The Elements of Love Page 4

  Shayla smiled and moved upon his leg again, shuddering as her clit rubbed against the rigid mass of his flesh. “Take me. Take me where I've never been,” she invited.

  Grelig stood up with Shayla wrapped around his middle. “It'll be my pleasure, sweet.” He walked to the cot and lay her down.

  Impatient to cool the flames burning her body, Shayla sat up on her knees and pulled the gown from herself as Grelig dispensed with his breeches.

  Her hands reached for him the moment he was free. His cock stood proud, large, thick and gnarled like so much of his body. She wrapped her hand about him, velvet and steel.

  Grelig bent down with one fist on the bed. The other hand dove straight for her curls. His fingers speared her nest and slicked against her aching bud.

  Her world shook.

  Grelig's mouth claimed hers, his tongue thrusting into her mouth. He began a rhythmic probing that kept time with his rubbing fingers that quickly sent Shayla into a frenzy of need. She met each thrust with a matching breath, her hand still clasped tightly about him.

  She bent back, her legs tucked under her. He followed. She could yield no more when the mattress met her back. He pressed forward, his tongue and finger more definite in their charge. Shayla's hips began an answering seeking rhythm.

  It wasn't enough. A great chasm existed in her very center. “You! I need you!” she pleaded.

  Grelig chuckled with masculine accomplishment. “You need me where, sweet?” His finger missed a beat.

  Nearly insensate in a delirium of want, Shyla lashed out, cuffing the man that held all the answers in the world in the chin. “Now, you bastard!"

  Grelig took her hands and pulled them over her head, holding them there with one hand. “As you wish.” He released her legs from under her, pulling her feet up around his waist.

  Shayla waited.

  He impaled her.

  She gaped, desperately trying to suck in a breath. The length and breadth of him! Her back arched completely off the bed as she pulled his hips closer to her with her legs. Shayla lay exposed before him; throbbing, wet and nearly insane. The elusive wind drifted over her skin and her pussy, sending chilling goosebumps everywhere.

  Grelig ground his hips, eliciting a moan of intense pleasure from his captive. Then he waited, perfectly motionless, for several seconds before repeating the motion.

  In a matter of minutes, Shayla was trying every possible wiggle to get the man to end it!

  To end the incredible tension.

  To release the wave.

  Suddenly the circular dance stopped. Shayla opened her eyes. He withdrew ever so slightly, only to return with a forceful thrust. His fingers returned as well. Teasing, pulling and rubbing her swollen, damp pussy; those fingers sent Shayla climbing in a keening spiral.

  She couldn't define when the end came, only that it kept rolling over and through her body in wave after wave of pleasure. Every time she clasped tightly about his cock, Grelig pounded her eager flesh with renewed vigor, adding his shouts of release to hers.

  Part II

  Shayla stared at the glimmer of light at the bottom of the door. The blacksmith lay curled about her, his body strong and protective even in slumber. She ran her hand up his thigh, memories of his attentions causing liquid twinges in her depths.

  But the Sun was rising. It was time to go.

  She slid out from under him, gathered the green gown and pulled it over her head. Silently she rummaged in the corner, collecting a heel of bread and a sip of water. Grelig stretched, but continued to sleep.

  She approached the door, looking back one more time, before slipping out into the awakening day.

  Shayla skirted the edges of the village as she headed back towards the permanent encampment where Master Erlic's hall was located. The man was a general for the Army of the Sun, and he ensured all his officers were entertained nightly when they were not marching on her homeland.

  Her footsteps were slow, trudging towards certain punishment. The last time she begged illness to avoid a particularly brutal officer; she had suffered two black eyes and lost two teeth. Still, she would not bring such hatred upon the innocent blacksmith. Grelig would remain hers, a memory untouched by anger and torment.

  Already the troops were drilling in the field; marching, charging and utilizing their pikes in roars of superior brutality. Shayla could not help but shiver. Never would the night of fire and terror diminish in her mind. Her disobedience to her father had saved her life. But it had not saved the young man whom she had met behind the bakery.

