not trust anybody who was not under his direct control, but Shenla was different. She was his blood. “I’m looking forward to the next few hours, sister.” When Shenla raised a curious eyebrow, he added, “For today, I’m starting a war.”

Anduriel ghosted through the scrub. His Elven feet, clad in soft leather boots, made no sound on the damp forest floor, even when he stepped on a dead twig or lightly brushed a bush or fern. Shadowing him, barely visible in the undergrowth, were four of his best scouts, two men and two women whom had served him well in the past. The orders had come from Velesande two days gone, direct from King Caeledrin. “Find the army camped on the Ergar Plain and observe as much as possible before returning with all haste.”

Anduriel wondered about those orders, though his job was to obey, not question, his king. Was Caeledrin planning to start a war, or avoid one? Abruptly the trees finished and the plains began, thick-trunked pine and fir and oak and elm giving way to knee-high grass, swaying gently in the breeze. Above the green plain rode a black sky roiling with thunderheads, lightning frequently stabbing down at the earth below. Anduriel didn’t need his Elvish senses to know this storm was unnatural. It seemed to centre over the Plain, though the rest of Palistair was not spared from its regular lashings. Anduriel would not be surprised if these dark clouds now covered the whole of the island.

His scouts waited silently behind him, and he turned to them, pulling his cowl forward and his cloak close before dashing out onto the Plain. They mirrored him, their green cloaks changing colour slightly to better match the grass of the Plain. There were no trees for cover out here, bar the occasional stand here and there, but Anduriel and his party wouldn’t need them; they were the best in Laefandell, and could near enough hide in plain sight when required.

After an hour or so, he came to a skidding halt, dropping low into the grass to stare ahead. Two figures stood not fifty paces away, staring in his direction. The male was tall and almost as muscular as an Orc, with pale grey skin decorated with angular black runes. He wore nothing but a confident smile on his handsome face, and in place of eyes he had glowing orange-red orbs. The female was identical in colour and markings, a statuesque creature, looking both fit and distractingly well-curved. Titanic breasts rested proudly on her chest, and she stood with a hand on a cocked hip, her full lips curved in a smile that said she knew exactly what she looked like, and she wanted people to see.

What were these creatures? They certainly weren’t Men, though they looked similar in many ways. Perhaps they were Risen? Had the Wardens discovered some new dark magic that could make these powerful-looking beings? And why were they naked? Not certain he’d been seen, Anduriel made a quick motion behind him, signaling his scouts to circle around the strangers. If this turned to a fight, he wanted the advantage.

“You may as well stand, Elf,” the big man boomed, his bass voice easily carrying despite the wind blowing the other way. “We know you’re there.”

“Let us have a look at you,” the woman purred. Despite his mistrust, Anduriel felt himself hardening as he eyed her lush body. ‘Stop being a fool!’ He scolded himself. With a grimace, he stood, holding his arms out to the sides and his hands open to show he was not holding any weapons.

“State your business, little Elf,” the man said, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Anduriel. Lightning struck with a loud bang nearby, but nobody flinched. A small grassfire started, but quickly went out; the grass was too damp to burn.

“As you can see, I am a lone traveler,” Anduriel lied. “I’m bound for Amindaer, to seek shelter during these dark days.”

The woman’s smile broadened as she swayed toward him, her long legs covering the space quickly. Her breasts moved appealingly in time with her ample hips as she walked, and Anduriel felt another spike of lust. She stopped inches away, tall enough that she was looking down at him slightly. She radiated desire. Heat seemed to pour from her, inflaming him.

His hands ached to touch her body, to caress the curves which rivalled those of Velesande, or even Queen Ellerion. Anduriel blinked, trying to clear his head, but his thoughts were coming slowly and his breeches were painfully tight. When had he gotten hard? Suddenly the woman’s lips were on his, and Anduriel heard himself moaning into her mouth.

‘No!’ A voice screamed in his head. ‘This is not right! She must be using magic!’ With a struggle, he took hold of himself and pulled free of her lips, shoving her away by the shoulders and whipping his bow off his back. He had an arrow knocked a heartbeat later. “What are you?” He demanded. He had not given the command for his companions to attack, yet, but that was only a quick whistle away.

The beautiful creature smiled languidly. “I am perhaps the most perfect being ever created, as is my brother.” She waved a hand back toward where the male was still standing. Her eyes shifted toward his bow, to where the arrow was aimed at her chest. There were no pupils in those caverns of fire, but Anduriel could somehow sense where she was focusing.

