Date: Sun, 22 Jun 2014 10:30:20 -0400
From: George Gauthier <georgegauthierdc@gmail.com>
Subject: Elf-Boy's Friends 4

			Elf-Boy's Friends 4
			Gifts
 			by George Gauthier

[The further adventures of characters from the novel 'Elf-Boy and Friends']

			Chapter 1. Boot Camp

"Gentlemen, How many times do I have to remind you not to act on the
preparatory command but to wait for the command to execute. If I tell you
Left... Face!, don't turn till you hear the command to 'Face'. Here comes
another: Dress Left... Dress!"

On the command to execute the recruits looked left, extended their arms to
the side and touched the shoulder of the man on their left, forming a more
or less straight line, though of course not straight enough to meet the
exacting standards of Sergeant Holden, a grizzled veteran of the Plains
Wars. Still he conceded that their latest efforts were an improvement.

Not the first time, young Drew Altair halfway regretted accepting a
commission in the military reserves. Halfway. But his commission was the
price which the druids of Haven and the Commonwealth had exacted for the
newly developed healing magic that would extend his life to five or six
centuries and keep him perpetually young. The druidical gift of extended
youth and longevity was intended to increase the magical firepower of the
Commonwealth of the Long River by slowing natural attrition among magically
talented but short-lived humans. Not a bad bargain then, all in all.

It was just that four whole days of orientation on military courtesies and
customs was a bit much for his civilian soul. Did they really need all this
practice in recognition of rank insignia, forms of address, saluting,
dismounted drill, and all the rest of their martial folderol?

Not to mention that his uniform fit poorly, hanging too loose on his slight
frame, one which barely reached five feet. Appropriately for the tropical
climate Drew's uniform was made of lightweight green silk and consisted of
full length trews hung low on his hip bones. On top was a sleeveless shirt,
split at the sides for ventilation. Whenever he could get away with it, he
unfastened the ties in front to bare his pectorals and midriff, displaying
his corrugated chest and abs.

Silk was the fabric of choice for the military since silk minimizes the
damage from arrow wounds. Arrows actually do more harm when drawn out than
when they go in. The fibers of wool, linen, and cotton fragment and
contaminate wounds, which leads to blood poisoning for those who survive
the wound itself and cannot reach a magical Healer in time. Silk retains it
structural integrity, wrapping around the arrowhead. That allows it to be
withdrawn while doing little further damage.

Drew was looking forward to the main part of the course where he would
learn military organization and tactics, signals and ciphers, use of
weapons, and better ways to employ his magical gift of Fetching,
(telekinesis in modern parlance).  Drew already had some pretty good ideas
of his own on the effective use of his Fetching power but hoped to learn
much more from his fellows reservists.

Drew was no stranger to the military having served six months earlier as a
war correspondent for the Capital Intelligencer in the joint conquest by
the Commonwealth and the Frost Giants of the former land of the centaurs
now called New Varangia.

As a civilian volunteer Drew had fought in two pitched battles against the
centaurs, alien six-limbed carnivores who treated the other sentient races
of Haven as prey. In his first battle he used his magical gift of Fetching
to fling glass globes filled with an inflammable oil at the charge of a
wedge of centaurs which his friend Artor, a Firecaster, ignited turning
their attack into a shambles. In his second battle Drew wielded a pair of
steel balls the size of peaches, controlling their flight with his 'shadow
boxing' technique, to make them zip left and right, up and down, back and
forth and, most pertinently, through the heads and bodies of centaurs
attacking the shield wall of the Frost Giants.

The small blue tattoo on his left shoulder showed that the Frost Giants had
made him a giant-friend, one to whom all giants would automatically extend
their hospitality and protection.

Drew reflected that at least the army hadn't sent its newest recruits to
some dusty military camp in the hinterlands. The thirty recruits had
comfortable rooms in the bachelor officers' quarters (BOQ) at a military
caserne in the capital district. The campus was neatly laid out as a series
of courtyards lined with trees for shade. The newly minted ensigns had
access to the officers' club and a lending library. The food was pretty
good too.

The builders had taken advantage of the flat terrain of the region and the
prevailing south wind to cool the building. Wind catchers directed the
airflow downward and through the city's underground aqueducts where the
warm air gave up its heat to the cool earth and subterranean water. Natural
air pressure then forced the air back up into and through the domed
buildings. No machinery required. Awnings blocked direct sunlight from
window openings which were not glassed in but set with wood lattices that
afforded privacy without blocking ventilation.

Drew's platoon was an unusual cohort of newcomers to the military. First
they were not rankers but men who had been directly commissioned as
ensigns, the lowest of the officer ranks.  Few were young. Almost all were
in the prime of life, men who not only had strong gifts of Firecasting or
Fetching but had shown imagination, courage, and public spirit in the use
of their powers over the years.

For instance, two of the new ensigns were professional fire-fighters. In a
career of more than twenty years the first man, a Fetcher like Drew, had
saved untold victims trapped by flames in the upper stories of their
dwellings or bureaux by Lifting them from rooftop or window and setting
them safely and gently to earth. Sometimes he raised fellow firefighters
and their hoses to otherwise inaccessible spots where they could better
attack the flames.

The second fire-fighter was a Fire-caster. His technique was simple. He
just told the fire go out, though that was far from the end of it. To make
sure the fire stayed out, his crew used their pike poles to tear the
smoking structure apart, uncovering hot spots and smoldering embers. They
then directed their hoses to play water on the debris and cool the formerly
burning materials below their kindling point, lest the fire spring up again
when their backs were turned.

By contrast to these mature veterans, Drew was only eighteen and looked a
year or two younger due to his small stature. Drew was a little guy, call
it five foot zero (152 cm) and one hundred pounds even (45 kg) though he
had a wiry physique with a well-defined musculature and a strong upper
storey for one so slight of build. The young journalist was a vision of
youthful male pulchritude with spiky auburn hair and narrow sideburns
reaching below the ear lobe plus straight eyebrows with almost no curve to
them. They framed a cute face with a high forehead, chiseled jawline, and a
perky nose slightly turned up at the end.

When the group first met, many of the older males in his cohort were
incredulous of Drew's place in their midst. How could someone so young have
earned a place among them? Who was this youngster anyway, so slight of
stature, so impossibly comely, and utterly androgynous in appearance? Why
to look at him, a boy who fell far short of normal male standards in
height, muscular development, and manly characteristics, you would think
him to be a rich man's boy-toy or even a professional bum boy.

A champion spoke up for Drew.

"Daft ye are, the lot of you" growled a graying Fetcher originally from the
League of Independent Towns by the name of Angus McFarden.

