Chapter three
A/N 1: Many thanks for reviewing, Herdcat! It's good to know that at least a few of you read my humble efforts. As I've pointed out in my summary, the story will eventually stray into 'M' territory, but this chapter is still a lemon free zone, lol.
A/N 2: 'All in a day's work' is a quote from Black Sun Rising, page 312
A/N 3: Good heavens, I'm so glad that this site is working again after being down for almost 30 hours. Having a whole day for myself for the first time in ages just to be unable to work on my stories almost drove me to distraction. Well, I suppose I'm not the only one affected by it, so I should stop whining, lol.
A/N 4: As the wonderful Ms Friedman stuck to 'wolves', I decided to use the plain 'cows' as well instead of adding a prefix like 'nu' or 'un'. I hope you don't mind...
A/N 5: Somehow, Gerald saying that only his pride and his shirt was hurt sounds awfully familiar. If a fellow author has used it before, I apologize for 'stealing' it. Just pm me, and it will be changed.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Unsettling close to throwing a tantrum out of sheer frustration, the warrior knight buried his face in his hands. Dear God Almighty, for the life of him he didn't know what to make of their conversation. At first, it had seemed that Tarrant's new incarnation wasn't giving a shit for him, but now he wasn't so sure anymore. True to his nature - and allowing for the demands of his latest compact - the adept hadn't admitted anything. Not openly, anyway. But the slight tremor that had passed through him when he had touched his hand, the way he had looked at him if only for a short moment that had passed much too soon, his jet black eyes so wide and honest and utterly human, had told a different tale. At least he hoped that the emotions he had believed to detect in them weren't just a figment of his wishful thinking. But be that as it may, Gerald had made himself rather clear that he wasn't in the least inclined to take chances, however great the temptation might be. Not altogether surprising for a man who had always put mind over matter.
The scratching of chair legs on wooden floorboards brought him back to the here and now. His thoughts miles away, he hadn't paid any attention whatsoever to his surroundings, but now he noticed for the first time that he wasn't the only customer in the guest room. A company of four, each of them armed to the teeth and reeking of a nauseating mixture of sweat and the worst kind of gut rot, was just about leaving the premises. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something about them that made his skin crawl.
It wasn't their even for a place like Black Ridge Pass somewhat exaggerated armament or their drinking habits. A lot of the tourists around were spending their days with boozing themselves half out of their mind, and even nigh to two months after the combined sacrifices of Tarrant and the Patriarch had changed the face of their planet forever, one was still well advised to stay on guard against the faeborn preying on the living just as they had been doing since the colonists had set foot on Erna and the chimeras of their subconscious had spawned the first demonlings . But if his toils and troubles had taught him one thing, it was knowledge of human nature, and he'd have to be blind not to notice the almost palpable aura of violence radiating from them. Whoever these nasty fellows were, he could tell a mile off that they certainly weren't here just to see the Forest burn and shoot the occasional demonling.
Damien called himself to order. He might not like the looks of them, the brutality carved into their features and the manner their hands stayed close to their weapons all the time, but the men had done him no wrong, hadn't even taken notice of him. After everything he had been through, all the needless suffering and acts of utmost bestiality he had been forced to witness throughout his travels at the Hunter's side, it was no wonder that he was starting to imagine things. But yet his warrior instincts strictly cautioned him against letting the matter rest.
His nagging sense of unease increasing by the second, he jumped up and headed for the exit. If his vivid imagination was getting the better of him and caused him to make a complete and utter fool of himself, so be it. It wouldn't be the end of him. But he had always been well advised to trust his gut feeling, and he saw no reason for becoming careless in his middle years, all the more so when Gerald was out there, all alone and incapable of a Working save he sacrificed his life for it. Which would render the whole exercise rather pointless from his point of view.
He had just stepped over the threshold when two shots rang out from the direction of the livery stable, followed by a pained scream which threatened to freeze the marrow in his bones. Shit!
Vryce ran, his legs pumping as if he were eighteen again and not a man pushing his forties. The blood pounding in his ears, he almost tore the door off its hinges as he charged inside the ramshackle shed like a raging bull, much too agitated to waste a thought on the possible benefits of finding out how the land lied first.
