Reawakening (12 page)

“You would have fought well in the wars of old,” Tarn told her. She reminded him of some of the best generals he had overseen.

She sighed. “There’s a part of me wishes I were thirty years younger. The world’s turning back toward an age of legend, isn’t it, and I’m just a little too old for it. Look at me…. I was half planning to stop in Istel on the way back and go off in search of the Court of Shells. Now I’m fighting off the dead with the king of the dragons. Lady Fate seems to think she’s funny.”

“The Court of Shells?” Tarn asked.

“After your time, that story. It’s where the sisterhood go when they don’t want to die abed. They say that Myrtilis herself is waiting in the desert in the Court of Shells, which was once the palace of the king of these parts. There’s one or two in every generation who just vanish into the desert. And, over the centuries, more than one of our own great heroines has come out of the desert and refused to say where she learned to swing her sword so well.”

“This was an ocean in Myrtilis’s time,” Tarn reminded her.

“That’s part of the story too,” she said, watching as another stumbling horror went down in a swirl of sand and shattered skull. “When the earth tore, after your last battle, the land here cracked and tipped. The plain of Emala was swallowed by the sea, and the Gulf of Gardalor ran dry. The story says that Myrtilis bargained with the king of the sea to win his palace in exchange for the home she had lost below the waves.”

He had seen Myrtilis fall on the field of Astalor, in the final hour of the battle, and be carried off the field with mortal wounds. He would not tell Ia that, though, so he simply remarked, “If she won it, it was at dice. Or drinking.”

Ia barked out a short, incredulous laugh. “Our Bright Lady? No.”

He grinned at her. “She should have been born a dragon, that one. I loved her, foulmouthed, openhearted, lion-bold general that she was. She would have liked you.”

“I’m not sure if I’m flattered or appalled,” Ia muttered.

Gard appeared at their shoulder then. “Talking to Tarn? I think both are entirely natural reactions. Was anyone else keeping count? I think we had more coming from the direction of Istel than from behind.”

“Shit,” Ia sighed. “If the fucking trade post has fallen, we’re done. We’re almost out of water and salt, and even though we’re retrieving as many arrows as we can, we’re running low.”

“Fear not,” Gard told her, smile quirking up. “At the worst, we can all climb onto Tarn’s back and he can fly us home. I think he’d make a very fetching pack mule.”

“People fall off,” Tarn said flatly.

“Tie them down,” Gard suggested. “Where’s your creativity, lizard man?”

Tarn narrowed his eyes. “Some of them vomit.”

Gard patted him on the shoulder. “It’s hard to be a hero, isn’t it?”

T
HAT
NIGHT
,
Gard fell into Tarn’s kisses as soon as they made it to bed. It felt easy this time, their hands wandering across bared skin, though Gard grumbled at the cold as the blanket slipped off them.

“You’re mine,” Tarn whispered to him as Gard settled between his legs, straddling his lap to rub against him slowly.

Gard looked up to meet his gaze, his face suddenly solemn. “No one owns me, Tarn.”

“No,” Tarn agreed, “but you are mine to protect.”

“I protect myself.” Then Tarn reached around to press behind his balls, and he shuddered and dissolved into wordless sounds again. Soon Tarn had him on his knees, and was sliding a spit-damp finger into him as he sucked slowly on the round, dark head of Gard’s cock.

Someone flicked across the curtain at the front of the wagon, said, “Oh!” and then left again in a flurry of giggles. Tarn ignored the interruption, to tease the rough flat of his tongue across the warm firm head, nudging Gard’s foreskin farther back before he slackened his throat and began to slide down. He had learned long ago what this form was capable of, and he thought Gard would like this.

By the time he had Gard lodged in his throat and his cheek was brushing soft skin, Gard was whimpering, his head thrown back and his hips quivering. Closing his eyes in concentration, Tarn crooked his finger, searching for that sensitive spot within.

When he found it, two light brushes had Gard tensing above him. His hips snapped forward as he choked out a cry. He flooded down Tarn’s throat, and Tarn swallowed, warmed with smug satisfaction.

Gard went limp above him, sliding into the blankets, and Tarn turned him, kneeing his legs apart to kneel above him and watch his chest heave with each ragged breath as his body sank away from ecstasy.

