A Paladin's War
Copyright© 2020 by Antidarius
Chapter 20: Featherfang
Fantasy Sex Story: Chapter 20: Featherfang - The Third Volume of The Paladin Saga
Caution: This Fantasy Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Mult Consensual Magic BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction High Fantasy Paranormal Demons Sharing Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory Cream Pie Exhibitionism Oral Sex Tit-Fucking Nudism Royalty
Kedron ran hard, trees and hills flashing by in a blur, startled deer or boar or wolves barely having time to blink before he was already gone. He’d left Erik, Sorla and Sylvia late last evening, and it was still dark now, though the sky to the east was beginning to lighten.
The land flattened somewhat as he moved east and south, vaulting fallen trees and low shrubs, leaping streams as he ran, each stride spanning five yards or more. He loved running like this. He was not as fast as Master Smythe or Master Fairborn, and he would never catch Master Sunblade, but he was still ten times faster than he was before. His vala hummed steadily, supporting him, its glowing warmth lending him strength and speed.
Imella would feel him coming; she would no doubt have felt the arrow wound in his chest when it struck, too - Maralon was close enough to the main camp for that - and she would be relieved to know he was alright. It would be wonderful when he could put his arms around her again. Besides the melda, she and he shared another special connection; they had both been scarred by Kedron’s father, if in different ways.
The sun was just below the treetops as the grey stone walls of Maralon came into view. Kedron slid to a stop at the edge of a thick copse of elm upon a tall hill, squatting beneath the low branches to catch his breath and get a look at the city.
From this position, elevated and perhaps a quarter mile from the walls, he had a fairly good view of the southwestern part of the city, though he couldn’t see a great deal beyond the walls. Smoke rose from several places inside, the plumes too thick, too dark to be from household kitchens or fireplaces, or even forge fires. His heart sank to see it. Despite being a Herald city, Maralon had still been beautiful. Maybe it would be again one day.
A new presence entered his awareness, bringing him to his feet. His sword was halfway out of its sheath before he stayed his hand. A massive bronze eagle circled down out of the air just outside the copse, wings at least ten feet across. Kedron watched as the majestic creature alighted nimbly on the hillside, hopping a couple of times on great yellow, black-nailed talons to dispel the force of the landing. It looked at him curiously, head cocked to the side.
On the ground, the creature reached almost to Kedron’s hip. But this was no bird, he knew. Indeed, as he watched, the eagle began to change, growing taller, feathers disappearing. He winced at the sound of bones shifting, altering shape and size, grinding into new positions.
A few seconds later, a tall, dark, slender woman stood before him, naked as the day she was born, with spiky white hair and bright amber eyes that belonged more on the eagle. She studied him for a moment, with her head tilted at the same angle as the bird’s was. “You are a difficult one to follow, young arohim.” Her accent was rough, the words rounded in a way that made it hard for him to understand.
Kedron pushed his sword back into its scabbard; this Druid was one of the ones from the camp. “You’ve been following me?”
She took a few steps closer. “I was sent to find you. And now I have. The Anarion was concerned for you, though I fail to see why. You do not seem injured.”
Aran was worried? Of course; Imella must have gone to him after feeling his wound. Kedron felt equal parts grateful and ashamed. Grateful to have friends that cared, ashamed he had withdrawn further resources due to his own stupidity. “Thank you,” he told the Druid. Mika, he thought her name was.
“I did not do it for you,” she replied bluntly. “I did what was asked.”
Kedron wasn’t sure what to say to that. The sun finally broke the horizon behind Mika, illuminating her fit body in an orange halo. “Did you see my men in this area? They would be waiting outside the city for me.”
The Druid nodded. “I did. They are camped in the hills that way.” She flung a slim arm to the east.
That meant the legion hadn’t moved since he’d left them. That was good. “I must get to them,” Kedron said. “Before they try and enter the city. It is dangerous in there now.”
Mika made a noise of agreement. “Yes. I saw this from the air.”
“Did you see any people?”
Her head swung. “I did not. I believe the city is now deserted.”
Kedron exhaled in relief. “That is well, thank you.” Still, he made a mental note to check Maralon himself once Mika was gone.
