Ravens, Owls and a nightingale

15. Dreams & Desires

Karos walked to a good vantage point on the castle walls and sat on the stones with a deep sigh. He leaned his back against a higher section and grimaced at the sting of pain in his shoulder when it pressed to the hard wall. Here he could feel the fresh wind in his hair, smell the river and the forest beyond it, hear the cries of gulls and the twittering of smaller birds around the towers, but nothing could soothe the frustration simmering inside him. Deleon, his beloved home for which he was ready to do almost anything, was at war — and he had been forced to stay in the sidelines.

He was good at great many things, but wielding a sword was not one of them. He was well versed in the art of herbs and healing, he could ride, and he could use a knife with deadly efficiency, as his would-be murdered had experienced back in Moydherr... that was a thought he quickly pushed away. It had been necessary, yes, he'd just defended himself, but it still didn't feel good to think about it. The truth was that he had never been trained in the skills required of a soldier, including the ability to consider killing as part of his life, and thus his father had curtly dismissed him when he'd suggested following the troops to battle.

Could he be a scout? No, the distance between the two castles wasn't that great and the men knew the terrain well. Maybe he could look after the wounded? Not that either, they'd get first aid from the people skilled in that and then be transported back to Deleon for proper treatment. No, he'd just be in the way.

And so he was here, safely ensconced inside the sturdy walls, with nothing to do at the moment. He'd already assisted the Wizard when the latest batch of wounded fighters had been brought in, earlier that day. Now Rhamirr was busy with his concoctions, maids were keeping watch in the quarters reserved for the injured, and Karos was not needed by anyone.

Even his faithful owls seemed to have forsaken him. They were busy as well, raising a new generation of owls and gorging themselves on the mice, voles and other succulent little steaks that scuttled around in the forests and fields. No doubt they'd remember him and the free meals again in the autumn, but now they preferred to spread their soft wings and glide quietly to prey outside the castle.

Karos couldn't really blame them. He longed to be there, too, doing something to keep his home safe instead of sitting on the walls and peering towards south. Somewhere there were the troops of Deleon, his father riding ahead of them, sword in hand. Only a small company had been left behind to defend the castle in the unlikely event that the enemy would manage to get soldiers close enough to actually attack the castle itself. Lord Rhodan, snorting with fury when he'd heard of the yellow and green banners advancing his way, had gleefully raised his own black and yellow standards and ridden out, followed by a formidable force that also included the impressive Count Daynar and his men.

Karos sighed again when he thought of those intriguing troops. They were the wonder of the entire castle, for no one had ever met soldiers nearly as disciplined as they were. Their weapons and other equipment were spotless, polished, oiled, and generally in perfect condition at all times. They behaved themselves with aloofness, never harassed the servants or did anything to deserve rebuke, and nobody had even seen any one of them sodden drunk, not once. Karos was ready to believe that if they were woken up in the middle of the night and told to go, they'd be in full clothes and ready for battle before anyone else had even got out of bed.

The funny thing was that their example had started to rub on Deleon's other troops. Nobody could help being impressed by the way the lieutenants snapped to attention whenever Count Daynar as much as lifted a finger, and it was very clear that their reputation was well earned, not just big talk. So their leader could well afford even such potentially mock-inviting quirks as always dressing up with great care, almost to the point of foppishness... and having the quiet shadow that followed him everywhere.

Lord Rhodan and Count Daynar had taken an instant liking to each other, and Karos was sure that the price that Deleon was going to pay for the Count's services couldn't possibly be anywhere near the exorbitant sums he had pocketed elsewhere, if the rumors held any grain of truth. The Count was no doubt a proud and cunning man. He had to have high expectations for the future, or he wouldn't have agreed to stay, and Karos would have very much liked to know what those expectations were. He was curious that way.

He stood up slowly and forced his feet to move towards the keep. The Ranea and his sisters were effectively the Lord and Lady of the castle now that their father was away, and they were enjoying themselves. Of course they were worried for Lord Rhodan, but not in the least afraid. They were very confident of the eventual outcome of the battles, and only hoped that the loss of life and limb wouldn't be too great. Now they were probably having dinner in the big chamber they favored and had renamed as the 'music room', talking to each other and listening to the minstrel playing for them. They had told Karos that he should come there as well, but every day he had managed to slip away. He didn't want to sit down with them, knowing all the time that the Lord didn't want him to be there, feeling the disapproval even though the man himself wasn't anywhere near.

And yet he padded closer to the chamber, quietly, softly. The door was half open, it beckoned to him at the end of the corridor, so irresistible and warm and inviting. Not for you, he thought and yet went still a little closer. He heard the young voices talking and laughing, breathed in the smell of roasted meat and vegetables and various little delicacies that wafted towards him in heady waves and made his stomach clench. Of course he wasn't hungry — nobody in Deleon Castle went hungry, its excellent chatelaine made sure of that, and especially not the chatelaine's own son. No, it wasn't the food that was pulling him closer.