Anduriel didn’t see her move; rather there was a sense of motion, and suddenly his bow was gone and he was flying backwards. He landed on his back with a thud, the breath leaving his body in a rush. Before he could scramble up, a weight settled across his hips, and strong hands pushed his shoulders back to the ground. The woman was straddling his waist, looking down at him with a predatory cast to her face, her angular black runes flashing fiery red. Her heavy breasts hung down, the dark nipples dragging against the fabric of his tunic. Frantically, he struggled, but it was like being pinned beneath a boulder. Swiveling his head, he tried to look around for his companions, but the high grass blocked his view.

A sultry laugh brought his attention back to the woman, who was grinding her hips down against the hardness in his trousers. Why was he so hard? Had he lost all control over his body? He curled his tongue in preparation to whistle, but suddenly his mouth was covered by hers, and he felt himself melting under her searing kiss. Slowly his awareness of the world began to grow dim, and the last thing he heard before losing consciousness was the sounds of his friends screaming.

***ARAN – Temple Sura, Ekistair***

A naked Kedron sat up in his bed as Aran, Smythe, Elaina and Amina marched into his simple quarters. The young par’vala’s eyes bugged as he took in the forms of the two women in their loosely-tied robes. The room was more than large enough for one person to live comfortably enough, but with five people it was somewhat cramped. Standing, Kedron self-consciously covered his privates and offered an awkward bow. “Uh, how can I be of service, Priestess and Paladins?”

Amina chuckled warmly, and Elaina echoed. “Relax, Kedron,” the Priestess soothed. “At ease.”

With a grateful nod, the young arohim sat back on his bed and drew the covers over his lap. It was strange to see him so awkward, especially after the orgy in the bath chamber only a few days gone, but Aran had given him a little nudge that day, to help him along. Now, he probably felt more than a little overawed by the four arohim crowding his room.

“We came to ask you a few questions,” Elaina said gently. “We need to know everything you can tell us about the Heralds.”

Kedron frowned for a moment, as if conflicted, then finally nodded. “I’ll tell you what I know.”

“We know he is your father,” Aran began. “But Berrigan is dangerous. Not just to us, but to the people of Ironshire as well. You saw how he treated Smythe, and how he has no doubt treated you.”

A sad look crossed the young man’s face. “I just wanted him to accept me, so I did everything he asked of me, and I never questioned him. At least until I met Master Smythe.” Kedron went on to tell what it was like being raised by a devout Herald. Memorising the centuries-old precepts, daily rituals of faith, maintaining utter secrecy lest anyone find out who was not meant to, and even piercing one’s own skin with a needle every time one felt lust!

Kedron even opened the palms of his hands to show the pinprick scars there, though they would be healing now that he had at least some access to his vala. It was no wonder the Heralds were the way they were, if they were all conditioned like this!

“We’re not all raised through bloodline,” Kedron explained in response to Aran’s question. “Most of us are, but some men and women are foolish enough to seek out the Heralds and join them. From what I heard from father, they must perform a rite of passage called a ‘Cleansing.’” He shuddered. “Father never spoke of the details, but he said it does produce some of the most effective Heralds. Those that make it through, anyway.”

“What would happen to your father’s status as a High Herald if it became known that his only son was an arohim?” Aran asked quietly.

“I’m not sure,” Kedron replied. “I don’t know that he would be punished, but at the very least, he would be shamed deeply. He may even step down from the Council, especially if his peers see him as lowered.”

Aran looked to the others. “It’s a start,” Smythe said.

“What was your father’s plan, Kedron?” Amina asked. “What are the Heralds actually trying to achieve in the West?” It was a good question. Aran wished he had thought of it himself.

“He didn’t tell me everything,” Kedron said honestly. “But I think they want to make the West into their lands. Forge their own nation. They have Ironshire, and they almost have Maralon, as I understand it. Wouldn’t be too hard for them to sweep up the coastal towns from there, Human or otherwise.”

Everyone nodded thoughtfully. Something Kedron said piqued Aran’s attention. “About that,” he asked. “Are Heralds always Human?”

Kedron nodded ruefully. “Always. I was ever instructed never to trust Elf or Dwarf or anyone that wasn’t Human. I made friends with an Elf once, and when father found out I was soundly beaten for it.”

Elaina sat on the bed next to Kedron and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. The lad’s face reddened as he looked at her, but he smiled gratefully through the blush. “I’m so glad we found you,” she told him warmly. “You’re going to make an amazing Paladin.”

“Well, there’s one upside,” Aran murmured to himself. When the others all looked at him, he explained. “They’re not likely to turn to the Dwarves or Elves for help, and the chances are that they’ve offended them at some point in history, which means we have potential allies there.”