"Ken ye not who this laddie be? How do ye think he earned that blue tattoo
on his shoulder that marks him as a giant-friend, a very rare honor
indeed. Why 'tis none other than the brave Fetcher who turned the tide in
two pitched battles against the centaurs not six months ago. And shame on
anyone who has not read his eyewitness account of the war in the Capital
Intelligencer."

"Oh, you mean that war correspondent" a firecaster in his thirties
answered. "Sure I guess we all read his stuff, but everyone took him for a
man grown, not some snot-no... er... that is, ah... someone so very young,"
he finished lamely. "Sorry about the misunderstanding. No offense, kid. Er,
son. No, dammit, that sounds bad too. What do I call you anyway, Red?"

"How about just using my name, Drew, Drew Altair?"

"Fair enough, Drew Altair. Fyrd Kalmen here. Thanks Angus for straightening
us out. How do you know young Altair anyway?"

"He interviewed me and wrote a series of articles about my new
business. 'King of the Iron-Roads' he called me. I rather liked the sound
of that."

McFarden's enterprise was the start of an transportation revolution. In the
far north of the Commonwealth, near the river town of Grayling, the man had
developed a whole new transportation system inspired by the small
ore-trolleys used in the local iron mines. McFarden scaled the system up to
transport iron ore to smelters on riverbanks miles away. Pairs of Fetchers
used their magical gift in tandem to propel the loads along the tracks. A
third went along to spell one of the pair in rotation.

The Fetchers did not have to lift the heavy loads, merely using their gift
to overcome inertia to get the wagons moving, then to counter rolling
resistance. The effort of going uphill was lessened by the track bed itself
which conferred the mechanical advantage of an inclined plane. Hence a pair
of Fetchers might move as much ore as a team of six. McFarden foresaw the
day when a network of iron-roads would criss-cross the Commonwealth. The
flat terrain of its central valley lent itself to his system.

McFarden had harnessed the magical resources of the Commonwealth to provide
motive power, and to provide new and rewarding careers for those with a
strong Fetching gift which might otherwise be wasted. No wonder the man was
among the first chosen to receive the treatment.

"As to the boy's place among us," McFarden continued, "I don't doubt that
endorsements from Lord Zaldor and General Urqaart helped with his
selection."

Drew nodded.

"Yes, plus those from Artor Klarendes, son of the Count of the Eastern
March and now a full Hand of the Commonwealth in his own right, and the
famous twins Sirs Jemsen and Karel. All of them are good friends of mine."

"More than just friends, I don't wonder." Angus observed with an eyebrow
lifted interrogatively.

"Well definitely not Artor, who 'consorts exclusively with the female half
of the species' as he always puts it. More's the pity. But sure, the twins
and I are boyfriends. Not to mention the Frost Giant Finn Ragnarson I also
wrote about."

"Aye, that would be the Young Finn who stood with Old Arn in the
Breach. They held the line long enough for others to rally to them. Your
account downplayed your own part, but it was clear that you must have been
standing right behind the pair at the maximum point of danger."

"You are making me sound like a hero when actually I just had to get close
so I could see to wield my steel spheres without hurting anyone on our
side. And if the centaurs had broken through, I think I could have held
them off me, for a short time anyway, with my shield technique where I whip
my spheres back and forth in an arc, one high, one low."

"Anyway, what's really great about my job as a journalist is that I get to
meet so many interesting, exciting, and intriguing people. You Angus and
Finn are just two of them. I am so glad Count Klarendes mentioned your name
to me in that letter he sent."

"Yes, well the count is one of my investors. Smart man he is, getting in
early. If he thought he was rich before, wait till my iron roads really get
rolling. Anyway the good count thought I would make a good story for you."

"Oh, you did. Please, if you know anyone else I should interview, let me
know. I should mention that I will be writing a series of articles about
this program we are all a part of."

"Sounds good, Drew Altair," Fyrd Kalmen remarked.

"I ask only that you get my name right. You have no idea how many people
call be 'Fred'." he added shaking his head sadly.

			Chapter 2. Confraternities

Halfway through his orientation, on one of his free days, Drew went for
some fun in Twinkle Town. Named for its clientele, Twinkle Town was a
district or rather a cluster of drinking and dancing establishments favored
by those who fancied pretty boys and by pretty boys who favored being
fancied.

Meanwhile and unbeknownst to Drew, Jemsen and Karel had returned from a
successful business trip upriver and rewarded themselves with a night on
the town. They too headed over to Twinkle Town dressed, if that is the word
for it, in kilts made of nearly sheer white linen, wrapped so low on their
hips that the exiguous garments threatened to lose their tenuous grip on
the twins' pert rumps and slip right to the floor.

Drew wore one of his trademark sleeveless tunics of white silk split to the
waist that displayed and flattered the trim and taut body he had so
recently grown into and was inordinately proud of. His revealing outfit,
taken together with his slight build and impossibly pretty features,
practically shouted 'boy-toy', which was fine by Drew. If that made him
looked less than manly, so be it. Drew liked his look just fine, thank you,
and was not the least bit interested in "manning up". And with centuries of
unchanging youth ahead of him, he didn't see why he should have to.

Drew got there first. Timing his entrance to a lull in the dance music,
Drew waltzed languidly across the nearly empty dance floor, turning slowly
to let everyone get a good look at him and to admire him. With all eyeballs
on him, Drew knew he was being naughty, nothing less than a brazen show off
and cock-tease. But he couldn't help himself. Exhibitionism was in his
nature, a way for him, as he saw it anyway, to share the physical beauty
that nature had graced him with.

As the music returned, eager suitors sought Drew out on the dance
floor. Quite the social butterfly, the auburn-haired lad changed partners
with every dance, and sometimes let a guy cut in during one, to the intense
disappointment of those whose hopes he dashed.

"You little heartbreaker!" a familiar voice growled in his ear. Drew turned
to find the twins.

"Jemsen! And Karel too!" he exclaimed as they drew him into a hug.

A collective groan all around marked the definitive disappointment of the
also-rans. Some patrons recognized the twins, who were regulars in Twinkle
Town. Others noticed the triple tattoos that marked them as elf-friends,
dwarf-friends, and giant-friends, all three, the only living persons to be
so honored. The rest of the crowd saw that there was simply no contesting
the twins in the looks department. Except for a couple of elf-boys and one
really cute human lad, no one else was even in the same league as the blond
newcomers.

Of fully human stock, Jemsen and Karel were identical twins, young palomino
colts whose well-defined wiry musculature evidenced the high level of
fitness the boys maintained from all that running and swimming they
did. They were blessed with cute fine-boned faces, their heads crowned with
cornsilk blond hair. As with Drew their vitality and youth had been
extended by the druids so the scrumptious blond beauties practically glowed
with good health. The total effect was incredibly sexy.

"I thought you guys were out of town." Drew exclaimed.