He slunk next to the door. From this angle, he could see the minstrel. Fair brown hair swayed a little around a face that didn't even have to frown in concentration while long fingers made the lute sing, mellow and playful at the same time. It was like a busy brook or perhaps a songbird, then a deeper chord echoed in the room with an air of mystery. Karos swallowed, unable to turn his eyes away. Schean Lyennam was playing and he wanted to see it, the light that seemed to emanate from the minstrel.

Karos would have wanted to go closer, to sit beside Schean, lie at his feet and worship him, and the desire to do so welled up until he just couldn't take it any more. He spun around on his heels, not caring if someone heard him or not, and marched out once more, to the walls.

He had now lived roughly a week in the castle, sharing the tower room with Schean. The young minstrel had fascinated him even before, when he'd only caught an occasional glimpse from afar, but now — Karos simply didn't know what had possessed him. It seemed that he was hyper-aware of Schean, could spot the blond creature anywhere and feel his presence whenever they were within fifty feet of each other. Of course he didn't spend a lot of time in their room and mostly just went there for the nights, but that was actually the worst. They'd crawl into bed in the dim light of the fireplace or a candle, wish each other good night, and then go to sleep. Or, in Karos' case, try to.

What the hell was wrong with him all of a sudden? Karos hit the stone wall with a fist and then licked his scraped knuckles, growling under his breath. Schean made him think of a cat. Not of the skinny, agile, wild things that preyed in the nooks and corners of Deleon, but the fluffy and cute one that was Miss Bailenn's pet. She'd been so delighted to find it still in the castle; it had been a mere kitten when she'd been sent to Moydherr, and for some strange reason Lady Berissa had allowed it to live all the while, or perhaps she'd just forgotten about it. For some reason the servants had treated it well enough so that it had stayed inside the castle and not gone wild in the meantime. Now the ginger-and-honey striped thing always seemed to be curled up at Miss Bailenn's feet or in her lap.

Karos had seen that cat numerous times, for it was always around the girls. It was relaxed and soft and cuddly, and somehow it struck a nerve because it reminded him of something else that at least looked soft and relaxed and cuddly. Something that had slim limbs, smooth sandy-blond hair and large playful eyes, and that slept in the same bed with him, so that he had plenty of opportunity to see just how relaxed and cuddly it looked. Then he would lie awake, listening to the minstrel's breathing and waiting for his eyes to adjust to the near-darkness, so that he could just look at Schean who was there, in the bed right next to him. So close that he'd only need to reach out a little to touch.

Yes, Karos wanted to touch Schean, pull him close and breathe in his scent — and that, let alone any further thoughts, were a no-go area. He could have kicked himself. He was crazy. He was out of his mind. These feelings were not right, they would cause a catastrophe one of these days unless he kept them firmly reined in. His darling brother doted on the minstrel, as did his sisters, and Karos would rather rot in hell than cause sorrow to them. Schean would be horrified if he knew of these thoughts. Maybe he'd even want to leave Deleon altogether? Not acceptable, not by any stretch of imagination.

The dark young man let his head fall back to rest against the wall behind his back, shaggy hair hanging over his eyes. He felt thoroughly dirty, soiled inside and out. He was disgusting, revolting, a beast and no man... but nobody needed to know, especially not the minstrel. Karos could hold his tongue, and damn if he couldn't control his impulses as well!

The bathhouse. He wanted to have a bath, as scorching as he could possibly take. That would clean him at least outwardly, and maybe soaking in hot water would even soothe his mind too? It wasn't nearly as late yet as usual when he went to bathe, he observed as he trotted down to the courtyard, but when he pulled the door open, the place sounded deserted. But of course... most of the soldiers were away, the workload of the servants was much lighter than usual, and so most of them had made use of that and retired as soon as they'd taken care of their duties for the day.

Usually Karos preferred to come here only very late in the evening, when the maids looking after the place had left it for the night. They knew him, they knew he'd see to it that the fire didn't break loose while everybody was sleeping, and they also knew he didn't want any one of them there to wash him. They knew he wasn't interested in watching them, in seeing their shirts get wet, in looking at their strong arms as they hauled water or washed a man's back. He wanted to be left alone and they left him alone there, in the night. But now it wasn't nearly night yet and still he was here alone. Karos smiled, stripped naked in the small chamber and then padded into the other side.

