Chapter 8: Heart of the Storm

ARAN: Sorral Plain, Ekistair

The hollow turned from peacefully quiet to utter madness in mere seconds. Just as Aran and Smythe started shouting at the top of their lungs, shadows began to pour over the ridge that surrounded the hollow; small, humanoid shapes no taller than Aran’s waist.

‘It’s a band of bloody Goblins!’ He thought to himself incredulously as he whipped Oroth free of the scabbard at his waist. According to Smythe, Goblins hadn’t been seen for decades, at least not this far west. Cunning and rapacious, the diminutive creatures were notorious for attacking travelers in the night and dragging off the women.

Numbering in the dozens, the Goblins screamed and hooted as they surged down the hill toward the ring of wagons, waving spears and clubs menacingly as they ran. Pointy-eared and long-nosed, they were garbed in naught but a loincloth that did little to hide their privates, which looked overly-large on their small bodies. Aran supposed that’s where their carnal reputation stemmed from.

Smythe was almost at the wagons, Lightbringer glowing like a star in his hand, but he wouldn’t be able to hold them all himself. He would need Aran’s help. The big Paladin was still bellowing, and most of the villagers appeared to be up, but they were milling in confusion, hardly ready to defend themselves.

Aran bolted in the direction of that first scream, expanding his vala as he did, until he could feel everything in the hollow, and a good two hundred paces around it. Why couldn’t he sense Kedron or Lena in camp? Had they sneaked off somewhere?

Worried, Aran spread his vala out further in an attempt to find the apprentice, finally locating him a short distance east of the camp. He could sense Lena, too, and half a dozen Goblins. Mid-run, Aran turned and charged in that direction, right at the advancing line of Goblins. Two or three of the pointy-eared, long-nosed Darkspawn faltered as they saw him coming, Oroth flashing to life in his fist, but the rest of them loped forward, raising spear or club or scythe.

Aran threw himself at them with a roar, and five broke away from the line to attack him, hacking and stabbing at him savagely, their mouths showing pointed teeth as they snarled. They fought with shocking speed, surrounding him and attacking as a unit. Had Aran not possessed the vala, they would have killed him, but he could sense their every motion, feel their muscles tensing before each movement. He knew what they intended perhaps even before they did.

Oroth flashed in the night, illuminating horrified surprise on the faces of the Darkspawn as the vala-forged blade found her mark five times, leaving as many dead Goblins on the grassy ground.

Behind him, Aran could sense Smythe surrounded, sweeping Lightbringer around in wide horizontal arcs in an attempt to keep the creatures at bay. Some of them had found their way into the wagon ring. Aran didn’t have long. Pushing as much energy as he could into his muscles, he raced up the incline and leaped over the ridge, placing one hand on the rock and throwing his body upwards and over, landing on his feet and hitting a dead run in two strides.

Aran ran faster than he ever had, using more of his vala than he had planned on in order to lend his body the speed it needed. His enhanced senses painted the picture for him before he laid his eyes on it. Kedron was down, lying flat on his back with his sword nearby. Aran couldn’t be sure, but he thought the par’vala may have a head injury.

As for Lena, she was surrounded, screaming wildly and flailing about with her arms as the Goblins tore at her dress, ripping the cotton away in shreds as they laughed with hedonistic delight. Obscene bulges tented the fronts of their loincloths. Their erections – too large for their small bodies – were revealed as they tore their scant garments away in their eagerness to violate a Human woman.

The Goblins pulled Lena to the ground easily, but as they began to grope and prod at her, Aran was upon them. He roared with a rage as hot as Oroth’s blade as heads, arms and legs were removed in a whirlwind of searing light.

His cry of anger died in his throat as the last Goblin met the earth, his bulging member still clutched in his fist despite the fact that he had no head. Aran turned to Lena, who was lying on the ground with her face in her hands, sobbing. Her dress was in tatters, torn open from neck to hem.

“Lena?” he said gently. “Are you hurt?”

After a moment, the pretty barmaid lowered her hands and looked up at him, shaking her head. Her eyes widened suddenly as she realised she was effectively naked before him, and she sat up quickly, trying to pull the remains of her dress around her.

