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Shield of Wings and Blades - Chapter 4

Chapter 4

As far as Nahl was concerned, Dros did an admirable job of soothing his hurt feelings that night, and the next night, and the night after that. They were up before dawn every morning, packing the camp and preparing to move. By the time a week had passed, he was almost accustomed to the long days in the saddle.

The farther south they traveled, the more soldiers joined them. Men and women from the twenty bands that had come great distances to fight for a Peacebringer most of them had never seen, in every size, and temperament, and color. He’d met many people in his time at the reach since Cosi had invited him to be her Shield, but he’d never seen so many all in one place. The army was a moving microcosm of their land as a whole.

A brash highland woman tried to explain an off-color joke to a tanned and brawny man from the coast, and failed a few times. When he finally understood, his laugh was beautiful to hear, almost musical. Nahl’s own people from the northern inland sea mingled freely among the other bands, which he wouldn’t have expected of the reserved folk from which he came.

The atmosphere of the march seemed to him very much like the grand parties Cosi threw at the reach. As soon as the thought occurred to him, he hated himself for it. How many of these people would never see their families again? Despite outward jovial appearances, this was not a happy occasion. His desire to end the war redoubled with every step he took to the south.

Living in close proximity to so many was difficult for him. The accidental brushes of contact that were so normal for everyone else were agony for him. Encountering a new mind unprepared was shocking, and often painful. Many of the people who had seen him cringe away from others thought he was snobby and aloof; he’d felt that for himself. He never felt more alone than when he was in a crowd of people trying to make himself small enough that no one could touch him.

Dros noticed him withdrawing, and tried to make difficult situations easier: bringing Nahl’s meals to their tent so he could avoid the jostling in the food lines and keeping himself between Nahl and people they spoke with whenever possible. He’d intercepted countless greetings and arm-slaps with unending patience.

When they finally reached the eastern arm of the Trivein, Nahl knew his time with the camp was nearing an end. The bulk of the army would cross the river here at the ford and head toward the area of contention a bit further south, where they would encounter and battle the Samha. He and a handful of guards would continue along this side of the eastern fork until they reached the Indra encampment, perhaps two more days ride.

All day he’d been trying not to dwell on the fact that soon he’d be surrounded by only strangers. He’d lived in isolation for most of his life, but since becoming Cosi’s Shield he’d come to depend on the daily influx of emotion and sensation he absorbed from her and Dros. He struggled with the idea of days, even weeks, without the comforting touch of anyone who cared for him. The road ahead would be harder than the one behind him, of that he was certain.

He tried not to think about his upcoming loneliness as Dros pushed him back onto their bedroll with a demanding kiss. Dros sat up briefly to remove his shirt, showing off his impressive battle-hardened physique, and added it to his already discarded boots before coming to rest atop Nahl again.

Nahl closed his eyes and concentrated on the wild desire that burned through Dros’s skin and into him everywhere they touched. Dros lowered his head to nip Nahl’s collarbone and then trailed nibbling kisses up the column of his throat. Groaning, Nahl tilted his head back. With a surge of possessiveness that took Nahl’s breath away, Dros bit down harder. Nahl barely managed to stifle a moan. He buried his hands in Dros’s warbraids and tugged.

Dros growled against his neck. Using his superior strength, Dros pressed Nahl’s arms back onto the ground, even though Nahl resisted. Dros tightened his hands around Nahl’s wrists, a feral grin sharpening his features. “Tonight I think I won’t be gentle, to give you something to remember while we’re apart.”

Words failed him as he stared up into Dros’s dark eyes. The depth of emotion coming from Dros threatened to drown him. He nodded slowly, drunk on his own passion mingled with Dros’s. Dros lowered his head and savaged Nahl with another kiss. Nahl parted his lips under the bruising pressure. Dros tilted his hips so his hard length dug into Nahl’s thigh. Nahl moaned into his mouth.

Dros froze suddenly, and at first Nahl had no idea why. He was so overloaded with conflicting sensory input that it took him a few seconds to realize Dros had stood and was headed out the flap of the tent, sword in hand.

Outside, the camp was in chaos. Shouts came from every side. People ran past the tent, casting strange shadows on the walls.

