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Happy Easter
Chapter 25
The stunning ginger-haired young knight steps aside and allows me to go to Talen. I crouch next to my companion, and Ser Chezbernon takes a step back to give us room, but I'm cognizant of his stare. It feels like his eyes are boring into the back of my helmet. I clasp Talen's palm in my black steel gauntlet; it suddenly looks very alien on my hand. After a moment, he allows me to pull him to his feet, rubbing his ribs, and pain floating over every aspect of his fair face.
"Are you okay?" I ask him.
Talen nods. "Just a little bruised. That's all." He looks to each of the knights whose faces, though astonishingly handsome, reveal tiny hints of unseen savagery and cruelty.
Stomp jingle stomp jingle.
For an instant my eyes fall to the ground, drawn by the sound of boots and spurs and the swish of heavy cloaks. Again I see the shadows swirl in ways that the light should not allow. A chill creeps over me that leaves as soon as I show signs that I've noticed something.
Stomp jingle stomp jingle.
Slits of light within the animated inky black...they can only be eyes. They watch me, inspect me, but to what end?
Stomp jingle stomp jingle.
They seem to attach themselves to the heels of a knight. Are they an extension of the person? Or do my eyes play tricks on me. One knight, however, is without one.
Ser Chezbernon.
Stomp jingle stomp jingle.
They move and shift in place; each loud step indifferent to the world. Anything that could confront them would be ground into blood and bones under their enormous muddy boots. I don't want to be one of those people.
And the shadows I spied only a moment before are now gone.
Did I ever even see them to begin with? Can something alive be made of something as insubstantial as shadow? And what on Wynwrayth gives birth to such a thing?
I find it interesting that each knight allows his eyes to linger on my body for some time. They stare through my visor slit; they examine my eyes, my arms, and especially my waist. They whisper to each other, curious no doubt as to my appearance, and why I'm still fully helmeted in their presence when they are not.
My ears hone in on a conversation that's been underway for a full minute.
Angelaria is speaking.
"I did not agree to killing Calisto," she says. "Nor was I aware that Braedir made arrangements behind my back."
"Please, please," the floating priest of Moh-Dehl says, "calm yourself, dear girl. Let's go someplace more private to discuss business. There's much on the table, and I think once you see our accounting work, you'll agree that this is for the best."
The ginger-haired knight speaks up, "leave all your guards here in the chapel of the church. Knights of our order work alone."
The king smiles and says, "Of course, Ser Knight." But I can see something about this bothers him. I'm pleased by this because I don't particularly like Braedir.
A third Timeron knights walks forward. In his hand he carries two pairs of leather cuffs attached to steel chains. Just like the others, he's a beast of a man dwarfing me by at least three inches. But gods is he good looking with long bangs the color of milk chocolate and the warmest brown eyes. He gently but firmly separates me from Talen.
The Ginger-haired knight pulls out a dagger and holds it to Talen's throat while the other shackles him. "They're soft but impossible to break," the milk chocolate-haired knight says to Talen. "They're not meant to be uncomfortable, just to keep you compliant." Then he pats Talen gently on the cheek. "Don't worry, if we wanted to kill you we'd have done so already."
I exhale slowly allowing myself to relax now that I see they aren't going to hurt either of us.
Talen swallows and tries not to look afraid, but his eyes betray his anxiety. "I-I should be allowed to be free, like Braedir and Angelaria," he states. In response to Talen's question, the knight looks to the leader with a questioning gaze.
"Logan just wants to keep you safe, young thief. You really have no clue as to why we hate you so much, do you?" Ser Chezbernon replies. The response satisfies this knight with the milk chocolate hair who now has a name.
Logan finishes shackling Talen in chains. My gaze falls to his shiny spurs that sit on the heel of his muddy boots. I wonder how much larger his toes are compared to mine. "It's nothing personal...just something your god did a long time ago," Logan says. He sweeps his bangs out of his eyes and glances at me. "What about that one? The...imposter?"
"I have him drugged," Angelaria interjects, "with Eros. But he's going on little rest. Talen and I are in slightly better shape having caught a short nap at the palace."
"Rest is overrated," Ser Chezbernon says. "I've fought battles that took 24-hours and when I got home, fucked a couple of bitches to fulfill my duty. Your man should be good for the same."
The priest of Moh-Dehl clears his throat and addresses the chocolate-haired knight. "Ser Logan, if you must regale us with that antique account of your faith, I assure you there's time to tell him the story as we walk. Time after all IS money. Gentlemen, shall we proceed?" Without waiting for an answer, he floats off to the north.
"Indeed," Ser Chezbernon says. "Silverhawk, why don't you regale us with the tale."
The ginger-haired knight smiles. "Do I have to Zy?"
"Eros...eh?" Logan says, standing to his full height. I unconsciously step back, craning my neck a little to continue to unflinchingly meet his scrutinizing eyes. "He's a brave one...I'll give him that. Eros usually leaves men cowering in fear in my presence. If the drug wasn't flowing through his veins, he'd probably be trying to kick my arse right now."
"It's PURE Eros," Zylander Chezbernon replies.
