Ravens, Owls and a nightingale

10. Enemy & Comrade

Schean Lyennam knew for certain that he'd never in his life been so stiff with fear. His heart was beating like crazy, and he wasn't sure if his face was red or white or perhaps green. All he could think of was that he mustn't show his fear, or let anyone notice how weak his knees felt or hear the slightest crackle in his voice.

"I am grieved to be the bearer of such bad news," Schean said softly, head bowing deep as he knelt in front of the Lord and Lady of Moydherr Castle. "It was a day of great sorrow for Deleon."

"Indeed," the Lord said, and Schean felt obliged to raise his head enough to cast a reverent look at his current host. The man's eyes glittered coldly in his long face that was clean-shaven in Eastern style, and he paid absolutely no attention to his extremely pregnant wife who was sniffling into a huge handkerchief beside him. "It must have been, as the esteemed Lord Rhodan's letter testifies."

Schean was rather sure that Lord Rhodan's letter, even though formulated with utmost care, probably conveyed very little such emotion, but he held his expression in check.

"Such a dreadful accident," he nodded. "We are not quite sure if it was a worn stone that crumbled under her step, or if her foot slipped on her skirts."

"Stairs can be very dangerous," Lord Theren stated. Schean stifled a shudder and swore that he'd do his best to stay far away from any and all stairs in Moydherr. "Bialka, my darling, I believe you had better retire now for the night. This has been such a shock for you. And in your condition too."

Altogether three servants immediately took the hint, gathered their expensively dressed mistress from her seat and ushered her away under the indifferent gaze of the Lord. Schean didn't dare to move, merely watched the proceedings and wondered if Karos hadn't, after all, been right in warning him about this journey.

On the morning after her exposure, Lady Berissa of Deleon had been found dead in the room into which she'd been thrown with her servant. The Wizard had cautiously suggested to the Lord that the two women should perhaps be searched before imprisonment, just in case they had something hidden in their clothes for such emergencies, but Lord Rhodan had waved such precautions aside. And when he'd been told the news of his wife, Schean — who'd happened to be present — could have sworn that the man had looked grimly satisfied. Upon hearing that the lady-in-waiting had also poisoned herself, true to the last to her mistress, the Lord had merely snorted.

Bengor had taken the news with considerable equanimity; it had been impossible not to tell him more or less the whole story. Of course he'd been shocked to hear that his own mother had actually been poisoning him to keep him ill, but on the whole the boy had seemed all right. That had left the Lord of Deleon with just one problem: his two daughters were still in Moydherr, the very castle that was in all probability going to attack Deleon rather soon. He was worried for the girls' safety, and more than a little outraged when it occurred to him in how many ways they could be used as pawns against him. They were his flesh and blood, goddamnit, and their father wasn't going to let them be disgraced in any way!

But it was also imperative to keep the Lord of Moydherr in the dark about the true state of affairs for as long as possible. That was why Lord Rhodan had decided not to send a group of armed guards to bring the girls home, but had instead chosen a more conventional and innocuous solution: to dispatch the minstrel Schean to request their return, with a suitably courteous letter of course. After all, Deleon was supposed to be blissfully ignorant about any military goings-on in the neighboring castle, and minstrels were a traditional and much-used method for carrying such letters. In the normal course of affairs, Schean should be returning within a few days in a cart with the girls, accompanied by a couple of armed servants from Moydherr who'd ensure their safe journey and then take the cart back to their master.

Karos, however, had been pretty sure that things wouldn't run so smoothly. He had come to talk to Schean on the night before his departure, and rattled out such a string of warnings and possible threats to the minstrel's safety that in the end Schean had just begged him to shut up already. Of course he realized that this was going to be dangerous! He'd met Lord Theren before, hadn't he, he was quite convinced that the man could be absolutely ruthless at will, and thus there was no reason for Karos to frighten him any more out of his skin than he already was. Whereupon Karos had just pursed his lips together and announced that he didn't like this plan of action at all...

Schean tore his mind back to the present upon hearing Lord Theren's velvety voice.

"My esteemed Lord?" he said suavely.

"I am most distressed to hear such news concerning our beloved sister-in-law," the man said coolly. "And as much as I regret having to deprive a no doubt grieving man of the company of his daughters, I'm afraid their return is out of the question at the moment. Here the poor girls at least have their aunt to console them... Besides, with such an amount of unrest all around, it would hardly be advisable to let two young noblewomen travel much, don't you agree?"