Nahl struggled to his feet. When he pulled open the flap, Dros was nowhere to be seen. He almost left the tent without his coat, but had the presence of mind to go back for it. A crowd of people charged toward the river, and that seemed to be where most of the cries of alarm were centered, so he followed. The sound of fighting was clear long before he could see anything.

Someone brushed against his hand as they ran by. A confused jumble of emotions consumed him: fear, anger, excitement. He recoiled, tucking his hands under his arms to reduce the amount of exposed skin he presented.

Up ahead, a red glow illuminated the darkness. Dros. Nahl moved through the throng as quickly and as carefully as he could, trying to find a better vantage point. Climbing atop a wagon, he stared over the fighting.

He’d never seen the Samha in the flesh before, only in paintings and drawings. They were even more huge than he ever imagined, head and shoulders taller than even the largest man. They poured from the river like a dark tide.

At the center of the fray, Dros moved like a whirlwind, cleaving any Samha that dared draw near. His tattoos glowed more intensely than Nahl had ever seen. Lines of power, mimicking the curved shape of his tattoos, radiated outward from him along the ground. The humans around him fought with ferocious intensity, their eyes carrying the same red glow. The longer he fought, the larger the circle around him grew, as if doing violence lent him more power.

Nahl couldn’t believe the carnage that had occurred in only a few minutes. Bodies littered the ground, with more falling every second. The heavy smell of blood made him sick, and yet he couldn’t look away.

The Samha stopped coming. When Dros had driven the last one around him to the ground, he tilted his head back and roared. The men and women around him answered in kind. The sound of their collective rage shook the earth.

Dros glared around him, clearly looking for something else to fight. In the dark across the river the looming shapes of Samha moved through the night. Nahl saw Dros’s intention at once, to cross the river and continue to fight on the other bank.

Nahl leapt down from the wagon. He launched himself into the battle that still raged between him and Dros, trying to ignore the pain and fear that jolted him as he shoved through the lines. He angled toward the river, but knew he would be too late. If Dros crossed, all those affected by his bloodrage would follow.

His bare feet slipped on the bloody ground as he dodged around weapons and bodies. He couldn’t see Dros through the crowd around him, but he headed toward the glow of power.

When he finally broke through the fighting, Nahl splashed onto the rocky riverbank. Dros had encountered a handful of stragglers and stood knee-deep in the Trivein dispatching them.

Nahl caught up and grabbed Dros’s upper arm. The torrent of rage took his breath away and seared him from the inside out. Dros looked at him with no recognition, only the flat stare of a killer. Nahl drained away the anger and pain as quickly as he could, taking it into himself though it turned his stomach in knots.

He knew the moment Dros was back to himself by the pang of concern that tore through him. Retching, Nahl fell to his knees in the cold water.

Dros scooped him up a few seconds later. The emotions riddling him now were pain and regret. “Gods Nahl, how did you get out here?”

His teeth chattered too much to answer so he just rested his head against Dros’s shoulder as Dros walked them out of the river.

Dros tightened his arms, worry taking over foremost in his mind. “Someone get me a blanket,” he shouted.

A warm weight that smelled like ganda settled around Nahl after a minute. Anything was better than the blood and gore.

“No, don’t touch him,” Dros barked when someone got too close. “Find Brun and bring her to me.”

Dros lowered him to the ground gently once they’d gotten clear of the chaos. “I need to secure the riverbank and see to those under my command. Are you all right here for a few minutes?”

Nahl nodded, still shivering.

A woman, tall and broad as Dros, approached from the river. Blood spattered her leather armor. “I’m here, warlord.”

Dros nodded to her. “This is Brun. She’s going to watch you and make sure no one gets too close.”

“I’m fine,” Nahl finally managed. “See to your people.”

Dros stood, fixing Brun with a sharp look. “Let no one touch him until I return.”

“As you wish, warlord.” She bent her head.

Dros headed toward the area where the fighting had been heaviest at a jog.

Nahl wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders, feeling colder and alone now that Dros was no longer touching him. “You’re from the highlands?”

Brun nodded. “Kin to the warlord on his mother’s side.” She crouched beside him. “He told me you’re sightborn.”

“That isn’t exactly a secret.”

“I’m going to lead your escort to the Indra. He thought it prudent that I be aware of your abilities.”

