Pendant of Fortune (7 page)

He rested his head against the wolf’s stomach, feeling the quickness of his panting through the white coat of fur. “Mmm. Good.”

“
It’s always good, fox.”

Volle turned his head to look up into Streak’s eyes. He smiled. “I know. For me, too.”

The wolf’s paw trailed along his member. “Give me a minute.”

“
As long as you keep doing that.”

Streak grinned, brushing the soft white fur on back of his paw over Volle’s sensitive length. After a moment of silence, he said, “Can you stay tonight?” Volle sighed, and immediately Streak said, “I’m sorry. I know you have to go.”

“
I won’t be gone long, I promise. There’s just some stuff I have to talk about.”

“
I know, I know. Aw, I’m sorry. Look what I did.” He started rubbing a bit more vigorously.

Volle smiled and tried to relax, letting his arousal come back. He pressed his head against Streak’s fur and closed his eyes, letting everything fade away except for the paw at his sheath. He wondered if Streak would try to take him in his muzzle, but the wolf seemed content to hold him and use his paw. A year of experience showed in subtle things like the placement of his fingers, the firmness of his strokes, and the angle of his paw, and Volle luxuriated in the erotic touch that was, if not just right, at least the closest he’d felt from another’s paw. His fur tingled and his body shivered as he pressed his nose into the soft white fur and inhaled again.

Streak was stroking gently, and Volle thought fleetingly that in order to keep him here, the wolf might be prepared to do this all evening. But as his arousal grew, he began to push his hips against the gentle strokes, and Streak obligingly stroked a little harder, a little faster. Volle’s tail curled up behind him despite the paw pressing down on it, and soon he was shuddering with familiar delight, moaning in time with each wonderful stroke, tensing his body in preparation, the pressure building and building, and then the convulsions of pleasure, the rasping low moans as Streak’s loving paw coaxed his trembling shaft to spend itself on his stomach-fur, white on white. His musk filled the air, mixing with the wolf musk thick in his nose, a warm, comfortable, and erotic scent that sustained his climax for a moment before dropping him, panting, back into the wolf’s lap where he lay limply for a moment.

Streak kept one paw on his sheath, the other on his tail, and leaned down to lick at one of Volle’s ears. Volle smiled and turned his muzzle to nuzzle the wolf; their tongues met as they washed each other’s muzzles tenderly.

The physical sensations had quieted Volle’s impatience to see Tish again, but after a few minutes of blissful dozing against his white wolf, he found the old black wolf returning to his thoughts. He would have to clean up quickly if he wanted to get up there and back by dinner. Sighing, he reached down to push his pants down his legs, careful not to get anything sticky on his leg-fur.

Streak paused in his caresses, then helped without a word. When the pants lay in a heap on the floor, he ran his paw down the reddish fur from Volle’s side to his ankle, smoothing it down and leaving tracks in it with his claws. Volle smiled and licked the wolf one more time, then slowly got up.

Streak leaned back against the window, fastening his pants over his sheath and drawing up his knees to rest his muzzle on them. Volle saw him watching as the fox stood, stretched, and then headed for the door that he guessed was the private bathroom. As he opened it, he gave Streak a smile and a wag of his tail, and the wolf grinned at him.

“
I like watching you walk around.”

“
Still?” Volle angled his hip, posing.

Streak nodded and his tail thumped the bed. Volle smiled and blew him a kiss before slipping into the bathroom.

As at the palace, Helfer kept his bathroom well stocked. Volle pored through the seven different scented powders, bringing each ceramic pot down from the shelf. His sensitive nose could identify the scents without removing the lid, and he didn’t even need to remove the pots from the shelf. He just liked the smooth feel of the glazed ceramic and the raised patterns around the sides. The colors and designs were simple combinations of yellow, white, and blue shapes, but he enjoyed their unassuming repetitive march around the circumference of the pot.

This one was lavender, similar to the lavender scent they kept stocked on the farm. This was a brassy cinnamon scent that he knew Helfer favored, though Volle found it a bit sharp to wear on his own fur. This one was vanilla, and that brought back memories of the palace. It hadn’t been Volle’s favorite scent, but it was one that Tephos got in trade with one of the southern nations, and he hadn’t been able to get it back on his farm. He opened the pot, selected one of the brushes that looked less used, and sprinkled the powder on the sticky patch of his fur, brushing it through to dry and clean his fur.

Usually, this grooming was relaxing, and often Streak helped him with it, but today Volle found himself hurrying the brush and snagging it on knots in his fur. He growled softly at himself and slowed down, forcing himself to work the powder into his fur with slow, even strokes until the smell of his musk was well hidden. After half an hour’s ride up to the castle, he judged, it wouldn’t be detectable even by another canid, like Tish.

For good measure, he brushed some powder along his sheath and then rubbed some under his tail, where his scent was strongest. He’d gotten out of the habit during his year on the farm, but he remembered that foxes and mustelids, with their stronger scents, were often expected to mask them at least slightly. Too late he thought that here in musteline Vellenland, he probably didn’t have to worry about it as much. Old habits are easy to fall back into, he told himself ruefully, and took the brush to his tail, though it was already well groomed by Streak.

When he emerged from the bathroom, Streak was gazing out of one of the windows. He turned, nose flaring to Volle’s scent, and tilted his head curiously.

“
I don’t recognize that one. It smells nice, though.”

“
Vanilla. It’s sort of exotic.”

“
Mmm.” He didn’t say anything else, just watched as Volle opened their luggage and started moving clothes into the wardrobe, setting aside pants and a shirt as he found an outfit that he liked. He’d just put the shirt on, nothing else, and was posing for a giggling Streak when a few sharp knocks came at the door.

