“Aye,” Andros acknowledged. “But now youreallyneed to let me suck you. You’re all keyed up, and you’ll never get to sleep otherwise. We’ve got another four days until we’re home; you need your rest.”
It was good advice, and Theos took it. He leaned against a tree and looked down as Andros knelt, and just that was enough to help him relax. Everything was fine. They were still alive, and the prisoner . . . Theos made himself stop thinking about the prisoner. Well, the dead one. Instead, he pictured the other one. The young one, who’d caused the trouble in the first place.
But instead of the earlier visions of teaching the boy about pleasure, Theos imagined showing the boy who was in charge. Making him beg, making himneedrelease and withholding it because he hadn’t done anything to deserve it. And then finally, when neither of them could stand it anymore, Theos would drive himself into the boy, would claim and tame and control him.
Andros grunted and shifted, trying to accommodate Theos’s too-vigorous thrusting, and Theos managed to calm himself a little. He ran an appreciative hand through Andros’s short, dark hair, and then glanced over to find the boy staring at them. The rest of the prisoners were huddled together, their heads turned away, but the boy’s eyes were wide and gleaming in the firelight, his gaze fixed on Theos, and on Andros, and on the place where their bodies were joined. Theos pushed in, hard and deep, and felt Andros swallow desperately around him. And he saw the boy’s eyes widen just a little bit more.
Theos looked away then, and made himself focus on the simple sensations, the warmth and the pressure and the wetness and Andros’s busy, generous tongue. But when he felt the tension building, he took a few more thrusts and then pulled out, bringing his hand down to stroke himself as he spurted thick white strands onto Andros’s face. And in the middle of it he turned back and saw the boy still staring, and another wave of pleasure crashed in, making him close his eyes and give in to it all.
When Theos was done, Andros wiped his face clean and laughed quietly. “Putting on a show?” he asked, climbing to his feet.
“I just wasn’t sure you could handle it all. Didn’t want to choke you.” He nodded at Andros’s crotch. “You want your turn?”
“You can owe me. Like I said, I’m tired.”
Theos nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” He refastened his pants, stretched his arms above his head, and refused to look over at the prisoners. “You were right, I wouldn’t have slept without that.”
“I’m very wise,” Andros agreed. He headed off toward his own bedroll, and Theos undid his pack and spread his blankets close to the fire. After checking that the guard was in place and alert, he lay down and let himself relax. He tried to clear his mind, and almost managed it. But there, floating in the darkness, was a pair of wide blue eyes, staring at him. And Theos fell asleep still wondering just what the man behind the eyes had been thinking.
Chapter Two
They spent the next day walking, and the day after that too. It was still midfall in the valleys, but up in the mountains winter was fast approaching. Theos had heard of lands away to the west where the terrain was flat, where cities and farms could spread as far as their inhabitants wished, but he’d never lived in such a place, or even visited one. This was the only world he knew, with tall, hostile mountains covering almost all of the land, and human habitation limited to isolated valleys.
There weremanyvalleys, it was true; at last count he’d heard the Torian Empire contained seventy-eight of them, each a semi-independent city-state united more by culture and principles than by government. Well, there was an empress, technically, but she was far away from Theos’s valley and was more a receptor of tribute than an issuer of orders. The valleys sent soldiers back to fight along the eastern border of the Empire, where the enemies were larger and better organized. The west was left to its own devices, defending and expanding however it could, and no one seemed to be too interested in them, as long as they sent their taxes and recruits east each year.
Of course, there were valleys that hadn’t been absorbed into the Empire yet, although they were fewer every year. The Elkati should be the next to be conquered, clearly; they were close to the western border, rich, and as a midsize city-state, with no more than ten thousand inhabitants, they would never be able to stand up to the Empire. But no one had bothered to convince them of that, yet.
So Theos and other soldiers from Windthorn patrolled the borders, as did soldiers from nearby valleys Cragview and Greenbrook, and they all waited for the order to invade, and start teaching the Elkati about civilization. And, occasionally, they found someone on the wrong side of the invisible line and took prisoners.
Theos looked over at the Elkati he’d captured. They were showing the strain, now. The two who’d been patched up by the boy seemed better, which was good; still they were all exhausted. The Elkati were fit enough, but the Sacrati were the elite of the elite, and had been hardened by conditions these Elkati would never know, and certainly never survive. And the Elkati were carrying heavier packs and hiking with their hands tied tight, and Theos had no intention of changing that just to make it easier for them to walk. He wanted to push the Elkati as much as he could without breaking them; it was wise to keep them tired, and it would be nice to get off the damn mountain before the snow came.