"We got back this afternoon, had a bite to eat, then headed over here, and
just in time from the look of things. This horny crowd looked like they
were ready to haul you off to the back room for a gang-bang."

"Not to worry. If anything untoward threatened, the bouncer would have
stopped it. That's him, the huge fellow at the door. As I came in I tipped
him a silver to keep an eye on me. That way I wouldn't have to invoke my
gift and maybe hurt a guy whose only fault was too much to drink and too
much enthusiasm."

"Boy-toy good looks like yours, Drew, can generate entirely too much
enthusiasm with the wrong sort."

"Tell me about it!"

"So why don't we two show folks that you are already taken. Care to dance?"

"Sure. You'll have the next dance, Karel," Drew assured the other twin.

With that the happy couple picked up the beat and whirled across the dance
floor in an energetic and athletic display of supple bodies and exciting
dance steps just oozing with eroticism, proving the old saying that dancing
is really a vertical display of a horizontal intention.

Quite some time later, the trio adjourned to the twins' comfortable rooms
with the oversized bed the twins shared. The sheets were made of high
thread count linen dyed a light green that complimented the twins' blond
looks and sun bronzed skins.

Now on most of their nights together, two of the trio of friends paired
off, though the sexy youths sometimes frolicked in a threesome. Jemsen was
the most sexually aggressive of the three; next was his twin Karel, with
Drew the submissive boy-toy often getting plugged at both ends at
once. Drew loved surrendering his body to whatever use the twins would make
of it as they took control of his limbs and contorted his limber body into
all manner of naughty positions.

The twins like to fuck him either doggy style or more typically on his
back, his own hands holding his knees to spread his legs apart as the boys
pumped away at his hungry hole. Drew always shuddered deliciously as the
impaling cock repeatedly stroked his joy spot, as it slipped in and out,
sending his small body into paroxysms of erotic ecstasy. His eyes rolled up
and head whipped around as he moaned and groaned, sweat pouring off him,
utterly lost in the surge of sensation.

Jemsen like to punctuate his strokes with occasional slaps to the bottom
boy's buttocks, emphasizing his dominance over the smaller male beneath
him. Till, in the fullness of time, one of them would reach climax, usually
setting the other one off as well. If Jemsen came first, the signal for
Drew to orgasm was the wet warmth he felt as Jemsen spurt his seed into his
innards. For Jemsen, the trigger was the sight of Drew's small but shapely
cock spurting ropes of white gism onto his chest and even his face, he
ejaculated that strongly. But then he was a teenager.

"You know Drew," Jemsen enthused, "I don't know which is more exciting:
taking you while your are lying on your back where I can watch your pretty
face and kiss those pouty lips of yours, or mounting you from behind, when
you are down on all fours, rather like a stallion mounting a filly. Do you
have any idea how shapely you are back there? You are just perfect with
firm boy buns, round where they should be yet flat on the flanks. And they
dimple ever so fetchingly when you walk in front of me. I am so glad you
are as partial to total public nudity as we are, not to mention our old
friends the elves who habitually go around 'skin-clad' as they call it."

Drew also like mutual oral sex, with him and one of the twins lying on
their sides, head to toe, affording easy access. The twins were past
masters of the proper technique and had taught the relatively inexperienced
youth all their ways for pleasuring cock. Drew was an apt pupil, a natural
you might say. In short order his new-found expertise in the amatory arts
matched his unbounded teenage enthusiasm.

Drew loved waking up flanked by the slender bodies of the twins. All three
were utterly smooth and glabrous, with skins like silk unblemished by any
body hair. For the twins, that was due to the permanent depilatories the
elves had applied to their skin when they were inducted as elf-friends. In
Drew's case it was due to the healing magic of the druids which rendered
his hair follicles permanently quiescent. That applied to their cheeks as
well. None of the trio had been old enough to grown even peach fuzz much
less a man's beard and now they never would.

The druidic healing magic that boosted the vitality of all three also
transformed their sebaceous glands into ordinary sweat glands which
produced only salty water, to cool their bodies. Put simply, these boys
smelled and tasted ever so sweet. Their skin never reeked of that off scent
produced by sebaceous oils turning rancid. What you got from all three was
just the smell of clean healthy boy and the taste of salt.

Naturally curious, the twins asked Drew about his training. The young
journalist was eager to share.  The army trainers had told Drew that he was
too small to stand in the battle line shoulder to shoulder with other
fighters. No need then to learn to wield the sword, the axe, or the
spear. Better he should practice the unarmed combat skills the twins had
taught him. In a fight, he should try to break free from his opponent and
take off rather than mix it up. They recommended the same thing with
wielding the kukri that the twins favored as a close in weapon. Cut your
way into the clear then run for it.

Actually Drew had some ideas of his own on wielding the kukri. The twins
had already showed him the basics. If he had to make a stand up fight of
it, his best tactic was to use his Fetching in conjunction with his
blade. For instance, if some big guy came at him wielding a full sized
sword. Drew should seize the moment when his enemy raised his weapon to
strike. Right arm thrust out and braced, he should yank his enemy onto the
blade impaling him, then cutting downward to spill his guts onto the
ground. If a comrade was in trouble, he could yank their common foe
backwards onto his outstretched blade. Or he could simply disarm a foe,
Fetching his weapon right out of his hand.

Drew's small size and acrobatic skills gave him an advantage in climbing or
vaulting obstacles. Any town or city offered a multitude of escape routes
for anyone nimble enough to take to the rooftops, hop fences, or clamber
over walls. Same thing in a forest. The trainers told Drew to take up the
new sport increasingly popular around the country where agile guys learned
to swarm up the facades of buildings via drainpipes, projections in
decorative brickwork, window sills, awnings, clothes lines, etc.

"Our group shared the techniques each of us as individuals had developed to
use our magical gifts. In my case, I demonstrated my shadow boxing
technique to another Fetcher who also flings steel spheres around. He
agreed that my technique helped his concentration and would make him more
effective."

"A firecaster shared a powder he developed working with alchemists. When it
burns it produces smoke that irritates the eyes and lungs but does no
permanent harm. It gives firecasters a way to be effective without
killing. No clinging balls of fire and no need to turning living beings
into crispy critters either. With a simple fuse, anyone can use the powder
tactically. The pellets can be delivered by arrow or cross bow quarrel or
dropped from a running horse to discourage pursuit."

"Now if only there were a way for all the magically gifted throughout the
Commonwealth to share techniques, not just our small group. It would
benefit our whole society. Unfortunately the Army said that it is not their
business to organize the gifted who were not in its ranks."

"So, why don't you and some of the others set up your own
organization. Call it the Confraternity of the Gifted or maybe separate
confraternities for the major magical gifts of Fetching and Firecasting,
and any others you can think of, like Magnetism and Thunderbolts."

