Gaven, p.1
Gaven, page 1
Gaven
J. C. Owens
Gaven
Copyright © August 2009 by J. C. Owens
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ISBN 978-1-59632-955-3
Available in PDF, HTML, Microsoft Reader, and Mobipocket
Editor: Judith David
Cover Artist: Anne Cain
Printed in the United States of America
Published by
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This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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About this Title
Genre: LGBT Fantasy Paranormal
When the Masarians attack Gaven’s people, they are defeated and Gaven himself is taken captive. By a man claiming to be his father. It turns out his entire life has been a lie, and now his ‘father’ will give him into the hands of another man to indoctrinate and train him. Gaven vows he will never shame his people by giving into the Masarians’ way of loving other men.
But Vlar, the legendary warrior to whom he has been given, has other plans. The blood-drinker is determined to have Gaven and to make him yield.
Publisher’s Note: This book contains explicit sexual content, graphic language, and situations that some readers may find objectionable: Anal play/intercourse, dubious consent, male/male sexual practices, violence, voyeurism.
Chapter One
I woke with a start, gasping as blood ran into my eye, stinging fiercely. I tried to move, tried to bring up a hand to wipe the pain away, but agony stole the breath from my body and I could but lie there, my senses gradually stirring, remembering horror.
The smell of burned wood filled my nostrils, along with more sinister scents: blood, singed flesh, and the stink of entrails. I managed to turn my head, blinking frantically to clear my sight, and my eyes widened. Blank eyes stared back at me; lips that had smiled but hours before stretched in pained rictus.
Grunting with effort, I managed to roll to my side, almost blacking out as the pain crashed over me in waves. One arm would not move and the pulsing agony told me it was most probably broken. I worked my way closer, then raised my right hand and pressed trembling fingers against the still face.
“Micael…” The word shook with emotion and I fought back unmanly tears. The skin was cold already, a sign of how long I had been unconscious. I closed eyes that now stung with tears instead of blood, and fought to retain thought, retain sanity.
Now was not the time; grief was for later. Now was for returning to the defense of our lord. I managed to make it to my knees, swaying, then blearily saw my sword a short distance away. I half crawled to it, my fingers closing around the hilt with difficulty.
A booted foot smashed down, wrenching the weapon out of my weak grasp and slamming it flat against the ground.
My gaze flew up; then I swallowed with difficulty as a sword point came to rest at my throat, the tip pressing into tender flesh.
Cold green eyes met mine through his helm and I faintly recognized the second in command of the invading force, the very man I had earlier so unwisely engaged in battle, the one who had looked at me with surprise; then with something that had bordered on recognition. He had laughed then and his blow had not been to my body as I would have expected, but first to my arm, then clipping me above the ear, sending me into confused darkness—
Now he stood above me, and I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, waiting for the thrust, waiting for blessed death. If he was here now, then we had lost…all was lost.
His low laugh made my eyes fly open as the sword was withdrawn.
“Brave boy, just like your father. I expected that.”
I stared at him blankly, cradling my broken arm against my chest, breath heaving with both pain and adrenaline.
“Get up.”
I rose on shaking legs, almost fell as my head spun, but steadied myself with sheer determination. Damned if I would show weakness in front of this enemy.
I raised my chin without thought as I faced him and he laughed again, making me shudder. He seemed quite mad, but then were not all Masarians crazy?
I cast a quick look around us, my jaw clenching as I realized the battle—if battle it could have been called—was over. Those I saw standing were Masarian; all my comrades lay dead, the toll staggering. Toward the keep itself, the dead lay in piles where they had given their last breath to defend their lord. I saw his blue armor half lying beneath his men and gritted my teeth to forestall the sound of grief that wanted to pass my lips.
I turned eyes dark with hate upon my captor.
A small smile hovered on his lips, and the sword prodded my shoulder, forcing me to turn.
“Walk.” The order was harsh, the sword poking between my shoulder blades. I stumbled ahead, darkness around the edges of my consciousness, jaw clenched against the jarring motion that made red pain flare from the arm. My gorge rose as I stepped over men I had shared feast with last night, men I had lived with all my life. Their eyes stared, bodies stiff in the positions of agony in which they had died. Blood dried upon them, flies already buzzing about their wounds, their faces… I swallowed hard, scarcely able to form complete thoughts as to how this could have happened, or even why I still lived.
We passed through the shattered gates at last, and I was almost glad; the wind blew the smells away, the breeze cool upon my heated skin. My nausea subsided some small degree, though fear rose in its place. Nowhere could I see a survivor, only the conquerors. They were gathering useable weapons and in places I could see them bringing out cartloads of possessions from the keep itself. I saw the great bed of my lord and turned away, biting my lip hard, then harder, as it refused to stop shaking.