Sheathing Oroth, Aran unclasped his cloak and draped it around her shoulders, which earned him a grateful smile. “We don’t have much time,” he told her quickly, squatting down to look her in the eyes. “I must check on Kedron first, but then I have to get back to camp. There are more Goblins attacking there.”

Lena nodded, understanding. She got to her feet, holding the cloak close, and stayed near to Aran as he walked a few paces away and knelt next to Kedron. He was out cold, but Aran could sense his heartbeat, strong and steady.

“Good lad,” Aran murmured. “They’ll find we Arohim are not so easy to kill, ey?” There was a lump on the side of Kedron’s head the size of a plum, though. His vala would speed the healing, but it would be a day or two before he was right again. “Lena, I need you to stay with him until he wakes.”

The girl’s eyes widened. “But what if there are more coming?” Her voice trembled.

Standing, Aran took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I will make sure it’s safe.” It had been so long since he’d opened himself to his fullest and let his vala flow outward without restraint. He had not wanted to chance that his enemies may somehow sense his power. Lena gasped as his vala exploded, catching her up in its torrents.

His mind was bombarded with details as he reached out to about a five-mile radius. Ten miles, fifty miles ... It was so easy, now. He could remember barely being able to sense more than a few feet around himself not so long ago. There was Rostin to the north, empty save for a few who remained, their souls shining like distant stars, bright but small. Korrin, to the northeast, where he had grown up. Strangely, he couldn’t sense his mother. Where was she?

There were countless farms on the plain, quiet in the night, their occupants sleeping soundly. A herd of wild horses, galloping through the tall grasses under the moon, trying to outrun a pack of hungry wolves. Wildlife was a good sign; most animals would attack or flee at the sight of Darkspawn.

The Emerin beckoned no more than twenty miles south; so close yet so far, and what from what he could feel, it was quiet, with no sign of Darkspawn. His eyes came open as he withdrew his vala and he saw Lena looking up at him, her dark eyes shining in the faint moonlight.

“There are no more Darkspawn within about fifty miles of us,” he told Lena.

“Who are you?” she whispered. “What are you?”

Aran smiled at her and touched her face gently. “We are the Arohim,” he said softly. “And we are returning.” At that, he turned to head back to Smythe, gathering his vala for the run.

Smythe – Sorral Plain, Ekistair

High-pitched, weaselly hoots and hollers filled Smythe’s ears as he was pressed back against the wagons. He swept Lightbringer before him in wide arcs, keeping the little devils at bay. His blade was the only light, illuminating the pointed, fanged features of the creatures surrounding him, their small, wiry bodies taut with muscle, their fists brandishing cudgel or dagger or spear.

There was a scream as a Goblin got too close to Lightbringer and lost an arm, dark blood spraying over its fellows.

‘There must be a hundred of these damned things!’ Smythe thought to himself. ‘Where in the hells is Aran? And Kedron?’

Frantic cries came from the villagers behind the wagons, and Smythe didn’t have to use his vala to know that Goblins were getting through. With bellow, he surged forward, spinning his glowing great-sword in a tight arc to either side of him, and the Goblins leaped back warily. He pushed into them, whirling Lightbringer with all the skill of a swordmaster who had borne the title for seventy years. The creatures surrounded him on all sides, cutting him off from the wagons, though none could get close enough to score him with their jabs and thrusts, and more than one lost a limb or its head for trying.

Suddenly Smythe was fighting two battles; one against the Goblins, and another to keep his focus as a blazing beacon hove into his mind, a vala so powerful that it expanded for miles in every direction. At its heart was Aran, standing peacefully in the centre of a storm of power.

The Goblins backed off a bit, staring around uncertainly and chittering in their harsh language. Had they sensed Aran? Was that even possible?

With a roar, Smythe dug into his own vala, allowing it to flow freely. If Aran was putting out that much power, then it would matter not if Smythe added a little to it. Lightbringer hummed a deadly song as it carved into the hesitating Goblins, creating a path that brought Smythe close to the nearest cart. Putting his back to it, he vaulted into the air, flipping backward to land smoothly atop the barrels on the cartbed.