"That sounds good, Jemsen, but how would it work?"

"Well, your are the journalist here, Drew", Jemsen replied. "Publish a
newsletter available by subscription and distributed via the postal
service. Announce your new venture in the news sheets to drum up
subscribers and contributors and advertisers. The venture will also give
you invaluable experience as an editor."

"You know, I just might do that!"

And he did, publishing bi-monthly for starters. Drew persuaded Angus
McFarden to lead the Confraternity of Fetchers and Fyrd Kalmen the
Firecasters. As editor, he relied on their experience and expertise to
evaluate the suggestions and contributions from the membership. As a
contributor Drew wrote of his techniques with his steel spheres, drugged
darts, and kukri.

Within a year the Transactions of the Confraternities of the Gifted had
thirty thousand subscribers with that figure looking to double in the next
year when the publication went to a monthly schedule. The gifted were being
inspired to start new business which capitalized on their talents while
prospective employers placed hiring notices to meet their needs. The
Commonwealth could only benefit from the maximization of the talents of its
citizens.

The publication was not a big money-maker, though something was left over
after expenses. Drew did not draw a salary, viewing his work for the
quarterly as his personal contribution to the betterment of the
Commonwealth. His uncle's print shop ran off the copies at cost, which was
his own contribution to the project.

Though the newsletter reached only a tiny fraction of the ten of millions
of Commonwealth citizens, those it did reach were among the most
gifted. Drew's publication had become a catalyst for the application of
magical gifts to business and industry. All of which was just one more
indication of the strength of civil society in the Commonwealth of the Long
River, known with good reason, as the benign hegemon of the continent.

			Chapter 3. Elysion

"Say, isn't that the druid Dahlderon waiting with Count Klarendes at the
gate of the manor?" Drew Altair asked, somewhat perplexed. "I thought he
was on assignment to the continent of Karelia."

"Shh! That's a state secret, Drew." Artor admonished. "Don't repeat it
anywhere, not even among friends. No till Dahl, Owen, and Merry get back."

"Get back? Then that isn't really Dahl with Klarendes yet that fellow looks
like his identical twin. I mean I met Dahl only once. We spent three days
together when the druids boosted my vitality with their healing magic. And
anyway, where is Aodh? I am as much surprised not to find the little
shapeshifter at the count's side."

"And thereby hangs a tale." Artor intoned cryptically.

Drew shot him a questioning look but realized he would get nothing out of
Artor who wasn't a Dread Hand of the Commonwealth for nothing. Among the
many qualities the Commonwealth's troubleshooters were known for was their
close-mouthedness.

Klarendes greeted his son and heir Artor and his guest, the young
journalist Drew Altair whom he had met twice before during interviews the
count had granted some months earlier. Klarendes was also familiar with the
Drew's reporting in the Capital Intelligencer.

In addition he had read Drew's new book with great interest. It was an
extended account, illustrated with Drew's own sketches, of the recent war
with the centaurs. Drew himself and Artor had fought heroically in two
pitched battles against the creatures.

The account began with Finn Ragnarson's diplomatic approach to Klarendes,
the peace talks with Lord Zaldor in the far North, the Long March of the
Frost Giants across the Hot Lands and the Western Plains, the war of the
Commonwealth and the Frost Giants allied against the centaurs which led to
the latter's utter extermination, the emigration of thousands of Frost
Giants from the Commonwealth to the newly conquered land they called New
Varangia, and finally their early efforts to establish civilization in what
had always been a hunting preserve for the carnivorous centaurs.

"No need to stand on ceremony with us, young Altair. Just set your kit in
your room, make yourself comfortable, and come down for refreshments on the
veranda."

That was an indirect way of saying that when Drew rejoined his host he
would not be amiss showing up in the nude or skin-clad like the young druid
or the count's spouse, the missing shapeshifter Aodh, or, by now, the young
heir as well. When not professionally engaged Drew usually practiced total
public nudity and not just during exercise or athletics. Whenever he was
not on assignment Drew pranced around the capital with nary a stitch, not a
breechclout, not even one of those genital pouches that he was now old
enough to wear. Though eighteen, Drew looked a year or two younger because
of his small stature and delicate features.

Casual public nudity was the usual thing among the youth and young men of
the Commonwealth and most other lands and especially among male elves in
their secluded vales. After a month in uniform, Drew was more than ready
for an extended period of casual living, which was one reason why he had
taken up his friend Artor's invitation to the spring festival in Elysion.

Another reason was his longing for the young shapeshifter. When they had
met before, Drew was visiting Elysion in a professional capacity, so he
refrained from making advances to Aodh. The fact is that Drew was strongly
attracted to the exotic youth, spouse of the nobleman, sometime minstrel,
and a wir or shapeshifter whose alternate form was that of a black
panther. Nor did Aodh did seem indifferent to Drew's evident interest in
him.

In his human form Aodh was so beautiful he took your breath
away. Impossibly pretty, he was a melding of the innocent and the wanton,
the epitome of a boy in the full bloom of his youth. Large green eyes
dominated the stunning face of the androgynous youth which tapered from a
wide brow down a pert nose to a narrow chin. Adding to his fey look, the
wir was sloe-eyed, his orbs shaped like almonds and slanted faintly upward
above prominent cheekbones. From there the planes of his face tapered to a
small mouth with pouty lips just begging to be kissed and a sharp
chin. Aodh's eyebrows bent in a angle rather than a round arch. The boy
wore his hair in a shaggy cut with bangs and tapering sideburns that framed
a face as cute as a kitten.

Small, skinny, and smooth muscled, standing five foot zero and only two
pounds over a hundredweight, with a skin like porcelain, he looked utterly
fragile and vulnerable. Actually, thanks to his magical nature, the epicene
youth was twice as strong as he looked well as being a master of the
martial arts.

"So do I call you Dahl or what?" Drew asked the young druid who wasn't
one. "And am I right is guessing that you are really Aodh wearing someone
else's form?"

"Correct, but you must call me Dahl to maintain the masquerade. My job is
to give the impression that the druid Dahlderon is here in residence,
working with the old manuscripts in the library and also regaining his
mental equilibrium after a trying mission to the lands of the eastern
barbarians. In a month or so, 'Dahl' will set forth on a mission and return
next year for another visit."

"As to why the masquerade, the absence of three of the strongest druids on
this continent might be seen as weakness. True there are now a score of
druids all told, but most won't come into their full power for a century."

"I never knew you wirs could assume another human form!"

"That ability is not something we talk about much. We like to keep that
trick up our sleeve, so to speak. The fewer who know about it, the more
likely an impersonation will succeed. It might be the only way to escape
from danger. Promise me I won't read anything about this in your newsletter
for the Confraternities of the Gifted."