Right next to the entrance the oldest of the thugs lay spread-eagled on the floor like a broken doll, shot straight through the head. Another one, a lad in his early twenties at most, writhed in agony a mere few feet away, clutching his throat as if he wanted to strangle himself. From the amount of blood pumping out in spurts from a wound at the curve of his neck, he wouldn't last much longer if first aid wasn't applied soon. But Damien had only eyes for the tangle of limbs engaged in mortal combat close to the stalls. "Let him go at once and put your hands up in the air, you bastards!" he thundered, his spring-bolt at the ready. "But be warned. Make a sudden move or just breathe in a way I don't like, and you'll buy a one-way ticket to hell. I'm not in the mood for putting up with any kind of bullshit."
Caught between two adversaries ready for anything and half of them already out of the game, the remaining scoundrels deemed it wise to make no resistance. As soon as they had released him and backed away from him, the adept got to his feet and picked up his gun. His shirt was torn and his braid in utter disarray, but otherwise he seemed perfectly unharmed, something Damien was deeply grateful for.
But his relief turned into outright alarm when the former Hunter raised his weapon and aimed directly at one of the men's heart, his eyes blazing with fury. "What the hell are you up to, Ger... stranger?" he blurted out.
"Killing them. What else?"
"Have you lost your wits? As much as I might want to give them a proper licking, there's no need for this. Let the police take care of them."
The adept snorted. "Don't be an idiot, Vryce. Have you seen a single officer on Black Ridge Pass in all the weeks you wasted your time on wallowing in self-pity? This is lawless territory, an outlaw's paradise if there's ever been one. I wouldn't be altogether surprised if the innkeeper was in league with them. After all, Mer Thackery sent me to the stables but failed to turn up for our appointment, a quite strange coincidence if you ask me. Be that as it may, I'm responsible for the deaths of two of their comrades, and I'm not in the least keen on having the rest of the lot breathe down my neck, thirsting for revenge."
Automatically his gaze strayed to the fallen men. The scruffy fellow in his late fifties must have been dead right away. The entrance wound in his forehead looked comparatively harmless, but with regard to the brain matter and bone fragments splattered all over the straw in the closer vicinity he was quite glad that he was being spared the sight of the back of his head. It surely couldn't be pleasant.
The youth had become frightening still, as well. Frowning, Damien knelt down at his side and searched for his pulse, but found none. Damn! If he wasn't completely mistaken, the bullet had missed the carotid artery and nicked his left jugular vein instead. A few months ago, Healing him wouldn't have posed much of a problem. Vulking hell, even after the taming of the fae the lad might have still been savable if the bleeding had been staunched in time. But occupied with mitigating the situation before something irreparable happened, said time was a luxury he hadn't had.
The warrior knight stifled a sigh. Those blue eyes staring blindly at the ceiling beams might haunt him in many a night to come, but for the time being he had more pressing matters at hand. Analysing the situation without bothering about trifles like scruples and ethical subtleties, his former brother-in-arms certainly had a point there. Although he had been lost in his own world of guilt and shame since Tarrant's supposed death at the hands of his last living descendant, he had heard rumours about several tourists vanishing from the area without a trace. At the time, he hadn't thought much of it. People came and went, changed their plans without informing anybody about it in utter disregard of the innkeepers' well-meant advice to leave at least a short notice about their intended hiking routes. Maybe a part of those unfortunate souls were rotting in one of the deep crevasses in the area now, not victims of an unfortunate accident or a horde of starving demonlings but robbed and killed by the very men standing right before him.
Turning the bastards loose as if nothing had happened, he would be responsible for each and every crime they committed henceforth, not exactly a comforting thought. In allying with a creature considered evil incarnate by his Church and saving the man's hide again and again instead of ridding Erna of his taint as he had vowed what felt like an eternity ago, he had already burdened himself with more guilt than his tender conscience could stomach. Adding just another shortfall to his anyway long list of transgressions was something he could surely do very well without.
If it hadn't been for Gerald or whatever his name was now, he wouldn't have thought twice about fulfilling his civic duties in form of handing the thugs over to the next available authorities in person . After losing his vocation and everything dear to him, the only thing he had in abundance was leisure. From what he had seen of the cities of the north, they weren't exactly what he'd call the epitome of law and order, to put it mildly, but a well populated place like Sheva or Mordreth certainly possessed a, however humble, town jail. Maybe there was even a price on their heads. Becoming a bounty hunter wasn't a career option he had considered so far, but if their capture fetched him a nice reward, he would have to be stark mad to look the gift horse in the mouth.