“Yes,” Amina agreed. “The Elves will most certainly help us, and the Dwarves will still remember Edellein’s work in Dun’Arghol.” Her sapphire eyes took on a faraway look, as if she were seeing things the others couldn’t. “But Aran, you’re talking about war, aren’t you?”

Aran nodded grimly. “It will take time to gather the forces we’ll need, during which the Heralds will also be recruiting and fortifying, but we cannot afford to face two foes at once. Something dark stirs to the North, growing stronger every day, and my great-father’s progeny are at the centre of it. The Heralds must be put down so we can focus on the greater threat before it’s too late.”

The room went quiet. There had been fighting, so far, and killing where necessary, but war? As much as he hated the idea, Aran didn’t see any other way. Even if Berrigan did step down, there were still plenty more Heralds pulling the strings. “We are safe here at the Temple,” Aran said firmly. “As long as it remains forgotten. We will discuss best plans later tonight, but nobody is to leave the Temple without my permission until further notice.”

The others all nodded, Amina eyeing him appraisingly. This was the first time Aran had taken direct command over the Priestess, but she offered no argument.

“There’s, um, one more thing I should mention,” Kedron began nervously. “There’s someone in Ironshire, who, um, is special to me.”

Aran stepped forward, his stomach twisting. He already knew what the boy was going to say. “Who is she?”

Kedron swallowed, but met Aran’s eyes. “She is my lover. I, um, used to see her in secret. Father doesn’t know. I, uh, think I may have bonded her, like in the way you all talk about sometimes.”

Aran stared back at Kedron. For a moment, he was angry with the apprentice, but no, it wasn’t Kedron’s fault. Taking a chair next to the bed, Elaina looked sad, and she squeezed Kedron’s shoulder as his chin dropped in shame. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything before,” he said quietly. “I didn’t realise it was important until right now.”

“Relax, lad,” Smythe said gently. “You weren’t to know.”

“Can you sense her now?” Aran asked insistently.

Kedron nodded. “She’s somewhere to the southeast – probably Ironshire – and she’s scared, but as far as I know, she’s not hurt. Can we help her?”

That question cut Aran deeply. He hated leaving anyone to the Heralds, especially a meldin, but he also had to consider the safety of everyone else at the Temple.

Smythe caught Aran’s gaze. “If Berrigan even suspects...”

Aran agreed to the unspoken suggestion. “I know. He’ll find her and make her tell him where Kedron is.” Kedron groaned softly, and Aran turned back to the apprentice. “How likely is it that your father had you watched from time to time?”

“Knowing him, I would say that’s very likely,” the lad responded, slapping a palm to his head in frustration. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before! It’s exactly the sort of thing he would do!”

“Very well,” Aran said, thinking quickly. “Kedron, we need to get you out of the Temple right away. Pack everything you’ll need for a long journey; it might be some time before we’re back. Elaina, go fetch me Induin and Liaren; I need to see them now.” Elaina leaped from the bed and hurried from the room, and Kedron stood and began stuffing things into a satchel, apparently forgetting all about his nudity. “Smythe, go talk to Rayna, Bella and Jeira; I want to know if there’s anyone in Ironshire that can be trusted. Preferably someone not Human. The Heralds are less likely to use non-Human spies.” Smythe nodded and dashed off.

That left Aran and Amina staring at each other while Kedron pottered about, trying to pull breeches on while still packing. “Looks like it’s time to leave again,” he said to the Priestess with a small smile. “I apologise for assuming command, I meant no disrespect.”

Amina stepped up to him, her soft, full breasts pressing against his chest. “There is no apology required, Aran. You are leading us, as it is meant to be.” Her slim hands held his face as she pushed her lips against his. Aran’s hands held her waist just above the flare of her hips, the silk of the robe somehow feeling far coarser than her actual skin. Suddenly a delicious smile curved her full lips. “Have you any commands for me, by any chance?” Her tonality left no question as to what ‘commands’ she was referring to, and her question was punctuated by a bitten-off curse from Kedron as he stumbled over his half-worn breeches.

Aran grinned and pulled her closer. “There are several, though I doubt we have time for you to fulfill them right now.”

After a moment, her perfect face became serious. “Take care out there, Aran. And come back to us.” She kissed him again, this time with more fervor, and Aran returned it.

Long moments later, someone cleared their throat ostentatiously. Unsealing his lips from Amina’s, Aran turned to see Induin and Liaren standing in the doorway, looking as gorgeous as ever. Especially clad in their translucent robes. Kedron was now nowhere to be seen. “Are we interrupting something?” Induin asked as she twirled a lock of her silvery hair. Her sky-blue eyes twinkled as she regarded him.

