The great rabbit hunt, p.1
The Great Rabbit Hunt, page 1
part #3 of Dark Servant Series
Duty before pride.
After saving the prince from certain death and convincing the sun priests that he’s not dead but in magical stasis, a high priest of the Lord of Night should have time to relax and enjoy his tryst with the captain of the palace guard. Between the nobles blackmailing him over his past and the sun priests intent on staking and beheading the prince (to save his soul), Rak’s in deeper trouble than ever. And to make matters worse, the captain doesn’t even remember their tryst.
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The Great Rabbit Hunt
Copyright © 2012 AC Elas
ISBN: 978-1-77111-357-1
Cover art by Angela Waters
Al rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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The Great Rabbit Hunt
The Dark Servant Book 3
By
AC Elas
For my parents, who have always encouraged me.
Chapter One Avtappi Hunting
Firday, the 28th of Evphormon
Murson armed his acolytes with a variety of golden items—staves, chains, nets, al with sun symbols prominently displayed. “Capture those demon horses so they can be dealt with properly.”
“If there are demon horses, why aren’t there sun horses?” Nithios asked.
“There are sun horses,” snorted Chand. “Pegasi. And hippocampi, like in the fountain.”
“Then why don’t we have them?” asked Nithios. “Ain’t fair demons get to ride and we don’t! If we had pegasi to ride, this would be easier.”
“Stop complaining and capture those evil creatures before they eat our parishioners,” snarled Murson, shoving them towards the plaza.
Two of the demon horses, the grey ones, were biting at the streams of water jetting out of the fountain. The black monster was stalking a stray chicken, head down and menace writ large in his posture. The acolytes stood shuffling their feet, careful not to look at the senior priest. Murson prayed for patience aloud.
“Why does he always do that? Are his prayers never heard?” Nithios asked. “And how are we supposed to catch those things?”
Murson glared at him. “Do you not have a lick of sense? Use the chains as ropes, the staffs to defend yourselves, and pin them with the nets. Go!”
“You first,” Avontos muttered as an explosion of feathers marked the end of the black beast’s hunt. Their fear of Murson’s wrath proved greater than their fear of the demon horses and they trooped out into the plaza glumly.
The onlookers greeted them with triumphant gratidude. The acolytes straightened and looked important, clutching their golden weapons.
“You’re the smart one. Go ahead.” Nithios nudged Chard.
Chard divided them into three teams, one for each demon horse.
“Berly, you’re with Avontos and Nithios. Take the light grey one. You three, take the blue grey, and my team wil take the black one.”
The acolytes chased the avtappi around the plaza. They made a huge commotion, and before long bets were being placed. The two grey avtappi were clearly enjoying themselves. Each would wait, ears pricked and tail swishing, until the acolytes were just within reach. Snorting smoke, the avtappi would then bolt away a few paces and stop, starting the cycle al over again.
Vyld trotted merrily in circles, lapping his chasers and nipping the backs of their robes. Every time he succeeded, he made a noise that sounded like a squeal of laughter and trotted off in a different direction. He hurt only the acolytes’ egos, and the crowd laughed each time he jerked them back by their robes, making their limbs flail.
From his vantage point by the doors, Murson watched the ruckus with his arms crossed over his chest, an expression of sheer disgust on his face.
He could see that the acolytes were getting nowhere, and making fools of themselves in the process. Their inability to catch the demon horses reflected poorly upon the Sun Temple, so Murson took further action.
He produced a chicken, and holding it in the crook of his arm, he waved his free hand over it and murmured quietly. He then tossed it flapping and squawking down the steps. The chicken scuttled off, attracting the attention of al three avtappi. Vrema, the closest, began to stalk the bird.
Rak stepped out of the temple, his hood up to shade his eyes from the bright sun. He hated to leave the sleeping captain, but Vyld’s images concerned him. He glared at Murson and said, “You again. What are your people doing to my avtappi?” In the plaza, Vrema caught the chicken with her climbing claws and ate it in typical messy fashion.
“Filthy demon and your filthy monsters! Begone from here!” Murson spat.
“Surprisingly enough, your attempt to banish me has failed,” said Rak cooly.
“And you’l pay, fiend! You and your creatures!” Murson waved his staff.
Rak looked bored. “No doubt. In the meantime, you should take your baby sun priests back into your nice sunny temple and beseech your sun lord for some brains.”
Murson shook his staff at Rak and proclaimed, “By this time tomorrow, one of you wil be dead!”
Vrema groaned in sudden pain. Rak’s attention switched to her immediately. “Dead? Poison?” He ran down the steps towards the stricken beast.
Zala whinnied in distress, and Vyld squealed in rage, pawing the ground. He charged Murson in a threatening display, but stopped short when Rak raised a hand. The stalion’s cloven hooves raised sparks on the cobblestones, and he tossed his long black mane and blew a great gust of steamy smoke. The acolytes swarmed into the Sun Temple, nearly knocking Murson over in their hasty retreat from the monsters.
Rak stroked Vrema’s shoulder. “Sa’sa, girl. Can you throw it up?”