Logan turns his head slightly. "PURE? So you've decided then based only on what you learned from the floating fat man? That potion of healing we acquired cost us a month's wages. Why not find another suitable for giving birth, but one that we don't have to waste a potion on and can just let die?"
Zylander says, "My demon inherits half its traits from its host, the other half from the men who father it. If it were yours, you'd want to have the most powerful you can get."
I wonder who they're talking about, and who this host might end up being.
"I see," Logan says. "One question though...if the drug makes its victims compliant, does it also dull their skill? If so, Zy, then WE have a problem."
"It has to," Angelaria says. "He's dangerous. He'd more than attack you were he sober. I'd bet a thousand gold crowns he could probably kill you in under five seconds."
Logan grunts. "You've never seen me fight, princess." He sizes me up, the tip of his tongue pushing against his bottom lip. "He's got good height, shoulders, and a dexterous build. But whereas he's light and flexible, I'm strong and unbending. Ever see a blade of grass defeat an oak tree? I doubt he could take me."
I swallow, watching him clench his fists. It's almost like he wants to try.
We move out, taking an aisle to the north, following the floating priest.
Stomp jingle stomp jingle. The heavyset walk of the knights around me has a cadence I liken to a marching bad. I can't help but think that walking some might help the priest to control his weight. But then again, floating would be so much easier. I think if I could float, I'd probably spend my time looking at the art on the ceiling.
I follow behind the other men, unable really to keep my attention on any one thing because there's so much that attracts me. There are many well-polished oaken pews arranged to either side of a grand room, and all of them face a pulpit of rosewood, ivory, and platinum. Unlike crude benches found in more humble churches, these are covered in satin cushions and decorated in gold filigree as befits the god of wealth. Slender columns of gold and ivory rise to a vaulted ceiling high above; it's painted in meticulous detail and depicts multitudinous religious scenes for which I've no comprehension. Magnificent stained-glass windows to either side allow sunlight to stream through; I realize there are only a couple more hours before darkness.
I silently encircle Talen's hand in my own so we can walk together. I whisper, "I love you" to him, and he smiles.
I'm so tired. I just want to sleep.
The joints in my knees kind of ache.
"It's the tale of Deeping Lore which is the first of all weapons," Silverhawk says with a somewhat musical and soft voice. I forget where I am almost instantly. "It's a tragic story of love lost in which the fair Taleta ascended the high mountains at the dawn of time to speak with her twin sister, the lovely Inzilbeth. However, what she found there horrified her to the very core. You see, her sister's naked body lay slain at the feet of Tethyr who'd just lain with her. Artists the world over have tried to depict the anguish on her face, but none do our queen justice."
I swallow, staring at Silverhawk as we walk, and many times, he stares back at me. I see he notices I'm holding hands with Talen. He quietly points it out to the other knights who snicker, and Talen quickly removes his hand from my grasp. Once Silverhawk even winks and it makes me smile. I think he likes me, and I wonder why these men are considered evil.
"You haven't heard this story either, have you?" Silverhawk asks me.
I shake my head. "I-I haven't Ser Knight. Please continue."
He seems genuinely surprised by my request, grins, and claps me on the shoulder. He moves up to his leader and whispers, but I can still hear him. The priest gives signs that he does too, although the talking and that stomp jingle stomp jingle does much to cover errant words. "Zy, are you sure he isn't a Timeron? I kind of like this spry rabbit. Maybe the gang rape won't be all work and no play. It'd make my night if he has white blond hair. Can we take a look?"
"We could dye it for you," the priest interrupts, "for a price of course. Natural white blond is all but extinct, and I know it's what the Timeron's like the most."
"It's the natural hair color of our goddess, Taleta," Logan adds in full volume. "But it's not just white blond hair we like in the men we sodomize. We also like them with an athletic twink build, smooth, and young. That's almost impossible to find even at the famed Dungeon of Blood." I hear a bunch of grunts and nods as all the knights agree with Logan's description of the flesh they like to fuck. "And regarding the white blond hair...why wouldn't we desire it? But as you say, it only comes from a bottle these days. It's not the same."
"You won't find any of that here," Talen says. "Best to let us go."
Chuckles. I laugh too and Talen kicks me in the shin.
I have to say, hearing Silverhawk refer to me as potential Timeron knight material does put a pep in my step. I was wondering if I could even meet their physical standards because I'm only six feet tall and have slender athletic feet with high arches and long Elven-like toes. I doubt that I could bring myself to stomp at all, but I'd be willing to try. I puff out my chest; trying to mimic their barrel-chested bodies in the hopes they'll see I share their athletic build. I also hope that my age does not become an issue in joining their ranks.
"I'm certain of it," Ser Chezbernon replies in answer to Silverhawk's query. "But that doesn't mean he can't be. We'll see what merit he has soon enough, once he's killed Calisto for us and made me general. Once he's fulfilled a couple of his...duties." He inflects the word "duties" as if to imply something naughty.
Silverhawk clears his throat and continues his story. "As I understand it, Tethyr defended himself against Xeylynn, who'd drawn Deeping Lore on the godling after just having murdered Inzilbeth for adultery. The Thread is said to have descended Mount Saramet, admonished them, and decreed that the death of Inzilbeth would be played out forever through human conflict."