“Or perhaps we were missing out on something?” Liaren said, mirroring her twin sister’s tone and actions, though her hair was chestnut-brown and her eyes a striking green.

“Good, you’re here,” Aran said, turning Amina’s embrace and giving his two Elvish meldin a smile.

“If you have nothing for me at this time,” Amina said almost formally. “I must go check on Sara.” At Aran’s nod, she gave them all a warm smile and flowed from the room, every eye turning to watch as her bottom swayed out the door.

Aran was a little taken aback at Amina’s show of what had to be near-deference, but he had no time to dwell on that now. He gave Induin and Liaren the short version of recent events, and then asked them for what he needed. “Do you think it will work?”

The twins eyed each other, then him. They nodded as one. “The Elves think well of the Eruchen,” Liaren said confidently.

“Especially since Elaina’s recent visit,” Induin added slyly. Aran cocked an eyebrow in amusement; he would have to find out about that later.

“Excellent,” he said, placing a hand on the shoulder of each of them. “I need you two to go to Ildernass with all haste and ask them to send as many fighters as they can. Tell them the Paladins need their help, and without it, the West will no longer be safe. Tell them to meet me at the northern edge of the Emerin Forest as soon as possible.”

With a nod, the twins rushed off immediately. Aran strode from the room after them, so deep in thought that he nearly bumped into Elaina; he hadn’t sensed her coming. “I’m going with them, aren’t I?” She asked him quietly, her eyes searching his.

He inclined his head somberly. “I want nothing more than to travel with you at my side, but you’ve spent time with the Elves. You know them.”

Elaina nodded. “Where will you go?”

Aran’s face hardened. “I’m taking Smythe and Kedron, and we’re going to stir up the Heralds.”

Her eyes widened. “You’re going to bait them into an ambush in the forest? What if the Elves don’t come?”

“Then I’ll think of something,” Aran said with more certainty than he felt. “One man can become as many in the woods. You taught me that.”

Elaina planted a scorching kiss on his mouth, her hands clutching fistfuls of his hair. Aran thought she was going to mount him right there, but she pulled back, panting. “Give them hell, my love, and come back to us, alright?” Her words echoed Amina’s.

Aran rested his forehead against hers. “I will. I’ll be on the Plane right on full dark every night, unless it’s not safe to do so.”

She kissed him one last time before hurrying off to prepare for her journey, leaving Aran to walk the halls alone.

Aran went to the rooms he shared with Elaina with the intention of packing, but when he got there, he found Sorla just putting the final items in a bulging saddlebag. There was no sign of Elaina. The pretty half-Orc looked up as he walked in, her silky black hair falling down around her face. She straightened, still holding the bag. “I thought I’d pack for you, since you’re in a rush.” Worry flowed through the melda, along with love, and sadness.

“Thank you,” Aran said softly, crossing the wide room and taking the bag from her hands. “I’ve barely seen you since I got back, and I wish we could take some time together.”

She nodded. “Me too. But it’s alright. I understand.”

She was putting a brave face on it; Aran could tell. He stepped closer and held her by the waist. The melda was a wonderful thing, but it amplified the hard times as well as the good. “Sorla, this life together is going to be tough. I love that we’re meldir, but if it’s too much for you, I will understand. I can release you, if you wish it.” He had considered this somewhat, not just for Sorla, but for all his meldin, no matter how much it hurt him to imagine being without them. Was it fair to expect them to wear all this pain and uncertainty just for him?

A burst of hot anger roared through the melda, and Sorla’s big dark eyes flashed. Her spectacular bosom heaved and her nostrils flared threateningly as she inhaled sharply. “You wouldn’t dare!” She hissed, poking him hard in the chest with a finger. “You will do no such thing! I’ll have you know that -” she had a lot to say, but she descended into a string of Orcish that Aran couldn’t decipher. Besides, he found he was grinning widely at her tirade. Not because it was funny, but because he could feel how vehement she was at keeping their melda intact.

Sorla’s tirade abated when she saw his grin. “And what is so humorous?” She asked, her eyes glinting dangerously. “Are you laughing at me, Aran Sunblade?”

His grin faded, and he met her glare intently. “I love you.”

The next thing Aran knew was she was kissing him and tearing at his robe, even as he tore at hers. They fell onto the huge bed, frantically pawing at each other, their lips kissing everything they could reach, both of them moaning in deep satisfaction as Aran’s cock found its way into the warm depths of Sorla’s waiting pussy.