"Sure thing. My lips are sealed."

"I should explain that we wirs find it very difficult to master an extra
form. The subject must be someone we know well, preferably intimately. And
it has to be someone of the same mass. I could never impersonate the twins
for instance since I cannot trade bulk for height."

"Right. Short and skinny as you are it has to be someone your own
size. Someone our size really."

"With your permission, I hope to use you as a template too. Of course, I
don't know you that well, Drew, not yet anyway, and certainly not
intimately."

"We could remedy that, Aodh. If that is all right with you and Count
Klarendes."

"Don't let any concern for me stop you," Klarendes said. My spouse is his
own man and makes his own choices. I know that I am secure in his
affections. I also know that we males crave variety. I can hardly expect a
boy as highly sexed as Aodh is to be content with only a single partner for
the centuries we can expect to share our lives. Besides, Aodh sees how much
you fancy him, Drew. Your tongue practically hangs out whenever he's
around."

"Am I really that obvious?" Drew asked.

"I'll take that for a rhetorical question." the count observed blandly. "So
don't be surprised when Aodh slips into your room over the next few
nights."

"I am looking forward to it." Drew declared fervently.

Just then Klarendes' other feline companion, the personable ginger cat
Esmeralda, padded onto the veranda. Instead of going over to Klarendes she
sniffed at the visitor and remembered his scent from his previous
visits. Esmeralda jumped into Drew's lap, stood up on her hind legs, and
rubbed the side of her face against his, marking him as one of her
humans. Drew smiled and stroked her glossy coat.

In a stage whisper, and with a quick glance at Aodh, Artor said to him:
"Let that be a lesson to you. Cats like to be petted."

Drew winked to show that he got the message.

That evening, as arranged, Drew made a production of being fatigued and
went up to his room early. He stripped the bed of all but the bottom sheet
and lay down. A half hour later Aodh slipped into the room, his nude body
gleaming in the moonlight that streamed through the window.

"Aodh, tell me why you are sneaking around. It's not like our assignation
is a secret.

"It's the feline in me. Prowling around at night is what we do."

"OK, just so long as you don't yowl like a feline when you make love."

"Very funny."

Drew smiled as the beautiful boy settled beside him. Not giving Aodh a
chance to take the lead, Drew rolled onto his side and laid a light kiss on
the raven-haired boy's pouty lips then moved on to his chin and then his
cheeks. Drew's right hand roamed over the exquisite body lying next to him,
petting, and rubbing, and stroking, starting at the shoulders, then
fingering the chevron of his ribs. Drew's thumb traced the depths of Aodh's
navel, the blade of his left hip, and squeezed his butt cheek lightly. Aodh
wriggled closer, his arms held loose at his sides to give Drew total access
to his torso.

Drew's kisses migrated lower, first to the tiny red nipples which he licked
and nibbled tantalizingly. Then his tongue explored Aodh's deep navel. The
effect on the young wir was all too obvious as his cock swelled and turned
red, engorged with blood. Drew touched the back of his hand to the
sensitive area of the wir's inner thighs, drawing an intake of breath from
the younger male as his legs spread involuntarily, opening himself for
penetration.

Aodh's ball sac drew up tight to his body, the swollen cock cantilevered
over his flat belly as Drew's tongue traced the vein of his cock from the
balls up the shaft, linger to flutter the tip at Drew's sweet
spot. Meanwhile, Drew's fingers were probing Aodh's sweet hole, their entry
eased by the sweet oil the boy had applied as a lubricant.

It wasn't long before the stimulation of cock and prostate had its
predicable effect Aodh's seed spurted onto his chest and belly to the vocal
accompaniment of oohs and has, moans and groans though Drew's ears were
spared a genuine feline yowl. As the wir lay back in post-coital lassitude,
Drew gently thumbed his deflating cock, rubbing the sweet spot with his
thumb, making the boy shudder in erotic torment.

"Ooh, ooh, ah."

"Hurt too much? Do you want me to stop?"

"No. It's a good hurt. I only wish these feelings could last longer."

"I know exactly what you mean. This is why sex with another male is so
satisfying. We know each other's bodies. I am so glad the count was willing
to share you with me. He is quite the understanding spouse, Count Klarendes
is."

"As am I, if you take my meaning, my pretty red-head."

"What? You don't mean the count actually fancies me?"

"And why should he not? We are much the same type aren't we: short and
skinny and smooth and impossibly cute."

"I prefer to think of myself as lithe or gracile rather than skinny."

"Have it your way, Drew. Uh, I have to ask, does Taitos have a chance with
you, Drew?"

"Now that you ask, I would have to say yes. His handsome face suggests both
strength and warmth of character, and his body is strongly built. All that
clean country living. Anyway, let's leave him for the future. Now is our
time together, hopefully not just once like your brief tryst with Finn."

"Not to worry. I just had to try it out, having sex with a Frost Giant. At
seventeen, Finn stood only six inches over six feet, so small enough for me
to handle. Now someone the size of Old Arn, more than two foot taller, well
forget about it. Besides, I fancy you at least as much as you fancy me. And
it's not just looks. Personality and brains count too with both of us. In
the brains department we complement each other, me more with maths and you
more with words."

"And the twins are strong in both areas."

"Fine, but that is enough talk about other boys. Come here, you."

As Drew straddled him and impaled himself on Aodh's manhood, Aodh braced
his legs and thrust away for all he was worth. Drew raised and lowered
himself onto the rampant cock, shuddering and shivering with lust and
delight. In the fullness of time, both lovers reached climax with Drew
spurting his seed on the young wir's belly and chest. Afterwards, they lay
together, their sweaty bodies glued together by his ejaculate as they
lovers kissed sweetly and sighed their contentment.

The next morning, as he woke up next to the lovely boy he had frolicked
with so happily the night before, Drew asked:

"So, Aodh, now that you have known me intimately are you ready to become my
double?

Aodh shook his head and explained that imprinting the template of another
human takes time. Even then, after the new form is learned, the
transformation itself takes longer than usual and is more difficult. Also
Aodh could not transform from that new form directly into a panther but
must take on his true human form first. Two steps then instead of one to
bring out the beast in him.

As for a true impersonation, one good enough to fool people who knew the
model for the template, magic could do only so much. It took observation
and mimicry to copy the walk, body language, voice, speech patterns, and
mannerisms of another person. Still good enough to fool strangers was
usually enough to slip through a dragnet that was looking for someone else
entirely.

Over the next ten days, the young lovers were inseparable. The pair
traipsed around around the valley often hand in hand, obviously young
lovers who had just found each other. Both boys were visions of youthful
male pulchritude blessed with exquisite fine-boned faces and trim and taut
physiques which they put totally on display as neither bothered with
clothing.

