THE CHAINED GIFT XI: Resuming the game in Arestinias

Several weeks later Caradhar was riding through the great entrance gates of Aragilias. He was feeling a certain apprehension, after such a long time; from the perspective acquired during the past years, he imagined the huge city as a prison: beautiful, brilliant, yet nothing but a prison. His only consolation was that, in that occasion, he would be a different person, wouldn't have escorts, he could practise the profession he liked and nobody would know he was a gifted.

The last days were spent on getting familiar with his role as alchemist apprentice from Misselas. The Shadow had done his best to inform his protégé about everything he needed to be familiar with, and some things that had happened in his absence.

'First,' the spy had started, 'we'll have to stuff your face. As you're now, even a kid could give you a good thrashing. We'll train with the sword as well to loosen up your muscles... if they're still there. You never know when you'll need some 'steel diplomacy'... I rather trust a blade than words. By the way: red eyes, red hair... Too eye-catching, and you aren't certainly new in the city. We'll dye it. From now on, you'll be dark-haired, like me. Such a pity, huh?'

'House Arestinias isn't as safe as Elore'il, nor even like Llia'res. I had the chance to check myself. Lady Neskahal should have looked for a partner and ally, instead of being swept along by pride and rule the House alone. Now, she isn't much more than a bitch in heat, and has almost no-one to trust, 'cause she and her advisers are very suspicious of one another. Me, I don't blame them: had I ever seen my colleagues falling like flies, I wouldn't be tempted of advising much, either...'

'Once inside the House, keep your eyes peeled and your ears to the ground, but don't overdo it. You're a foreigner and everyone will distrust you. I'll have your back as much as I can, but there will be places and moments in which I won't be able to give you a hand. As pathetic as their Shadow may be, I'll have to take my time to dodge them... Be a good boy and keep yourself away from sharp stuff: if anyone discovers that you have the Gift, some genius will put two and two together and we'll be in real trouble. Use dark clothes and gloves as often as you...'

'What's your name?' suddenly interrupted Caradhar.

'...'

'Will I have to call you 'Shadow' forever?'

'... Sül.'

'... Easy to remember.'

'My neidokesh... my master didn't want to make his life difficult.'

'Your master named you?'

'To my knowledge... My master took care of every single aspect of my life. Except, maybe, whelping me or fucking my mother, whoever she was. His only regret ever was not having a son of his own to bear his name among the Darshi'nai; that's why he adopted me. A Shadow's child belong to the Shadow: my chain's heavier than you can imagine.'

Caradhar stopped reminiscing once he found himself in front of the side door of House Arestinias. A guard guided him to a waiting room, together with his meagre belongings, where he was received later by one of the assistant alchemists, to whom he showed his certificate and his letter of introduction with his new name, Eitheladhar.

After suffering, for hours, the long course of bureaucracy, the new alchemist apprentice of House Arestinias got, that night, a bed in a common bedroom to sleep and a space to leave his stuff; no comfort at all, but it would have to suffice.

His first assignment was an auxiliary laboratory. During the following days, the young elf had to carry out the most unrewarding and tedious tasks, those entrusted to the inexperienced members: cleaning, tidying, stocking and moving materials... A good number of nights he had to remain awake until dawn, monitoring the brewing and distillation processes of certain formulas. The next mornings he used to have problems to stay focused, victim of tiredness, yet he always undertook his new task efficiently and without complaining. He missed his small refuge at Therendanar, but felt relieved for being back to civilisation as he knew it, although he didn't want to admit it.

He made his best to keep, as recommended, his eyes open, but without forcing his chances. It didn't take him long to show he knew perfectly what he was doing and was qualified to be much more than a delivery boy; unfortunately for him, the master alchemist who ran his laboratory was unwilling to lose the most diligent of his apprentices and send him to the main one.

Luck shone upon him in the most peculiar way; when his master's personal assistant, a female elf with languid eyes and seductive lips, started to lavish her smiles on Caradhar too often, the master alchemist, who had pretensions of exclusive domain over the young lady, decided it was time to send the Misselan novice to new destinations.

That meant, also, that he would be able to use a tiny, but private bedroom. Once he could finally contact the Shadow and tell him how things went, Sül laughed so loud that he had to cram a glove into his mouth to prevent noise.

The Grand Laboratory of Arestinias wasn't as well equipped as Elore'il's, but had undoubtedly more staff and frantic activity; he wondered why. Of course, the tasks he performed were more or less the same; he had no information about the type of experiments that were conducted at the moment, and couldn't have a quick glance at any unattended notebook. Every night, the laboratory and the Grand Alchemist's chambers remained guarded. He knew the acquisition of standing was a years-long effort; he decided to keep being cautious and avoiding inappropriate questions.

The alchemist taking care of him was Raisven, a middle-aged elf, not very talkative, whose only interest was alchemy. She wasn't brilliant, but was conscientious and observant in her work. Caradhar had unsuccessfully tried to raise the issue of Ummankor; Raisven never encouraged inopportune chat.