Tears come to my eyes. I don't know why I'm feeling so emotional, but the idea of the young queen losing her sister like that tugs at my heart. I sniff and it catches Silverhawk's attention.
"Are you crying?" he asks me.
I nod. "It's very sad."
"Fascinating," he says. He looks so young, and his helmet hair makes me want to reach out and straighten it. He peers through the slit of my visor at my glistening eyes. "I've never seen a follower of Tethyr shed even a single tear at the telling of this story. By the way, your eyes are very blue."
"You can't say that after today," I whisper. "But my lord, I don't mean to offend. Please, Ser Silverhawk, what else is there?"
Talen raises his voice, "Your history is hardly THE history as it happened. I'm sure there's a hundred ways of telling your tale with each heavily biased to a particular point of view!" Talen's agitation almost seems exaggerated, as if he's trying to divert attention away from me and onto him.
It works because Silverhawk laughs.
To me, it sounds like a harpsichord of gentle silver strings, flicked once by the fingers of a fine musician. "The pretty faggot finds his claws!" Then the others join suit in a hearty laugh. Even I chuckle and it draws Talen's gaze. He almost replies but stops himself short, eyeing a few clenched fists around him. This pause gives Silverhawk the queue he needs to continue his story. "'But what of my sister? Is she to lie still and cold, with death, and these two to go unpunished?'
"And the Thread spoke. 'Nay, for as her blood is spilt, I will do nothing. But lo, there is life there still.'
"You see, Taleta looked down at the body of Inzilbeth and discovered the seed that Tethyr had just planted in her body and focused her powers upon it and the babe was born, a fine young boy with bright blue eyes as well as the dishwater brown hair of his father. But before Tethyr could take him joyously into his arms, she snatched the babe up. 'You, my hated brother,' she declared, 'shall never know his touch. I will destroy you myself for what you have done this day! And I shall take this babe with me, and he shall be learned of the ways of war so that in the last days I shalt have a worthy adversary. All the world shall be my dominion for I choose now and forever to walk the path of darkness. And know this, that I shall remake the cosmos to be a reflection of my everlasting loneliness. Hail to thee, God of War,' she declared, holding the newborn aloft. 'Hail to thee and farewell.'
"Tethyr stepped forward and said, 'Don't do this, my sister,'
"And she responded, 'I shall drink your blood and the blood of those that follow you,' she declared. 'Mark well this day, for it is the day that I, Taleta, lay claim to the host of Hell and the day that I spit vengeance upon thee for the rest of thy days.' And with that, the Goddess transported herself to the plains of Wynwrayth and gave the babe to some she-wolf to be cared for which is why the Valion knights are as much wolf as they are human. She gave the child a loving kiss and in that kiss and in her tears she imparted to him some of her many virtues. The one he got from the kiss is said to be god-like strength. Then she whispered in his ear and passed on the knowledge of all that had ever come to pass. And she touched the babe's hair, giving to him her own lustrous white blond! Scholars say it's the color of pure sunlight! But it turned hers a deep black like the kind that lingers between the stars at midnight. And she brushed his eyes, giving to him her own beautiful silver pupils. Lastly, Taleta slapped the child so that his final memory of her would be one filled with pain for in him was given the ability to someday destroy her. Then she took the dark path to Hell itself."
I'm mesmerized and hope I can remember this history.
"And that," Ser Zylander Chezbernon says sidling up to me, "is why we hate followers of Tethyr." He starts to whisper. "Our goddess in blessing our order with strength gave to us infernal servants that can only be birthed from a male follower of Tethyr. She did this because males are symbolic of Tethyr himself and to remind Tethyr that His rape of Her sister would bring those who follow him nothing but suffering. Eros is a part of that. Manufactured by the mute dust men at the threshold to the Abyss, Eros steals thoughts and memories from its host to transplant to a demon egg. Interesting eh? Pure Eros is better because it duplicates memories, leaving the one using it with most of his mind after the act is finished. Imagine a demon that comes into the world with all the skills of the host that bore him? That would be quite a gift if the host had valuable training, don't you agree?"
I nod. "But where would you find someone like that?"
He smiles. "Where indeed?" Zy glances at Talen who's so mad; I think he might attack Ser Chezbernon. "But we suspend that hatred today for politics, because you my lean assassin are going to make me a general."
We arrive at a door bound in deep rich leather. Decorative gold studs create two rows of three. "A riveting tale, Ser Silverhawk. You speak it impeccably," the priest says. "Please, all of you enter and we shall discuss business. You can hang the thief's shackles on one of the pillars. We have hooks for just that purpose."
All of us step into the most richly appointed study I've ever seen. Four pillars divide the room; each is made of ivory and gold. The ceiling is all gold and inlaid with jewels. A gorgeous oriental carpet flows from wall to wall, covered in so many brilliant colors and scenes my eyes can hardly absorb it all. I see mythical creatures, mountains of gold, grape vineyards and fantastic feasts. I see star-filled skies, pyramids rising from sandy deserts, men carrying expensive spices to market and scenes of women spinning silk into clothing. It almost leaves me breathless. There are stuffed peacocks and tapestries of brilliant color and a polished granite ring encircles a heavenly arboretum.