“So you would know that I’m to be delicately handled.”

“He didn’t say that, and neither would I.” She frowned. “I have a battleborn son and some would say he should be delicately handled. I call that nonsense.”

Nahl tucked his legs up under the blanket. “Where is he?”

“He went to warlord training this year, just before we began the march.”

There was only one battleborn that young, Dros’s half-brother. “Trusimar?”

“He’s a hale boy, like his brother.” Brun grinned. “Frogimar threw fine sons.”

Nahl’s father had brokered that breeding, trying, and succeeding to produce a battleborn son for a line that had few. That was the deal that had made Dros mistrust his motives regarding Cosi’s first child. “Has Dros ever met him?”

“Only when he was a babe. I hope to send him to Garu’s Reach to overwinter with his brother when training ends for the year.”

Nahl smiled. “I look forward to meeting him.”

Brun inclined her head. “What you did for the warlord during the fighting, did you know that would work to ease him?”

“No, I’d never tried it when he was in full blood rage.”

“It could have been dangerous for you. Approaching a battleborn in rage is a bad idea.”

He hadn’t thought of it in the moment, but he wondered now why Dros’s rage hadn’t infected him. “If he’d crossed the river it would have been dangerous for all of you.”

She grunted. “I like your courage, but take more care with your safety when I have your charge. The warlord wouldn’t thank me if anything happened to you.”

“Do you know much about my mission?”

“I don’t need to know the details. I just have to know where to take you and when.”

Nahl looked out over the carnage, more determined than ever after speaking with Brun. “I’m going to stop this war.”

Brun bowed her head and whispered, “Gods send it.”

Dros finally returned, and Brun stood to greet him.

“Are any of your people injured?” Dros asked when he reached them. Water drenched his pants and his warbraids, and the gore that had coated his skin was gone.

Brun shook her head. “Nothing serious.”

“We took barely any wounds in an attack by night that took us completely by surprise.” He glared out over the dark river, though the Samha no longer lurked on the other bank. “I’m almost certain it was a trap.”

Brun frowned. “That’s troubling. They’ve never shown that sort of strategy before.”

“With you gone I’m going to have to choose another second who will stay out of range of me. Do you have anyone you suggest?”

“Grol from the southern range is a fine strategist and a good shot with a bow.”

Nahl was only half-listening until the final point. “What exactly is this you’re discussing?”

Dros crouched next to him. “Battleborn aren’t known for making the best strategic decisions in the heat of the fighting, as you saw tonight.” He paused. “And we can be difficult to control.”

“So you have someone standing ready to shoot you?”

“A crippling blow, not lethal.”

“Is that supposed to make it better?” Nahl realized he was very nearly shouting and schooled his voice to a more reasonable level. “What if you move? What if they miss?”

“It’s a last resort, meant to be used only if we need to make a full retreat,” Brun added. “I didn’t even have my bow up when you interceded tonight.”

Dros put a hand on his shoulder where it was covered by the blanket. “This is a safeguard the battleborn have used for generations. I wouldn’t feel comfortable leading an army without someone in place to put me down if it became necessary.”

“It’s not enough that you could be killed by the Samha, one of your own people might kill you too?” Nahl tried to dislodge Dros’s grip by pulling the blanket tighter.

Dros dropped his hand, his expression softening. “Only to save many more lives.” He motioned that Brun should leave them alone.

She bowed her head. “By your leave, warlord.”

Nahl waited until she had disappeared into the night and they were alone to continue the argument. “Does Cosi know about this? I can’t imagine she supports the idea of one of her subjects aiming an arrow at your back.”

Dros lowered his head. “We have never discussed it, but she knows of the practice. Even in training there was someone assigned to watch me to make sure I didn’t get out of control.”

Nahl was unable to come to terms with the idea that Dros had spent his entire life with a target painted on his back by his own allies, his own family. “That’s monstrous.”

“So are the battleborn,” Dros responded, his voice barely audible.

Nahl reached for him, fingers grazing his face. Sadness and determination fought under Dros’s skin. “You’re no monster.”

“How can you say that? You’ve felt it. I’ve seen the fear in your eyes when you touch me.” Dros finally met his gaze again. Shame prickled just below the surface, then eclipsed everything else. “I didn’t recognize you. Out in the river. I had no idea who you were. I almost struck you because you were restraining me. If I had hurt you I would never forgive myself.”