Spinning, he leaped into the wagon ring, where the men were trying to protect the women with anything they could take to hand. Pots, knives, tools. Several men were down, including the three men with bows that had been out hunting earlier. A dozen Goblin corpses littered the trampled grassy ground, skewered with arrows; the archers had not gone down easily.

Small groups of Goblins had managed to separate a few women. Smythe tried to block out their screams and focus on the ones who needed him most.

He swept Lightbringer upwards, right to left as he passed a Goblin standing on a man’s chest, its arms raised above its head, poised to drive a spear down into the fellow’s heart. He took the head of another that leaped from a wagon to his left, cleanly decapitating the perverted wretch.

“Light!” He bellowed into the cacophony. “We need light!” Hoping someone had heard him, he rushed toward the closest cluster of Goblins, whom were standing in a circle around a woman on the ground. Smythe recognised her as one of the farmwives. Her dress had been removed completely and her pale thighs were apart. A Goblin was kneeling between them, lining his too-large cock up to fuck her.

Strangely, Smythe thought he could hear moans of pleasure from the woman, and to his shock, she had each of her hands wrapped firmly around a Goblin cock and was stroking them insistently. Her eyes were lidded, her face and chest flushed with arousal.

Smythe had fought Goblins before, but he’d never seen this...

“Don’t let them touch you!” Smythe yelled to anyone who could hear, though it was fruitless. All around him, men were being knocked down and women were being overwhelmed. Suddenly, the sounds of the fighting took on a different tone. Indeed, the men were shouting and grunting as they fought, but the women’s screams were changing to squeals and moans of pleasure, rather than fear.

‘What in the bloody hells is happening?’ Smythe thought wildly as he stared around. ‘Are they enchanted, somehow?’

Suddenly, at the opposite end of the wagon ring, a light blazed to life, orange-red against Smythe’s pure white Lightbringer. The madness in the camp fell dead silent, and every eye turned to see Aran standing atop a wagonbed, Oroth shining in his fist. His blue eyes were hard, his face implacable as he cast his stare down onto the creatures that threatened his people.

Aran’s vala pulsed and roared like a summer tempest at sea. Feeling it, Smythe was reminded of the way the giant waves pounded against the rocks on the Crown Coast during a typhoon. He had felt Aran’s power several times before – all Arohim could sense the strength of another – but this was different again. Before, Smythe had felt the sheer magnitude of Aran’s vala and been awed by it. Now, Smythe was a little ashamed to admit he felt a small measure of wariness. Maybe even fear.

Smythe had always been strong, but against Aran, he felt like a candle beside a raging forest fire.

ARAN

Aran looked down from the wagonbed to see every eye fixed on him, Darkspawn or otherwise. Stillness and silence settled on the scene, apart from the few men groaning where they’d been knocked down or wounded.

Smythe was there, dark blood on his face and hands from the Goblins he’d killed, the shining liquid illuminated by Lightbringer. Aran could sense them all as his vala flared and stormed around him. He felt a measure of surprise, somewhere in the back of his awareness, when he spotted the several women around the camp who seemed to be trying to get the Goblins to continue having their way. Here one grabbed at a turgid shaft, there one got to her hands and knees and presented herself to be taken.

Aran knew what this was. He’d read books on Darkspawn at the Temple; Goblins secreted a fluid from their skin that rendered their victims overwhelmingly aroused. Aran must have gotten to Lena before they could infect her with the stuff.

He found himself sneering as he stepped off the wagon and dropped to the ground. His boots touching the earth shattered the stillness. The Goblins bolted as one, dropping their weapons and haring over the wagons, wailing something in their shrill, harsh language.

“Callibosh! Callibosh!”

Aran let them run, though the sheer mountain of power flowing through him would have made it easy to crush them. He breathed it in, reveling in the glory of it. So long, since he’d truly allowed himself to feel the vala, to reach into its furthest depths. In this place, with this power, he no longer feared the arrival of the Heralds. In fact, he desired it. They would not survive him like this, even were he alone.

A dim voice penetrated his awareness, growing louder. “Aran! Aran!” He realised Smythe was standing before him, his strong features concerned. Was that fear in the bigger man’s eyes? Surely not.