Aodh took Drew on the grand tour of Elysion. The secluded valley was shaped
like a bowl about eight miles across, ringed by mountains and closed off to
the east by vertiginous cliffs through which the river that drained these
lands flowed through a deep ravine to the Eastern Plains beyond.

The dark green of the forested slopes was broken here and there by cleared
areas cut for timber. Sheep meadows and vineyards on the lower slopes gave
way to flatlands with pastures, orchards, grain fields, kitchen gardens,
and other works of man.

Everything within the mountain ring was Klarendes property save the village
in the center and the arable lands immediately around it: fields, orchards,
pastures, and hay fields. Farmers were yeomen freeholders, owning their
acres. The other villagers were free men who worked in shops or smithies or
taverns or were in the direct employ of the domain itself at fair
wages. Most owned their own homes though some rented rooms.

All of which explained the obvious harmony and prosperity Drew saw all
around in the cheerful faces of children off to school and the cleanliness,
vigor, and robust good health of the yeoman and artisans, and women folk.

The counts of Elysion no longer exacted feudal dues and hadn't for
centuries. Their income came from exploiting the lands they personally
owned which lay beyond the farms and included the timberlands and
sheepfolds in the mountains, the well-tended vineyards on the hilly slopes,
a small silver mine, and the scenic waterfall, site of a popular
resort. The count also drew an income from his considerable real estate
interests in nearby towns as well as other investments farther afield.

Like everyone else the counts paid local taxes levied by a council of
elders for the upkeep of roads and bridges, for the provision of public
services such as the school and the infirmary, and the maintenance of the
fortifications at the head of the gorge that lead to the outside world.

"If only every place were as peaceful and prosperous as Elysion. The people
here are very lucky."

"Well they work hard for it Drew. It doesn't just happen. Yes we have peace
but war has come to these lands before and might do so again, hence the
fortified gate at the cliffs which we call the Stone Castle. The barracks
are empty but stand ready to house the Army of the Plains in case it needs
Elysion as a redoubt. A warehouse stocks enough rations to feed ten
thousand men for a hundred days."

"Speaking of war, I should tell you that I am researching another book,
this one about the recent wars with the eastern barbarians. I got a lot of
information from the twins and I hope to get more insights from both you
and Count Klarendes while I am here. As for the druid you are
impersonating, I interviewed Dahl and Merry about their adventures and took
notes during our three days together. Lord Zaldor has graciously arranged
for my free access to the state archives in the capital."

"So you are both a journalist and an historian, not to mention your recent
turn at soldiering as 'the Fighting Fetcher of the Centaur War'."

"Please! I am trying to lived down the silly sobriquet which my publisher
used to publicize my book, much to my chagrin."

"Your publisher. That would be your father."

"Right."

After breakfast Aodh took Drew by the kennels to see Klarendes' gigantic
Molossian hunting hounds. The kennels proper opened onto a area some five
acres in extent entirely enclosed by bamboo to keep the rambunctious
animals from running loose without supervision. Aodh led Drew through the
gate and explained that the Molossian were friends with him even in his
panther form. As if on cue, a couple of the hounds bounded over and licked
his face. Aodh wrestled a bit with them, and, after a moment of hesitation,
Drew joined in the genial rough-housing. Fierce as they could be in the
hunt, Molossians had a reputation for being good with people and kids.

As they left the enclosure Drew reminded Aodh that he had never seen him
transform so he asked Aodh to demonstrate. Aodh nodded.

His figure blurred as his outlines flowed and assumed new
proportions. Within seconds, the pretty boy-toy whom Drew had bedded turned
into a sleek black panther. Aodh leaped and ran around a bit then reared up
and slashed the air with his claws, snarling to look fierce. Then he
dropped down and morphed back into the Aodh Drew knew.

Affecting a supercilious attitude, Drew noted: "I expected a full-throated
roar from you not just a snarl."

Aodh patiently explained that panthers simply could not roar. Their throats
were not shaped for it.

"I'll bet if I hooked my claws into you, you would roar, all right!" the
pretty wir teased.

"Hmm. I liked you better last night when you purred. Actually I was amazed
that you could do it in your human form as well."

"Purring is one of our most endearing characteristics. We cats rely on our
charm as much as our hunting skills to prosper among humans."

"Speaking of transformations, how do you juggle which form to wear, Dahl's
or your own?"

"Folks are used to seeing me run off in my panther form on a hunting trip
that might last several days. It is easy enough to slip back into the manor
house at night with no one the wiser. The next morning, the druid
'Dahlderon' comes down to breakfast and sits on the veranda showing his
face in public."

"It's not like we have genuine spies in our midst. We just want word to get
out that a druid is in residence here. We have even planted stories in the
local paper to that effect. Remember the Commonwealth's hegemony does not
go unchallenged along the periphery of our sphere of influence. The eastern
barbarians are always restless and dangerous in the successor states that
have arisen from the ruins of the military-industrial nexus built by the
life-leech Urloch. Then too there is that militaristic state in the far
west which occupies Lord Zaldor's attention. Actually I am not up on the
geopolitical challenges the Commonwealth faces. If you need to know more,
talk with Taitos. He is the grand strategist in the family."

			Chapter 4. Brontotheres

A week later came bad news. A band of centaurs had attacked ranches in the
northern stretch of the Eastern Plains. The regional governor wrote to ask
for Klarendes' help in tracking them down. The count's Molossian hunting
hounds, his tracking skills and firecasting gift, and his experience
fighting centaurs were exactly what was needed to deal with the marauders.

This was a job for hunters not soldiers, hence the message was carried by
an officer of the civilian constabulary, a Lieutenant Pieter Gern, along
with ten of his constables. Unlike the patrolmen of the City Watch, the
Constabulary operated in rural zone and in the wilderness areas. Constables
were recruited from country lads who were good riders and trackers.

Unfortunately Count Klarendes had been called away just days earlier to the
town of Sunda on urgent business. It seems a fire had ravaged one of the
commercial districts and destroyed several buildings he owned there.

Wearing his silks, Artor received the officer on the veranda, read the
governor's letter, then told the lieutenant that he himself would deal with
the centaurs. He would also assume command of the expedition:

"Since my father Count Klarendes is unavailable, I'll be in charge. The
servants will gather supplies, mounts and pack horses, and ready our
Molossian hounds. I'll also bring four of my father's mounted
retainers. They are lancers who have fought centaurs before. Meanwhile
Lieutenant Gern, be so good as to fill me in on what you know already."

"Now hold on there, young Klarendes. Who said you were in charge? You may
be the count's son and heir, but these men answer to me, not to you."

Artor let him down easy.

"Lieutenant, everyone answers to a Hand of the Commonwealth" Artor replied
softly, displaying his credentials by triggering the small magic that made
his right hand glow with a pearly effulgence.