The carpet muffles the "stomp" so much that the "jingle" almost entirely takes over.
Jingle jingle jingle.
At the end of the room, the men settle into multiple chairs and divans; still there are not enough for everyone. I of course must stand during the entire meeting, and the ache in my legs is only dulled by the occasional flush of the beautiful Eros lingering inside me. Servants immediately pour in from side chambers to deliver refreshments. Even Talen and I are watered from the same nippled wine-skin. It tastes so cool and refreshing. I swallow almost half before I signal I've had enough.
Angelaria and Braedir sit in front of a huge oaken desk with a surface so highly polished I can see my reflection in it. The wood is seasoned and carved into marvelous shapes, with decorative swirls and small animals perched amidst branches and gold filigree. The priest sits behind this desk.
Somewhere, a fountain churns and natural sunlight floods down upon my shoulders from a skylight overhead. Huge green ferns spread their broad leaves from decorative porcelain vases, and perched on the limbs of a tree is a miraculous metal nightingale singing a mournful song.
It's one of the most haunting melodies I've ever heard.
The wealth here astounds.
My eyes and those of the others settle upon a beautiful naked woman to the right of the desk. At a height of about five-foot eight, she has a narrow waist, wide hips, and full breasts. All of it looks carved from alabaster, but the detail is incredible, down to the shallow hint of veins beneath portions of the flesh, and the tiny but moist-looking pussy between her legs. The woman has metallic blue hair that sweeps to the top of her curvy ass, and she stands with lips parted as if ready to speak. But I know she can't be real. Simply the most life-like doll I've ever seen. One of the knights, a comely young man with coffee-colored skin, brown hair, and aquamarine eyes, removes one gauntlet and slips a long slender finger into the lady's cunt.
I love long slender fingers, though I think mine may be longer than even his. A second later, the knight retracts his hand, and his middle finger glistens with moisture. He smells it, smiling.
"What is this, exactly?" the knight says, cleaning the skin with his tongue. "It tastes like fresh squirt!"
"You lie!" Logan challenges with an incredulous lift of one eyebrow. But his body language betrays the eagerness for which he wants a try. He almost salivates.
"I swear...it has the flavor of the squirter I banged only last month; 'twas the last time I got laid. A knight remembers when his dick last got wet!"
"It's an Auditor of Eilustriel," the priest answers. "Say 'rate me' and see what happens." The priest grins and reaches into a bowl of figs, removes one, and pops it into his mouth. Then he offers one to everyone else seated before his desk.
I step back, unable to pull my eyes from the machine, and my progress is halted by a pillar. I'm so enraptured by her; I don't even notice that Talen is lashed to the pillar across from me. The chains attached to his restraints are hung upon a hook about eight feet off the ground so that he can't get away.
"Are you afraid, Alec? Grow some balls and do as the priest says," Logan says, taking a bite out of a fig and kicking his size 12 feet up on the priest's desk. A few flakes of mud fall from his soles, and the priest frowns.
I would never frown if a boy as attractive as Logan put his feet on my desk. I'd just ask him if he wanted them massaged.
"Rate me," Alec says to the naked woman.
The Auditor animates, and her topaz eyes orient on the knight. She extends her arms and places them around his neck. "Six foot four, 204 pounds, and 13% body fat." She tilts her head to one side. "Six-inch erect penis, brown hair, aquamarine eyes, age 25. Athletic jock body type with some body hair. You are a 6. Only 10% of the human males alive are as striking as you." Then the Auditor returns her arms to her side and her eyes once again darken.
"For the record," the priest states, "No one ever rates higher than an 8. A 6, well, that makes me jealous, but only until I see the color of your money. That always rates as a 10 in my eyes."
Alec laughs and steps back. "Anyone else?"
Angelaria rolls her eyes. "Time is ticking, gentlemen. We've got an appointment to keep at the Bathhouse of Oiled Flesh that I don't wish to miss."
"About that," Zy interrupts, "Calisto will not be at the Dungeon of Blood tonight. But he will be tomorrow, so we have a full day. Braedir would not have known Calisto's proper schedule, but I do as I spoke with him just this morning. See...I'm his trusted right hand man."
While he's speaking, another knight gets up and gets rated. He's the tallest of them, and I learn from the Auditor that he's in fact 6'8" with white hair, scarlet eyes, and skin so black it looks like liquid oil. By the gods he's gorgeous and rates ultimately as a 7 (that's in the top 5% of the male population worldwide). Despite his great size, he weighs only 240 pounds and his body fat is a meager 12%. Mordred is his name, and he packs an 8-inch cock somewhere under that armor. I can't even imagine something that large, and it makes me afraid to have my own measured as I can't remember it clearly. If it's small, I'll be ashamed. He's rated an athletic jock and is 30 years old. But truthfully, the things I notice most are his colossal 17 boots. They dwarf my feet, which look tiny in comparison.