“Are you well, Aran?” Smythe asked cautiously, his voice lowered for Aran’s ears alone.

Aran exhaled, letting most of the storm dissipate, the torrent reducing to a light drizzle. “I am,” he told Smythe as he looked around the camp. “We should help them, my friend,” he gestured to the fallen, and the delirious women scattered about in various states of undress, a couple of them completely nude.

Smythe immediately began to move through the camp, helping people up and assessing their injuries. Aran did the same, noting with sadness that two men and one woman had been killed in the fighting. Aran tried to block out the screams as their loved ones found them, but he was unsuccessful, and their pain filled his heart. Oroth winked out, no longer fueled by Aran’s wrath, and he sheathed the slightly curved blade gladly. He had seen enough killing for one night.

The women affected by the Goblin’s toxin were gathered up by other women and bundled in cloaks or blankets. Aran gave instructions for them to be watched until the poison wore off. They would be embarrassed enough once it did, and they didn’t need to add any more to it.

Scared folk were consoled and cuts and bruises were dressed. Commiserations were given to those who grieved over the fallen, and ground was broken for graves. All in all, there were over a dozen wounded; some would need to ride in the wagons from here, Kedron included. The young par’vala had stumbled back into the ring of wagons shortly after the fight, leaning heavily on Lena.

The wagon that had held the captured Heralds was now empty, with no sign of the zealots anywhere. Aran called Smythe over to see what could be made of their tracks, and the big Paladin said he thought they had run off north.

‘Good,’ Aran thought grimly. ‘Berrigan will most likely think we’ve been weakened by this.’

Half an hour after the battle, Aran leaped back up onto a wagon and addressed the people. “My friends, if I may have a moment?”

Nobody responded vocally, but faces turned to him, tired and haggard. “The time has come for us to move again. I know you’ve been through a lot, but as well as the Heralds, another darkness stirs in the world, as you have just seen with your own eyes. Our haven lies twenty miles south, and while I would not normally risk travel by night, I believe it now necessary.”

Now that he had let go of his vala, Aran once again felt that creeping tiredness leaching along his limbs. When was the last time he’d gotten a good night’s sleep? A week? More?

“Just a few more miles, my brave friends,” he assured them. “And we’ll be safe.”

“Very well, Lord Aran!” Portly Ari piped up from among the villagers. A woman was trying to tend to a cut on his balding head, but he kept waving her away. Dark blood glistened on the front of Ari’s tunic, and he still clutched a stout kitchen knife in his fist. The blade was darkly wet, too.

“Tend your wounds, first,” Aran told them. “And offer last rites for the fallen in whichever way you wish. We will leave right after.”

At that, Aran hopped down with more alacrity than he felt; it would not do for the villagers to see him tired or weak, not when they needed a leader. Without looking up, he strode to a cart where he’d seen tools the day before. Sure enough, there were several shovels and rakes and picks under the oiled canvas. Pulling a shovel free, he walked a short distance off and began to break ground, tapping into his vala for the extra strength needed to penetrate the tough earth.

Graves took a long time to dig, and it would be faster and easier if he did them himself, tired or no. Besides, the dead were his responsibility, were they not?

ERIK – Temple Sura, Western Ekistair

Erik walked alongside Amina through the stone corridors of the Temple. Some of the Sunstones from the walls in these parts had been taken for other uses, but Amina seemed not to be affected by the lack of light. She led him confidently through the darkest stretches of the passages deep beneath the mountain, until they reached a familiar section of the Temple, though Erik doubted he would remember this particular route.

Amina’s hand held his, and his skin felt electric where it touched hers. He tried to keep his eyes straight ahead, but he found himself trying to stare at her from the corner of his eye. She had that effect on him; she was just that beautiful.

As well as her beauty, however, Erik admired her knowledge, her long years of experience and learning. What secrets did she know that had been lost to everyone else? How long had she been alive? Liddea said hundreds of years, while Lynelle thought thousands was more accurate. Erik wanted to ask, but he dared not risk offending the Priestess.

The passages became lit once again by the warm glow of Sunstones, and the intermittent etchings on the walls and ceiling changed in shape and form. Amina said the glyphs were from a language long since forgotten by all but the most ancient beings, and even she herself knew little of it.