“You arohim are interesting,” Mika mused, coming a little closer until she stood about three feet away. She was taller by a head, looking down that bold nose at him. “I think I like you, Kedron. You are pretty enough to mate, though you are not seasoned enough to attract me fully.”
Kedron blinked. “Uh, excuse me?” Seasoned? What did that mean?
At that, she turned and walked a few paces away, then began the transformation into eagle form. Kedron watched in quiet admiration as she changed, then flapped those great wings to get airborne, stirring up loose grass and leaves in her wake.
“Seasoned,” he said to himself, shaking his head as he launched himself into the air, though unlike Mika, who continued to soar upward, he arced up and then down, landing at the bottom of the hill. Wasting no time, he hurried on, aiming for the city.
Aran paced back and forth across the carpets spanning the floor of Amina’s big tent, his mind racing, his heart aching. Elaina, Amina and Smythe sat together on the floor nearby, watching him, waiting for him to speak. Smythe was leaning back on his hands, legs out straight, while the women each leaned against one of his shoulders. All three were in various states of undress, though less for intimacy and more for some comfort at the end of a long day. Aran was still in his shirt, breeches and boots; he’d barely given any thought to anything except his mother for the past several hours.
A light rain pattered on the white canvas overhead, usually a soothing sound, though it hardly helped now. What under the name of Aros do you think you are doing, Mother? He thought for the thousandth time that night. Trying to get yourself bloody well killed, is what. He didn’t realise he’d spoken aloud until Elaina said something.
“Obviously, she is trying to help,” his amatharn repeated patiently. She was still in her shirt, but had discarded everything else. Normally, he’d be admiring her thick, pale thighs and the way the shirt was unlaced all the way, but his belly was wriggling with worry.
“And succeeding,” Amina added. She’d removed all garments and donned the traditional vaima before settling down by Smythe, her head on his shoulder. Her sapphire eyes were keen as they regarded Aran. “Anything you do to intervene may very well upset her progress.”
“And what could you do?” Smythe enquired gently. Shirtless, he was still in his breeches and boots. “Run off to Cathgard? Pull Mari out and save the other arohim yourself?”
“I know, I know,” Aran replied impatiently, still pacing. “It’s foolish to even think about, and the consequences catastrophic. Still, it is difficult not to entertain the idea.”
“That is as it should be,” Elaina said softly. “You care about her. Of course you want to help her. So do I. So do we all.”
Aran sighed. “I know. I just ... Aros, why did it have to be now?” What better time? A calm voice said inside him. It was the small part of him that was still thinking rationally. Snatching captive arohim out from under the Herald’s noses while Maloth invaded from the north? The odds of success were better, at least as long as she stayed out of Maloth’s clutches.
He rounded on the others. “What if Maloth gets his hands on her? Finds out who she is?” A sickening thought gripped him. “What if he melds with her? Like he has with the others?”
Smythe grunted as if he hadn’t considered this yet. Amina and Elaina both looked uncomfortable.
“I think,” Elaina began slowly, carefully, “that that is a risk which must now be accepted. Our hands are tied, love.”
“And what is bound can be unbound,” Amina said firmly, sitting up and folding her long legs beneath her. “Just as a melda can be undone, so then can whatever bond Maloth forms with his victims.”
Aran frowned thoughtfully. He’d given this some serious thought himself, but to fully understand how Maloth’s power worked, he would need to feel it, study it, and for that, he would need to secure one of Maloth’s meldin, or whatever they were called. But these thoughts were not for here, or now. Mari was more important.
Smythe put a comforting hand on Amina’s shoulder. She had felt the pain of an undone melda, and from her former amatharn, no less. Aran could not imagine being cut off from Elaina; it was like being alive twice over, and a much stronger bond than a melda. He met her eyes, his brown against her brilliant green, and they shared a silent exchange, brief but deep.
“I hope that is true,” Aran said to Amina. Finally, he sat down facing them, cross-legged. “We cannot even get a message to her, can we?” It was not a real question, but he had to ask it. The shaking of three of the heads he trusted most in the world was the answer he expected, and already knew.
“She will do well, I think,” Amina intoned thoughtfully. “And she has the very best of help.”
That was the opening Aran needed, both for the distraction, and for his curiosity. “Tell me about him, please,” he asked Amina. “Bennak Thunderblade.”