At last we reached the edge of the Masarian encampment, far beyond the reach of our sling weapons. We passed through the temporary gates, and I shivered with revulsion as the press of Masarian warriors increased. They stared at me with curiosity. Several hurled questions at my captor, but he only answered with grunts that discouraged further conversation and prodded me faster.
My anger grew; part of the shock perhaps, and I desperately wanted to turn and confront him, to precipitate my death that was sure to be the result of this anyway.
“Do not be stupid, pup.” The rumble of his voice chilled me utterly, as though he read my mind. “I would not kill you anyway, and it would only be humiliation. For this time at least, be sensible.”
I flung a crude word at him, bitter bile in my throat, but he only chuckled and steered me toward a large tent at the center of the assembled pavilions. Two guards at the entrance raised their brows at our approach, but wisely asked no questions, only held aside the flaps of the tent. I hesitated at the threshold, but a hand pushed me within, so I half stumbled, blind in the sudden dimness. I blinked as my eyes adjusted, aware only of rich carpets beneath my feet, my boots sinking into luxurious thickness.
A man rose from where he had been sitting with several others and leisurely made his way to us. The conversations of the others stopped as they watched his progress, their eyes fastening on me.
He was tall, this one, broad shouldered, slim hipped, well balanced on his feet. The epitome of a warrior. Long, dark hair lay in a warrior’s braid down his back. One hand casually lay on the hilt of his sword—a part of him—the long fingers unconsciously caressing the wrapped leather, the ornate metal. His eyes…I swallowed and looked down against my will. This one was leader to the very heart of him; the cold fire in those blue eyes was terrifying in its strength, the vivid coloration making them seem like blue flame.
I fought to retain courage.
“So this is he?” The voice held amusement and a certain amount of anticipation that both confused me and terrified me further. A hand came and lifted my chin up so that I had no choice but to face him.
His eyes searched my face, feature by bloody feature, and I found myself shrinking back away from him, brought up short by the body of my captor.
“I recognized him at the last moment, or you would have had a burial rather than a reunion.” The voice was cool but amused.
The blue eyes flicked to him, a smile curving on the lips. “My thanks, Vlar; I would have been less than pleased had I lost him.”
The sharp gaze returned to m
“Your name, boy?”
My lips thinned and I flung up my head defiantly. “It is of no importance. Kill me and be done.”
One brow rose, the intense eyes narrowing, and I met him look for look, daring him.
Vlar laughed at the shocked looks of the other men. “Blood tells true. If nothing else, he has courage. Not much sense, but courage all the same.”
The man before me never changed his expression, his fingers slowly tightening until my eyes flickered shut with the pain. “Do not cross me, boy,” he whispered softly. “You will show respect, if never love.”
The words made no sense to me at all. I could only try to endure the pain as best possible, for I would not ask for mercy. It was well known the Masarians had none.
“Andar, see to his wounds.” The terrible grip left me and I opened my eyes to see my tormenter walking back to the table. One of the men there rose and approached me, and I found myself trembling with reaction.
Andar seemed kind enough; he took my shoulder and steered me to a chair. “Sit, boy; let me see that arm.” The note of concern was almost my undoing. The trembling increased, and it was all I could do to make it to the chair. I hesitated when I saw its splendor, and Andar looked at me questioningly.
I waved vaguely at the chair. “I am covered in blood and filth…perhaps the floor…” His look conveyed disbelief, but it seemed important to me, somehow, not to destroy the chair. It was very beautiful and not for the likes of me.
Vlar appeared with oilskin in hand and draped it over the furniture in question. I sank down on it with a sigh of utter relief. I was not entirely sure how much longer I could have held myself up; my legs seemed frighteningly weak, unable to support me further.
I swallowed a protest as Andar cut my bloodstained shirt from me. It was one of only two I possessed, and it had been a gift from Micael… I thrust that thought aside with haste and focused on Andar’s face as he probed the cut above my ear, then my arm. His serious brown eyes rose to mine. “The cut will need stitches, but it is the arm that I worry for. It is a bad break and will have to be set.”
I paled but nodded with grim determination. What must be must be.
He rummaged in an ornate box that one of the servants brought forth and withdrew a thick piece of leather. I took it in shaking fingers and set it between my teeth.
I stiffened as Vlar’s arms came around me from behind, holding the arm out as Andar supported the wrist and forearm. Sweat beaded on my brow, and I could not determine whether it was the product of pain or the touch of my most hated enemy.
