Darkburn Book 4: The Haunt of Ternss by Tayin Machrie - HTML preview

Chapter 29

The monastery had room enough for several companies of Riders. The captains of each company drew straws for their quarters; an activity that seemed to surprise and amuse the watching Kelvhans, who had been offered the use of the monastery’s east wing. They drew no straws but allocated rooms by rank.

Parthenal was one of the lucky captains. His company won the right to sleep on the lowest floor, with its ranks of little cells along the corridor. So, privacy if not huge comfort, he reflected glumly; better than the dormitory upstairs, at least.

His Riders expressed their gratitude to him for drawing the longest straw, although he found that he did not greatly care. He would as soon sleep looking at the stars. Or not sleep at all, but pace the beach and listen to the pounding sea rush at the cliffs. Though even those tremendous heartbeats could not block out his own.

“Lucky you,” said Rothir, who had drawn one of the short straws and would encamp his company outside, amongst the ruins of the temple. “Comfort and a dry bed.”

An empty bed, thought Parthenal. “You’ll be all right out there,” he said. “It’s not going to rain.”

“No? Have you not seen those clouds gathering out to sea? They’re looking black.”

“They’re a long way off. Anyway, you’ll have the tents.”

“If there’s a storm, then it’s the wind that will be the problem.” But Rothir wasn’t really grumbling. He still seemed quite happy. As they sat together on a bench amidst the thick stone columns of the dining hall, Rothir was even eating with enjoyment – although their supper was only barley broth with mutton, and some random greens that Theol had harvested.

“Let’s hope Theol didn’t find these weeds in any drains or ditches,” Parthenal remarked, holding up an unappetising strand of soggy green. “I wouldn’t want to find myself eating Athelid by accident.”

“I think this might actually be seaweed,” said Rothir, munching his way through a mouthful. “But Yaret’s already been poking round in ditches to see what she can see.”

“Warn her not to eat any strange plants that she digs up.” His gaze wandered over to Theol, sitting opposite them on another low bench with a group of Kelvhans. Not a bunch that Parthenal would have chosen to sit amongst, for that handsome, sly equerry Jaul was one of them. But Theol got on easily with anyone; Rothir’s second in command was well-liked by all. Including women.

“I wonder if Theol would rather have a cell,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.” But if Theol and Tiburé… Parthenal sighed. It was none of his business. Any more than Meya and Huldarion was his business. They would take one of the larger chambers. Share one of those straw beds. He felt his limbs begin to burn, his skin to stiffen.

Forget, forget. Relax. But while he was unthinkingly staring over at Theol laughing with the Kelvhan group, Jaul must have thought his gaze was directed towards him. For now Jaul stood up gracefully and walked over to him. So smooth his movements, and his manner. Sly. Elegant. Attractive. To be avoided.

But the man had been his attendant at the castle. He could not be ignored. It would look strange.

“My Lord Parthenal. Greetings to you,” Jaul murmured.

Parthenal gave him the merest nod.

“You are fortunate in your quarters, my lord Parthenal. My own, just by the middle floor of the east staircase, are not so luxurious. They are right underneath the stairs. You would have to stoop were you to enter.”

He would not answer that even with a nod. How unsubtle. Show nothing but a face of stone.

Jaul hesitated. “I hope that you keep well.”

“We all keep well, I thank you.”

“I’m glad,” said Jaul. “Did you enjoy the journey here?”

“It was uneventful.”

“Of course, you are well-travelled. I have never been so far from Kelvha.”

This begged some courteous comment. Parthenal did not oblige.

Again Jaul hesitated; it seemed he did not want to leave. Something crossed his countenance that Parthenal recognised. It was longing.

Oh, I know, thought Parthenal grimly, I know what you want. You have been told to trap me, and now you find you want me. I have caught you, just as you tried to catch me in your net. You have your deserts there, Jaul.

“Good evening to you,” he said curtly, though not without a certain satisfaction. At last Jaul bowed and walked away.

Rothir turned his head to look at Parthenal. “You won’t, will you?” he asked quietly.

“Of course not,” said Parthenal, his tone dismissive.

“Hmm. Jaul was a bit obvious, wasn’t he? Not given up yet. Our little friend is watching us and looking quite concerned. Remember his warning. Spies are not limited to Kelvha castle.”