Amina’s usually composed face grew sober, as if remembering things long forgotten. “He was - is - a great and proud Paladin, and very powerful. Headstrong to a fault, too. I did not know he escaped the car’mori.”
She was talking about the Darkening, the poisoning of the vala that happened when Darius - Aran’s ancestor - first melded with the Demoness Morgeth. Most arohim had been infected, only a lucky few escaping.
“In all the years since,” Amina continued, “I heard or saw nothing about any remaining arohim, Bennak included. Since learning he is alive, I have been wondering where he has been all this time.”
“Thunderblade,” Smythe said as if tasting the name. “Grandiose Truename if I ever heard one.”
Amina’s full lips quirked. “Bennak was ever one for grandeur. He was as bad as Palavus in his own way, and the less said about that man, the better.” Bitterness was not in Amina’s nature, but her tone went as close as Aran had ever heard it. “His sword had the power of lightning, and when he struck a foe, you could hear the thunderclap a mile away. That is how he was anointed with the Truename Thunderblade.”
Elaina’s eyes lit up. “I’ve never heard of a vala-forged weapon like this.”
“It was a rare piece, even in those times,” Amina said. “But who knows if he still possesses it.”
Smythe chuckled. “Sounds like he’s kept the name at least.”
Aran frowned then, realising there was something he’d completely missed. He fixed Smythe with an intent stare. “You know something, mate? I have no idea what your Truename is, or why you don’t use it.”
All eyes went to Smythe, and it was his turn to look uncomfortable. Aran hoped he hadn’t made a mistake by bringing it up. Elaina, still with her head on his broad shoulder, gave him an encouraging pat on his hairy chest. So, Elaina knew, and judging by Amina’s apparent lack of curiosity, so did she.
“I gave it up,” Smythe replied after a long moment, his hawk-nosed face sombre. He seemed prepared to say more, so Aran waited patiently, but when Smythe opened his mouth to speak, the tent flap moved aside to let Noah in. Or at least his bushy, bearded head. The hunter kept his grey eyes down out of respect, though there was no need for such deference from him. He’d been outside, keeping an eye on the tent with the intention of protecting Elaina from any harm, though there was little he could do that four arohim could not manage. Still, there was no need to point this out to him; it would only hurt his feelings.
“Apologies for the intrusion,” Noah said quickly. “But Imella and Lena have delivered news that Kedron is well on the mend and moving back toward camp.”
Relief washed over Aran, and he felt the same in the others.
“Thank you, my love,” Elaina said to Noah, gracing him with a warm smile. “This is wonderful to hear.”
Noah lifted his eyes enough to regard her. “I suspected you may wish to hear it at once, so I did not delay.” He held her emerald eyes for a second longer before disappearing.
“So, Kedron is alright,” Smythe said with a proud smile. “Good lad. Must have had a superb mentor.”
Elaina chuckled. “I think he just learned such stubbornness from you that even death doesn’t bother with him; it’s just too much effort.”
Smythe barked a laugh. “Likely true, lass, likely true. Speaking of stubborn, when are you going to knock the formality out of that fellow out there? I feel like I’m in a court half the time I’m around him.”
Elaina sighed. “Slowly but surely, Henley.”
Aran wondered how Kedron had fared in Maralon. No sooner had the thought entered his mind than voices outside floated into the tent. Noah was telling someone they couldn’t enter without permission.
“It’s alright, Noah!” he called without getting up. “She can enter.”
Two seconds later, the tent flap was brusquely pulled aside to allow Mika through. She strolled in proudly, keen eyes taking in the four arohim before settling on Aran. “I have completed your task, Anarion.” She said in a tone that bordered on rudeness, if you weren’t used to Druids. No wonder she and Noah did not get along.
Aran stood, not wanting to keep craning his neck to look up at her. “Thank you,” he replied. “What did you find?”
She rolled her shoulders and winced as if they were aching. “A part of the city has fallen into the ground.”
“How bad is it?” Smythe asked, looking concerned.
“It is only one small part of a very large city,” Mika answered nonchalantly. “I expected things to be much worse.”
“Did you see Kedron, Mika?” Elaina enquired, sitting up.
“I did,” she replied, working her neck around now. Maybe all the flying had taken its toll on her muscles. “He was alone, but unharmed as far as I could tell.”
