'It
is a very remarkable substance, I must say... And where did you say
you got it?'
Echoing
off the wet and gloomy walls of the fetid laboratory, the voice
sounded even more disturbing. Very few elves, and definitely no
non-practitioners, frequented the Grand Laboratory at the Prince of
Therendanar's castle and its annexed rooms; and yet Caradhar felt
comfortable inside those walls. And with that human.
Master
Jaexias was as disturbing as his voice: small, a bit stooped, was
impossibly slim, and his greyish skin seemed to be attached right to
his decrepit skeleton. Not a single hair covered his body, and under
the scalped skull, two unpleasant watery blue-coloured eyes stared at
the world without a couple of eyebrows crowning them. But it was that
booming voice, coming out of his throat like a draught from the
underworld, what unsettled people the most when they first met him.
The
alchemist had barely changed in all those years since Caradhar, as a
kid, had visited the lab for the first time with the apprentices of
his former House. Considering elves' longevity, the fact would have
astonished anyone: such was the power of the formulas that extended
the adepts' lives. Almost every alchemist consumed them, clinging to
an existence that might lead them to further discoveries. As a result
of that unnatural lengthening of their life cycles, they usually had
the appearance of animated corpses; but it was a price they were
willing to pay, even if it turned them into forced hermits. Master
Jaexias was so old that most of people had forgotten his real name
(sometimes, himself included). Almost everyone just addressed him as
Old Fox.
Caradhar
didn't know him under another name, and in the limited occasions in
which he could visit the city, he used to spend as much time as
possible with him. It was a weird relationship: the elf tried to
learn as much human alchemy as possible, and that adept inspired him
trust and respect; as for the old alchemist, at start attracted to
the perspective of studying an elf with the Gift, shifted from merely
tolerating the boy to adopting him and appreciating his company, in a
way beyond his own understanding. And since he didn't feel
uncomfortable in the gloomy and foul place, spoke little and his
character was calm and unbiased, the elf didn't get on his nerves
like most of the other young apprentices that, more and more rarely,
he admitted under his tutelage.
Due
to all of this, it wasn't strange that Caradhar, making the most of
his leave, escaped to Therendanar and found himself sitting besides
his old acquaintance. On the table, between them, there was a tiny
wooden box with a sample of the substance found in Ummankor; and its
origin had aroused the alchemist's curiosity.
'I
didn't say,' thus answered Caradhar. He looked at the contains of the
box, a thin layer of small silver grey flakes. The alchemist examined
the young elf, in turn, his eyes fix on him from the depth of his
sunken sockets, but didn't insist.
'Let's
see what happens if...'
The
old man took a pinch of the flakes, almost as light as dust, with his
gloved hand, spread them on a tray over a tripod and put it over a
flame. He grumbled, and an apprentice entered the room; his face, the
spitting image of resignation. To his master's signal, he approached
the table; spirals of smoke arose from the fire, wafting up to the
assistant's face. He experienced a curious change upon inhaling it:
his body froze, his limbs became rigid, his gaze turned blank. Right
away he relaxed slightly, but there he stood, not moving and in
silence.
Caradhar
watched him with interest, and when he turned to the old man he
noticed that he had kept the distance and had covered the lower part
of his face with some kind of heavy cloth mask. Emitting some
approval grunts and muttering under his breath, Old Fox placed a bell
jar over the tripod. The apprentice came back to his senses, as
awakening from deep slumber.
'May
I be of any help, master?' he asked, puzzled.
'Ah,
no worries, it's nothing, you may leave, what a bad memory I have...
But you have been very useful, I must say...' The alchemist dismissed
him with a wave of his bony hand, focussing his attention on the
glass bubble. His apprentice left in bewilderment, but notoriously
relieved at keeping all his body parts intact.
'It's
very volatile, oh, yes, it is,' said the old man, more to himself
than to his companion. 'It reacts to fire, but I bet you can use a
liquid base as well; that assistant might not have the most brilliant
brain around, but being fair, he doesn't use to behave as your
average village idiot... This proves how strong the substance is, oh,
yes. I wonder which uses it might have,' he asked, expectantly
looking at Caradhar.
'I
don't know yet. I'll try to find out. Thanks, Old Fox,' answered the
elf.
Then
he took the little box, lifted the bell jar, threw the tray to the
fire (much to the old man's disappointment) and left.
What
a boy... He won't even bother to think of excuses. Sharp as a knife,
oh, yes, Master
Jaexias, a.k.a. Old Fox, thought. Very
skilled, as well. He wasn't affected by the smoke at all, not even
when he removed the glass. I wonder..
***
As
they had planned from the start, the elf headed then to his mother's
secret place in the Ditch. She received him with a reproachful look.