They fucked hard, with passion and urgency, and Aran kissed his beautiful half-Orc lover as he came inside her, relishing the way she shuddered as she found her own release, her arms and legs wrapped tightly around him.

Once packed and dressed for travel in a good white shirt, a stout dark-green tunic and breeches, Aran stopped by Amina’s quarters after leaving his own, finding – much to his surprise – Sara waiting for him in Amina’s sitting room. Clad in her robe, she was seated on a padded chair near the fire, intent on the book she cradled on her lap. The orange glow of the firelight played across her profile.

Amina had said nobody was to see Sara during her training, so it had been a few days since he’d seen her last, and she’d already been well on her way to becoming as beautiful as Amina in her physical body. Aran could remember when Sara had been a skinny street urchin just trying to survive, but now she was a young woman in her prime, slender and graceful. Not voluptuous like Amina, yet every gentle curve was placed just so, in a way that made a man’s gaze slide across them like a stream over smooth rocks.

Her gaze was fixed on the book, but she looked over as he entered the room. “Aran!” She beamed, rising smoothly and crossing the room to him. Aran watched in amazement as she moved. He didn’t know what she’d been doing in the last few days, but she was definitely different. She was more confident, more composed, and – he realised with a shock – far more powerful.

“What in Aros have you been doing down here?” He asked in amazement as she wrapped slim arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. A warm tingle ran through him at the feel of her lips on his skin. “Your Gift must have doubled in strength in just a few days!”

With a happy sigh, she nestled her face into his neck. “I’m not allowed to talk about it,” she murmured, pressing her body more tightly against him as his hands automatically came to rest on her slim back. “I’m just glad to see you. I felt you return earlier, but I’m forbidden to leave these rooms until I’ve reached a certain stage. The only reason I’m here now is that Amina told me I’m allowed to say goodbye to you.”

Holding Sara close felt ... wonderful. Her Gift pulsed, drawing him in inexorably. “I don’t suppose we could do more than just say goodbye?” He knew the answer before the question even formed, yet still he found himself asking.

She giggled against his neck, a throaty sound that heated his blood. “Oh, you have no idea how much I want that, Aran.” She molded herself to him insistently, pressing her flat belly against his hardening shaft. She kissed his neck, and Aran found himself on the precipice of losing control.

Taking a ragged breath, he drew back until he was clear of her. They took a moment to compose themselves, Aran controlling his breathing, and Sara smoothing her robe over her hips and adjusting her cinnamon hair by tucking it behind her ears. “Amina hasn’t given you her blessing yet, has she?”

With a rueful grin, Sara shook her head, and her brown eyes twinkled merrily. “No, but I almost had you anyway, didn’t I?”

Aran couldn’t hold back a chuckle. So, the cheeky girl was still in there, after all. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

“You’ll do more than see me, I think,” Sara said coyly.

“One can only hope.” Offering her a polite bow, he turned and left Amina’s quarters.

Aran made several more stops within the Temple. The first was to Liddea for advice on approaching King Burin in Dun’Arghol. The pretty flame-haired Dwarf was busy using a Sunstone to restore collapsed walls in what was once a grand reception room, off the main hall, with a double-row of thick pillars down the middle and a wide recess in the floor on each side. Amina said they had once held water for aesthetic purposes, but were often used for more playful pursuits, if the guests so desired.

Not being his meldin, Liddea didn’t sense Aran enter the room, and he watched her for a minute, appreciating the attention and focus she put into her work. As she moved the glowing white Sunstone across the rubble, it shifted, and small pieces began to gather together, the joins disappearing as the stone became whole once again, fitting itself back into the main structure like pieces of a puzzle. Her plump, shapely form shifted back and forth beneath her robe as she worked.

The light flickered, indicating the Sunstone was nearly depleted, and Aran quietly stepped up behind Liddea and cupped his hand over hers, covering the failing gem. She turned her face up to look at him, and smiled beautifully.

“Aran!” she beamed. “Come to help? I sure could use it, in here.” She grimaced and waved her hand around the somewhat decimated room.

“I wish I was,” he said truthfully, pushing his Gift into the Sunstone to once again infuse it with power. The light shone strongly, now, enough so that the skin of his fingers went bright red where they covered the glow. “But I’m afraid I can’t stay. I need your help, Liddea.” He released her hand.

“Of course!” The comely Dwarf responded. “Whatever you need, Aran.” She turned to face him, but stayed in proximity, her tremendous breasts bumping into his midriff.

Despite wanting to take Liddea in his arms and strip her out of that robe, he stayed focused on the task at hand. “I plan to approach King Burin about us working with the Dwarves against the Heralds, and I wanted your advice on that.”