Alone? Where were Sorla and the others? Hurriedly, he focused on the light inside his mind that held Sorla. She was far away, but perhaps a little closer than a couple of hours ago when last he’d checked. Kedron may have had to leave her behind for some reason. It had better have been a good reason. He’d felt pleasure from her late yesterday, a subtle sensation from this distance, but still detectable. Circumstances couldn’t be too dire if she was in the mood to make love.
“Did you deliver my message?” Aran asked Mika.
“Yes. The soldiers at Senna are now marching to join those at Maralon.”
“Good,” Aran said. That would give Kedron another three thousand men, a useful force to keep in the south. “And what of the people of the city? Did you see any trace of them at all?”
Mika shrugged. “Perhaps. The land was disturbed in a long trail leading away from the city, heading eastward. I did see a few clusters of camps between here and there. If I must guess, I would say they are moving toward us.”
Another knot loosened in Aran’s shoulders. “Also good. And we must gather them and prepare for their arrival. Shelter must be given, and weapons assigned to men and women who can fight. Tasks will be arranged for those who can’t.” He turned to Elaina. “Would you see to this, please?”
She was on her feet at once. “I will.” There was not even a shred of reluctance reflected in the melda at the night’s rest being cut short.
While Elaina was pulling on her breeches, Smythe and Amina got up, too. “I must check on the par’vala,” Amina announced as she crossed the tent to where her cloak was hanging on a stout post. She eyed Aran carefully as she threw it around her shoulders. “I trust you are more settled about the present problem, now?”
She was talking about Mari. He wouldn’t say settled, but he had had time to digest the fact that his mother was in mortal danger of her own volition, and there was nothing he could - or should - do about it. It was like swallowing manure, but he nodded.
Amina’s face softened a little, and she came up to him, and touched his face. “The winds of fate rarely blow the way we would prefer,” she told him quietly before brushing a soft kiss on his lips. “But if she raised you, then Mari is a good and capable woman. And if Bennak is still the man I remember, she is safe as can be with him at her side.”
“Thank you,” Aran replied, kissing her back before she turned away.
Elaina replaced her, now properly clothed and booted. She kissed him, too, but much more firmly. “See you soon.” Simple words, but her big emerald eyes and the melda carried wagon loads of love and understanding.
“You’ll get no kiss from me,” Smythe announced as he pulled his shirt on. Mika - standing off to one side - watched him with interest.
“I’ll survive,” Aran replied wryly. “Where are you headed?”
“To bed, I think,” he said, casting an eye over Mika. She grinned and stretched her arms above her head, arching her back, making sure he had a good view of her body. “I’m enjoying my nights with Elsa, and I’ll take as many as I can, while I can.”
“Good idea,” Aran said, clapping him on the shoulder.
The big Paladin left, leaving him and Mika alone. One look at her face told Aran she only had one thing on her mind. “I’m sorry, Mika, but I cannot give you what you want, tonight.” He wouldn’t have minded any other time, but tonight, he just wanted to be with his meldin.
Mika bristled for a moment, then calmed herself. “They say the very best mates are the ones who are hardest to catch.” She swayed over to him almost haughtily. “I shall keep coming, Anarion, until my talons find your flesh.”
Aran chuckled. Her persistence was admirable. “I hope that is a metaphor, Mika.”
Her smile was slow. “We shall see.”
He watched her slim ebony back and firm bottom saunter from the tent, then sighed. He remembered a time when all he seemed to do was travel the land, fight monsters and make love to beautiful women. That was not the truth of things, but sometimes he dreamed of those days, before he took on the mantle of Anarion and became the leader of so many people.
Wanting some fresh air to help clear his head, he stepped outside Amina’s tent and breathed deeply, taking in the smell of horses and wood smoke and recent rain and the aromas of a hundred different meals being cooked over as many fires in every direction. The arohim tents were usually always near the centre of camp, with the rest of the factions spread around them.
It was only a short walk to his own tent, but he decided he wanted some time alone, first. Gathering himself, he leaped high, aiming northwest, clearing the camp in a single jump to land on a small rise maybe thirty yards beyond the outer Elvish tents.