  The door to the slaves’ quarters was barred. Shayla would have to leave it open in order to return to her room. It would be interesting to see which of the girls would be punished for even that slight breach of the rules. She put her insignificant weight under the bar and heaved, wondering if she had been missed. Maybe, just maybe, nobody had looked for her.

  "What are you doing?” An arm dressed in the livery of the Army leaned against the door.

  Shayla spun.

  General Erlic stood with his pale green eyes, ragged, grey hair, sallow skin and paunchy stomach looking as if he had found a snake.

  "Master,” Shayla murmured as she cast her eyes down.

  The expected blow sent her to the ground, her jaw exploding with the force of it. She spat blood before crawling to her knees. She didn't dare stand; she would only be beaten back down.

  "Been working the town on the side, my girl?” A kick landed on her ribs. “You know that is not permitted.” His hands grasped her hair. “It's not wise to make your master worry."

  He hauled her to her feet and started marching towards the main hall. Shayla quivered in fear. She could not begin to picture what new kind of torture Master had conjured up for her.

  Shayla spent much of the walk to the hall concentrating on remaining upright. Her breathing came in short gasps, a cracked rib making her dizzy. She felt herself falling into the detached world she had learned to weave about her when in the company of her master. When she thought of only the cracks in the rough floorboards or a cold breeze from a drafty door it was much easier to avoid accepting the hopelessness of her life.

  The cold clank of the chains about her wrists she disregarded. There were a great many men in the hall breaking their fast over the massive trestle tables. Erlic kicked her one last time before taking his seat upon the raised dais at the head of the chamber. Shayla leaned her head back against the rough wall, seeking surcease from the many painful messages her body sent her.

  "What's this then?” A cold hand pulled at her ankle.

  Shayla roused herself enough to recognize one of the younger officers who indulged nightly in the slave quarters. She curled more tightly into a ball, the chain preventing any meaningful retreat as it held her wrists slightly over her head.

  He chewed at a chicken leg, its oily juices dripping in his sparse, black beard. Shayla swallowed in revulsion. His hand continued its pursuit up her calf and over her knee.

  Without a thought, Shayla kicked out.

  Leaving his breakfast in his mouth, the pawing monster pulled both of Shayla's legs towards him. He then ripped open the bodice of the dress, exposing her slight breasts and bruised ribs to the gawping audience that now gathered about her.

  "Baret!” The General's voice boomed through the hall.

  His hands stopped their vicious attempt to remove all clothing from Shayla. “Yessir!” he answered over his shoulder.

  "Leave off until your duties are done. She'll still be there at Midday meal."

  Baret eyed Shayla's defiant eyes and shivering flesh before leaning over her and licked her cheek. “Don't go far, luv. You're mine."

  She fought to catch her breath. Panic seized her ability to take any deep breath. The room became a hazy tunnel as her chest rose in uncontrolled fury. Blackness took her to the only safe place she had.

  * * * *

  Grelig awoke to the sound of the door closing. It took a lazy stretch and deep inhalation to realiz
e he was missing something, the girl. “The little minx!” he grumbled as he brushed the sleep from his eyes and tried to erase the scent of woman from his sated brain. He pulled a dull wool tunic over his head and opened the door. Brilliant morning light blinded him.

  After determining that the girl was nowhere in sight, he returned to the dim environs of the cottage to dress for the day. He ran his hand through his hair, “I could have helped her.” It was with a keen sense of solitude that he ate a simple breakfast of bread, cheese and water. He neatened the table and bed, his rough fingers lingering over the bright quilt.

  He stood to leave for the day when he noticed the scrap of thin material at his feet. He picked it up. It was the torn and ragged gray shift that she had worn when he found her yesterday. Shayla had given him her very essence, he realized. At least he had given her something in return.

  He placed the rag in a pile with the rest of his washing. The laundry woman would come tomorrow. Perhaps he would see Shayla some marketday; he could return the worn possession to her.

  A dry laugh escaped. What was he thinking? She had chosen to return to her wretched life. He could help her no more.