He could see the Grand Alchemist passing by one night, while watching over a distillation with Raisven; the doors of the laboratory opened and an elf advanced in age, surrounded by several assistants whispering around him, rushed into the place and walked straight to the office at the back, without bothering to look around. Raisven bowed her head as he passed and nudged Caradhar to do the same; he obeyed, but also took a good look at the important character and pricked up his ear; a vain task, since they closed the heavy doors behind them.

Several days later, in broad daylight this time, the laboratory doors opened wide again to allow the entrance of an eminent personality; however, in this occasion they all dropped what they were doing and awaited, with their most respectful bows, for the visitor to cross the hall, escorted with equal courtesy by the Grand Alchemist himself. This was Lady Neskahal, the Maeda of Arestinias.

Caradhar hadn't had the chance to meet her so far, but he had recognised her thanks to the description provided by Sül. She was short, yet her leonine mane of reddish-brown curls, spreading like an aureole around an ostentatious amethyst tiara, made her look taller and imposing; her bright eyes were the colour of aquamarines and her small, fleshy mouth was heart-shaped thanks to the lipstick. She could undoubtedly be considered pretty and voluptuous, and the purple dress that trapped her curves was so tight-fitting that it was impossible not to discern what the fabric was concealing.

Unlike her guide, the Maeda seemed to be interested in the activity developed there, and as she walked, she looked around her. She shut herself up in the office for the time that Raisven's experiment took to reach its boiling point; then she went out again and calmly walked along the laboratory, followed by her escort. The gifted elf saw, out of the corner of his eye, how the alchemists bowed to her as she approached them and then continued their jobs. As she went close to him, he did the same; although, to his surprise, she stopped for a moment.

'I am sure I never saw you before... Are you new?' she asked, smiling.

'With your permission, Your Excellence, his name is Eitheladhar and he is an apprentice from Misselas,' Raisven answered for him, with a bow. 'He is in my charge and I vouch for him not to bring dishonour to the House,' she added, using a traditional standard expression.

'Yes, yes...' The Maeda continued her scrutiny for a few moments; then she observed, with nonchalance: 'I expect it to be as you said.'

As she walked away, at their backs could be heard the whisperings of two alchemists: the clearly pronounced the words 'fresh meat'. Raisven turned around and told them to be quiet with a harsh voice; then she cast a stern, full of meaning glance at the young elf.

The alchemist's fear didn't take long to happen: that very night, one of the Maeda's stewards arrived to the alchemist apprentice's little room and informed him that she was summoning him to her presence. Caradhar tilted his head and seemed a little hesitant for some seconds; he had the intuition that the Shadow was listening. He wasn't sure about if that summoning was good or bad, but had no choice either, so he followed the steward without a word.

He was guided to a distant part of the House, crossing an open area, like a peristyle. It rained heavily, and despite they stayed under cover, the cold was intense. The steward led him into a stone-paved room, with a big enamel low bathtub, full of steaming water, besides a brazier, a basket full of bath tools, and a marble bench covered with satin fabrics and cushions. The upper part of the back wall had a curious fretwork design, like a lattice, and remained in the shadow. Caradhar went close to the brazier for warmth, but when he considered the bathtub and all the rest he frowned and peeked at the dark lattice on the wall.

A young female elf, wearing a white tunic girded by a silk belt, entered the room and bowed her head to the gifted.

'Lady Neskahal sends me to assist you during your bath.'

This said, she reached for his cloths to start undressing the amazed elf. He took a step back; he was no naive, and had a clear idea about the reason why he had been called, but years had made him become suspicious.

'I can do it alone.'

'Milady has been very specific about it: you must allow me to take care of it, or she will be deeply upset. We don't wish to upset the Maeda,' stated the girl, with her high-pithed and slightly nervous voice, starting to strip Caradhar and pushing him later to the bathtub.

The enamel container was wide enough, yet so low that barely offered any consideration to modesty. The higher part, designed to rest the back, faced the lattice wall. Caradhar thanked the hot water on his skin, after suffering the cold weather outside, but felt uncomfortable: it was the first time somebody helped him in the bath. Moreover, he was worried about how much water his died hair could resist before diluting. The elf maid knelt besides him, grabbed a cotton cloth and a jar full of aromatic soap paste; she motioned to untie his hair and lather it, but he leaned back, covering his head with his hands.

'No! I... will do it.'

The female elf lowered her eyes and started to soap the gifted's body. Water soaked her white tunic, adhering it to her skin; she wasn't wearing anything else under it. The pink areolas of her small breasts became visible through the transparent fabric. Caradhar couldn't help but gazing at them... And as he did, her hands moved down to his belly and softly brushed his sex with the cotton cloth. His first impulse was putting his bent legs together, but the maid made him separate them again to soap his inner thighs; on doing so, he openly revealed an erection. She blushed and bit her lower lip, to hide her smile and embarrassment. She finished rubbing his skin, poured clear water over him and made him stand up, proceeding to dry him with linen fabric and wrap him in a bath tunic. Then she led him to the entrance of the adjoining room, separated by several layers of coloured chiffon and bead curtains, and told him to go inside.