Schean nodded, keeping his expression pleasantly neutral, but the cold grip of fear inside him intensified. Unrest indeed — he hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary until he'd reached the vicinity of Moydherr, but his observations on that last leg of the journey had convinced the minstrel that Karos hadn't been exaggerating. Troops were being gathered in the castle, and those troops certainly weren't there for defense.

And yet, Schean had been granted safe passage. Such a good thing that traveling minstrels were generally considered out of bounds by everyone. They had nothing of value for robbers, and even the most hardened Revnashi soldier knew that the fair people didn't discriminate against anyone if ever they met with a person in need of help. Many a wounded mercenary — and even criminal, for that matter — had much to thank the minstrels for, and thus they'd probably rather shoot an arrow into their own foot than harm one of Schean's kind.

But of course it didn't do to disagree with a man who could have his throat cut open with one flick of a hand; so 'unrest' it was, albeit the Lord's own doing.

"Caution is definitely in order, my Lord," Schean said with yet another bow.

"However, I believe that your excellent master might not be equally inclined to agree with me." Lord Theren's upper lip curled slightly. "Therefore I will write a letter explaining the matters to Lord Rhodan-Omeasch. In the meantime you are of course welcome to rest here for a few days."

"I am most grateful, honored Lord!" Schean didn't have to feign delight. For one thing, he didn't particularly enjoy the thought of having to deliver the message only by word of mouth, and besides, didn't the promise also mean that he could hope to leave the place in one piece? "Umm... would it be possible for me to meet the young ladies, too, before I leave?"

"I think that can be arranged... now, minstrel, perhaps you would welcome an opportunity to bathe and have something to eat?"

The Lord gestured to someone on Schean's right. The young man dared to glance to the side, and practically tasted the surge of euphoria that washed over him when he spotted a slim figure hovering at the door. A fellow minstrel!

"Honored Lord," said the apparition in a pleasant, low voice and bowed. "I am here as you requested."

"Yes — you will no doubt look after your colleague from Deleon during his stay here."

"Oh, but naturally!" The other minstrel nodded eagerly. "Such a pleasure that will be. He will of course be lodging with me, my Lord."

Schean realized that the audience was over, and backed away from the lofty Revnashi who at last turned his penetrating glance elsewhere. He felt a touch on his elbow and turned to look.

The man was about the same height as Schean but older, perhaps a year or two over thirty, with a spectacularly long ash-blond hair and gray-blue eyes that seemed to smile constantly even when his mouth didn't. He was dressed in the minstrel style, with a close-fitting hose under a shirt-tunic that reached down almost to his knees, and a long vest that bore the green and golden colors of Moydherr.

"Come!" The minstrel of Moydherr smiled fetchingly and switched to their own language. "Let's go, you're probably starving."

They exited from the Lord's day room, Schean with a heartfelt sigh of relief. After a few turns and bends in the hallway they reached a chamber, ostensibly a drawing room or something of the kind, with several luxurious chairs and padded stools.

"This is the music room," Schean's guide explained to him. "And here, this door leads to my lair."

Schean looked around in the 'lair', as tiny as his own, and felt instantly at home.

"Thank you," he said, and really meant it. "So you have your own room, too?"

"Yes, and I do appreciate the privacy." The other minstrel sat down on the corner of the bed and pulled one leg underneath him. "My name's Mioll Labeth, by the way."

"Schean Lyennam," Schean replied and sat down as well. Gods, his feet were aching... "You weren't here about two years ago, though, when I last visited the place with my uncle."

"No, I only came here late last summer!" Mioll said. "Not the nicest place to stay, but what can I do? I wasn't going to spend such a long time here, but first the winter took me by surprise, and now there seems to be so much going on that I've been a bit scared to leave. Besides, the Lord might take it the wrong way..."

"Nice to know that I'm not the only one he creeps out!" Schean grinned wanly, and Mioll shook his head.

"Oh no. There's something creepy about him all right... look, I bet you want a bath? Let's go there now, before the biggest rush begins. Then we can get something nice from the kitchen and retire here for the night. The Lady won't be seen any more tonight, that for sure, and the Lord doesn't much care for music while he's having dinner, no matter how sophisticated he pretends to be!"

Schean was glad to follow his older compatriot to the bathhouse. It felt heavenly to splash himself with hot water and rinse away all the grime and sweat of walking mile after mile. Minstrels didn't travel on horseback; it had been his own two legs that had carried him all the way from Deleon to Moydherr, a few days' journey even for someone used to spending most of his time walking. And Schean hadn't been traveling for two years, which meant that he'd needed an extra day or so just to get back into the swing of it. Persistence and not speed was what counted, so he had reminded himself and just walked on. But now he had at least one night to rest properly, probably two...

