"I've never heard of Lord Teufel helping in such a way," Killian said.
Sasha regarded him coolly. "You are not a sorcerer, do not presume to know our ways. Are the crystals far?"
"No, my lord," Sigmund said. "I apologize for my impertinence."
"Forget it," Sasha replied. They lapsed into silence as they walked, forming a single line to trudge through what remained of the path Sigmund and Killian had made during their earlier trek. Sasha didn't know what he'd expected of the crystals, but it certainly was not the beautiful, enormous chunks of raw crystal before him. The largest came to about his knees, black and glistening where the snow did not cover it. On either side of it were slightly smaller crystals, making three in all. Someone, or something, had struck them hard enough to leave them cracked and broken, pieces scattered in the snow all around them. Kneeling with one arm wrapped around his stomach, he touched his right hand to the largest crystal.
He could feel the tatters of powerful magic, and that some darker magic had broken it. A sorcerer? Who else would have that kind of power? "Do you have magic users in the village?"
"No, my lord, of course not," Sigmund answered, looking terrified by the very notion. "Black Hill has always been unfailingly devout and abiding."
"I never doubted that," Sasha reassured. "I just hoped the matter might be that easy. The protective spell is very old, very powerful magic, but stronger, darker magic shattered it. Such a spell would take knowledge and experience. If it is not someone local, then there is someone dangerous prowling about intent on bringing harm to the village, and possibly other villages." Sigmund nodded, looking grim-faced.
"Everyone is going to think
you
did it," Killian said, scowling at Sasha.
Before Sasha could reply, Sigmund gave the boy a sharp backhand. "You'll watch your tone around the sorcerer, boy, or did you forget already that the stripes on David's back are because of your fool mouth?"
"Yes, sir," Killian said. When Sigmund raised his hand in a clear indication of another backhand, he hastily added, "My apologies, Lord Sorcerer."
"Forget it," Sasha replied. "You are not incorrect in suggesting that people will suspect me. But I can repair it, which I think will matter more than whether I broke it to begin with."
Relief flooded Sigmund's face, and David smiled shyly at him. "Can you really?" David asked.
Sasha did not reply, merely placed both of his hands on the crystal and bowed his head, letting his eyes fall shut as he said,
"Death is the one true fate of all beings, but comes only when it must and at its proper time. Nothing is more precious to death than life. Gods of death, protect your children from death that is not their fate."
The magic rushed through him, hot and cold all at once. It surged into the crystal, poured into the smaller ones, and a line of black light shot out from either side of it, the protective circle wrapping around the village.
Exhaustion struck Sasha harder, and he slumped against the crystal, resting his head against its refreshingly cool surface. On some level, he knew it was a bad thing that he thought the cold nice, but he could not seem to figure out why.
"Come, my lord. You've done more than enough for us. It's time to get you back to bed."
"I'll help him," David said, and the press of his body was warm and familiar. He wrapped an arm around Sasha's waist and slipped one of Sasha's arms around his shoulders. They returned to the village slowly, and by the time Sasha was pushed back into David's bed and his wet clothes stripped, the edges of his vision were fuzzy and black.
He vaguely heard the others leave, but his attention was primarily for David. There was something else he needed to be concerned with, but Sasha could not make the thought solidify enough for him to do anything about it. Whatever it was, it would simply have to wait until he was rested and no longer in agony from the wounds and lingering traces of Sentinel venom in his body.
Gentle fingers slid into his hair, helped him sit up just enough to drink the tea that David fed him sip by sip. Then he was laid back down, the blankets pulled up over him, and the last thing he heard was David's soft, warm voice murmuring reassurances.
Fritz smiled as warm lips brushed the back of his neck. He could feel Drache's smile in the soft kiss. The smell of flowers was all around them, the landscape below was of a place too beautiful to be anything except the product of a dream.