“You didn’t.” Nahl caressed his cheek. “I brought you back.”

“It was like waking from a nightmare.” Dros leaned into his hand. Affection, warm and boundless, bubbled up from somewhere deep. “You saved a great many lives tonight.”

Needing more than the single point of contact, Nahl wrapped his arms around Dros’s neck and pulled him close. Dros kissed him tenderly, and then lifted him from the ground.

“I’m perfectly capable of walking.”

“You don’t have your boots.”

“Neither do you.”

Dros sighed. “Fine, I just want to hold you while I can.”

Nahl rested his head against Dros’s shoulder. “I’m going to miss you too.”

Dros navigated them through the camp without speaking. The noise from the attack was finally ebbing as soldiers set up watches and others went back to sleep.

“I’d like to write to my father and ask him about sending a sightborn to the front with you.”

The turbulent emotions Dros would never let show on his face came through his skin unabated. “I appreciate that you’re trying to help, but the last thing I need is a sightborn I don’t know touching me when I’m enraged and trying to get inside my head.”

Hearing the worst sightborn stereotypes from Dros’s lips hurt, even if they weren’t actually aimed at him. “Having someone aim an arrow at your back every time you go into battle is better?”

“There’s no guarantee another sightborn will even work. Maybe the only reason you can calm me is our connection.”

“That’s possible. Our connection means I feel much more from you than most people.” Nahl caressed his shoulder, enjoying the echo of sensation that whispered across his own skin. “Can I ask him to send a sightborn to test the calming effect with Trusimar? I have a cousin near enough to his age.”

“Isn’t that just asking for another lecture about us?” Dros ducked under the tent flap, his arms tightening around Nahl as he leaned forward.

“His distaste for relationships based on emotion is well known.”

“Yes, he’s made it clear he believes I should plant my seed in any fertile field I happen upon.” Dros knelt at the edge of the bedroll and lowered Nahl carefully to the ground. “His opinion doesn’t matter to me. You’ll feel the brunt of his disfavor more than I will.”

“I’m used to it.” Nahl brushed his fingers over Dros’s cheek. “He was terribly disappointed when I agreed to be Cosi’s Shield.”

“Only your father would find a complaint with your choice to take up the most honorable calling in the land.” Dros turned his head to nip Nahl’s fingers. “Can we please stop talking about that odious man? Thinking about how he’s treated you makes me angry.”

Nahl nodded slowly as Dros’s arousal crept into him. He didn’t want to waste any more of their last night together talking about his father either. He inclined his head until Dros’s breath tickled his lips, drinking in the anticipation of the kiss, and then pulled away. He leaned back on his elbows. “Is there another topic you’d rather discuss?”

Like the predator he was, Dros pounced, pressing Nahl back onto the bedroll with his weight. Nahl moved under Dros, tilting his hips to increase the friction between them before bending his knees out to either side of Dros’s legs. Dros slid one hand to Nahl’s hip, fingers digging in hard, and ground down into him. Nahl clamped his teeth shut on the moan that threatened to break free as Dros’s hard length rubbed against him.

Dros’s mouth hovered over Nahl’s for a moment, but he denied them both the satisfaction and lowered his head to whisper, “The only conversation I’m interested in at the moment is that breathy sound you make when my cock is sheathed in you to the hilt.”

The sharp edge of Dros’s desire cut into him everywhere their skin touched, intensifying his own desperate need. Nahl searched their bedroll for the jar of redbell balm with one arm while Dros pinned him in place with unrelenting pressure.

Chuckling at his dilemma, Dros kissed his exposed throat with an open mouth. Goosebumps prickled where Dros’s warm breath washed over his moistened skin.

When his hand finally closed around the jar, Nahl groaned with relief. Dros pushed up to his feet in a graceful display of casual strength. Nahl mourned the loss of contact until Dros shucked his pants and stood over him completely nude. He took in every edge and plane of muscle and bone in a long, slow glance. Emotion tightened his gut.

Dros bent to remove Nahl’s pants and coat, careful not to touch his skin. The next contact between them was Dros wrapping his fingers around Nahl’s rigid length. Nahl groaned as Dros’s searing urgency flowed into him through that single point of contact. His hips rose, trying to intensify the sensation, but Dros moved with him, teasing him with light touches until he ached for more.