Zala butted her sister’s gut hard, and chicken innards landed atop the remaining blood and feathers.
“Thank you, Zala.” Rak urged Vrema back to the palace stables.
“Come on, girl. You need a cool, dark stal and water,” he murmured.
“You can rest there, not here. Just a little further.”
Zala stayed close to her sister, ready to support the poisoned mare.
Vyld hovered, guarding them al. His blazing eyes and flashing fangs quickly cleared a path through the daytime crowd thronging the road. Rak paid little attention to anything other than Vrema, trusting his alies to know where to go. It didn’t take as long as he feared to walk from the Sun Temple to the palace. Even with Vrema’s slow, debilitated pace, they made it in less than an hour.
Kennit ran out as soon as Rak and the avtappi entered the stable yard.
“M’lord, we was gettin’ worried,” he started, and took a good look at Vrema. “She’s hurt, m’lord!”
“Poison,” said Rak. “I wil need the hose and charcoal.”
Kennit dashed inside as Rak led Vrema into the dim coolness of the stable. Most of the horses were out in the pastures, which suited Rak. He led Vrema into her stal, piled high with fresh, sweet-smeling straw.
Kennit’s care was evident everywhere. The water barrel had been scrubbed and refiled, the feed bucket was clean, and there was fresh hay in the manger. Kennit brought the supple leather hose and the ground charcoal, and Rak made quick work of administering it to Vrema.
While they waited for Vrema to vomit, Rak said, “I am pleased with the condition of their stals. Thank you, Kennit.”
“Aw, t’is nothing but my duty, m’lord,” demurred the boy.
Rak smiled at him and tousled his hair. “I stil appreciate it.”
Vrema began to heave, and soon Rak and Kennit were left to clean up the mess. Once the avtappi had cleared the charcoal, Rak put his hands on her sides and concentrated, caling his power. It flowed into Vrema and neutralized what little poison remained in her system. Rak stepped back, fighting his exhaustion. When he could do no more, Vrema lay down in the sweet straw, and Zala lay down beside her, sharing her warmth.
Chapter Two The Price of Freedom
The promise Rak had made to Tebber outweighed his fatigue, so he sought out Lord Hasaviz, Chancelor Virien’s assistant and the palace slave trainer. He found the man in his office, surrounded by piles of ledger books and scrols in complete disarray. The assistant looked up at him as he walked in. “High Priest S’Rak, what do you want?”
Rak came to a stop before the desk. “I wish to purchase Tebber.”
Hasaviz smiled in an oily sort of way. “I thought the Lord of Night didn’t permit slavery. Yet you wish to buy this slave? Why? Planning to indulge yourself now that you’re in a sun land? Planning to inflict the slave fire potions on another and watch them burn?”
“I wil have no servant
who is unwiling.” Rak gazed at the man. “It is easier to buy the slave and then free him myself than to convince you to free him.”
“Ahh, I see,” drawled Hasaviz as he leaned back in his seat. “We obtained him as a child. Since then, we have trained and educated him, as we do al palace slaves. His resale value, on the open market, is around fifty royals.”
Rak puled a purse from a pocket and set it on the center of the table.
“Sixty nomi, and you wil draw up the transfer of property and the manumission papers for me. I desire this to be done properly.”
Hasaviz glanced at the purse but did not lift it from the table. He smirked as he said, “I did not, however, say that Tebber was for sale.”
“What wil it take to convince you? More gold?” Rak’s jaw clenched as he glared at the slave trainer.
Hasaviz tilted his head to one side, regarding the priest with knowing eyes. “No, sixty nomi wil do, provided that you offer one other thing to me.”
Rak’s brow furrowed. “And what would that be?”
Hasaviz’s eyes gleamed with savage interest. “I want you.”
For al the noise about same-sex pairings being unclean, Rak knew them to be common. It wasn’t intercourse that the House of Day ruled against, but long-term relationships between those of the same gender.
The purpose of a long-term partnering was to raise offspring, and same-sex pairings were a reproductive dead end. When it came to simple intercourse, the deities of neither House were opposed.
In human terms, however, such coupling decreased the honor of the one receiving. In the frequent wars of the Riverland Kingdoms, captured soldiers were often put to the pleasure of the victorious. The decrease in the captive’s honor had a corresponding increase in the captor’s. Sex among men was a game of domination. The bottoms in a long-term same-sex pairing were thought to be no better than sex slaves. And in this kingdom, the one being used could be legaly enslaved for it.
Rak balked at Hasaviz’s confidence. The dark priest’s smile was ice cold, but inside he was trembling. “What you ask has been ruled unclean by the House of Day.”
“I’ve named the price, high priest. Palace slaves are not for sale. I was wiling to make an exception for you, but if you’re not interested…” The slave trainer trailed off, watching Rak.
Rak felt the burning in his blood, the fires set in him by the Riverland slavers. He had a physical need for sex that could only be denied for so long. But he was not so desperate that he would lie beneath this man wilingly. The captain had satisfied him in more ways than just the physical —he had treated him like something special. “I think perhaps the king might be wiling to authorize the sale. He might also be interested in knowing about the non-monetary parts of the price you are demanding of me.”