  Grelig took a brisk walk through the village and down to the baker before firing the forge. He bought several meat pies for lunch and spoke kindly to the lady who served him. He knew wandering through the village had been an excuse to continue to look for Shayla, but he couldn't help it. The elfin woman's life was in need of repair, and Grelig wanted to finish what he started. His cock gave a happy thump at the idea. Yes, he wanted to finish many things.

  He entered the smithy with a wealth of conflicting emotions, but the most predominant one was satisfaction. The bellows began their thumping whoosh, the coals crackled to life, and Grelig grabbed the shovel to send some fuel into the forge.

  He saw it; a sudden dash of shadow in the depths of the smithy.

  Without thought Grelig dropped the shovel and began an eager chase.

  So, she wants to play games.

  In seconds, Grelig grabbed an arm and hauled the woman into his arms, prepared to plant an urgent and playful kiss upon her...

  A small foot kicked at Grelig's calf. He blinked and took a good look at the squirming lady in his arms.

  "Who are you?” he yelped as his arms dropped. The kicking continued. Grelig looked down upon a small tow-headed boy, no more than four, who was efficiently landing repeated assaults on Grelig's giant leg.

  The woman, young with a wealth of shining blonde hair, bent down to collect the hellion. “Hush, Myrlynn.” She calmed him before taking the boy into her arms. She stood back up, no trepidation in her gaze. “Grelig will be helping us."

  "I will?"

  She nodded. “The symbol of Air is etched into your sign. I am appealing to you as a member of the Elemental Body to assist me and my son.” As she adjusted the child on her hip, the water blue badge of a Healer was exposed.

  The woman held his gaze without blinking for minutes, absolutely certain of the outcome of the conversation. At last, Grelig turned to study the boy. Black eyes peered at him in return. Grelig felt a lightening of his soul. The eyes blinked, and Grelig thought he could see a crescent moon in their ebon depths.

  There was no denying both the woman and the boy were of the Elements. They each carried within themselves the balance of the earth; it reverberated in Grelig's bones with promise.

  He bowed. “How may I be of service...?” He left the question unfinished.

  "My name is Arlynn, former Healer of Illis. This is my son, Myrlynn. His father was the High Mage Myrric."

  Grelig frowned, and flinched away from the boy with the eyes filled with hidden powers. “He is an Unknown?"

  She shook her head. “No. I know exactly what he will be."

  Grelig thought back on the lessons he learned as a boy in the Conclave of Air. "No man or woman of Water should join with Fire. Their powers would be reduced or destroyed. The child resulting from such a union would be an uncontrollable monster."

  Grelig filled the gaping silence, “A monster."

  "No!” Arlynn cried. “He is the future; the peace for all of us."

  The boy stuck a fat thumb in his mouth. Then he giggled.

  Grelig frowned. “The peace?"

  "Grelig,” Arlynn reached towards the glowering man, “Look at him. Look at my son and you will see."

  Responding to the compulsion, Grelig steeled himself, calling the Air to him for protection, and gazed into those black eyes again.

  Not only was there the Moon. There was the Sun. All the powers on Earth bent to these mighty beings. But in Myrlynn, Grelig could see a building of such great power ... he flinched. So much power would only result in greater death and war.

  "No!” the boy insisted. The small chubby thumb popped from his mouth. A finger reached towards Grelig's chest. Peace spread through Grelig's chest, his limbs and his soul.

  Yes! The Sun and Moon would be joined upon a Plain. The people would be rejoicing. There would be no more war.

  "You see?” Arlynn questioned.

  "I see.” Grelig agreed. “Does he know?"

  Arlynn kissed the top of her son's head. “Not truly. He only reaches out to anybody who is full of fear and takes it away. His real powers will not come for many years."

  Grelig continued to stare at the tot. “What can I help you with, my lady?"

  "We are being pursued. We need protection."

  "You have my hammer, my lady. But that is indeed poor protection. Who is pursuing you?"

  She eyed the half open door behind Grelig. “Could you close that?"

  Grelig complied, intrigued.