Quickly, Volle slipped on a pair of dyed yellow cotton pants and called, “Come in.”

Helfer slipped through the door and closed it again, grinning from the wolf to the fox. “Shucks,” he said. “Just missed.”

Volle grinned back. “Just getting ready to go.”

“
I sent the buggy around to the side to wait for you.”

“
Thanks.”

Helfer stepped closer to Volle and sniffed the air. “Got into my scents already, did you? You canids.”

Volle chuckled. “As much as I appreciate the constant odor in the air here, I am going up to the palace. Er, the castle.”

“
Yeah, I know.” He turned to Streak. “Lucky you don’t have a fox’s or weasel’s scent. We have to bathe every day. I know some of the bears didn’t bathe more than once or twice a week.”

Streak smiled. “I usually bathe whenever Volle does. It’s more fun.”

“
I bet.” Helfer grinned and sat on the bed next to the wolf. “So tell me, what have you been up to since we last met?”

Volle fastened the doublet over his shirt, smiling as Streak started talking about life on the farm, hesitantly at first, then with more enthusiasm. Helfer listened and chipped in with comments of his own, and Volle was surprised to find that his friend knew a good deal about farming as well.

“
Comes from listening to Burren go on two weeks a year,” Helfer replied when Volle said as much. “You can’t help but pick some of it up.”

“
You know more than Volle did when he started,” Streak said, grinning.

“
Weren’t you on the Agriculture committee for a while?” Helfer looked slyly at Volle.

Volle coughed. “I’d better get going.” He shook his head. “Though now I’m not sure I should leave the two of you together.”

“
Oh, go ahead,” Helfer said. “We’ll just compare embarrassing things we know about you.”

Volle grinned. “Wonderful.” He padded to the bedroom door and opened it. “See you for dinner.”

“
Uh-huh.” Helfer turned to Streak. “So has he told you about the time he got drunk in the pub and tried to take all his clothes off?”

Volle snorted. “If you’re going to make up stories, why not tell him it was a royal banquet?”

Both Helfer and Streak laughed at that, and Helfer said, “Oh, I forgot about that time!” Their renewed laughter followed Volle out the door.

Chapter 3

As the buggy approached the castle, Volle admired the architecture, though at the same time he could understand why the victorious weasel army had decided to build a new seat of government. The three towers did indeed define the shape of the castle, as he’d guessed. Each one anchored a section of the wall and rose above it, and now that he was closer, Volle thought he saw the remains of bridges going from one tower to another. The pennants that flew at the top of them were clearer now: one was the royal flag of Tephos, one was the crest of Vellenland, and the third one Volle finally recognized as the King’s personal crest. He wondered what would fly there when the King wasn’t visiting.

The castle was beautiful in its own way, but it was also very stark, and the wind whipped against the buggy as it roared around the mountain. Volle had thought his doublet would be a little warm, given the weather, but now the wind sliced through his clothes and chilled his fur. He rubbed his arms and curled his tail around himself, watching the castle change perspective as the road wound around it.

The walls were mossy but seemed well tended. The castle was obviously maintained well, or had been cleaned up for the King’s visit. Now that he was closer, he could see crumbling stone at the top of the walls and cracks around the window slits, but it was obviously still livable. A column of smoke that he hadn’t noticed before emerged from behind one of the towers, and then he noticed another, and another. He was amused that in this warm climate, anyone would build a residence on the frigid top of the mountain so as to require fireplaces. It might have suited a race of haughty felines, but he couldn’t see Helfer and his ancestors being comfortable here.

The buggy pulled up in front of the main gate, where a guard opened the door and waited for Volle to step down. He was a large mountain goat who was bundled up against the wind in a thick overcoat that bore the King’s crest.

“
I see the King brought his security from Divalia,” Volle remarked, rubbing his arms as the wind bit at them.

The guard nodded politely. “Papers, my Lord?”

Volle handed over the paper Helfer had given him. The guard scanned it and then returned it to him. “Thank you, my Lord. Go ahead in.”

“
Thank you. Say, do you know where Lord Tistunish is staying?”

“
I do not, my Lord, but the footservant would know. You can find him at the main door.”

“
Thank you again.”

The goat nodded. “You’re welcome, my Lord.” He pulled the gate shut behind Volle, then retreated quickly into his alcove.

Volle hurried up the long path to the door, anxious to reach shelter. Ancient sculptures lined either side of the path, some looking newly cleaned. Beyond them was what looked like a rock garden, but he didn’t linger to admire it.

The main door of the castle was large and ancient. The wood was pitted and scarred so that the designs on it were hardly recognizable. Volle pounded on it with his fist and had enough time to decipher the outline of a feline warrior before the door creaked open.

A slender pine marten stood there, and Volle recognized his scent. “Renaldo?”

The marten smiled. “Lord Vinton! Come in, come in, get out of the wind.” Volle slipped in, and the marten closed the door behind him. “We haven’t seen you in about a year.”

“
No, I’ve been away.”

Renaldo bowed his head, and Volle was sure he’d heard all the stories. The marten was a model of tact. He changed the subject. “I’m here to see Lord Tistunish. Where’s he staying?”

The marten drew himself up and stood against the wall. “The castle is built on a triangular pattern. The great hall—that’s where dinner will be tomorrow night—is against the northeastern wall.” He pointed to his left, and looked sideways at Volle. “Just so you can get your bearings, my Lord.”

Volle grinned and nodded. “Understood.”