Kneeling between Nahl’s thighs, Dros leaned over him and stretched to take the balm from his hand. He gasped when the head of Dros’s cock gouged his stomach. Dros laughed and prodded him a few more times for good measure, then settled back onto his heels. Nahl held his breath as Dros opened the jar much too slowly.

Dros rested the open jar on his stomach. “Don’t let that fall.”

Nahl bit back a groan. Dros grinned and slid his hands along Nahl’s thighs. Nahl’s stomach quivered in anticipation, setting the jar to bouncing uneasily. Dros made a low sound of mock disapproval in his throat.

Dros dipped his fingers into the jar, but instead of applying the balm to himself, he reached for Nahl. Nahl strained not to move as Dros coated him from root to tip. Dros fondled him roughly, working the fragrant balm into his skin.

Nahl couldn’t look away from the deliberate rhythm of Dros’s sliding hand. The arousal coming from Dros only amplified the tension that spread into his pelvis and beyond. Dros dragged him right to the brink and then stopped. Nahl shuddered at the sudden loss of sensation, knocking the jar from its perch.

Unbothered by the lapse, Dros retrieved the jar. While Nahl caught his breath, Dros scooped out more of the balm. Once Nahl settled a bit, he set the container on Nahl’s stomach again.

Dros started over, repeating the entire maddening process, using one hand on each of them. The tension built slower this time, and tighter. Eventually Nahl closed his eyes because the sight coupled with the sensation was too much. Dros coaxed him to the edge again, and stopped.

“Please,” Nahl murmured. His cock throbbed and he tried to soothe it by rocking his hips, but there was no relief to be had.

“Shh.” Dros leaned over him, nuzzling his neck. “I know what you need.”

With one arm Dros lifted Nahl’s unresisting leg and turned Nahl onto his left side. Dros slid the head of his slickened cock between Nahl’s thighs and then up between his cheeks. Nahl tilted his hips, a needy sound falling from his throat as Dros breeched him. Dros groaned when he encountered resistance.

Advancing slowly, Dros backed before each thrust, making the most of each small movement. Nahl tried to stay still, because every twitch only intensified the ache of his need. Dros leaned his full weight over Nahl, pressing him into the bedroll while sliding the final inch.

Dros turned Nahl’s chin and kissed him, long and deep. Desire and affection permeated him from every angle. The sense of being loved so thoroughly was an experience he’d only ever shared with Dros. Nahl exhaled a sigh against Dros’s lips.

“There it is.” Dros pulled back slightly and smiled. His fingers traced the line of Nahl’s jaw. “My favorite sound in all the world.”

Nahl tried to express how much he loved Dros, how much he would miss him when they parted in the morning, but his throat was too tight.

Dros straightened, deliberately kissing Nahl’s cheek, his neck, and the point of his shoulder. Nahl thought he would come undone when Dros braced a hand on his hip and began plying him with long, slow strokes.

The friction made every inch of sliding contact go on forever in a jumble of sense Nahl couldn’t untangle, and didn’t want to. Dros’s arousal sat like heavy knot somewhere low in Nahl’s belly and wound the tension inside him so tight it was painful. Grabbing a handful of blanket, he turned his face into the bedroll and muffled a desperate cry.

Dros took no pity on him, keeping up the steady pace as his hand slid up along Nahl’s ribs, fingers scoring heated skin. He locked Nahl’s shoulder in a tight grip and finally increased his pace. Dros’s urgency built with every thrust, relentless as an avalanche, and Nahl shuddered with the sense of impending violence.

Nahl lost track of where he ended and Dros began. To him they were two halves of one being that fit together, just as Dros had said. Dros drove deep, one last time, and groaned. The ecstasy of release filled Nahl, first as an external sensation from Dros, and then his own rushing torrent. He forgot to breathe as his muscles locked, arching his back, only remembering when Dros collapsed over him and drove the air from his lungs.

Dros wrapped around him, holding him in a fiercely possessive grip. “I love you so much, sometimes I fear what I would do to keep you.”

Because he knew the answer now better than he ever had, Nahl responded, his voice low and filled with awe, “You would burn the world.”

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