A small ten-man patrol made up of Elves, Dwarves and Orcs started when he landed not far from them, and the two Elves in the group had arrows nocked and ready to fly before Aran called out and raised his hands, keeping them well clear of his sword. The arrows would not touch him if they were loosed, but there was no need to make the men look silly. “Ho, at ease!”
A big male Orc walked forward, clad only in a simple loincloth, though a thick leather strap crossed his chest, likely for holding the huge hammer currently in his hands. Fingers as thick as Oroth’s hilt flexed on the haft. “Karneshi!” he rumbled when he recognised Aran. The Elves behind him lowered their bows at once.
Karneshi was Orcish for ‘Chief,’ a title that Aran had taken when he was in Sen’dara. He hadn’t gotten around to finding a more suitable chief for the Ash’goth yet, but he would need to soon; the Orcs should have one of their own to lead them.
“Apologies,” Aran told the nine-foot hulk. “I did not mean to come upon you so.”
“You need not apologise, Karneshi,” the Orc said. “We are just still unused to seeing people fall out of the sky like big hailstones.”
“Naturally,” Aran replied with a grin. “How goes the patrol?”
He looked around before he answered, and sniffed the air, flexing wide nostrils. “Quiet,” he said. “Have not seen even a single Goblin for days now.”
The rest of the patrol gathered around while the Orc was speaking, though they kept their eyes on the surroundings. “I think they’ve all moved further north, by now,” Aran said. “I’ve sensed none either.”
The Orc grunted, which could have been agreement, or not. It was hard to tell. “Almost a shame,” he grumbled, hefting his hammer. “I would not mind facing down a Troll or two tonight.”
“Speak for yourself, Borgash,” a fair-haired Elf spoke up from further back. She was tall and slender, no doubt still young for one of her kind. Her forest-green breeches and tunic would blend well with the trees in daylight. “I’d rather be sipping wine in a nice hot bath.” She fingered the string of the bow she still held, though the arrow had gone back in the quiver at her waist.
A few of the others chuckled, and Borgash grinned as he turned his head to glance at her. “I expect no less, from an Elf,” he said, though there was no animosity in his tone.
“Come now, Muscles,” she countered smoothly. “You could even join me, if you wanted.”
More laughter. Aran would bet that this banter was commonplace for these two. He sensed some tension between them; they probably liked each other. “Well met, all of you,” he told them. “I’ll leave you to your duties.”
The patrol saluted and continued on, Borgash leading them south on their journey around the camp’s perimeter. Aran watched them go with some regret; no small part of him sometimes longed for the simple life of a soldier. As difficult as soldiering was, it seemed like a holiday on a sunny island to him.
“Your men respect you,” a woman said from behind him, making him spin in shock. He knew that voice, but how had she gotten so close without him sensing her?
Standing there in the darkness was Sara. She was cloaked and hooded, her face shrouded in shadow, but he knew it was her.
“Fire and fury!” he breathed, reaching her in three long strides. “Where have you been?” he gently took her by the shoulders, then snatched his hands back sharply. Something was wrong with her. Very wrong. “Sara, what-”
She looked up at him from beneath her cowl, her face still veiled by the night, which somehow seemed deeper around her, blacker than it should be. “I did what had to be done,” she said evenly. “It cannot be undone.”
“Gods, Sara.” Deeply worried, he reached out with his vala to find... No ... Not this. Anything but this! His legs lost strength, folding beneath him. He knelt there before her, tears hot on his cheeks. “Why?”
“Part of me dreaded this moment,” she replied as she lowered her cowl calmly. There was something missing from her voice that used to be there, softness and warmth that had now cooled and hardened. “Coming back to you changed as I am. But now that I am here, I realise the notion was worse than the reality.”
Aran shook his head. How could anything be worse than this? “Sara, what did you do? And how? It shouldn’t even be possible!” From the direction of camp, he felt Elaina coming; she would have sensed his anguish. His other meldin were not getting any closer, despite the concern flowing from their melda. He hoped Elaina had told them to stay put; he didn’t want them to see this.
Sara squatted easily in front of him, and for the first time he met her eyes. In the darkness, he couldn’t tell if they were still pale blue, like they used to be, or if they had changed, too. “I think it is not so bad as you presume, Aran. I am still me, just ... Different.”