“Perhaps,” drawled Hasaviz with a smirk. “Or perhaps he would be more interested in learning about your past, pet.”
“You seem to think I have something to hide,” observed Rak in the blandest possible tone. The nickname pet sent a cold shiver down his back, causing his wings to tense and tremble. Narvain, now king of Zoth, had caled him that while he’d held Rak’s leash . Rak wondered about the extent of Hasaviz’s knowledge. He would deny it for as long as he could, but where had the slave trainer learned of his past? Was Tebber’s description of the brands so detailed that Hasaviz was able to recognize them? Or was there another source of information?
Do you need help? murmured Scorth into his mind. The dragon’s mental presence calmed him and enabled his wings to stop rustling. Rak considered it a moment, but Scorth was unskiled at picking up the subtle nuances of human speech and the expressions used by nobles. He would be more a liability here. Scorth faded into the background of Rak’s mind, becoming a silent observer.
“Seem? Think?” Hasaviz was saying as Rak finished his internal dialogue. “A priest’s tongue is smooth, but a former sex slave’s has been used for much more. Come back here after the nightly entertainment. You wil fulfil the fee if you want Tebber freed.” Hasaviz was taking his victory for granted.
“Why should I? What proof have you of your claims?” said Rak with a huffed laugh of surprise at the blatant order. “You have a high opinion of yourself.”
“Higher than that of Narvain’s pet,” said Hasaviz. “Would you like him to know of your whereabouts? He has agents here in Koilatha. Perhaps a trip back to Zoth can be arranged for you.”
“Narvain?” Rak sneered. “Neither he nor you can compete with the being I serve now.” The mention of Narvain filed Rak with a sense of dread. He and Tyl had barely survived their escape from that man.
“There are more Gods than your Dark Lord. More powerful ones.”
“A God more powerful than one of the original four? That is impossible. Even your precious Auranz is only Zotien’s equal.”
“More powerful here,” replied Hasaviz, “in a land devoted to the worship of the House of Day. Tread lightly, dark one, for my point stands, and if you do not please me, you wil regret it.” As Rak stared, Hasaviz added, “I say the word, and you are exposed to your father and the court as a sex slave, and your whereabouts wil become known to Narvain.
Isn’t my little price preferable to that? My usage of you wil be discreet.”
“You wil not live long enough to tel anyone about me,” Rak promised, drawing his twin short swords.
“You would risk your mission by committing murder?” The slave trainer’s tone was one of idle curiosity.
“Lord Zotien does not consider kiling slave masters to be murder.”
“But you are not in Zotien’s lands.” Hasaviz stared Rak down, waiting to see if the priest could bring himself to commit a cold-blooded act. “It is considered murder here. My death would be investigated fuly, and you would be uncovered, and then there goes any hope for a trade agreement.
Your mission would fail, and you would face execution yourself.”
The threat of death didn’t disturb Rak, but the thought of failing his mission did. If he kiled this man, the mages would be caled in. The blood tie between murderer and victim couldn’t be erased. He would be accused and tried. The Justicers determined guilt by searching the memories of the accused. They were never mistaken. So his options were limited. He could kil Hasaviz and face the consequences, or flee. In either case, the prince would die, and with it, the Victory Prophecy. Or he could accept the man’s price for silence.
“I would not use you like Narvain used you, pet,” Hasaviz cajoled.
Rak scowled. “Stop caling me that.” The swords found their scabbards and slid home with little clicks. It realy was a non-choice for him. His duty came before his own wants and needs. “You wil sel Tebber to me, as you said?”
“So we have a deal?” Hasaviz asked. “You wil submit to my usage of you?”
“If you sel Tebber, ai,” agreed Rak, shifting his weight from foot to foot, wings rustling against his back.
“Swear it. Give me your oath that you are wiling to let me colar you and use you, that you wil obey me as your master and submit to my discipline fuly.”
“That is a very open-ended oath.”
“I swear that I wil let you go when our training session is over,” said Hasaviz. “Your choice is simple. Submit to me like the slave you are, or be exposed to the entire court. If you’re exposed to the court as an escaped sex slave, and I know your flight from Zoth wasn’t a legal one, your colar wil never come off.”
Rak hissed out a breath. “The paperwork for Tebber first. Then I wil swear your oath.”
“Very wel.” The slave trainer swept Rak’s purse off the table into a drawer. He turned, puled out several scrols and a ledger book, and quickly filed out the forms, referring to the ledger for details. At last he looked over his work and nodded. “Al you must do is sign,” he explained, pointing at the appropriate places.
Rak accepted the offered quil. Not wishing to spend an hour struggling through the foreign text, he signed the documents without reading them closely and pressed his nightstone signet onto the papers. There were four copies of the first document, but five of the second. Hasaviz kept three of each, and Rak took the rest.
Hasaviz set his copies aside. “Now, let’s have that oath.”
“First you swear that you wil not permanently colar me, nor injure my wings, nor disfigure me.”