"Feeling better?" Mioll smiled at Schean's blissful expression when the young man poured a bucketful of warm water over his head.

"Ohh yes..." Schean shook his wet hair and sighed. "Now some food, and then I'll probably just keel over."

"Hmm, I was hoping you wouldn't!" Mioll winked an eye. "I mean, you and me in a bed all for ourselves..."

Schean wrapped a towel tightly around his hips and grinned back, feeling his body's instant reaction to that particular promise. "Hah, now I wouldn't miss that opportunity for anything!"

Mioll leered, then sobered up when a group of five men stomped into the dressing room, but his eyes continued to glitter mischievously.

"Come on, little brother," he said in Revnashi, "let's get out of the way here."

They both dressed themselves quickly and trotted off in search of some dinner. Schean gladly left the maneuvering to Mioll who clearly knew the route and the people better, just meekly followed the man until they were once more closeted inside the minstrel's room. They spread their small hoard of edibles on the bed and then, very unceremoniously, dug into it.

During the dinner, amidst much happy sighing and licking of fingers, Schean had the opportunity to tell the older man the truth about what had happened in Deleon. It felt good to talk about it, not having to pretend and guard his every word — oh, he had memorized every little detail of the story with great care, but that didn't make it any less a lie. But this was a fellow minstrel, and their people would never betray one another. With Mioll he could be himself, a young man on a frightening mission but right now in the company of someone to trust. He could relax.

"Feeling alive again?"

"Definitely. But I'd better stop eating now, or I'll be too stuffed!" Schean leveled a suggestive glance over the remaining food, and Mioll laughed a little. "And that would be such a pity."

Mioll merely smiled, picked up a stripe of smoked meat and began to suckle on it, eyebrows waggling. "It sure would, little brother. Want me to give your legs a massage?"

Schean licked his lips as he watched the piece of food that was slowly disappearing into Mioll's mouth. "Yes please..."

"All right. Let's get these out of the way then."

Schean eased himself on his back as Mioll, smirking to himself, cleared the bed and then tugged on the younger man's hose. "Get rid of those. I can't massage your legs properly if they aren't bare!"

Schean obeyed willingly and settled once more on the bed. The food and beer and bath and rest were making his whole body pleasantly tingly, and when the older minstrel's experienced fingers delved into the muscles of his calf, he whined with pain and pleasure.

"Don't wriggle," Mioll said sternly, working a drop of herb-enhanced massage oil into the skin. "You've been walking for days, and you're out of practice too. Let me soften these now, or you'll be crawling back to Deleon on all fours!"

"It just hurts," Schean complained.

"Seems to be doing something else too," Mioll observed approvingly and looked at Schean over the promising bulge that was tenting the younger man's short breeches. "Hmm, yes, looks like I'll be taking care of something else than just your legs tonight."

"Weren't you then going to, after all?" Schean panted, forcing himself to relax and just enjoy the treatment that he knew would feel heavenly — at least afterwards, if not right at the moment.

"I wouldn't disappoint you, little brother... or myself. I haven't seen another minstrel ever since last autumn."

Mioll concentrated first on one leg up to the knee, then the other, and then switched back to the first one but this time let his hands roam up to Schean's thighs. The younger man snapped his mouth shut and heroically stayed silent.

"Now on your belly. The backs of your thighs need a rub as well."

Schean turned around with a half-hearted glare, taking his sweet time to arrange his by now almost aching hard assets properly underneath him. And still he couldn't hold back a groan when Mioll's oily hand glided from the back of his knee all the way up to his buttock and squeezed. "Unnghh... damn tease!"

"Now, now," Mioll chided with a voice bubbling laughter. "I will deliver too, little brother, don't you worry. Are your legs feeling better?"

"Yes," Schean sighed. "But something else isn't."

"Maybe I should have mercy on both of us..." Mioll let his both hands climb on Schean's ass and massaged it gently, grinning to himself. "Don't you really have anybody in Deleon to have fun with?"

Schean shook his head. Ooh, that touch felt so good... "Nope," he mumbled. "And I spend most of my time with the Ranea anyway."

"What's he then like?" Mioll teased. Schean twisted around enough to look sternly over his shoulder.

"He's not even thirteen, he's been ill, he's a real darling, and I forbid you from even suggesting anything like that! I love him like a little brother, okay?"

"Clear as day," Mioll said mildly. "Well, anybody else? Aren't there any — hmm — henchmen of the Lord's who might swing our way?"