Parthenal glanced over to his right. There was Tamu, sitting next to Leor. The wizard was staring into space. Tamu was looking very carefully at the bowl in his lap.

“You needn’t worry,” said Parthenal grumpily. He didn’t need to be reminded what and what not to do. Had he not always guarded his behaviour? “I’ll be a paragon of virtue, dwarf,” he told Rothir. “I’ll stay inside my nice dry cell enjoying my solitude, while you enjoy your storm.”

During that long evening, however, the threatened storm did not arrive. Nothing seemed to arrive, not even nightfall. Parthenal lay on the bed in his small cell and watched the square of sky through his deep window, waiting for it to turn to dusk; waiting for night, and sleep, to come. They usually did in spite of everything.

But at this time of year it was a long wait. Endless. The light was still as golden as a pear. He could hear the softly remote murmurs of the sea. Still no storm, then, to annoy Rothir. Within the cell there was no sound except the rustle of the straw beneath his cloak as he turned restlessly on the low bed. He had not even undressed, in case he had to leave his cell at short notice. In case Huldarion called him to arms. Anything. Any reason to get up.

Huldarion would not call for him. Maybe he never would again. Yet there was another straw bed, under the staircase of the east wing, where he would be welcome… but he would not think of that. Except that he already had.

He turned over again; and heard a knock on the cell’s door. A light, tentative knock.

Jaul, he thought immediately, I will not answer; but then a second thought occurred to him. It might be merely one of his own company with a problem. Most likely was.

And if it were Jaul, he would turn him away. Although he might linger first. Yes. He would make the man wait, and want, and suffer; as Parthenal had to wait, and want, and suffer. That was only fair.

So he strode over to the door and opened it almost with eagerness; and at once Tamu burst in.

“Please close the door,” he said breathlessly. In his surprise Parthenal did so without remark. This time, Tamu bore no ancient musty volume spilling bookmarks to explain his presence.

“Tamu. What’s wrong? How can I help you?”

Tamu took several short, gasping breaths.

“If you want me,” he said, between gasps, and Parthenal saw that he was trembling, “then you can have me. I just thought you might want someone. And so, so, so I’m here.”

Parthenal was filled with pity and a faint dismay. After his first guess about Tamu’s feelings for him, he had subsequently wondered if he might have been mistaken; but now he saw it fully in the other man’s open, vulnerable, pleading face. How had Tamu known which way he leaned? Sheer instinct, maybe… or he could have learnt it from Thoronal, his undiplomatic cousin. He saw how desperately Tamu wanted him. Or maybe simply wanted to be noticed by him.

He would have to turn the little man away, of course. No matter how strong his own need, he could not accept this offer. And his own need was not that strong. Not for Tamu, at any rate. But he would have to be both kind and careful.

He stood and faced him, with a hint of a bow.

“Tamu,” he said, “I am honoured. I am grateful. Believe me. I know how difficult it must have been for you to come and say this.”

Tamu raised his head to look at him. In the soft evening light that came through that deep window, his face was set in anxious determination. “It’s only difficult because you are so much higher than me. So much more–” He made a vague, despairing gesture. “So much more everything.”

“I am only a man, the same as you.” Yet even as he said it, he saw himself as he knew that Tamu saw him: an amazing sculpture of muscle and sinew, some kind of god of supreme male beauty; a potent being with power to delight or blight by uttering a single word.

Although Parthenal did not consider himself vain, he knew what he looked like. He knew the power he wielded by virtue of those looks. The sense of that power was slightly intoxicating. It was certainly his.

But how could he wield it now? How should he wield it? The sea whispered, sighing as it embraced the cliff-edge down below his window. He had a sharp sense that Tamu stood now on some narrow precipice, and that if he gave the wrong reply – or replied in the wrong way – he would send Tamu tumbling down that cliff into humiliation and despair.

He would have to be very careful how he rejected Tamu. Or else he would have to accept him. He was aware that he was already beginning to feel some arousal, and had to remind himself that this was Tamu, the bumbling absent-minded bookish little friend, as he had been labelled by the Vonn. The reminder brought a surge of compassion.

“Tamu,” he said.

“I don’t ask anything,” said Tamu. “I am just here. In case you want me. Or if you don’t. In case you just want somebody. Shall I go?”