  "The Armies are after us."

  Grelig indicated his confusion.

  "Both armies! The Sun and the Moon. Somebody does not wish for Myrlynn to reach his majority. Somebody is fearful of his existence. They are trying to kill us. We have been running for five days, but last night the spies of the Sun nearly trapped us. We cannot travel in the open any longer."

  "Where are you coming from?"

  "The Healer's Hall. Five of my sisters were murdered as they covered my escape. Two of the guides I hired have disappeared. I am in dire need.” Arlynn's urgency was genuine. Her arms, even as they grasped her child tightly, shook with a great weariness.

  Grelig only considered the matter for a moment. “Where are you running to? If both armies wish you ill, I cannot think of any village that will be able to harbor you. I cannot. I repair armor and steel for General Erlic's company."

  "The Valley of Shadow."

  "That is a child's story!"

  Arlynn leaned over to put Myrlynn down. “No, it is not a story. A myth, a legend, yes. But so is my son. He will require the protection of the Valley so he may grow."

  Beginning to feel a little desperate himself, Grelig muttered, “What am I supposed to do?"

  "Cover my escape."

  "How?"

  "A windstorm."

  Grelig burst out laughing. “I am many things, my lady. But a weather master I am not. My power is enough to keep my fire hot. Not strong enough to create a dust storm!"

  "Myrlynn will help.” She was unswerving in her conviction.

  "How?"

  "He can't control his power. But it is there. You have only to tap into it."

  Grelig began to protest all over again. What she asked was impossible, a tale made up of whole cloth. He was interrupted by a tug at his breeches.

  "Your fire is low.” Myrlynn pointed at the glowing forge.

  "Thank you, lad,” he muttered before turning back to the mother. Grelig sent an absent wisp of wind to the bellows.

  It felt different, more fiery and uncontrolled. A massive flame leapt to the blackened ceiling.

  Grelig stood staring at his forge, then looked down at the boy still grasping his leg.

  "We are desperate. And I need you to help him.” Arlynn repeated.

  * * * *

  Shayla awoke in a dull afternoon, the hall
empty of angry and lustful men. She rolled on the floor, trying to find a more comfortable position in which to cradle her ribs. Her tongue felt fuzzy and filled her mouth with clumsy drool.

  A dull clang of keys drew her eyes to one of the girls from the slave quarters. Chastine was a dark beauty who actively enjoyed her life as one of the General's whores. Shayla had struck a distant friendship with the girl a while ago, when she discovered that Chas had a taste for the more brutal men in the barracks. Shayla was certain the main reasons she was still alive were the girl's generosity and sexual hunger.

  Chas knelt and worked a heavy key in the shackles. “You've got to be going, luv. The General doesn't forgive those that leave him, even for a night."

  Shayla tried to reply, but her mouth refused to form words.

  "He just kept beating the last one that defied him until she didn't cry no more,” Chas added in a low voice.

  Shayla's hands were released. They fell to her lap, numb and useless. Chas produced a flask of water from under her skirts.

  "Here,” she shoved it at Shayla. “Now go!"

  Chas disappeared.

  Shayla sat in the shadows of the great hall, trying to focus on the world about her. The shutters were closed, illumination being provided by a rough-wooden candlelit chandelier overhead. A great howling beat the shutters against the window frames and the air smelt of dust.

  Boots echoed across the floor. Two captains scurried by, deep in conversation.

  "The General is insistent we apprehend the Cursed One by nightfall,” the first man grumbled.

  "We ain't apprehending anything in this mess. I can't send my men out into a duststorm!"

  "It's unnatural, if you know what I mean. Where'd this all come from? The day was fine when the Sun rose this morning."

  The shorter captain replied, “The Cursed One. It is surely the work of the Elemental Monster."

  Shayla listened to their voices and steps disappearing down a hall. A storm, she thought. If the Army wasn't able to find the enemy they sought, surely a beaten and bloody slave would not be found in the dust ... With that knowledge bolstering her courage, Shayla pulled herself up, leaning heavily against the wall.