Date: Thu, 24 Oct 2013 20:44:27 +0000
From: Michael Offutt <kavrik@hotmail.com>
Subject: Black Dragon Rising Chapter 20 - Gay Science Fiction

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                                    *****

                               Chapter Twenty

      Once we're done cleaning up, Talen suggests that we grab a bite to
eat. I hug him from behind and smell the fresh scent of soap on his
skin. Then we untangle our limbs, kiss, and emerge from the tent in our
killsuits and magic boots a short while later. I marvel at the way I can
feel the tiny imperfections of the ground through them, yet it somehow
dulls any sharp stabs that might result from stepping on rocks or other
pointy things. They're also remarkably resilient to dirt, taking on a shiny
and new appearance in the subterranean light.

      My stomach grumbles and I tighten my "spit-shined" leather belt about
my slender waist.  The armored skin of my breastplate rises up and down
with every breath I draw, and there's even a shallow dimple in it over my
belly button.

      I follow Talen to a mess tent where soldiers under Riaken's command
are scooping up a thick stew, rife with potatoes, all boiled up in a huge
iron cauldron. One of them opens a glass mason jar that holds day-old
gravy. He cuts the end off a loaf of bread, plates it, and then pours the
gravy on top before handing it to me. It smells delicious.

      "My name's Byrnwybhie," he says through a pair of thick spectacles
and a bushy mustache. I shake his hand and watch Talen grab a plate of food
for himself.  Byrn motions for us to follow him to a table were a second
(albeit very short) fellow sits.

      My thoughts run amok: Is this a gnome? I've no idea what a gnome is
supposed to look like, but he resembles what I think one should look
like. If it walks like a duck and looks like a duck, I suppose it must be a
duck. However, there's a part of my mind that says, "Kian, a logical mind
like yours is not made for a world filled with magic."

      So if this is to be the first gnome that I've the fortune to lay eyes
upon, I take a good look.  He possesses a shock of pink hair that stands
straight up on his head, and he clutches a glass rod firmly in his left
hand. His eyes are pink too; he has rather unwholesome looking white
skin...whiter even than mine, which has not seen natural sunlight in a very
long time.

      "This," Byrn declares, "is Pink Hair."

      "Illusionist extraordinaire," the gnome says before making a sweeping
genuflection. "I'm of the company of Riaken even though he doesn't readily
appreciate my formidable talents."

      "Aye, your talents are appreciated enough, old friend," Byrn states,
and then sits down. We join him.

      The next person I'm introduced to is a tall and slender elf with pale
skin and eyes of silver.  He has comely but short-cropped silver hair
protruding from underneath an emerald-colored cap; across his back is a
stern-looking bow. It has six glowing runes etched upon its surface.

      "This is Correldon," Byrn indicates. "We've got him on loan from the
Elven Kingdom of Symardiearre."

      Correldon shoots me a quick nod. I note that his profile is even
thinner than mine. At first it looks alien, but I grow used to it quickly
and marvel at how beautiful and graceful he is. He has an effeminate
quality that's tempered by physical power normally associated with
men. It's a potent combination that commands my attention immediately.

      "Eyes over here," Talen says, drawing me with his finger.

      "Sorry," I whisper in my boyfriend's ear. Under the table, I feel the
weight of Talen's hand massaging the bulge of my codpiece.

      From out of the mess tent, Angelaria makes an appearance. When she
spots us, she walks over to our table carrying a plate of dinner. "May I
join you?" she asks. Of course I scoot over.  There's always room for her
at my table. She sits to my left, sees Talen's hand in my crotch, and
smiles at him.

      "He's not going anywhere you know?" she asks.

      Talen grins and withdraws his hand somewhat sheepishly.  "I tell
myself that every day."

      Byrn continues his introductions, pointing at other men sitting at
our table. "You should recognize the two soldiers that carried in your bath
water over an hour ago," he states. "They're Ercestrian. The one on the
left is Jake Placid...the one on the right is Slaven Gohlenborn."  Since
Talen's closer, he reaches out and clasps both of their hands in a warm
handshake. Then they shake my hand.

      "Well met," I say with Talen chiming in a split-second later.

      "So who might you two be?" Byrn asks me. "Do you have a name?"

      "Yes," I manage to say. I curse under my breath that I've neglected
my manners this entire time. My father always told me to introduce myself
first, but I guess I was too busy staring at my food. "My name's Hunter."

      "And I'm Tiburon," Talen states. He mutters something between
mouthfuls of bread dripping in gravy, but I don't catch what it is. "Well
met...all," he finishes, giving a little wave.