"Schatten, once upon a dream," Drache murmured, lips sliding along Fritz's ear, making him shiver and lean back against the hard, lithe body behind him. Drache's hands slid across his chest, then slowly trailed down to loop loosely around his hips. Those hot lips returned to his neck, teeth grazing, eliciting more shivers.
Turning around in Drache's arms, Fritz drew his head down and took a long kiss, their mouths sliding together with the ease of lifelong lovers. "Drache … "
"You have not visited me in a long time, beloved," Drache murmured, fingers lightly trailing over his body, petting, caressing.
"Busy trying to save the country, in case you forgot that part," Fritz replied.
Drache made a derisive noise. "It is when you are at your worst that you should most come to me. If you want to save the country, you're better off letting the child of chaos be to do as he will."
"Child of chaos? Is that what he is?"
"Yes," Drache said. "They are very rare. One has not been seen for a long time."
"How would you know that?" Fritz asked.
Drache did not reply, simply nibbled on Fritz's lips. Fritz wrapped his free arm around Drache, twisted the long braid around his hand—then yanked. Giving him a wounded look, Drache finally said, "I cannot say more than I have."
Fritz huffed in irritation, but let it go. "If there is a child of chaos, is there a child of fate?"
"Yes," Drache said, sounding amused. "His name is Teufel. Made by Licht, loved by Licht, the living shadow of the god of light and order."
All thoughts of getting naked fled Fritz's mind. "What—"
Drache sighed and drew back, letting his arms fall. "Why else would he be called the shadow of Licht? Does this question never occur to anyone? He is, in every way, Licht's shadow—the dark of Licht, something that can come only from Licht."
"I … as you say, the question never occurred to me. He is the shadow of Licht. I never thought to think farther than that."
Sighing again, Drache turned away and moved to stand beside Fritz at the ledge of their temple. "Honestly, it's unfair to assume you should think of it. Teufel's grip is tight—painfully so. You probably cannot think of it. I am honestly surprised I can discuss it, except that here, in the recesses of your mind, some things slip through. Not enough, unfortunately, but some." He looked at Fritz, reached out to caress his face, lingering on his lips. "You are beautiful, beloved."
Fritz scoffed at that. "I think you may be confused as to what that word means." Drache—Drache was beautiful, that waterfall of bright gold hair against his dark skin.
Drache just smiled and reached out to wrap his arms around Fritz's neck. Nuzzling against him, he said, "You're beautiful, to me and to others. You are perfection to me."
"One of us is clearly addled in the head—I daresay both of us. Me for imagining you, and you for thinking I'm perfect. I guess that really only leaves me to be a mad, egotistical, incredibly vain High Seer."
"You're not imagining me," Drache said and bit his lip sharply. "Now stop talking, unless it's to tell me how much you love me."
Fritz snorted at that, but did not protest when Drache guided him to the bed, pushed him down on top of it.
A grin curved one corner of Drache's mouth, eyes warm with fondness. "Do you love me?"
"No," Fritz replied, unresisting as Drache stripped away their clothes and pushed him back, letting his arms fall on either side of his head. Drache's hands covers his wrists, holding them in place, that hot mouth trailing along Fritz's skin, teeth nipping at the lobe of his ear.
"Do you hate me?"
"Yes," Fritz said.
Drache kissed him slowly, as though taking sips, savoring every small taste, leaving Fritz breathless and trembling. "Liar," he said quietly, then continued the slow, delicate torture across the span of Fritz's body.
Too much. Not enough. Fritz needed more. He shoved and twisted, climbing on top of Drache and pinning him to the bed, then went to work on Drache's body with a mouth far more ravenous, biting into firm muscle and lapping at smooth skin. He raked his tongue across Drache's nipples, nails leaving red score marks across his stomach. Ignoring Drache's cock, he teased instead at the juncture of hip and thigh, absorbing the heady scent of his dream-time lover.
"Stop being a tease," Drache said.
"Those words are positively hilarious coming from you," Fritz said, but he drew back to find the oil that somehow was never very far out of reach. He pressed a warm, slick finger inside Drache's body, stretching him as he continued to tease with tongue and teeth. It took only minutes for one finger to become two and then three.