He touched himself as he stared down, his hand careless and fast on his own cock until Gard opened his eyes and caught his breath. At that, the heat rose through Tarn, and he thrust forward as he came, come splattering across Gard’s chest and cheek.

He fell forward, catching himself on his hands to hover over Gard, his hair spilling around them.

“You’ve made a mess again,” Gard murmured and reached up to curl his hand in Tarn’s hair and pull him down. “Come and share it.”

For a mouth that spilled out such infuriating nonsense all day, Gard’s lips tasted very sweet. Tarn could easily lose himself in this, kissing and kissing until he forgot the Shadow and the threat of the dead and just anchored himself in the hot embrace of the desert.

“So warm,” Gard sighed, wrapping himself tightly around Tarn. “Clean up, will you, so I don’t stick to you. I want to stay this close.”

“You’ll overheat when the sun rises,” Tarn warned, sending fleeting flames to turn the mess to steam and dust. He nuzzled kisses against Gard’s neck, rolling his hips slightly into the welcoming cradle of Gard’s parted thighs. When he felt Gard’s cock twitch against his, Tarn chuckled and kept his hips moving, savoring the soft jerks and nudges against him, the weight of Gard’s balls as they began to tighten, the rising of his nipples to press against Tarn’s chest, the quiver of Gard’s thigh.

Their cocks were brushing against each other, a little too dry for comfort, so Tarn shifted to reach out and grab his shirt. He had a little bottle of Dit’s oil in the pocket and he slicked up his hand as Gard began to jerk and quiver beneath him, and then Tarn reached down to coat them both in the thin stuff.

“Oh,” Gard gasped as their movements became smooth, every brush against each other a flare of sensation. “Oh, Tarn, please,
oh
.”

Tarn kissed the sounds out of his mouth and then stayed to twine his tongue around Gard’s as their bodies slid and writhed against each other. He felt the first jerk of Gard’s cock stiffening against his, and then Gard was arching up and slick heat was spurting around him.

Tarn groaned and pressed down hard, his own release rolling over him.

“So damn intimidating on first sight,” Gard was babbling. “I didn’t realize you could be beautiful, but oh, I’ve never seen anything like you. Not that I would know if I had, of course, but I know I haven’t, because I could never forget anything like that.”

“Hush,” Tarn told him, rolling them both onto their sides so he could get a pillow under his head. Then he kissed Gard slowly until his babbling stopped and his mouth went slack and they both fell easily into sleep.

The next morning he woke with his erection pressed hard between Gard’s ass cheeks, brushing at his hole. Gard was lying very still, his breath coming in quick gasps, clearly awake. Tarn pushed forward without thinking, and felt the soft resistance of Gard’s hole tease at his head. For a moment, Tarn wanted to just grab the oil, slick up, and push in deep and slow.

Then he remembered that he had a plan, and breathed, “Say you’re mine. Be part of my hoard.”

“I don’t belong to anyone,” Gard snapped back. “Will you pay attention to more, oh,
pressing
problems and just fuck me.”

“Not until you’re mine,” Tarn said and readjusted himself until he was lodged between Gard’s legs instead, his cock pressing in behind Gard’s balls.

“Tarn!”

“Sssh,” Tarn whispered against the nape of his neck and reached round to seize his cock. “You’ll like this.”

“I’d like to be fucked,” Gard grumbled, but then sighed out pleasure when Tarn began to move against him.

J
IRELL
WAS
driving when they scrambled out of the back of the wagon the next afternoon. Gard bounced off to find Ia, but Tarn sat beside Jirell for a while. He hadn’t spoken to her much since he had shown his wings, and he was wondering how to gauge her reaction. She didn’t seem uneasy, so he sat awhile, enjoying the quiet and savoring the new aches in his body.

Then she turned to him with a sunny grin and said, “So now I understand why you’ve been cleaning the sheets before you leave.”

Tarn felt the blush sweep over him but managed to say, “I did not mean to disturb you.”

“Oh, you’re quiet enough, but your boy there isn’t shy, is he?” She snorted laughter and patted his knee. “Don’t worry. I sent the boys away to ride with the twins so they wouldn’t get all flustered. Male noises don’t bother me at all. I’m glad you’ve found something to enjoy, despite the circumstances.”