The constabulary officer blanched. No one wanted to get on the wrong side
of a Hand. The Dread Hands of the Commonwealth, to give them their full
title, were the chief trouble shooters of the state, empowered with
plenipotentiary authority should they see fit to exercise it.

"I didn't know, sir. Of course, we are entirely at your disposal."

"Fine. I would also like to invite a sometime comrade in arms to accompany
us. Are you game, Drew?"

"Him!" Gern blurted out. "A bare-assed boy-toy! What can he do?"

"Don't be fooled by his looks. My friend Drew Altair has gotten very good
at killing centaurs with those steel spheres of his, as he showed during
the recent war."

"Steel spheres...  war. You don't mean that journalist and deadly Fetcher?
Him?"

"Yes, Lieutenant, him, that is me. And I don't wonder at your
incredulity. I get that a lot, but I didn't earn this tattoo as a giant
friend for nothing."

"And yes, I am a boy-toy all right, just not Lord Artor's toy. Artor
Klarendes consorts exclusively with the female half of the species, whereas
I lean exclusively the other way."

"I see that I have badly misjudged the whole situation. My apologies to
both of you."

"No hard feelings, Lieutenant." Artor said speaking for both of them. "Now
to business."

Leaving Aodh behind to maintain his masquerade as Dahlderon, the small
detachment of centaur hunters rode north across the grasslands of the
Eastern Plains. Both Artor and Drew were in uniform. Artor had invoked his
authority as a Hand to activate Drew's commission as an ensign in the
reserves. Both young males wore slouch hats to shield their heads and shade
their eyes from the bright sun. The Eastern Plains offered little in the
way of shade save in gallery forests along streams or scattered copses
watered by the runoff from hills and slopes.

On his feet Drew wore short boots with thick heels that fit more securely
in the stirrups than a flat sole, giving the inexperienced rider a more
secure seat in the saddle. Like the constabulary officer, Drew wore a
leather belt supported by a narrower strap passing diagonally over his
right shoulder. The belt held the young ensign's weaponry: steel balls,
tranquilizing darts, and the kukri at his left hip plus a water gourd.

"Now that you are on active duty, Ensign Altair, don't forget the rule
against fraternization in the ranks. And yes I do mean our handsome young
officer of the constabulary."

"I am sure I don't know what you are talking about, Artor."

"Right! I happen to know that besides petite guys like yourself and Aodh,
you are also attracted to males who are tall and powerfully built like Finn
and a certain constabulary lieutenant who goes by the name of Pieter Gern."

"Come on Artor. For all you know, the lieutenant fancies females."

"No he doesn't, not the way he looked at you just now."

"In which case, Young Lord Spoilsport, you can count on me to observe the
proprieties -- under protest."

"Fair enough."

Drew accepted the situation philosophically. After all, his attraction to
the young officer was casual and purely physical. Not like his bond with
the twins, Finn, or now Aodh which were so much more than that. His new
friends offered more than just sexy bodies. They were people with bright
minds and engaging personalities, people he had come to like and respect,
people he liked to spend time with, people he hoped to go through life
with. That also applied to his firm friendship with Artor, forged in war as
comrades in arms, though without any sexual component.

Drew loved them all without being life-bonded the way Klarendes and Aodh
were or the way the twins were with each other. Jemsen and Karel were not
only identical twin brothers but lovers, comrades in arms, and each other's
best friend.

True their backgrounds were different. Artor was an aristocrat, an heir to
a title and lands. Though wealthy now and titled, Sirs Jemsen and Karel
were originally country lads of modest means. Drew's family had been
comfortably well off for generations -- not rich exactly but no one worried
about money. Finn and Aodh's circumstances in their homelands were also
modest. As a beneficiary of Balandur's will as well from being Klarendes'
spouse Aodh was now very well off in his own right. He too had been
knighted for service to the Commonwealth and was addressed in full as Sir
Aodh of LLangollen and Elysion.

Of them all, only Drew himself was born in the Commonwealth and in the
capital at that, which made him a real city boy. The twins grew up in the
forests northwest of the League of Independent Towns. The land of the wirs
from which Aodh hailed was a hidden valley thousands of miles to the
east. And Finn Ragnarson came from the district of (Old) Varangia in the
chilly land of the Frost Giants.

Drew reflected on how lucky he was to have such friends not to mention
centuries of youth and vitality ahead of him. No longer a boy in a hurry to
capitalize on his fleeting youth, Drew was less interested these days in
shallow relationships.

Besides his friends, Drew's ties to his family were strong. He was the
apple of his father's eye and worked well with both him and his older
brother, his publisher and editor respectively. Drew somehow managed to
juggle three careers as a journalist, historian, and activist for the
community of the gifted. And while not exactly his personal friends, he had
the good will of influential figures like Lords Klarendes and Zaldor,
General Urqaart, and the chiefs of the Frost Giants.

Life was good.

The next day the expedition set off down the recently paved road to connect
with the military road that ran north from Dalnot. Its right-of-way was
really two roadways in one. One was a carriage-way paved with flat stones
which served horses shod in iron, whether mounts or draft animals. The
heavy infantry of the regular army also marched on the pavement in their
sturdy hob-nailed sandals. Travelers who went barefoot or in soft foot gear
took the other walkway. Its firm but resilient surface was designed for
them and for the unshod feet of oxen, aurochs, and camels. The top level of
that roadway was a composite made of sawdust and bitumen. compressed and
heated, then laid in squares over the same substrate as the stone paved
roadway alongside.

They made good time. As their horses tired, riders switched to remounts,
which let them canter rather than clop along at a walk. They took lodgings
at travelers' inns in the villages and towns they came upon. In these
regions, farmers lived close together in villages, working the surrounding
arable lands, but ranches were scattered across the landscape, each housing
perhaps twenty persons.

After a hot day in the sun, their was nothing better than stopping at a
village or town, to find some shade, put a roof over their heads, sleep in
soft beds, eat hot food and quaff fortifying beverages. The more
adventurous even sought out willing girls or wine boys.

When distances between towns were too long, the hunters camped beside the
road, a much less satisfactory state of affairs, especially from a culinary
point of view, having to satisfy their hunger with only way-bread, fruit,
and dried meats and cheese, or whatever stew their cook could put together
from chance-taken small game.

Late one afternoon, Drew lifted the spirits of the whole company when he
brought down two fat bustards which their approach had startled into
flight. Among the largest of flying birds, each weighed nearly thirty
pounds (13 kilos). As the birds rose into the sky Drew fished out a small
steel ball the size of a marble.

"Bird shot" he explained to Artor.

Flipping the ball into the air with his thumb, he sent it off at high
velocity to intercept the birds. Startled squawks marked their passing as
the steel sphere did its deadly work before zipping back into Drew's
outstretched hand. Before the carcasses of the bustards could fall to
ground, Drew Fetched them into the laps of two of the constables.