      "So if you don't mind my asking, what brings you all down here? I
mean...I should thank my lucky stars that you came, so please don't think
my question ungrateful." I taste the potatoes; they're delicious.

      "Right now we're just following Commander Riaken. Cory here, well,
he's hunting the kuanni which are a clan of deep elves that allied
themselves with dark magic. They're sometimes friends of the grimlocks so
our paths cross a little," Byrn says.

      Correldon steps in. "The 'allies' of which he speaks are demons. All
of the kuanni have the ability to summon magic. The prisoner you vouched
for, the one who goes by the name Talisac is branded with a Kuanni
sigil. Though not of their race he's a necromancer. To bear such a mark,
he'd have to be a particularly powerful one called a kuanni flesh crafter,
a vessel for their darkest secrets.  You should allow me to kill him before
he turns upon you."

      "What's a necromancer?" I ask.

      Correldon scoffs out loud. "What indeed? I'll tell you this: they're
more potent than the second-rate illusionist which journeys with
us. Talisac is a monster. He's killed hundreds of men in horrible
ways. Listen carefully beautiful teenaged human, every day that he lives is
one that you'll rue when he has his hands about your throat."

      Pink Hair puffs his chest out, taking umbrage at what Correldon just
said. "Second rate?  You'd no complaints when I forked the lightning bolt
that I cast a few days before we found this group of rabble. It saved your
life, did it not?"

      "But it wasn't real," Correldon says. "NONE of your spells are real,
and if they're disbelieved they can easily be overcome. Your parlor magic
would be insufficient against a demon or for that matter...a kuanni
necromancer. Against the dull-witted band of the ekthor, that's another
matter entirely."

      "Who are the ekthor?" I ask.

      "Bandits mostly..." Byrn answers. "They're related distantly to orcs,
and I've to say they're even less intelligent.  Ekthor are all club bangers
most often found in service to a grimlock conclave.  I'm surprised you
didn't see any in all the months you spent in captivity."

      "I might have," I say, trying to recall all the faces of those I
killed. "My memories are just a little vague is all." In retrospect, the
months I spent as a slave had been literally filled with faces: fat ones,
large ones, skinny ones, and some missing eyes, lips, and even noses.
However, all of them blurred together whenever I tried to recall just one
OUTSIDE of Talen's. I guess I should be thankful that I lost only that
much. How awful it must be to have years or even decades stolen by the
grimlocks.

      My thoughts turn to the pregnant girl in the tent, and I wonder how
she's doing. Yeah, nothing can compare to what some have gone through. For
the first time in my life, I actually feel my life's a bit better than the
next person's, and that's saying a lot.

      Correldon clears his throat and lean over my shoulder to whisper in
my left ear. "We should be heading to the surface soon.  We've lost many of
our number from raids made out of the shadows by the minions of the kuanni
and the grimlocks. Now, as well, we've the pregnant girl to tend to. She'll
need sunlight for the child to be birthed for it's unwise to bring life
into a world of darkness and not expect its soul to be tainted by it. I
also need to ascertain whether the child is human or tainted with the dark
seed."

      "What?  What do you mean by that?" I ask.

      The elf watches me with his silver eyes. "The grimlocks have ways of
altering such a being while it lies in the womb of the mother. The child
that's born could be an abomination or it could be human.  It depends on
the purity of the blood that courses in her veins. She may already be
tainted with the creeping shadow of the grimlock's dark power. Though this
may be cured in her at no easy expense, her child cannot possibly be
allowed to survive as an offspring of a possible unholy union."

      "If you lay a hand on her or the child," I declare. "I'll make sure
you pull back a stump."

      "You threaten me, Atlantean child?"

      I pause. The others look at me startled while Talen grips my fingers
tightly under the table.

      "Atlantean?" Byrn states with incredulity. "You're Atlantean?"

      "Of course," Pink Hair mutters. "It explains his unearthly physical
beauty. I thought him elven in nature, but he's better looking than Cory
here. That and he lacks the traits which all elves seem to bear so
proudly."

      Cory snorts. "You compare apples and oranges. But I won't be insulted
that you'd call this human more beautiful than I even though the blood of
the goddess of beauty is said to flow in my veins."

      I detect a flash of jealousy in Correldon's face, but it lasts only a
second.

      The table erupts in words as everyone voices an opinion on Atlanteans
and elves. Some of the men brag over the very few elven women they've taken
to bed. Others recite tales of how Atlanteans were forged by the goddess of
beauty from clay. Supposedly, she gave her most perfect pair to the Great
Forest Spirit to breathe life into them so that they could run and play
along the shoals of the Sea of Tranquility.