The Priestess slowed and stopped at an archway that led into a well-lit room lined wall to wall with tall shelves carved into the stone, all of them crammed with books of all shapes and sizes. Erik stared in wonder at the countless volumes, his mouth agape and his heart racing with excitement. He was a scholar through and through, and there were few things that pleased him as much as getting lost in old texts, even if the writings were as dusty and ancient as the pages.

“This is my personal collection,” Amina said as she led him inside. He was drawn in to her sapphire gaze momentarily, and she smiled. “I want you to take over its care, if you will accept.”

“Amina, this is wonderful!” He replied, unable to stop himself grinning like a boy that had just been given his first kiss. “Thank you!” He found himself embracing her lush body, and she returned the hug warmly, chuckling softly in his ear. The throaty sound sent a tingle racing from his neck down to his groin, which began to harden instinctively.

“I thought you might like it,” she purred. Erik wasn’t sure if she meant the hug or the books.

Drawing back a little, Amina looked at him seriously. “There are things in these pages that no man or woman alive today has ever seen. It is imperative that they remain that way, at least for now, lest they be misinterpreted or misunderstood.”

Erik nodded firmly. “Of course, Priestess.”

“There are also things here,” she continued. “That may help us to unravel some of the threats facing us. As soon as you are finished outside with the refugees, I would ask that you return here and lend that excellent mind of yours toward this end.”

Erik bowed deeply, hands over his heart. “I will serve and obey.”

Amina inclined her head regally. “Now, how long until you leave the Temple? I have one more task for you...”

Erik’s eyes popped as her slim fingers drifted to the sash on her vaima and tugged the knot loose, allowing the filmy garment to open, giving Erik an unobscured view of her flat belly and the hairless cleft between her ripe thighs, as well as the inner slopes of her round, full breasts.

“I’m sure I have time for one more task,” he found himself murmuring as he watched the robe slip from Amina’s shoulders. Her smile and the glint in her eye were enough to set his blood afire even were she fully dressed.

Embarrassingly, Erik found his balls lifting and churning before he’d even had a chance to touch her, but before the inevitable ejaculation could occur, Amina took two steps and seized his head in her hands before planting her plump lips on his in a burning kiss.

His toes curled, and his cock flexed and twitched as a pleasant, warm rush flowed through him from his lips, radiating throughout his entire body. The urge to come faded somewhat, though his arousal remained as strong as ever. The kiss both relaxed and excited him, and he put one hand on her waist, just above the swell of her hip. The other he tangled gently in her golden hair, letting the silky strands slide through his fingers.

“I must be the luckiest man in the world,” he whispered almost to himself when the kiss momentarily broke.

Amina’s sapphire eyes searched his. “We are crawling out of a long darkness,” she told him softly. “And we have only each other to rely on. It is both a daunting and special time, arondur.” Straight white teeth flashed as she smiled. “I am glad to know you, Erik.”

She drew him in for another kiss, her hands deftly relieving him of his vaima as her tongue explored his mouth. He gasped against her lips as she found his aching cock and stroked it with a skill and certainty he had never had from any woman.

Aggressive lust surged in him, and with a growl he picked up the statuesque Priestess by the globes of her ass, eliciting an approving moan from her as she wrapped her silken thighs around his waist, trapping his turgid cock between their bodies. Erik could be the meek Servant all day, but there was a time for servitude, and a time for command.

Walking to the nearest wall, he pressed Amina’s back against the stone in between two bookshelves, and she gasped at the cool surface against her skin. The gasp was swallowed by a passionate cry as Erik dipped his hips down and back up again, sliding effortlessly into the warm, slick confines of her sweet pussy.

Erik was now convinced that there was nothing else that compared to making love to a Priestess. The fact that it was happening at all was almost too much to comprehend without feeling dizzy. This was the second time he’d been intimate with Amina, and it was just as exquisite as the first.

He thrust against her slowly but powerfully, putting all of his weight behind each incursion into her molten core. Her breasts hitched delightfully against his chest, and her hot mouth sought his hungrily, her lips trying to devour him.

