The Mephit's Tales

Things had been starting out so well. A vacation spent not in some sun-baked tourist trap, but in a pleasantly temperate forest with only his boyfriend for company — that was pretty much perfect in Kevin’s mind. The day was sunny and mild, the breeze just enough to rustle the leaves and keep them cool as they hiked, and the air was full of animal calls; just a wonderful summer day, really.

These woods weren’t entirely natural, of course; the company tending them claimed to offer an Indiana Jones Lite sort of explorer experience, “ancient ruins” to explore, puzzles to solve, though so far, he and Jack hadn’t seen anything more disruptive to the forest than the game trail they were on. It seemed to be wending its way towards a river, though, and that was always a good place to look for “ancient” settlements, wasn’t it? It was, they figured, at least a good starting point.

The full force of winter had set in, and even the main road of the fishing village of Falvarinth was constantly blanketed in snow, now. The boats were ensconced in boathouses and drydocks, the piers locked in ice; fishermen and sealers hiked to work, now, chipping holes in the thick ice sheets to get their catch. The cold was omnipresent.

And yet the upper reaches of the town, near the hot springs, were far, far milder than the deep north; and so it was that Danir stayed in one of the largest homes, second – if a distant second – only to the headman’s own.

Of course, Danir was himself several times larger than Headman Nashir, so his home didn’t wind up feeling nearly so grand. Put another Narami in it, and it could actually feel somewhat cramped at times. But Falvarinth was not a Narami town, so such visits were rare. And, given who was most likely among Narami to be visiting, cherished.

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An almost negligent wave of the man’s hand, and the force keeping Alderian up in the air shifted smoothly downward, letting him get all fours properly onto the ground. It was a marked improvement; he was hardly afraid of heights, certainly not the mere foot’s breadth he’d been at, but it was such an undignified way to be hanging there, not like proper flight at all.

Not that Edric was quite ready to trust him enough to release him entirely, apparently; he was allowed to furl his wings, but then force bound them against his body, and he was not permitted to walk around, or even to sit. He was stuck standing with his legs outstretched, at the human’s mercy.

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The summer heat was inescapable. Even in the stone depths of the temple, where the acolytes were housed, the muggy air, the harbinger of rain that yet refused to fall, was all around; merely being away from the sun wasn’t enough to give proper relief.

It was high time for summer to wane; and Kallen remembered that from the instant a hand on his shoulder shook him awake.

“It’s time,” murmured the sub-priest who’d woken him. “They’ll be starting the ceremony soon.” And with that, the man moved on to another pallet, another body lying uncomfortably under a thin blanket.

Kallen put aside his own blanket. There would be time to fold it later; for now, he needed to help prepare. He tied his loincloth in place, and over that he drew on a simple brown robe, knotting the belt with care. Once he’d done that and slid his feet into sandals, he hurried out of the quarters and into the temple antechamber.

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The great blue dragon heaved a heavy sigh. “Truly, you are the most curious human I have ever encountered. Many have come seeking my blood. More – and some few of my own kind – have come seeking my wealth.”

With the outward curve of one obsidian claw, he stroked along the human’s side, where that human lay on the dragon’s own stomach. “None of them – except perhaps one fetching but greedy red, and certainly none of the humans – showed nearly so much interest in my sex.”

Kalen laughed, gliding his hand along the broad expanse of the dragon’s arousal. “I’ve more interest in knowledge and magic than in coin. And I’m young yet. A lover, however temporary, means more to me than a purse of silver.”

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It was not a fit night to be travelling, not for man nor beast. Wild magic had crept into the storm; rain and hail pelted down with unnatural force, ripping away needles, shredding bark, and pulverizing much of the ground cover. Mere boughs simply weren’t enough to keep the icy rain at bay; anything that could, huddled under leaning or fallen trunks for some cover.

But not all errands waited on the weather, and so Kalen, out gathering the last of the season’s rimeberries, had been caught on the trails when the full force of the storm hit. A magical barrier kept the rain and hail from falling directly upon him, but it couldn’t keep the ground from being treacherous, nor did it keep the chill bite of the air from his lungs. But even if he was inclined to wait out the storm – and as the sky grew still darker, that was a possibility he was strongly considering – there simply wasn’t good cover to be had. Not down in the woods.

And so he trudged upwards. The going was harder, especially as the trees thinned and the ground became icier, but there were caves in the foothills. Better to stumble into a bear’s den than to be caught out here; his magic could subdue such a beast, but he could drain himself trying to keep away the fickle anger of the Green Goddess and still succumb.

In searching for such shelter, he was better-equipped than most men. He could sense air under stone; all he needed to do was follow it to the surface.

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