'I
am pleased you condescended to appear... You should know that, for
someone like you, leaving the House is very restricted. It will be
complicated to justify your absence; and what for? For you to run to
your... human friends.'
The
lady's tone was harsh. Caradhar imagined that was her way of
reproaching him for Nestro's death, even though she believed he had
had no choice. Her allies at her husband's domains were rare, and he
knew it. Lord Killien used to take pleasure in upsetting a wife that
was starting to be expendable.
The
young elf weighted up the situation and decided that she will keep
ignoring the truth about the weapon master's execution. He also
intended to find out as much as possible about the Maede's abilities;
so, during the days he spent at his mother's refuge he asked as many
questions as he could think of. He couldn't get many things clear,
and understood that Lord Killien only shared his secrets with the
Grand Alchemist: the laboratory was still the main target of his
future efforts.
During
the first night, while Caradhar pondered in the darkness of his
bedroom, a soft noise drew his attention to the door, which opened
slowly. A female silhouette appeared, outlined over the threshold.
The elf's first thought was of Corail, and he motioned to reach the
candlestick besides his bed to light it up; the silhouette rushed
towards him, placing a small hand over his to stop him. He finally
recognised her as his mother's young servant.
'Hello.
I don't know your name,' said the male elf, without a reply. His
eyes, already accustomed to the darkness, scrutinised his silent
companion. She kept her gaze lowered for a moment; then she moved her
hand to her mouth and shook her head. 'Can't you talk?' New silence,
during which she moved her hand again, this time over her throat.
'Ah, you are a mute.' She nodded shyly. 'What do you want from me?'
The
female elf, after some hesitation, untied the cords that fastened her
light tunic, and got rid of it. She wasn't wearing anything else, and
in the semi-darkness, Caradhar's eyes ran across his partner's bare
skin: a small body, yet with harmonious lines, bathed by the dim
moonlight. He remained silent, motionless; she wavered at his lack of
initiative. Moving with caution, as if she feared of being rejected,
she sat astride his stretched legs, lifting her hands to release his
long mane over his shoulders. In doing so, her small and firm breasts
rose, their round shape outlined against the light. Caradhar's hands
moved, almost out of their own initiative, to fondle that soft flesh
displayed in front of him; hands that later, a bit less gently,
slipped down the girl's back and grasped her buttocks, drawing her to
himself.
That
was an incentive to his stay at the Ditch. She was a nice companion,
beautiful and obedient: no more, and no less than expected. And he
enjoyed her every night until his departure.
***
On
his arrival to Elore'il, Caradhar ran into some bustle at the
entrance: an expedition returning to the House. He decided to take
advantage of the crowd to sneak into the building unnoticed, but he
stopped when he saw a figure, exhibiting the Grand Alchemist's coat
of arms on his travel clothes, getting out of the carriage they were
escorting; a hood hid his features. The gifted turned to one of the
servants that had appeared to pry.
'Is
that the Grand Alchemist?'
The
questioned elf looked at the young one with disdain.
'Well,
of course not. Everybody knows the Grand Alchemist never leaves the
House. That's the main assistant.'
The
important character pulled his hood off, and when Caradhar had a look
at him, his expression froze. And maybe it was the sensation of that
gaze steadily fixed on him, but the truth is that the assistant's
eyes met the red-haired elf's ones. A sparkle of recognition shone in
them after a while, and a nasty smile curved the left corner of his
mouth.
With
regard to Caradhar, he didn't need to make any effort to remember,
since he had immediately recognised Darial's face; the influential
alchemist whose infatuation
had given his access to the laboratories of Lia'res and Therendanar.
During
the next days, the young elf checked with frustration that his
position in the House had somehow changed; to begin with, he could
barely walk ten steps without having a guard watching his movements.
True, the gifted were too valuable to be allowed to wander free, but
if his abilities were so appreciated by Lord Killien, how comes he
never summoned him to his presence? He wouldn't have the chance to
study the Maede is he was deliberately left aside.
Furthermore,
meeting Darial caused him uneasiness. He had tried to pass unnoticed
since he saw him, to avoid any accidental encounter, but he was
feared that he could knock on his door at any time. After three days
without incidents, he lowered his guard: maybe it was his imagination
and Darial hadn't recognised him; maybe he didn't care at all, after
such a long time...
Caradhar
decided then to do his best in a long and late weapon training
session. Despite elves preferred light swords and were famous among
humans for their skilled two-weapon fighting style, with two long
blades or a long and a short one, the young gifted insisted on using
a bastard sword that he barely could hold with one hand. His slow and
graceless movements aroused smirks among his companions, that he
ignored. The only thing he knew was that dealing blows to exhaustion
would make him feel better.