Erik plowed on steadily for long minutes, surprised that he was able to maintain this position for this long. He had always been reasonably fit, but Amina was a tall, full-bodied woman, and while you would never call her heavy, she was not slight either. Erik’s arms should have been burning by now, but he felt quite comfortable.

Suddenly Amina was moving, pushing him backwards. She put her feet on the floor and turned, placing both hands on the wall and bending at the waist, keeping her long legs straight. Erik growled again in his throat as he ran his eyes over her delectable rear, the two plump globes of pale flesh ripe for his taking. The smooth lips of her pussy were visible, glistening with moisture in the light of the Sunstones. Her pink rosebud lay just above, tempting him.

She seemed to sense what he was thinking. “Take me how you desire, Erik,” she purred, looking back over her shoulder at him. She wiggled her hips, teasing him.

Erik met her eyes, astounded at the way she could transition between regal and commanding to sultry and vulnerable. His hands grasped her hips firmly as he stepped in close. His aching cock slipped in between her wet thighs, but he pulled back and tilted his hips up to angle it higher, at the pink star above her pussy.

Amina pushed back eagerly, and Erik was surprised at how readily she took him. She felt tight but buttery, as if her body was somehow prepared for his entry. He watched as his meaty shaft disappeared inch by inch into her hot tunnel until his pelvis was against her ass and his balls were nestled on her pussy.

Erik began to withdraw slowly, pulling back until just the angry head of his cock was still inside her, then he pushed forward again, relishing in the sensations her clenching ass was providing.

“Yesss!” Amina drawled languidly as he began to fuck her in a similar rhythm to before. The sound of their bodies meeting filled the room with the beat of slapping flesh. The Priestess straightened her body somewhat, walking her hands up the wall, but kept her ass pushed back. She was a little taller than Erik, which gave him excellent access to her shaking tits, and his hands were on those magnificent orbs in a flash, kneading them firmly while he drilled away at her ass.

Erik leaned forward, burying his face in her hair, losing himself in this goddess of a woman who seemed to enjoy him as much as he enjoyed her. Time slowly drained from his awareness, and the magnitude of the universe compressed from distances unfathomable down to this small room lined with bookshelves.

Amina must have been doing something with her vala, because his pleasure continued to mount without peaking, growing higher and higher until his body felt like it was vibrating with delicious energy. He thought if he kept going like this, he might shatter into a million shards of light, but finally, beyond thought and reason, he sensed a shift from Amina, just as her tight ring clamped down on his pole, her inner muscles working him in waves from root to tip, coaxing his essence forward.

With a blind roar of ecstasy, Erik buried himself as deeply as he could, forcing his body hard against the Priestess’s. His hands gripped her soft breasts as if they were the only things keeping him upright, which they might well have been. His back arched as his hips bucked mightily, and balls unloaded themselves into her rear channel with more force than he would have thought possible after an already busy afternoon of fucking.

Amina screamed her own release with him, her legs shaking and her ass grinding back at him as he emptied himself into her willing body.

Drained, Erik released his lover’s tits and slumped down to sit on the floor, the cold stone feeling good on the warm skin of his buttocks and legs. He leaned back against a shelf, exhaling happily. “I think I could die now knowing that my life has been fulfilled,” he chuckled.

“I should hope that you do no such thing,” Amina chided light-heartedly as she straightened from the wall and stretched languidly. Erik’s eyes wandered over her flawless body as she finished her stretch and looked around the room. “You have a large part to play in the coming years, Erik aronduri,” she added, looking down at him.

Erik sighed. “And speaking of which, High Priestess, I suppose I must be off to prepare for my little excursion tomorrow.” He lifted himself from the floor, half expecting his muscles to protest, but was pleasantly surprised when he rose with ease, feeling as spry as an adolescent boy.

When Amina saw him experimentally flexing and twisting his body, she laughed. “There are benefits to making love to an Arohim, Erik. Especially a Priest or Priestess.”

Erik felt a cheeky grin cross his face. He felt fantastic! He was not old, by any means, but forty-five years took its toll on a man’s body. Now, he doubted he’d felt this energetic when he was twenty! “I’ll stick to the Priestesses, if it’s all the same to you, Amina vanima. I’m sure the Priests are great, but I prefer women.”