Parthenal could not bear the tension in the man’s voice. His pity for Tamu was too great. Tamu’s need, not his own, was too desperate to be resisted. After all, how bad could it be?

In two weeks’ time he might be dead in battle. But that was no reason for him to accept Tamu’s offer. Parthenal had faced death before, and he was accustomed to the idea by now. In two weeks he might be dead or he might not. If he were dead he would not know and it would not matter. Yet it might matter very much to Tamu. He could give Tamu this gift in what might possibly be the last days of their lives.

But it must be a gift. It behoved him to be careful, very careful. He did not know if Tamu had ever lain with anyone before: it seemed unlikely. He did not want to hurt the little man in any way.

Yet now he did want him. Or, rather, not him, but he wanted somebody. And Tamu was there.

He took two steps towards him. Tamu did not move, but stood and trembled. Parthenal did not know what to say. So instead he bent his head and kissed him.

“Oh,” said Tamu. He put up a hand, so light, so tentative, to touch Parthenal’s shoulder. Parthenal put an arm around him and kissed him again, for a little longer. Tamu smelt faintly of spice and soap. Parthenal gave him the time to pull away. When he did not, Parthenal bent and put his other arm around his thighs and effortlessly lifted him. He was not heavy.

He carried him over to the bed and laid him down. There he began to undress him, slowly, slowly, although his own body was now telling him to get a move on. He put his own desire to one side. It had nothing to do with Tamu, and he did not want mere haste to scare the little man away. So he gave him plenty of room and time to resist, time to make excuses and escape, in case he changed his mind.

Tamu did not resist. He was passive, staring up at Parthenal with lips parted and a wondering, dazzled look in his eyes. As Parthenal gently stripped away his shirt and breeches he let out an involuntary sigh; but that was all. No words. He reached out a tentative hand again to Parthenal’s chest. His touch was as light as a sheet of paper. Only when Parthenal began to undress himself did Tamu aid him, fumbling at a button. His hands were shaking.

Parthenal held his hand and kissed it. Then he held his head, gently, and kissed it. Tamu sighed again. Parthenal had the increasing sense that Tamu was a precious thing and easily broken, so he did not take off his own underbreeches. He did not want to alarm him by seeming to demand too much too soon.

Instead he applied his hands and lips to the other man’s naked body, gently stroking his arms, his chest, quite different to the scarred hard-muscled bodies that he would usually prefer. Tamu’s skin bore no marks of battle or even much exertion. It was soft and smooth, and almost hairless, until Parthenal moved downward to his stomach and beyond.

Tamu’s breathing stopped and started, grew husky and urgent. He gripped Parthenal’s shoulder, as he began to push himself against his hand. It did not take long. Tamu shuddered and let out a small cry which he immediately stifled. When eventually Parthenal looked up, he lay staring at the ceiling with his mouth open. There were tears on his face.

“It’s all right,” said Parthenal, and he moved to lie beside him, one leg enwrapping his, one arm embracing him. “It’s all right, Tamu.” He guessed that this was the release of years of tension and concealment, of suppressed desire and fear that must have seemed unending. No wonder the man wept. He gently brushed the tears away and kissed his face again.

He was so fortunate, himself. He had never felt all that different from the others of the Vonn, except that his opportunities for love were different. He had never had to hide or fear discovery amongst them. He could curl up against Rothir for warmth on a cold night underneath the stars, and Rothir would not mind. He was lucky.

Tamu wiped his wet face with his thumb and slowly reached his hand over to trace Parthenal’s features.

“I never thought,” he said.

“You never thought what, little friend?” Parthenal could have bitten his tongue off as soon as he said it. But Tamu did not appear to mind.

“I never thought that you would want me.”

“Oh, I want you,” said Parthenal, because by now it was definitely true. But this might be the point at which Tamu would want to back away. So again he waited.

After a while Tamu felt for his breeches, trying to unfasten them. Parthenal had to help him. And then he feared that his full nakedness might scare Tamu away; although he strongly hoped that it would not.

Tamu looked at his body and seemed almost to stop breathing.

“How do you…?” he whispered. “What do you like…?”