“I’ll try to keep him quieter,” Tarn promised.

She laughed again and changed the subject. “We should make Istel today. Ever been there?”

“No.”

“Funny place. Only fresh water in a week’s ride, and the town’s grown up around the lakes. You’d think they’d be all dull and religious, being so close to Tiallat and their awful rules of morality, but it’s the opposite. I suppose that every refugee running from the Savattin stops there first and discovers sex and alcohol. A lot never leave.”

“A place of pleasure or depravity?” Tarn asked.

“Depends on your definitions. Me, I like it. Even if you’re not one for wild parties”—she gave him a dubious look—“you should go dancing in Istel. Take your boy to the Whalebone and show him off.”

“The Whalebone?”

“One of the dance halls. Sparkly-friendly. It’s open to the sky, except for this partial roof made of metal bones. They say it was once a gigantic whale, that somehow got stranded in the desert. Some old wizard turned the bones to steel, and now it’s a place to get drunk with pretty people.”

Tarn liked the idea of dancing with Gard, in a safe place, under the desert stars. First, though, they had to get to Istel.

T
HEY
BEGAN
to see the walls of Istel in the distance a few hours after that. Within minutes, the first of the dead appeared.

They were weak ones, already rotting, but several of the archers hesitated, seeing them by daylight for the first time.

“Give them back an honorable death!” Tarn roared, riding down the line. They were coming from the direction of Istel. He pulled his horse to a stop at the head of the line and threw the reins to Gard before he rolled out of the saddle. “Ia….”

“We need eyes on the town,” she agreed. “Don’t show all your cards.”

“Trust me,” he snapped and took off at a run between the half-buried flags that marked the road to Istel. Most of the dead kept stumbling toward the caravan, falling to well-placed arrows, but some turned toward him.

He made it to the top of the next dune and pulled on the fire within him. This time, he did not let his flames open out into his true form, but held himself halfway through the transformation, a creature of pure fire.

It was not the draconic form he had been born into, nor the human shell he preferred. It was a third form, of sorts, one which allowed him to channel pure fire and fly ahead of the wind. It burned through the power he gathered and held, and he could only hold it for a while before it became too dangerous. He could still remember the younger sister he had lost eons before the rise of man and how she had laughed in delight as she dissolved into pure flame, dancing between her vast and slower kin as they twisted through the sulfurous air. None of them had been ready for the bitter wind that gusted between them, and they had all watched helplessly as it tore their sister apart. She had been sparks on the wind before they could try to help her, scattered too finely across the sky to ever draw together again. Sometimes, still, when a candle guttered in the wind or a spark flew out of the fire, he thought he heard the echo of her laughter, but she had never returned to an intelligent form. She lived forever in their memory, the only dragon ever to have died.

It was strange to feel unsafe, and it made him eager to rush and be done with this form, the only one where he could ever be destroyed. He threw himself into the wind, manipulating air temperatures to push himself close to the town.

The dead had surrounded Istel. They were clawing at the walls, scrambling over each other to paw higher. There were defenders on the walls, pouring burning oil onto the mindless rabble, but the dead kept coming, even as burnt chunks fell from their bones.

And the caravan would have to fight through that horde to reach the gates of Istel.

Chapter 12: Riding

H
E
TRANSFORMED
before he got back to the caravan, wary of panicking the horses, and ran back toward the bunched line, trusting the archers to keep the dead away from him.

Gard was waiting for him, pulling him back behind the line of archers with eager hands. He took Tarn’s weight as he tried to catch his breath, walking him toward Ia, Cayl, and Sethan.

“Well?” Ia demanded.

“Town’s surrounded,” he gasped. “The defenders are using fire.”

“We don’t have time to wait for them all to burn,” Cayl said. “More and more are being drawn to us.”

“How good is the road?” Gard asked. “Does it run straight?”

“From the bottom of the next dune,” Tarn confirmed.

Gard nodded, chewing his lip. “Get the wagons up to the top of the dune,” he said. “I need Tarn and an archer.”

“What’s the plan?” Ia asked.

“I’m going to keep them off the road.”

She studied him for a moment before she nodded. “Fine. Don’t waste time we don’t have. Jancis!”