My mind is so filled with mist, but something inside me seems to be saying I should avoid getting rated at all cost. Maybe it's my confidence trying to save me from embarrassing myself in front of these incredible studs.
"Trusted? I think you mean traitorous," she says, with vile contempt on her lips.
Why is she so mean? I want to tell her...be nice because then they'll like you as much as I do.
"Don't be so swift to judge," Ser Chezbernon continues while fingering a fig. "You seem to be as traitorous as I, and truthfully, what I'm up to can only be construed as traitorous IF I'm caught. Every man in this room has sworn loyalty to me. They support me in my rise to power, and they'll be richly rewarded for the risk they take. When your man over there," he says pointing to me, "is fucked bloody by Calisto tomorrow, he'll have the opportunity none of us get: access to Calisto's amulet. I've taken great pains and great expense to produce an identical one that will KILL Calisto the moment he puts it on. All your guy needs to do is ensure that one is exchanged for the other. And he should be on board with this, because Calisto is horrible. He's an undead, rotting, smelly excuse for a knight. His perversions run to the gory, and the sooner he kills him, the better chance he has of living through the experience."
"I-I want to live," I say. But no one addresses my statement.
"His name's Kian," Talen interrupts the speaking men. "Not 'your guy' or 'your man.' It's Kian!"
Zylander Chezbernon pops the fig into his mouth. "Very well," he pauses to stare at me and listen to the last of his knights get rated. They are all giggling and punching each other in the arm playfully. "Someone please put a gag in this thief! I'm tired of being interrupted by his outbursts."
One of the nearby servants complies and muzzles Talen with a leather strap that encloses the entire lower half of his face. I smile at him and say, "You kind of look funny, Talen." I can't help but snicker a little. But this seems to infuriate Talen, and I stop. He yanks and pulls at his chains but to no avail.
The second to the last knight to have a go at the Auditor is named Parisim. He's 6'4", 27- years-old, and weighs 200-pounds. He has two eyes of differing colors, one yellow, and the other green. He also ranks as a 7.
"Kian, then," Zylander says with a nod to me. "I meant you no disrespect by calling you otherwise." He continues to watch me and finally states, "I do wonder what your face looks like if the others are so sure Calisto will like it. I have to say; as the hours grow late my plans for business are slowly entertaining thoughts of a little pleasure based entirely on that slender profile. That's unusual since I, like most knights, only get hard for especially cute young boys."
"I would never lie to you," Braedir says. "The boy is cute although I get nothing from seeing him."
"He's okay," Angelaria adds. "A little too proud of his appearance when he's sober."
"I may just cancel my evening plan then," Ser Chezbernon says to the priest. "I'll wait until we can find someone that rates an 8. The higher the rating determines constitution as you know, and that's by far more valuable than skills. And if Kian got caught so easily, his skill is probably not as good as everyone says."
The priest waves his fingers and a magical barrier of silence descends upon Angelaria and Braedir. "I don't want them to hear our conversation," the priest says.
"Excellent thinking," Zylander replies.
"I think, my lord, we should stop the Eros infusion immediately. It's expensive and can be used for seeding once we find one that meets your insane beauty standard. I'll move the 'object' into a safer place."
"The host needs to have a large cock, too," Zylander adds. "Anything over seven inches is great. It shall give my child the ability to create eggs himself. You don't know what I went through to acquire the one I possess now. For every million shadow demons, there is only one egg-layer. And they're worth a fortune."
"I might suggest Magundu," the priest states over the table. "He's a whore in the Dungeon of Blood brothel. We can work out the kidnapping details later, but the followers of Chagidiel claim he has the largest cock in the land."
Zylander nods, considering this. "Excellent."
The priest waves his fingers again and the silence is lifted.
Angelaria blurts out, "What's the meaning of this?! I demand to know what you discussed behind my back?"
"You can demand nothing," the priest tells her. "Now sit or I'll have your blood turned to solid gold in an instant."
Mouth agape, she plops down in the chair where Braedir pats her on the hand and says, "Trust me. We are about to become very rich."
"Your turn, Zy," Alec interrupts, "Let's all get rated by this machine. It's fun; let's see how our leader stacks up to the rest of us."
The knights all cheer him on. The man grunts and stands. "Anything for my men," he states throwing wide his arms in a show of fun. It seems oddly refreshing on someone so serious.
He walks up to the Auditor, and the room quiets. She animates and tells us he's 6'7" which makes him the second tallest next to Mordred. He weighs 218-pounds, possesses 13% body fat, is 41 years old, and is categorized as an "athletic bear." All the while he strums his mustache with his gauntleted fingers. No wonder he's their leader.
Ser Zylander Chezbernon is magnificent, and he wears the regalia to match. My eyes wander over the length of his full plate and battle tested black armor, over the tabard of the Darkglories, and sweep to his huge mud-caked feet and the cape that swirls around them. I only notice now, that the cape is weighted with metal and has a razor's edge.
Remarkable.
When all is said and done, I learn he ranks as a 7, like a good majority of his men. It's incredible to see the shape someone can maintain and be venerable enough that I could call him grandfather.
"Well that's it," Zylander says, settling back into his chair.