“I like everything,” said Parthenal. “It doesn’t matter how.” But the other man was so tentative that it was clear that he was going to have to guide him. At every movement he constrained himself to be slow and careful.

But it was not difficult after all. Tamu’s body was warm and welcoming enough, in the spaces between thigh and thigh or arm and body or just against his softly yielding stomach, which was where Parthenal ended up, pressing Tamu to him with his hands. As they lay in stickiness and sweat, he thought, well, that could have been worse. I don’t think I hurt him. And my own need was greater than I realised.

Tamu’s hands wandered over his back.

“I’m crushing you,” said Parthenal.

“I like it.”

“But you need to breathe.” He moved aside and Tamu drew a long breath. Then he smiled, to Parthenal’s relief. He would not have known what to do with more tears just then.

“What now?” murmured Tamu after a moment.

“Now I wash you,” Parthenal said. He got up to fetch the rough pottery bowl which he had filled with water ready for the morning, and a cloth. Tamu shuddered as Parthenal wiped him down with steady, careful strokes. He did not look at the ceiling any more, but at Parthenal’s body leaning over him.

“Oh dear,” he said.

Parthenal glanced down and was surprised, and then amused. So once was not enough.

“So soon?” he said. “You’ll have to wait a little while, my friend, while I catch up and catch my breath.”

“I can do things while I wait.” Tamu knelt up on the bed opposite him and cautiously began to run his fingers over Parthenal’s body. His touch was like feathers. It made the skin tingle.

“Nice,” said Parthenal. He lay down on his back and let Tamu, kneeling over him, do it some more. Such delicate fingers. “Are those words you’re writing on me?”

“Oh…. Yes.”

“You write well.” It was very pleasant. Relaxing. For most of his body, at least. In one area it gradually began to have the opposite effect.

“Oh,” said Tamu breathlessly. “What do we do now?”

He almost laughed. “You choose.”

“I would prefer you to choose,” whispered Tamu: so Parthenal chose. Hands and thighs. Tamu was not so passive this time, clinging to him as if his life depended on it. Still Parthenal was careful not to hurt the other man, but when his body began to make leaping demands he allowed himself to be a little more forceful. And Tamu seemed to like it.

And afterwards he lay limp and sighing in Parthenal’s arms. He was not heavy enough to be a burden. Parthenal, languorous on the bed, embracing him, watched the dusk enter the room at last and tiptoe round it, shadowing the corners. The sea outside breathed great sighs of relief.

After a while it became clear that Tamu had drifted into sleep. There was a faint snore. Parthenal was touched by this sign of trust: but he had to first nudge and then heave Tamu off his chest to wake him up.

“Sorry,” said Tamu, blinking in alarm, “sorry, sorry. I need to go. You don’t want to risk one of your friends finding me here.” He jumped up and began to wipe himself down with the cloth again, before pulling on his clothes.

“That wouldn’t matter,” Parthenal assured him, although a part of his mind said that it would. What? Little Tamu? How desperate were you? Not that any of his friends would put that into words. But he cringed at the knowledge that they might think it.

In his guilt, he said, “Tamu? That was welcome. Thank you.”

Tamu’s face lit up. “Was it really? I am glad. I didn’t think that…”

“That I would ever want you? You were wrong.”

Tamu simply said, again, “I am glad.” Then he ducked and bobbed, and left. The door closed quietly behind him.

Parthenal lay stretched out with one hand behind his head, as the light through his window finally faded into violet dusk. He was very aware of his own body, the length and firmness of it in the dying light. The body of a warrior god in Tamu’s eyes; all-powerful but languid now, at rest. He was feeling more relaxed physically than he had been for some weeks, but also faintly anxious.

That had not been nearly as bad as it might have been. In fact the second time had been surprisingly pleasant. He realised that he had not thought of Huldarion once, which in itself seemed a kind of victory. He hoped he had made little Tamu happy. He hoped he had not seemed too patronising.

But would Tamu expect it to occur again? Surely if you made love to your god, once was sufficient. He wasn’t sure if he wanted Tamu enough to have him in his bed a second time. The little man was so unlike his usual choice.

Ungrateful god, he said to himself. Don’t be so mean-spirited. You might be dead in two weeks’ time, and so might he. Yet he came here to give you satisfaction, release, relief: and it worked, for now, at least.

So sleep.