“No, Sara,” he said, his voice hardening. “You have lost everything. Can you not see? You are no longer arohim, and you will never become a Priestess. Not now.” He drew a shuddering breath, remembering the day he’d first found her on the street in Maralon, starving, dirty and scared. He’d shown her kindness, given her food, and found her somewhere she could be safe.
“Yes,” she replied. “I have become something more. And also, something less than what I was.”
“What happened?” Aran asked, not wanting the answer. “Was it Maharad?”
Her head swung. Her face was still as beautiful as ever, though to Aran’s eyes, she was less radiant, almost plain, now. The vala offered beauty to those who carried it, but Sara’s had been twisted, perverted, choked. “Not directly. And I don’t believe this was his doing. I was in Cartuga, brought there by my vala. After I left the Temple, I was compelled to run east, until finally, in Cartuga, the feeling stopped.”
“Cartuga?” Aran stared at her. He’d never been there but had heard enough tales to know it was one of the most dangerous cities in Ekistair. “What did you find?”
She sighed. “Many things, my love. Most of them dark, despite one or two pleasant surprises.”
Just hearing her call him that stung him deeply. She wasn’t doing it to hurt him, but their relationship would never be the same, now. And it would be so between her and the other arohim, too. What a shame. A tragic, pitiful shame. All her potential, wasted. Aran could not presume to understand the working of Aros always, but this was a brutal blow, and so soon after learning about his mother. Had these things happened but a month or so earlier, they may have changed him for the worse. Even now he was not sure they wouldn’t.
“But of them all,” she continued, “the most pivotal is that I discovered a cluster of Mor’haim.”
Aran frowned. That name roughly translated to ‘Those Who Remain.’ Whatever or whoever they were, he’d never heard of them before.
Sara continued. “During the car’mori, there was one Paladin - only one - who was touched by Maharad and survived. His name was Rendric Steelsong.”
“Steelsong,” Aran repeated softly, the name familiar on his lips, though not from his lifetime. A picture floated into his mind of a tall, slender man with broad shoulders, his vala blazing like the sun. “I remember. He was not infected? He still lives?” A Paladin of such power and ability would be an enormously useful ally, but Aran expected things were not that simple.
“He lives,” Sara replied. “But he did not fight off Maharad’s touch. Instead, he somehow absorbed it, wrestled it into something he could control, or at least live with. His vala became twisted up with the shadow, resulting in a balance, of sorts, though the end result was ... Distasteful.”
Aran grimaced. “No one controls Maharad, Sara.”
“Perhaps not,” she said, “but Rendric, while quite mad, is not driven by the Dark God’s will. And neither am I.”
Aran sighed. “But how can you be sure of this?”
“You will come to understand, in time.” As she spoke, a shaft of moonlight penetrated the clouds, illuminating her face for the first time.
Aran gasped. Black tendrils roughly an inch long radiated outward from her eyes, sharp against her fair skin, fading to nothing on her smooth cheeks and forehead.
“Yes,” Sara said after seeing his reaction. “I have been marked, physically and spiritually, but I am in full control of myself, and the others. It was the only way.”
Reluctantly, Aran felt into her again with his vala. Inside her was an intricate myriad of webs, a tangle of light and dark, each somehow vying for dominance and yet ... Stable. She was not like a Nameless, with no light to be seen, and not like Kedron’s father, who had given himself so deeply to Maharad that only the barest speck of light remained. It was impossible to measure that tangle, but if Aran had to bet, he would say Sara was now an even balance between the two powers. He wished he knew what that meant.
Sara continued while he studied her. “Rendric needed to be brought to heel. He was too dangerous to be left alone to continue his reign over Cartuga and killing him would have killed all those linked to him. Them, and their meldin. Dozens would have died.”
“So, you melded him,” Aran finished for her. He had to admit, the extent of the webs inside her was ... Impressive, no matter how terrible. Was this what Darius had attempted and gotten horribly, catastrophically wrong a thousand years ago? Or was this Aros’s way of restoring the balance somehow, in a manner Aran didn’t yet understand. For all he could tell, whatever it was, Sara had readily accepted this fate.
She went on, telling him about her time in Cartuga, in Rendric’s mansion, how he had bound her with his tainted vala, and how she had eventually broken free and overcome him. When she was done, Aran wanted to weep all over again.