Unfortunately this was nothing but pure theory. What had come to pass that day proved once again that the adept had an uncanny knack for stumbling from one calamity into another. In other words, looking after him was worse than herding uncats, a fact that even death, resurrection and the transformation into a 'spoiled brat' who apparently hadn't done anything in his entire life save squandering daddy's fortune hadn't changed for the better. In fact, the latter only served to make things worse. A lot worse. Gerald's new self had 'easy prey' written all over it in golden, ten feet tall tall letters, a mouth-watering temptation for every rogue from here to Jaggonath. Of course the impression was somewhat deceiving, as the men who had paid a high price for their error of judgement today could testify to, but the time when he could have killed an adversary with a mere thought were long gone. One day he would take one chance too many, and Damien had no intention whatsoever of letting him rush headlong into disaster. If the stubborn son of a bitch was still reluctant to accept his escort in spite of the recent events, he would follow him like a shadow until they were back in more civilized surroundings, no matter what.
Acting as the adept's self-proclaimed bodyguard and at the same time shepherding a bunch of outlaws around was mutually exclusive even for a tried and tested warrior, though. Utterly at loss what to do, Vryce raked his greying hair. Under the given circumstances, there was something to be said for the final solution Gerald had suggested, however callous it might sound. The only problem was that underestimating their victim, the brutes hadn't bothered to draw their weapons, had relied on being able to overpower him by means of brutal physical force alone. As they weren't posing an immediate threat now, taking the law into their own hands would be nothing short of outright murder, an appalling crime in the eyes of God and anathema to everything he believed in. But it would keep the man he had come to cherish far beyond anything he would have thought possible in his wildest dreams safe.
For a moment Damien wavered, torn between his principles and the bare necessities of survival as so very often before. But then he remembered all the other times he had been forced to stand helplessly by when the Hunter had tortured and killed without showing a shred of remorse, vainly trying to assuage his pangs of conscience by telling himself that the end justified the means sometimes, and he couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger or even leave the building and thus giving Gerald free reign to do as he pleased. As far as he was concerned, the days for letting the laws of the jungle prevail over humanity were over.
His mind made up, he lowered his spring-bolt just by an inch and shot the miscreants a menacing glower. "I'll temper justice with mercy this once," he growled. "After you've handed over your firearms, you're free to go wherever you want. Take your fallen comrades with you and give them a decent burial. That's the least you can do for them. But let me warn you once more, Should you mess with my business ever again, I'll make you regret the day you were born. Understood?"
If the warrior knight had expected an outburst of thankfulness, he would have been disappointed. In stony silence the thugs tossed two rifles, three pistols and a crossbow onto the floor with an air of utter disdain, picked up the corpses and made for the exit. At the very last moment the older one, a brawny giant whose nigh to seven feet tall frame was wrapped in a calf-length wolf fur coat, turned around and measured him from top to toe, his green eyes smouldering with hatred.
A strange sense of foreboding prickled at the base of his spine, but before Damien could reconsider the wisdom of his decision the door thunked shut, and he was alone with the adept for the first time since they had met again on Black Ridge Pass. "Are you alright?" he asked quietly.
"I'm fine, Vryce. It's just my pride and my shirt that was hurt today."
"Thank God. When I heard the shots, I feared that those vulking bastards had been the end of you. Anyway, slowly but surely I'm getting a bit tired of calling you 'stranger'. As you know my name and fate has it that we bump into each other again and again, I think it's only fair that you tell me yours."
Noticing the hint of defiance passing over the comely features half hidden in the shadows, Damien feared that he had gone too far. But then something softened in the dark eyes, and the 'youth' bowed with a flourish. "Gerald Hawthorne, at your service. Although it seems that you were much more of service to me than vice versa. I owe you one."
"All in a day's work," Damien replied, remembering using the very same words in another place, another time. The world had been different then, the eyes watching him ever so calmly molten pools of silver instead of black, but the flicker of recognition flaring up in their depths and the fact that the adept was still using his old given name confirmed that not everything had been lost that fateful day at the keep.
A surge of emotion welled up in his heart, elation, affection, gratitude and fear of loss all bundled up in one mind-blowing package, and for a while he couldn't force a single word past the lump in his throat. "Don't take it the wrong way, Gerald," he muttered when he could finally trust his voice again, "but in a way it's no wonder that they chose to mug you of all people. Selling your fancy cloak alone would have brought them through the winter."