The Elkati boy had protested, after a fashion. He’d found ways to ask for special privileges: more food for one of the prisoners after he’d spilled his dinner on the ground; time to stop and bandage another prisoner’s knees when a stumble had turned into a nasty fall; more blankets for them at night since they slept farther from the fire. Theos had refused every request without much consideration. He’d given the boy a chance once, and a man had died. The time for making deals was over. The prisoners would just have to make do. They had no choice.
Still, they were getting ragged. So Theos wasn’t completely surprised, in the middle of the third afternoon, when he heard a voice cry out from somewhere near the front of the procession. But he was shocked to peer ahead and realize that it was Andros who was hurt, slumping to the side as the soldiers around him hacked at something on the ground.
Theos sprinted forward, then skidded to a stop when he saw the sliced remains of a rock viper at Andros’s feet. He looked up and saw the glassiness already coming into the man’s eyes. The viper’s poison was potent enough to protect it against bears and mountain lions, and was almost always deadly to humans.
“Where?” Theos demanded. He fell to his knees and felt Andros’s legs, up above the midcalf boots, and found a swollen bump that made Andros bite back a scream when it was touched.
One of the other soldiers had made a tourniquet, and Theos pushed Andros to the ground before slicing through his pant leg. The red lump was unmistakeable, with two spots already blackening in the middle where the venom had been injected and tissue was beginning to die.
Theos cut hard and deep, his dagger slicing into the flesh as Andros held himself rigidly still. The blood poured out in a cleansing rush, but the original wound was only part of the problem. Even if Theos had caught the putrescence and kept it from spreading, the poison was also in the bloodstream, traveling through Andros’s body. The tourniquet would slow its progress and the venom might be diluted enough to not kill instantly, but that could just make death slower and more painful.
Then Xeno was there, called up from the back of the procession, and he eased in behind Andros and cradled him, kissing his hair and murmuring comforting words, ignoring the tears that were falling from his eyes onto Andros’s too-pale face.
This shouldn’t be happening. The damn viper should have been hibernating, not creeping around, attacking good men for no reason.
It was no way for a warrior to die. No way foranyoneto die.
Theos stood up. The prisoners were standing, waiting, and Theos pushed through them until he found the boy who’d healed the other Elkati. “You! Fix him!” Theos knew volume wouldn’t help when someone didn’t know the words, but he let himself yell anyhow. Let the kid know how serious he was. He pointed to one of the Elkati packs, hopefully the one that held the medicine, and then pointed back to Andros. The boy just stared at him.
There was no way the little coward didn’t understand. He just didn’t care. He wasn’t going to help because he didn’tcareif Andros lived or died. Theos took a deep breath. He pointed at Andros again, then rolled his own eyes back, mimicking death. Then he pointed at one of the other prisoners and drew a finger across his own throat. If Andros died, that prisoner died. But that wasn’t enough, because Andros was a Sacrati, by the sword, and these useless Elkati werenothingcompared to him. So Theos pointed to another prisoner, and then another, and made the same throat-slitting gesture. He waved his arm to indicate all the prisoners, drew his hand across his throat again, and then stared at the boy, making it clear that the threat was absolutely real. If Andros died, every prisoner on the mountain would follow him.
The boy swallowed, looked down at the ground, then up at Theos and started talking. His words made no sense, of course, just endless Elkati gibberish, and Theos raised his hand to strike him into silence. But before he could land the blow, the old man was there. He’d been quiet since the capture, sitting back and watching, following directions and acting like just another prisoner. Now, though, he caught the boy’s shoulders in his hands and shook him, just once, but hard. He growled a phrase that sounded like an order, and when the boy began to protest, the old man said something else and pushed him toward the pack. Theos nodded his approval, then reached out and sliced through the ropes on the boy’s hands with one tug of his knife. He bent and freed his feet as well. He didn’t care what trouble the Elkati got into, not if he saved Andros first.
They were on a narrow pass, and the boy peered around as if trying to find something he needed. Apparently not finding it, he pushed past the soldiers and ran down the trail in front of them, waving an arm to indicate that they should follow.
“Bring the prisoners,” Theos ordered his soldiers, and then he jogged to Xeno’s side. “We’ll carry Andros. The boy . . . he’s our best chance. And Andros is tough.”