Only a soft darkness greeted him. Embers glowed faintly underneath the huge water cauldron from which a slight steam rose in a graceful curve. Moist air caressed his throat as he filled a large lidless barrel with hot water, then stepped into it and sank deeper. Liquid heat swallowed him, the water level rose nearly up to the rim and some even trickled over it as he raised an arm and raked fingers lazily through his hair. The heat caressed his skin, the fresh scratches on his knuckles stung a little, and he felt a slight burn on his shoulder as the water reached the scar where the nerves hadn't yet gone quite numb under hardening tissue.

This quiet, this peace... Karos surrendered to the feeling. A thought occurred to him: if he were a soldier, right now he'd be only dreaming of something like this, of hot water and rest and silence. At best, he'd be sleeping on hard ground, wrapped inside a cloak, inside a dry tent that would protect him at least moderately from rain and wind. At worst he'd be trembling with wound fever, delirious and groaning with pain, perhaps having lost a limb or waiting for gangrene to poison his blood. Being dead couldn't be half as bad as that. But here he was, safe in Deleon, basking in this luxury, and not actually even feeling ashamed for it. He would find a way to do his part for the safety of the castle, sooner or later.

Karos lolled in the water until it was only pleasantly warm, only then took some soap and began to wash himself slowly. Face, neck, arms. He rubbed his aching shoulder a little, let a hand glide lower and sink into the water. Fingers made slick by hot, slightly soapy water brushed on the black hair on his chest, trailed lower along the dark path and still lower until they found another wet nest of curls, and then...

"Don't fall asleep there."

The hand froze in place, fingers closed slowly around a rapidly hardening erection and opened again. Karos turned his head to look at the door, although he didn't really need to do it to know who it was.

Schean was standing there, smiling and shaking his head.

"You might tell me when you come here," he said and pulled his own shirt over his head. Karos swallowed. "We share a room, so why couldn't we come here together? And I might take a look at your shoulder at the same time."

Karos closed his eyes when the minstrel turned around and went to the other room to undress. Damn... how could he so totally forget about the time? This was not the past-midnight hour when he usually came here. This meant that the young ladies and Ranea had finished their dinner, and others might be coming here as well, not just Schean! He had to finish his washing and get out of here!

Except that Schean was already padding cautiously across the floor, nude as on the day he was born. Karos watched how his pale body glowed in the steamy darkness as he grabbed a bucket and began to mix together the hot and cold water in a big tub. How his slim body bent and stretched. How a thin layer of sweat soon began to glisten on his skin in the warm air. How he raised a wet hand to swipe the hair behind his ear.

The minstrel stepped into the tub and sat down, scooped water all over himself and grinned to Karos.

"It's so nice and quiet here," he remarked, "now that there aren't that many people around."

Karos merely grunted in agreement.

"Of course I'd be a lot happier if the soldiers were here," Schean went on and then spluttered a little when some of the water found its way into his mouth and nose. "Feels rather ghastly to know that there are people being killed maybe at this very moment."

He glanced at his silent companion, a tad guiltily. "You shouldn't feel bad because the Lord didn't take you along, though... I'm sure he'll come round eventually. He will see what you really are, and stop being such a — uh, I mean, so suspicious of you."

Karos still didn't say anything, and the minstrel realized that he'd probably intruded on a moment when Karos would have rather wanted to be alone. But he wasn't going to go before bathing; and it wasn't as if the bathhouse were the sole property of whoever had happened to come first! Nor did he see any reason why Karos should've felt shy of appearing naked in front of him. Revnashi in general weren't particularly shy in that respect, and the two of them even shared a room. And yet, perhaps a peace offering was in place?

"Oh, silly me, I didn't take a towel!" Schean made something of a show of looking around, then shrugged. "You haven't got one, either. I'll go get them, now that I'm not soapy yet."

He stood up and went back to the dressing chamber. Karos cursed under his breath, and while Schean was noisily rummaging in the towel cupboard, his squeezing hand could at last move more vigorously. He closed his eyes and bit back a groan at the explosion in his groin, just as the minstrel reappeared at the door and waved two large towels at him.

"Found some!" Schean announced. "But — aren't you feeling all right, Karos?"

"Nothing wrong with me," Karos ground out. "Just been soaking in this hot water quite a while."

"Are you sure you're not getting dizzy?" Schean came closer, looking and sounding worried, and Karos hastily grabbed a clump of soap to lather between his hands. "Is your wound hurting?"

"No, I'm okay."

"That's good!" Schean slipped back into his tub and smiled to Karos. "I'll put some salve on the wound when we go back, anyway."

"I appreciate that," Karos breathed, pulled himself up and poured two buckets of water over himself, then grabbed a towel from the side bench and wrapped it around his body. "I'll go to cool down while you bathe."

He fled to the other side, heart hammering madly, feeling even dirtier than he had upon entering the bathhouse.