Hawthorne shuddered with revulsion. "They weren't after my money," he whispered. "Not in the first place, anyway. It was just an additional bonus."
It took him a few seconds to grasp the hidden meaning behind the quiet words, but when he had finally processed the implications of the statement, Damien balled his fists. "Whatever god they believe in may have mercy upon them when I get my hands on them," he spat viciously. "They won't like it, won't like it one bit. But the whole mess just proves my point. Times have changed. Just in case you've forgotten, let me remind you that a Working is out of the question if you aren't suicidal, something I'm not altogether sure about yet. You simply can't prance about on your own, dressed up to the nines and looking like a trousered version of 'Pretty Little Princess'. It will get you into trouble before you can say 'Amen'."
The youthful face hardened. "There's no need to lecture me about the nature of man. I know very well what makes such creatures tick, how they're turned on by their victim's vulnerability and utter helplessness. You should have humoured me when we had the chance. The world wouldn't have been poorer without that kind of scum."
"Agreed. But they aren't the only ones with somehow... unhealthy inclinations. As you've already pointed out, this isn't what I'd call the backbone of civilization. The sooner you get it into your stubborn head that you'll never make it back to the Serpent alive and in one piece without an escort, the better for both of us."
"So what do you suggest?"
"Accept my company," the warrior knight retorted quick as a shot. "For reasons I'd rather not discuss, I had planned on crossing the Northern Divider Mountains, but I'm not picky. Nobody's waiting for me, anyway."
"You can't be serious, Vryce."
"You bet I am!" Desperate to take his presumably last chance to get through to the adept, Damien stepped closer and rested his sword hand on a silk clad shoulder. "Listen, Gerald," he said, keeping his voice deliberately low. "I'd rather kill myself than hurting you. You know this, don't you? But if you're still afraid that I could say something untoward, I solemnly swear to keep my mouth shut throughout our journey except under the most dire circumstances. You can even gag me if it makes you feel better. But I won't have you travelling alone. Period. Shouldn't you come to your senses, I'm going to tie you up like a vulking postal parcel and transport you all the way back to Jaggonath across my saddle. That's my last word on the matter."
It seemed to him that Hawthorne smiled faintly. "I wouldn't put it beyond you. You're an obstinate, headstrong man with a lamentable tendency to pad your arguments with an abundance of dispensable sentiments. But although I'm loathe to admit it, there's a grain of truth to be found in them."
The adept squared his shoulders as if steeling himself for the metaphorical jump off the cliff. "All right, then," he sighed. "As I presumably won't get you off my back unless I knock you out, I give you permission to accompany me. As my bodyguard, on an arm's length basis and no strings attached. I'm offering the usual standard rate plus a ten percent bonus on our arrival, all expenses paid. What do you think about it?"
Vryce's face split into a broad grin. "It seems we have a deal, boss," he chuckled. "Don't let the term go to your head, though. But if you want to hire me, you should inform me about your itinerary. The Forest, or what's left of it by now, is out of bounds for us. Shall we take the eastern or the western route around?"
"Neither." Registering the baffled expression on his face, Hawthorne raised an eyebrow in sardonic amusement. "I don't doubt to whom you owe the information about my travelling plans. Intent on putting you onto me, Karril spoke nothing but the truth at that time, but my return to Jaggonath is anything but imperative. I've always wanted to visit the west, so if you don't mind, we could adhere to your original intentions and cross the Dividers. Do you possess some camping gear?"
"A two-person tent, a sleeping bag, some blankets and a stove. But we need to buy provisions and, last but not least, three unhorses. One for each of us and an additional pack animal. Equipping ourselves with warmer clothes wouldn't be a bad idea, either. It's getting quite late in the year for comfortable travel, and only God knows what kind of weather will await us high up in the mountains."
The adept handed him a heavy purse. "Purchase what you deem fit, Vryce. I don't exactly appreciate the idea of throwing my money at a wretched crook in the disguise of an inn keeper, but there seems to be no way around it. At least we don't have to worry about the horses breathing their last after a few miles. I managed to inspect them before my attention was, how shall I put it politely, diverted elsewhere, and they aren't half as bad as I had expected. It goes without saying that they can't hold a candle to the Hunter's breed, but they should get us across the passes of the Dividers alright."