By the time he relented, Drache's teasing and smirking had fallen away to be replaced by a look of hunger, his eyes shining, strands of hair sticking to his face and neck with sweat. Fritz slicked his cock and lined up, slowly pushing inside, eyes locked on Drache's beautiful face, the emotions that flickered across it as Fritz filled him.
He bent down to take a kiss as he sank all the way in, feeding on Drache's mouth as if it was a necessary thing, absolutely convinced it was. Drawing back, he gripped Drache's hips and began to fuck him in hard, steady strokes, lost in the tight, the heat, the love and lust that blazed in Drache's lavender eyes.
If he could have stayed in that moment, in that world of heat and passion forever, Fritz gladly would have paid any price. But all he could do was fight his release as long as he could and cry Drache's name when he finally succumbed.
Panting, sated for the moment, and ignoring that it was all just a dream, Fritz curled around Drache and just breathed in their mingled scents, the sweet smell of flowers on the air. He twined his fingers through Drache's braid, stroked his thumb over the soft, beautiful strands. "I've never seen anyone with hair like yours. Everyone keeps their hair short; even the rich cannot afford hair like this."
"It's old-fashioned, to be sure," Drache said, mouth quirking in amusement. "I suspect only one other person wears his hair so, and he does not wear it quite the same way. But I am glad you like it." He kissed Fritz softly. "What troubles you so much you would come down to me without my begging?"
Fritz said nothing, not wanting to discuss it, just wanting a few moments of happiness and peace. He was tired of the waking world, of waiting to finally go mad and die. He was half-convinced he had already gone mad and was actually running around naked and drunk, spewing fractured prophesies and screaming until somebody finally showed mercy and killed him.
The increasing frequency of reports on strange events did not help. Though he had sent Karl and the sorcerers out, so far only bad news had come back to him. Fritz dreaded whatever was going to happen next.
"All will be well, if you let it," Drache said. "Chaos is returning, and despite what you think, that is a good thing. Stop clinging to fate and give chaos a chance. It may be our only chance."
"Chance at what?"
In reply, Drache cupped the back of his head and drew him down for a long, hard kiss. Fritz drew a ragged breath when they finally broke apart. "Give it a chance," Drache said again.
Fritz tried to demand an explanation, but the world suddenly vanished around him.
A sharp banging sound made him jerk up in bed, Drache's name frozen on his lips.
His door. Someone was knocking on his door. Groaning, Friedrich snarled, "Enter."
The door swung open and a priest slipped inside, bowing low. "High Seer, there is a city messenger to see you. He has brought words from several villages and towns, all delivered via note-birds last night and this morning."
"I will come at once," Friedrich said. "See that food and wine are brought to my office."
"Yes, High Seer," the priest said and slipped away.
Getting out of bed, Friedrich quickly washed and dressed in fresh clothes. He ran a hand over the fuzz on his head and grimaced, but shaving it smooth again would have to wait until he had more time.
He closed his eyes and briefly, recalling his recent dream, savoring it, strengthened by it.
Beloved.
No time for you now,
Friedrich said.
I told you, I'm busy and everything is only getting worse.
I will help as best I can. The shift of power in the air grows stronger every day. A storm is brewing that Teufel cannot easily stop. Let us hope it grows beyond his ability to control.
I serve my Lord Teufel,
Friedrich replied sharply.
You seem to keep forgetting that.
You need to stop serving him.
I have no choice.
Drache said something in reply, but Friedrich stubbornly refused to hear it.
He walked briskly through the halls of Unheilvol until he reached his office. A messenger stood outside the door and bowed low when he saw Friedrich. "High Seer."
"I am told you have several urgent messages for me," Friedrich said as he led the way into his office. He sat down behind his enormous desk and set aside sermons and accounting papers, gesturing for the messages. "What do they all say? Why are we getting so many troubling messages at once?"