When
he headed to the baths, everything was silent. He kicked his boots
off and removed his padded shirt and walked towards one of the stone
tubs. Water was just warm but he didn't seem to care. As he leant
over the stone edge, he saw his reflection: expressionless features,
as usual, but softened by the relief of not having being forced to
face a certain ghost of his past...
Rejecting
those thoughts, the elf immersed his head into the tub for a
considerable time. In emerging abruptly, his red hair got scattered
over his back, splashing water in all directions. A snort made him
turn around at once: there, caught by surprise by the sudden shower,
was him.
The
Ghost.
Darial
was a tall elf of slender build; his face, framed by long blond hair,
was attractive, but the whole picture was distorted by a cruel mouth
whose lips were too thin, like a slit across a square chin. To
Caradhar's eyes he hadn't changed one jot since the time he met him
at Llia'res; those days, pushed into a dark corner of his memory,
were now vividly back due to Darial's devious yellow eyes.
'Who
would believe... But let me look at you.' Showing the most depraved
smile, the blond elf reached to hold Caradhar's chin, with his long
and thin fingers, while his eyes ran across his whole anatomy.
Cornering his prey against the wall, his arms blocking his escape to
either way, he leant forwards and whispered to his ear: 'Aren't you
happy to see me again? Oh, you are not a child anymore, but you did
not lose your charm... Not at all... I bet you never forgot me...'
His right foot pushed between Caradhar's ones, forcing him to spread
his legs. 'Won't you look at me, Adhar?' he asked, placing his right
hand back on his face, his index finger following the line of his
jaw, then up to his lips, slowly sliding between and opening them, so
close to his own, a mere inch away. His left hand, though, invaded
the space that was now open between his legs and remained there,
roughly searching for his entrance. 'Look at me,' he repeated, both
their breaths mixing. Caradhar's eyes, gazing into space so far,
coldly met Darial's. The intrusive hand intensified its attack and
the gifted did everything he could to suppress a whine.
Some
noise coming from the corridor forced the hunter to release his prey,
cursing in a low voice. A couple of guards came into the baths,
taking a glance to the two elves. Before long, Darial turned around
and left, but not without whispering to Caradhar: 'You will come to
my chambers at midnight. You won't disappoint me and force me to go
fetch you and drag you there, will you?'
Imperturbably,
the young elf finished tidying himself up before he left. Among the
chaotic thoughts swarming his head right then, an idea rose over the
rest: from a cold point of view, that was a good chance to get closer
to the Grand Alchemist's secrets. Truth be told, a chance that
wouldn't yield him any pleasure, same as his childhood days, when
Darial had decided to make him his personal toy; same as his other
guardians' punishments, to destroy his pride and compel him to
obedience; same as all the orders of his superiors, his own mother,
the long, chilly nights, and even food and drink, which he was unable
to savour. That had been the story of his life; therefore, for
Caradhar, it wasn't extraordinary.
***
Darial's
lodging was part of a long row or departments, including the
laboratory, warehouses, and the Grand Alchemist's personal chambers,
protected by big reinforced doors. That was all Caradhar could find
out, thanks to a flash inspection in the middle of the night, before
he decided to go back to the alchemist's room. The blond elf seemed
soundly asleep; his young companion finished getting dressed and
prepared to return to his own room.
Sitting
in the dark, his mind drifter to past years, memories he hadn't
recovered so far. Darial was the reason why the redhead wouldn't
allow anyone to take him; he had been his first bed companion, and
the only relationship he hadn't chosen freely... And also the only
one that had never made him feel any pleasure.
Perhaps
to most people's eyes Caradhar was nothing but a victim; yet such an
idea would have been incomprehensible for him. Oh, maybe he had had
that feeling as a child, when Darial used him as a bedroom pet. But
physical pain leaves nothing but a temporal stamp, quite
insignificant for a body blessed with the Gift. With regards to any
other kind of pain, Caradhar was unable to feel it.
That
day he had gone there out of his free choice. Still, he felt vaguely
sick with the submissiveness his body has shown in response to the
alchemist's attacks; he guessed years of suffering the same treatment
had marked him somehow, but still... No: he wasn't the same: he had
had to make a big effort not to get Darial off him while he was
penetrating him... His sexual dominant nature clashed the older elf's
one: being toyed with didn't procure him pleasure, but rejection.
As
he slipped outside the room, a light shone near to the alchemist.
'Where
do you think you go?'
'I
though you were done. I was going to my bed, to sleep.'
'And
who told you that you are going to sleep at all?' With a mocking
smile, Darial patted the empty side of the mattress. 'Come back here.
I might let you leave... later on.'
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