"Good," the priest of Moh-Dehl begins. "Let us talk about the kinds of money you expect to make from the sale of your property, princess."
"Go on," she states.
The priest of Moh-Dehl tugs upon his goatee and it makes his fat cheeks wobble. His eyes look so small in that dough-like face. "Consider that the average sale of a slave in this city is for a single gold crown. According to my documents..." he pauses to rummage through his desk. "One moment and I'll show you..."
Silverhawk in the interim says, "Mind if I have Kian rated?"
"Go for it," Zylander says, all of his attention focused on the priest. "But don't be disappointed. Plans have changed, and I'll tell you men about them later. Just take the Auditor over there a moment so none of us participating in the negotiations are distracted."
"Come on, buddy," he says, gently grabbing me by the elbow joint of my armor. "It won't hurt you." Two of the other knights pick up the Auditor and transport her to a corner of the room where I can still see Talen, but can no longer see the desk. And what the Auditor says will not be overheard.
"What won't hurt me?" I've already forgotten what they were doing.
He stands me before the naked woman, and he whispers to me, "Say 'rate me'."
And then he stands back. Most of the other knights gather round me when she animates.
"He'll rate high," Mordred says. "He makes my dick hard just looking at him."
The Auditor begins to speak and says, "Six feet zero inches, 140 pounds, and 3% body fat." She tilts her head to one side. "Eleven-inch erect penis, white blond hair, blue eyes, age 17. Athletic twink body type with no body hair at all. You are a 10. No human male alive has been like you in a thousand years. You are unique." And in the stunned silence that follows, her eyes darken and her hands move back to her sides.
All the knights stare at me, and I back up realizing I've done something wrong. "I'm older than seventeen...honest. I just want to be a Timeron Knight. She's lying, I-I'm really 21."
"Shh, Silverhawk says to me. "Relax...we aren't mad at you. Seventeen is just fine."
"Someone needs to tell Zy," a voice says.
"He's busy...we'll get to that after some fun," another answers.
"I-It is?" I ask, hope lifting. Alec holds my left hand with his and is gently squeezing it. I feel the pressure through the metal gauntlet. "I want to see his face," Alec says to Silverhawk moving me to the place where I stood before. He presses my back against the pillar while the others crowd me. No one at the desk pays us any attention.
Talen jerks on his chains and tries screaming at us through his gag but everything is muffled and intelligible.
Silverhawk raises his hands and I flinch. He stops immediately, fingers against my helmet. "I'm just going to slide this off, buddy. Don't be afraid," he says. "We just want to see what you look like under there."
I swallow and say, "All right. I just wasn't supposed to remove it." I forget who told me that, but I think it was someone wise.
"That's changed," Silverhawk and the others say.
"Found it!" the priest declares, and he rolls a scroll out over his desk. It spills over the side and is probably ten feet long.
"You've got to be kidding me," Angelaria says, staring at the parchment. "Explain why I should sign this."
The priest entwines his pudgy fingers together and Zylander turns his attention to the discussion around the desk, but not before he gives a visual "okay" for the other knights to proceed and get a look at me. "I'll be there after I conclude with this," he states. "Don't have too much fun. Provided he's passably good-looking, I'll want a piece of him before any of you. That's my right as commander."
"He's more than passable, my lord. But, we'll be gentle, Zy and gladly be your sloppy seconds," Logan says for the other knights.
"You expect 25,000 gold from a botched job back at Clothol and payment for the damages caused to your reputation. The armor he wears was purchased by Braedir for another 10,000 gold. Then there's the matter of the Eros you've been using. That stuff isn't cheap, and it's cost Braedir 10,000 more gold to keep him in a state of pliancy that you believe is necessary. Braedir believes his cut should be 5,000 for his information and contacts. Then there's the matter of my fee, which is 10% on top of the total. How do you expect to sell a slave, even if he rates as a fucking 9 by Eilustriel's standards and he won't, I assure you, for upwards of 55,000 gold crowns?! A man that rates an 8 on the scale usually sells for 1000 gold. By our calculation, your man will garner no more than ten times that amount, which is only 10,000 gold crowns. Where's the rest of it coming from, my dear? This is why your man WILL KILL Calisto. Zylander is supplying the other 45,000 in gold and has made half the payment already."
Angelaria swallows, "I didn't realize it cost so much..."
I stop paying attention to their haggling. Voices get raised, but all I see is Silverhawk, violet eyes boring into me behind long silky red bangs. Carefully, he raises my helmet. When it's fully off, he passes it to Mordred and turns back to me.
"Well he's a cock sucker," Alec says with a laugh. "There's wet cum on his face, but by Taleta is he incredible to look at."
Gasps from many lips soon follow. "He has white blond eyelashes and eyebrows," a knight named Ephram says. This boy is 6'2" with black hair and eyes the color of gray steel. He's so handsome my heart skips a beat. Then again, they're all so good looking it's hard to breathe.
I hear Talen scream and tug at his chains.
"You're being outrageous!" Angelaria declares.
It seems like everyone but us is busy raising voices.