“Be brave, little one.” The whisper stirred the hair by my ear, and I shuddered in reaction…just as Andar yanked on the arm. I cried out…or did I only whimper? As I slid limply off the chair and down into Vlar’s arms, I took his smirk with me into darkness…
I woke the second time to disorientation and movement. For the longest time I could not imagine where I was. I stared up into the blue sky, feeling the jolting motion beneath me, unable to gather my thoughts to any degree. In the end it was the pounding headache and restriction of my bound arm that made the memories come.
I sat up with a jerk then, swearing under my breath as my vision spun and the movement jarred my arm, sending jolts of pain along the nerves. I could not focus on anything but that pain for long moments, then that hated voice came to me, close enough to make me flinch away.
“Awake already? Andar said you would be out for the day.”
My entire body went rigid, intensifying the pain, and I looked then at Vlar in frigid silence where he rode beside the cart. Only then did I realize that the army was on the move—and me with it.
I rolled to my knees, looking back along our trail with a kind of desperation, then shot a look at my nemesis. “I have to bury them. You cannot just leave them there…”
He shrugged wide shoulders. “We have left a force to man the fortress. They will bury them, no doubt. Do not worry.”
I stared at him in speechless fury, horrified at the thought of hostile hands carelessly rolling Micael into an unmarked grave. Without further thought, I rolled over the side of the cart, hit the dirt and almost staggered under the horse being ridden by one of the soldiers. The man swore at me as the horse reared and several others shied at my sudden appearance, but I paid attention to none of them. I ducked under the rearing one, narrowly missed getting kicked by two more, then with the dust swirling up and covering my presence, I reached up with my good arm and yanked another rider off his horse before he could even react.
My usual leap was awkward with only one arm, but I managed and laid heels to the horse, praying it was fast. The animal leaped with startled fervor, and I rode into the nearby trees, ignoring the shouts in my wake. I rode bent low to the horse’s neck, clutching the reins with my good hand, cursing the weak grip of the other. Fortunately the animal seemed war-trained and responded as much to heel and voice as to the bit. I wove through the trees at top speed. Often had Micael and I done this very thing in competitive spirit, but that thought brought only pain now, not pleasure. I spoke to the horse and his ears flickered, responding to my encouragement.
We burst through the trees into a clearing and I urged the animal on until we were flying, barely slowing at we re-entered the trees on the opposite side. I vaguely recognized the area, and when we came upon the road, I turned sharply and urged the horse faster.
The hooves drummed upon the hard-packed surface, and I turned my head to look over my shoulder. No one.
I could scarce believe that I had made my escape so easily, but I did not dwell upon the thought—only that I must return, do right by all those who had died.
Smoke rose before me in the distance, and I laid hard heels to the poor horse, for once not caring of an animal’s suffering.
By the time I reached the shattered gates some long time later, the poor thing was heaving for breath, and I drew it to a staggering halt within, both of us choking from the smoke that obscured most everything.
Nearby Masarians clearing away debris stared at me questioningly, but I ignored them.
I flung a leg over the horse’s neck and slid to the ground. The animal remained there, head down, foam covering its neck and flanks. I put one hand over my nose, coughing, trying to see far enough to gain knowledge of my surroundings. I stumbled over bodies, gorge rising in my throat, but I sought one in particular, one who had held my love…
I found him at last and sank to my knees at his side, tears rising as I stroked his cheek, managed to close the staring eyes.
I know not how much time passed as I grieved, but at last I rose to my feet, wiping my eyes and set about trying to find something to dig Micael’s grave. I found little, both from the problem of burning eyes in the smoke and the fact that the place had been stripped bare. I finally came upon a broken shovel by what had been the swine pens, and I staggered back to my friend.
My poor efforts were hampered by both my arm and the fact I had to stop to cough harshly every few moments. I could only dig from a kneeling position because of the shortness of the broken handle. When at last I had a shallow pit, I carefully rolled Micael into the depression and tried to arrange his body into a more peaceful pose. I covered his face with cloth torn from a nearby body, but even then it took all my remaining strength of will to begin to cover that beloved form with dirt, to admit that this was true, not some sort of horrible nightmare.
When at last I had finished, I lay upon the fresh-turned soil with despair and exhaustion in equal measure.
“Are you done now? Can we continue our travels with less hysteria and more sense from this point?”
I froze, then slowly rolled to my back, and I knew that disbelief must be large in my expression.
Vlar leaned against a nearby wall, arms crossed over his broad chest. He met my eyes squarely.
“Did you think to leave my care so easily, young one? I think not. I have waited patiently whilst you did your duty; now it is time to return to the others.”
I looked behind him, but my stolen horse stood alone.