"Even if there were, I wouldn't go exploring!" Schean almost shuddered at the thought of the brawny captains who usually accompanied Lord Rhodan. "I don't want to have anything more to do with them than I absolutely must. They are scary."

"I can't believe that your castle would be as dry in that respect as this one!" Mioll had pulled off his vest and tunic and settled on the bed next to Schean, leaning on one elbow, wearing only his short breeches. "It's much bigger, after all, with more people too. And come on now, the Revnashi aren't all that bad! You have to readjust your tastes, little brother, or one of these days you'll find your equipment shriveling for lack of use!"

Schean didn't resist when Mioll snaked an arm around his waist, turned him on his back and began to undress him some more. This had to be heaven, he decided and growled at the little voice inside his head. It sounded unpleasantly like Karos and reminded him that he was still inside Moydherr Castle and far from being safe. But damn, who cared right now? He was alone with Mioll, and like all minstrels who left their southern homelands, Mioll would enjoy intimacy with another male quite as much as Schean, even if he might not actually prefer it to the company of females if given the choice.

"Readjust my tastes?" he sighed. "Towards women, or what?"

"Uh-huh," Mioll mouthed, face suddenly so close to Schean's bare stomach that the younger man's breath hitched. "No, I mean that you're not looking at the Revnashi in the right way. There are some truly handsome specimens among them. Just take a good look at them sometimes! Tall, lean, muscular... long legs... smoldering dark eyes... big hands that grab —"

"Unhhh!"

"— oh so possessively, and pin you down on the bed..." The older minstrel grinned to his panting companion and squeezed gently the twitching shaft in his hand. "Doesn't that sound delicious?"

"I have been grabbed and pinned down by someone who's tall and muscular and has big hands and smoldering dark eyes, thank you very much!" Schean managed to gasp out. "He also had a damn big knife on my throat, and it didn't turn me on in the least!"

"Hmm!" Mioll gave his prize a tentative lick, and Schean moaned. "Now, surely the knife was uncalled for, but otherwise he sounds delicious enough... tell me about him!"

"No I won't!" Schean groaned and managed to get his both hands tangled into the older minstrel's hair. "Mioll, for the gods of sea and sand, stop teasing!"

"All right," Mioll conceded, voice going husky. "You're right, I've teased us both quite enough for today."

He rolled to lie on top of Schean and their bodies pressed together at last, chest to chest, hips to hips, cock to cock. Schean ground his hips up against Mioll and hissed his approval to his partner who kissed him eagerly. A small bite and then they kissed again, hands gripping each other's head and ass and hair, bodies undulating in a heady rhythm. Schean arched up for still some more friction, felt the spasm in his balls and came, spurting semen between their already sweat-slicked bellies. An answering shudder went through Mioll, fingers dug into Schean's buttock and the man climaxed with a low groan.

For a good while they just lay there in a tangle of sweaty bodies and hair, gulping air into their lungs. Finally Mioll rolled to the side and plopped down next to Schean.

"That was good," Schean sighed indistinctly. "Real good."

"Mmmhh... a drink?"

"Yes please."

"Here." Mioll climbed up enough to pick up a tankard from a tiny wall shelf by the door. "There's still some left, we didn't drink it all."

Schean drank greedily, then handed the tankard back, eyes shining.

"Gods, you're pretty!" Mioll kissed his shoulder, then scrambled up once more to dig a small basin from underneath the bed. He chuckled. "Oh good, there's just enough water to wet a rag. We're messy."

They wiped themselves at least marginally cleaner, all the while grinning to each other, then crawled back into bed and snuggled there, side by side. Mioll's arm stretched across Schean's belly, the younger man put his own arm over it and squeezed.

"I sure won't be leaving tomorrow," he muttered.

"Oh, the Lord won't have written that letter tonight, anyway," Mioll assured him. "And you haven't met the young ladies either. Of course you'll stay another night after this."

"Looking forward to it..."

"Would you now be in the mood to tell me some more about this intriguingly tall and dark and handsome?" Mioll purred into Schean's ear, then yelped when a surprisingly well-aimed slap landed on his somewhat oversensitive lower belly region.

"Just lay off already, will you? I sure don't want to talk about him! He's scary, that's what he is."

"You seem to find most Revnashi scary," Mioll observed lazily.

"I do. 'Cause they are." Schean squirmed closer. "Let's not talk about them, please. I'm sleepy."

He let his eyes drift shut and sighed. Right now, with Mioll like this, it was so wonderfully easy to forget for a while the precarious reality lurking just outside the door...

"Sleep well, and nice dreams... about the tall and dark and handsome."

... or then not.