When I turn my head to see what's going on, Silverhawk takes me strongly by the chin and forces me back to look at him instead. He takes off the chainmail coif that rests atop my head and made the liner inside my helmet. I feel fingers combing through my sweaty locks.
"White blond hair! By the gods...he's perfect!" several indistinct voices mumble.
Silverhawk grins at all of them then addresses me from an inch in front of my nose, "I'm going to kiss you. In fact...WE ARE ALL going to kiss you. Now you can be ornery about this if you want, and I won't hurt you. But we'll hurt your buddy..."
"P-Please don't," I say, lower lip trembling. "I-I love Talen. I've told him that, you know?"
"I expect you have. So we have something in common then," Alec states from my left. "I think we all love you." The six men nod, looking on, some reaching under their tabards to adjust their dicks that have grown uncomfortable in their codpieces. I hear a little laughter.
"So are you going to be ornery?" Silverhawk asks me.
I shake my head, "No. If you'd like to kiss me you can."
"Good. Put your arms on my shoulders so your hands can get to the back of my neck and head. Rub me gently, and pull your fingers through my hair like you're enjoying this, even if you're not. That's what we like. Understood? Do it right, or we'll break one of Talen's fingers."
I nod and gently do as instructed.
"Fuck...you're so beautiful," he breathes drawing closer. He takes off both gauntlets and hands them to Alec. Then he places his moist fingers on the side of my face, running it through my wet blond locks, and licks up Spider's old semen, cleans the blood from my chin. His tongue feels like velvet, and he licks and licks and licks again, meticulously washing my smooth skin. The breath of the other men around me sounds like panting. "He tastes like cotton candy," Silverhawk declares, loud enough for them to hear.
"Hurry up," someone says. "It's my turn."
Chains clank and rattle to no avail, but all I see are those violet eyes.
"Let me have a minute with him," Alec asks.
Silverhawk shakes his head. "In a second. And when it's your turn, take off your gauntlets. We can't risk bruising this beauty, not when we get him all night."
"All night?" I ask.
Then he presses his lips to mine, gentle at first, even nibbling. They're very soft. He takes his time to outline my lips with his moist tongue; he has the flavor of a pleasant brandy. I reach up with my hands; he cups my balls and puts pressure to my stomach. After two minutes, Silverhawk becomes insistent, forcing his tongue into my slightly parted jaw. It's like an invasion at first, but a welcome one. Heat piles upon heat and he's, probing me, fucking me, with fingers and tongue and little kisses left to the sides of my small mouth. I become an entry for his tongue, for his lust.
"Oh god," I say, eyes fluttering. I try to push him away because the temperature is rising in my body. He gives me a sharp bite, not enough to draw blood, and to remind me this is not my choice. It is his choice, and he's claiming me for his own.
I continue to run my fingers through his hair like a good lover is supposed to do. I try moaning to encourage him. I won't be ornery. I want Talen to be left alone.
I feel his fingers beneath my cloak, rubbing the tight round globes of my bubble butt, feeling the rubber priapus, and probing between the cheeks at the thin material covering my sweaty hole.
It's wet hot flesh over wet hot flesh. And my nostrils flare, filling with the smell of oiled metal, clean sweat, and the earthiness of a knight that has been to battle and perhaps killed, but not yet bathed. I'm intoxicated by the smell of his musk, the floating aroma from his hairy armpits that have left his tabard soaked in fresh sweat from his athletic, strong young body.
He thrusts the back of my head against the pillar, and gnaws gently at my lips, not allowing me time to catch my breath. My skin glistens with my sweat and my armor grows hot with the heat of my flesh that aches to be plundered.
And he makes love to my mouth; I long for it to end because it makes my mouth sore and he just sucks at my saliva. I feel like he's drawing life out with my spit, and I know this is just the beginning.
The men trade off, giving me only a second or two to gulp down water from a skin held to my lips. Then there is more fucking of my mouth with their tongues...more making of this sweet love. Silverhawk has to remind them to be gentle. I'm dizzy with so many beautiful colored eyes, so many features to take in. I blink and it's another man raping my lips with his own; others behind him say, "My turn. I want to snog with the kid."
The kid...that's what I am to them. I knew my age would matter. I'll never wear the spurs. So why are they kissing me? Maybe this is their way of saying goodbye; they're such warm-hearted people.
Milky white hair falls about my face, my head is upturned.
Mordred.
I place my fingers to his neck, but he's so tall. Gods...it's like I'm trying to kiss a giant; his tongue touches the back of mine. I almost gag but not quite, and try to gasp for breath, try to remind him that I'm small in comparison to his incredible bulk; to his eye-popping strength. I can't bend him any more than a steel beam. But he bends me, plies me with his fingers, and contorts my back. At last, sensing my struggle, he eases up and has me stand on his huge boots to compensate for the height difference.
My feet slip off of them repeatedly, but he just grabs me and sets me like a doll again on the tops of his boots, and I stand on my tippy toes.
The conversation between the priest of Moh-Dehl and Angelaria becomes heated.
She refuses to sign because to do so means that if the exact money is not delivered, then a curse befalls her and Talen. The priest says the curse of Moh-Dehl is the worst in all the land.