      My past overwhelms me for a moment while the men and women seated at
the long table descend into a row over the many virtues of the races that
walk Wynwrayth.

      Yes...yes...I recall my ancient home briefly, but it's so long in the
dust and cobwebs of memory that it's practically useless to dwell there for
long. That part of my life is gone. It's lost in the endless deep of the
ocean. Now, it's only an annotation in the history book of some scholar to
study in order to understand the virtues of an extinct culture.

      "Yes, I'm Atlantean..." I utter. "How did you know?"

      "I know quite a few things," Correldon says. "I've lived three
standard human lifetimes. I lived through the troubled times that claimed
your land once famed for the beauty of its people. But you're also no
ordinary Atlantean. You've the stateliness of a cherished being. Your
length and symmetry of body is a mark of royalty. But is it possible that
I've met the rarest of all the bloodlines here in this muddy womb of the
world? Do you recall anything of your house...your ROYAL house or has it
been too long for you in the service of the grimlocks? Please...don't take
that as insult...for I know the virtues of Atlantean flesh such as you
possess. But I also know the weaknesses of a still fragile human mind and
how the domination effect can wipe out entire histories and make foggy the
things which flow easily to the mind of an elf."

      I take a moment to reply to Cory; in that time no one speaks. "I take
no insult. I no longer remember my House name. Only that I once lived in a
city with domes that glittered like fire under the sun. The buildings
soared and the houses were broad.  I lived in a palace where the summer
breeze smelled of perfumed roses and the touch of linen felt like satin on
my skin."

      "You were probably one of the princes," Correldon muses. "But even
though your people are now dead, you can be thankful for their legacy. Your
physical perfection will stay with you for the rest of your life and be the
prize of anyone who mates you. I'd daresay you'd rate highly if given over
to an Auditor of Eilustriel."

      Him saying so reminds me, unpleasantly, of the degrading experience I
received at the hands of the priest of Moh-Dehll back in Thorn. Gods...that
happened so long ago, yet my memories of it are clearer than those of my
most recent past.

      Talen stares at me in wide-eyed amazement and then whispers in my
ear. "I'm so going to fuck you tonight."

      It makes me blush and he grins in response. Then Talen finishes
stuffing his face and wipes his fingers off on a washcloth that doubled as
a napkin. "I know little about Atlantean culture," Talen says. "Is it true
they're resistant to magic?"

      "I-I'm not sure," I respond. "But if it were true, wouldn't I be able
to resist the grimlocks?"

      "You should listen to your friend," Correldon states. "Atlanteans are
especially resistant to certain kinds of harmful spells and those that
target them specifically. I'm not sure why. And as you noted, they're also
resistant, but not immune, to the psionic powers and dominations that were
brought to bear upon you. I don't know to what extent this power exists,
but I do know that the grimlock that controlled you might have had to place
something inside you in order to increase the psionic lock upon your mind.
Did you ever have anything inserted inside you during your imprisonment? It
would have been invasive and entirely unpleasant because the grimlocks do
not believe in anesthesia when they operate."

      When Cory says this, I instantly think back to when Talisac unlocked
my royal jelly by inserting what he called a "sound" into my urethra. But
is it possible, he also left something behind inside my scrotum? And if so,
what was it?

      "Had the Grimlocks not done this, you might have eventually eroded
the bonds upon your spirit and broken free.  Once that happened, you might
have become immune to any further probings that he was capable of. He
wouldn't have wanted that at all."

      I almost say something about the procedure I was forced to endure,
but I remain silent. It's frightening to think that I may have something
inside me that equates to grimlock technology. But it's more frightening to
admit that I was forced to endure this procedure to a table of fellow men
who might judge me for being weak because I was unable to resist Talisac. I
also don't want to alarm Talen who depends on me for emotional vicissitude.
He might get scared if he knew that the rock he clings to has been
violated. I just thank Tethyr that I thought ahead and insisted on bringing
Talisac along. Now, if there IS something inside me, only Talisac will be
able to tell me what it is. I also assume that only Talisac is capable of
removing it.

      I swallow uncomfortably and Talen asks, "What?"

      "Nothing," I reply as calmly as I can and then take a swig from a mug
filled with water.

      Correldon stares at me suspiciously and says, "I'm glad the
information I delivered is pleasing."

      "Thank you," I reply.

      "You're welcome," he declares and then looks to the pink-haired gnome
who shrugs his shoulders.

      It seems that they too suspect something of me now; that I may be
holding something back.  I guess I really need to brush up on my poker
face.

                                    *****

      Chapter 21 next week!