Caradhar pushed the curtains aside, with a tinkling sound, and entered the chamber. It was softly lit up with oil lamps, with braziers in every corner, and covered with carpets and tapestries to keep the warmth. On the wall that divided the two rooms, hidden by a curtain, he made out the lattice that had caught his attention in the bathing room. But undoubtedly, the most striking piece of the collection was the big bed without adornments, a flat, springy-looking surface covered with silks and furs, and on it, Lady Neskahal's lying body. Her mane was loose over her shoulders, and an extremely thin chiffon dress girded by a sash that pushed her breasts up, her white flesh overflowing the light fabric wrapping. She stared at him, with her eyebrows slightly arched, until he recovered his composure and bowed deeply. She smiled, satisfied with the effect she had caused.

'I hope you enjoyed your bath as much as I did.' She giggled. 'Your name is... Eitheladhar, isn't it? Come, I want to have a close look at you.'

The elf fulfilled her request; to his back, he heard the sound of closing doors. He reached the bed and the lady crawled towards him, kneeling on the edge of the soft mattress. She reached for his waist and, on doing so, her arms, pressed to her sides, trapped and pushed her exuberant breasts, displaying them even more. Without ceremony, she untied his tunic belt and dropped it on the floor. The aquamarine eyes were fixed right away on Caradhar's member, excited again, and then wandered around his slender, perfect-skinned body. With feline smile, she put her small hand with long, lacquered nails on his erection.

'I like you... And I appreciate you're not shy.' Her playful fingers wouldn't stop going up and down. 'I understand you're a reliable and very obedient young elf; well then...' She moved even closer and made him bend to whisper to his ear: 'Your orders tonight are making me scream of pleasure... Do you think you will be able to comply?'

Caradhar swallowed hard. Since his volunteer exile in Therendanar he hadn't share a bed with anyone; he needed all his willpower not to succumb at once to her caresses.

'What do you request from me, My Lady?' he asked, tensely. 'To be gentle with you, or to make you cry for real?'

'My, my... Aren't we pretentious?' she laughed. 'Let's see, indeed, how you pretend to do that...'

She slightly grabbed his testicles with a hand; he pursed his lips, drew her towards him and unfastened the sash with a rough pull; he released violently her white bosoms and pushed them together, his expert tongue sliding along the soft flesh. Then he pushed Neskahal down on the bed and fixed his eyes on hers while tearing the fabric of the chiffon dress from the top to the bottom, exposed skin against skin, his bulging sex pressing her entrance. Right there he placed his lips, making her spread the legs; and once he had the female elf moaning with pleasure, the gifted turned her onto her stomach, pulled her hips and, breathing heavily, prepared himself to enter her.

The view of that quivering body under him brought back a memory: an image of past nights, years ago, the last time he had had a female bed partner... He visualised a body with soft curves, gently moaning under him; and the scene changed, turning into red blood on white fabric, and a newborn creature...Caradhar froze for an instant; he became afraid.

His companion was about to complain for the sudden change of pace, when he submerged his fingers into the warm moisture of her excited sex, and later slipped them to the hidden bud between her buttocks, where they joined his tongue. She started to moan again until she felt him making his way through the rear entrance of her body.

'What are you...? Ah! Ah! Aaaah...!'

'Congratulations: you made the bitch cry indeed...'

This was the ironical greeting that Caradhar got when he returned, hours later, to his room, in a state in which excitement disguised tiredness. The Shadow, his hood over his eyes, was indolently lying on the bed, in contrast to his usual alertness.

He had heard the steward calling his protégé; he had followed them through places already familiar to him; he had managed to witness, with glee, the scene of his bath; he hadn't been as daring (or skilled) as to slip into the adjacent room, but had been able to hear; and what had started as yet another episode in the gifted's bed, fun, even exciting, had turned into discomfort, and then malaise, until the spy hadn't been able to stand it any more and had left.

'Several weeks here and you're already sticking it into the Maeda. I wonder how you do it. Though you should've surely begun with the Grand Alchemist, not to fall out of the habit...'

There was bitterness in his voice, and even someone like Caradhar couldn't but notice it. He sat down besides him, pulled his hood off to uncover his face and stared at him with calm; maybe, just maybe, also with a very slight frown.

'It must be true what the say, about gifted elves smelling so nice that everyone wants to shag them...' added Sül, his lips twisted in a cynical smile.

'I don't know.' Caradhar approached the spy slowly, imperturbable, until their faces were two inches away. 'Do you want to confirm it?'

Sül shivered upon listening those few words; his smile disappeared. He was so close that he could perceive his scent, and resisting was almost painful. He felt tempted of removing his gloves and stretching out his hand, enjoying the tact of that perfect skin under his fingertips... But fear took over his will. Without saying anything, he slipped outside the room.




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