Tongue on my tongue. He pinches my nostrils closed with his fingers. Why is he trying to stifle me? My mouth opens wider...ahh that's why.
The curse can never be abated, never disenchanted, and drives the one thus bestowed into financial and cataclysmic ruin.
I am floating above myself...like a spirit...like a ghost fled from the men whose desire is ripping my soul to pieces.
My face, my hair, my neck gleams with so much sweat and saliva that I look bathed in clear oil. Tongue juice drips from my nose, earlobes, and chin. Has anyone ever been kissed so much that this happens?
I must not fail; she cannot come to financial ruin. Or can she? Where's Talen? He would know, but I can't see him. There's another man fucking my mouth with his tongue.
I close my eyes feeling the sensations pile on one after another. My whole body aches from the tension in my muscles. I want them to stop. I even plead, "Stop...please..." between the sucking and the licking. Tears stream from my eyes but they lick them up. My body is there for them to drink. Two sets of mouths work my head. Then three, one on each earlobe and the last on my tender lips.
I gasp. "P-please let me breathe..."
He does. The kind knight with the milk chocolate hair...he pauses for a second, hand firmly on my tummy, pressing down, knee pressed into my crotch, and arm squeezing my waist.
Images of fire...of yellow eyes...
The money! There's so much money at stake! "I won't sign it!" she screams.
Who's the girl? Who's screaming?
And more wetness until I can see nothing but the mouths of salacious men. All I feel for them is hunger, but I know they don't want food. I'd love a bite to eat myself, but I don't think I'm going to get any. Not from them. I could ask...
"Please feed me," I beg. My tummy makes a noise.
Several voices... "Holy shite...he's asking to be fed. We owe it to him not to disappoint..."
"Tonight!" Silverhawk says. "After the negotiations. After Zy feeds him first. After Zy gives him the egg; that should only take an hour at most and then we spend all night fertilizing it inside him. Remember men, we were chosen for our physical traits to be Darkglories. We are the one in a million; our sperm is the most precious in the world."
Zylander is going to feed me? I think as I make out with Logan. What a nice knight...what a nice leader. I dream of a petite steak and some potatoes swimming in gravy. My mouth salivates.
"Fuck he's so wet," Logan whispers and hungrily laps at my mouth.
"But you will sign the contract!" Braedir and the priest yell. "Or you'll never leave. You owe us so much already, princess. Need we remind you that in Soulwarden, the rule belongs to those that can enforce it? In this church, do you really want to test Moh-Dehl's power!? The god of wealth will crush you into dust!"
The huge black knight licks my bruised neck again. Is it his turn already?
My skin's covered in hickies. How long has it been? So many mouths have moved up and down the skin of my throat. I smell of spit, and sweat and the odor of precum wafts around me. It smells like ocean. The men are growing hornier; more insistent to grind. I can feel it with each new body that thrusts into my full plate armor. Why are they bumping me like this? Sometimes it hurts.
What will they do to me? When shall I get fed the steak I'm thinking of...I want meat so badly.
I clack off the column in rhythm.
Clack clack clack...over and over.
The knights thrust and grind, slapping the inside of my thighs with theirs. It's armor against armor and I have nowhere to go. Imagine how silly it must look to see men in full plate armor snogging each other while pressed against a pillar of ivory and gold.
"Taleta's eyes!" a knight exclaims. "Suck on his pink tongue! You're a pretty boy, aren't you...so young...such fine features."
Laughter. Congratulations. Urgency.
They punch each other playfully in the pauldrons and flex fingers that I've sucked, licked, and cleaned with my own tongue to try and get them to be nice to me. But it only makes them stiffer.
I never fail to put my arms atop their broad shoulders; it's what they want. I comb through their hair with my fine metal-shod fingers. I try to be pleasing, but it hurts now. Everything they do hurts, because their caresses are brutal, and I can't stop them lest they hurt Talen.
But I still ply their shoulders with my tender fingers begging them with my body to be mild in return. And I try and remind them to feed me, but it doesn't get the response I want. "P-please," I beg, "just a little meat in my mouth...something I can swallow..."
They guffaw with laughter.
Fuck...why are they all so tall? I love men taller than me.
Silverhawk reminds them when blood is spotted ringing my white teeth, "You're being too rough...ease up, big boy," he states to Parism I think...or maybe it's Alec. No...this one is Logan, I'd recognize his bangs anywhere.
At least I think I would. But this guy has two differently colored eyes. How many men are making out with me? Why is this happening?
Fingers through my hair.
Wetness dripping from my nose, chin, and ears.
The taste in my mouth is no longer my own.
My neck gleams with tongue water.
I blink a tear out of my eye and close them once again. Yes, I think...and I am swallowed by aches from my exhausted slightly bruised body.
And Mordred...it's him again...the tallest one of all. He dry grinds against my groin, my butt pressed into the pillar painfully.
And across from me, Talen weeps, but I only see him once in an hour's time. I catch a brief glimpse of his horrified face. I want to tell him, "I love only you," but I feel he may be inconsolable.
I taste blood in the back of my mouth.
Another lifts me onto his huge boots and it all starts over again.
I shall post Chapter 26 next week.