"And have you already taken your pick?"
"The black stallion in the last stall on the right should do nicely. He's a fine specimen, strong, spirited and rather intelligent for one of his kind. For you, I'd suggest the grey mare over there. She won't let you down when the going gets tough."
Following his line of sight, Damien's gaze locked on what was surely one of the most striking creatures he had ever seen, be it man or beast. "God is my witness that she's a real beauty, Gerald," he exclaimed, "but there's no chance in hell that I could buy her. She'd fetch a high price anywhere, let alone in an area where disposable horses are about as common as a vulking snowstorm in midsummer."
"You needn't be concerned about the contents of your wallet or lack thereof, Vryce. She's yours if you want her."
"That's a hell of a gift for a hired hand, isn't it?"
Hawthorne shrugged. "Possibly. But I'd be delighted if you accepted it, nonetheless. As a... token of my esteem."
Noticing the slight catch in his voice, the warrior knight looked at him sharply. The finely-chiselled features were set into an expression of deliberate neutrality, gave nothing away, but as their gazes locked, there was no mistaking the emotional turmoil raging just under the serene veneer.
Drowning in those eyes as black as a winter night, he was only marginally aware that his arms came up and wrapped around a slender waist. Gerald made no attempt to free himself as he had half expected but yielded to his embrace with a low, wistful sigh that set his nerve endings on fire.
As if magnetically drawn to him, Damien bent closer, allowed his instincts to take over at long last without giving a damn for the possible consequences. The unmistakable scents of not sandalwood, musk and arousal engulfed him, went to his head like a heady wine, and all he could think of was pulling the object of his desire down onto the straw covered ground and celebrating their reunion in a way neither of them would ever forget.
Losing himself in the magic of the moment, he started to grind his hips against Hawthorne's abdomen in small, tantalizing circles. He was rock hard now, excited almost to the point of a spontaneous ejaculation, something that hadn't happened to him in ages. To his astonishment, the adept's pelvis jerked forward in response to his motions, met him hungrily and matched his rhythm with its own, and the world faded into non-existence.
For what felt like a small eternity there was no compact standing between them, no fear of being the death of the man he was caring deeply about with just a single wrong word. But all at once Gerald froze, disentangled himself from his arms with what sounded suspiciously like a muttered oath, and he came back down to earth with a bang.
"We mustn't, Vryce," Hawthorne whispered, his voice thick with regret. "As much as I wish otherwise, throwing all caution to the wind would be unwise in the extreme. You'd better leave now and do our shopping before something happens we both might regret later. If I have still time for harbouring regrets, that is. Get everything we need and meet me here again at sunrise."
"The hell I will," Damien growled. "I respect your decision although it's bloody hard for me, but there's no way that I'll let you out of my sight as long as those bastards are prowling around. As you seem to be the one with the better horse sense, you can negotiate the price with their owner while I keep my eyes open outside. Don't doubt that you'll have to pay through the nose for them. Afterwards, I'm going to accompany you to your lodgings. Not until you're safely back in your accommodation I'll take care of the rest of our equipment. Don't even bother to gainsay me."
"You'd better remember that I'm not a babe-in-arms," Hawthorne snapped irritably. "And that I got two of them before the pistol was knocked out of my hand."
"Yeah, and the remaining two almost made mincemeat out of you. Just face it, Gerald: You engaged me to look after you personal security, right? You might be the boss, but I'm the man in charge of keeping harm from having a closer look at you, a task I don't treat lightly. So either you're a good boy and play along, or we'll stand here and waste our breath on a fruitless debate until the cows come home. It's up to you."
The adept shot him a withering look that would have made any other man blanch with fear, but Damien refused to be intimidated and just stared back until some of the tension bled out of the lithe body in front of him. "As usual, your utterances suffer from a certain lack of accuracy," his former ally huffed haughtily. "There are no cows or any other live cattle on Black Ridge Pass, as you very well know. But that's not the point now. Although I find your patronizing attitude somewhat jarring, it won't hurt having it your way this once. Send in the proprietor, and I'll see to it that he won't short-change us."
Grinning inwardly, Vryce made for the door. Gerald was still quite a handful even on a good day, but he'd manage. He always had. At least they were together again and would be for many days to come. Nothing else mattered.