"Er, yes," the lieutenant said, quick on the uptake. "Pluck and dress those
birds would you? You get first dibs on portions after Ensign Altair."

The two constables nodded, satisfied that their lieutenant was playing fair
with them in the assignment of camp duties.

Raising his voice Lieutenant Gern ordered the column to halt and make an
early camp. While the bird were being plucked and dressed, the cook buried
wild tubers in the earth and built a fire over them to roast the tubers and
grill the birds too.

The lieutenant was gratified with Artor's respect for his own chain of
command whose attitude was that his command of the expedition as a whole
did not mean taking command of the constables away from their officer. So
Artor never gave direct orders to the constables and tried to consult
beforehand with the lieutenant and Drew about strategy.

After the paved road petered out, their route took them through the nature
reserve the Commonwealth had established a decade earlier for a herd of
brontotheres transplanted from the land far to the East which they shared
harmoniously with the wirs. This was familiar ground to the young
journalist. Drew had visited the range a year earlier and written an
article for his new sheet, the Capital Intelligencer.

Bizarre in the extreme, brontotheres were enormous animals, standing as
high at the shoulder as a Frost Giant. Brontotheres had thick skin which
hung in folds and served for armor. They were armed with two horns set side
by side pointing forward. The charge of a herd of brontotheres was said to
be unstoppable. Not for nothing were they called the juggernauts of the
jungle.

The farmers who grew cabbages and sugar beets for the brontotheres told of
a clash between their charges and the centaurs. It seems that after
attacking the herds of local ranchers, a trio of centaurs foolishly thought
to cut out several young brontotheres from the herd, the first generation
of those born on their new range. Though still only the size of large
steers, the five youngsters roared a challenge to the centaurs and squared
off to fight them, unequal as the match might be. Their only advantage was
that their thick skins protected them against the javelins the centaurs
used in the hunt. The centaurs would have to get close enough to stab
rather than just throw. The articulation of their arms meant that centaurs
could not wield spears or bows.

Hearing their calls for help, the matriarch of the herd formed her charges
into a defensive circle, heads and horns facing outward while two young
bulls charged off to the rescue. Now brontotheres are much too heavy to
gallop, a gait where all four feet are off the ground at one time, if only
briefly. Their charge is more in the way of a fast shuffle, which, given
the length of their legs, is very fast indeed.

The centaurs turned to face the oncoming bulls but their javelins just
bounced off their skulls and thick skin. The beasts closed with their foes
impaling them on their horns and bowling them over with their momentum to
be trampled underfoot. The bulls turned back and reared up, bringing the
full weight of their forequarters onto the prostrate bodies of the hapless
centaurs, stomping them into the ground. It was over in moments. The
centaurs had learned the hard lesson brontotheres had taught to so many
foes down the ages: Don't mess with us.

"These marauders must be stragglers from the centaurs who besieged the
Frost Giants in that military staging area up north." Artor opined. "There
can't be too many of them left."

"Not yet, but suppose they have females with them. Given time their numbers
will increase. And here we had thought they were extinct."

"Which they will be after we're done." affirmed the lieutenant.

"Actually centaurs are facultative hermaphrodites," Drew explained. "Most
of the time and always when on the hunt or at war, their bodies are male
with the female organs atrophied. If conditions are favorable for it, some
will transform into functioning females, couple with males, and lay
eggs. We were lucky in our war in New Varangia, that all the centaurs were
in their male phase, evidently waiting for the depleted population of game
animals in the homeland to rebound after the migration of thousands of
centaurs to the Eastern Plains relieved the pressure from overhunting."

			Chapter 5. Centaurs

Riding northwards on dirt roads, the expedition finally reached the zone
the centaurs had claimed as their new hunting grounds. The column reined in
outside the gate of a large ranch. Artor, Lieutenant Gern, and Drew rode
through the gate up to the front porch of the ranch house.

"Welcome, strangers," a grizzled rancher greeted them. "My name is Tham
Berro. This is my ranch. By your uniforms you must be the help we sent for
to deal with these murdering centaurs. Killed two herd boys, they did, as
well as a passel of livestock."

Artor introduced the three of them and asked about using the ranch as their
base camp. Berro was more than willing. The number of livestock their
efforts would save him dwarfed the expense of putting sixteen men up for a
few weeks.

Berro showed them to an empty barn for a roof over their heads against the
rain. Considerable rain fell on the the extensive grassland but mostly in
the rainy season, turning the flat landscape into a temporary wetland and
making the region unfit for raising crops. The rainy season was nearly upon
them, which was why the hunters had pushed the pace on their way north.

Berro's spare barn had a corral and its own well, hand pump, and horse
troughs. His ranch hands brought in clean straw, hay, and oats for their
horses. The lieutenant had his men settle in with the intention of resting
for a day after their long journey before going hunting.

Nearby was one of the continuous flow latrines so typical of the
Commonwealth. A diversion from a nearby stream fed the constant flow of
water under the seats. A trickle ran in a small trough behind the
footrest. You did your business and wiped your butt with a fresh-water
sponge on a stick. Then you rinsed the sponge in the trough and hung it
where it was exposed to the sun which dried and sanitized it for the next
user. The waste was flushed by gravity into the stream lower down. Hence no
odors and no flies.  The three holer had four walls, but the sloping roof
covered only two thirds of the space enclosed as shelter from wind and
rain.

The men also hung a portable shower, which was nothing more than a canvas
bucket with a wooden shower head attached to the base. Hungry eyes feasted
on the nude form of the young journalist as he performed his evening
ablutions, the water streaming down his belly and back, sluicing through
his rear cleavage and parting around the prow of his cock.

"There's a real beauty, Lord Artor," the ranch owner observed to his
guest. "Young Altair has one of those physiques that is more about quality
than quantity, petite but with a wiry musculature. His skin is smooth and
entirely glabrous which looks good on a lively lad. The lad's prettier than
any girl I ever lay with, that is for sure."

"I am aware of the effect that the boy's physical appearance has on many
males though not on myself. To be candid, I have never really understood
all the fuss some men make over pretty boys."

"I take it then that you are entirely conventional in your tastes. A
pity. For myself, I take beauty where I find it, in the male as well as the
female."

Drew stepped away from the shower and dried off in the late afternoon sun,
electing to stay naked until supper. That was not just for comfort. He knew
he was under scrutiny, and here was his chance to display the trim and taut
body he had so recently grown into. All right, maybe he was being a
show-off, but if there was ever a time for it, surely it was when you were
young and beautiful and desirable.

Supper was a hearty meal for once rather the the usual light fare in the
evening. The hot food went over well with the hungry travelers. As the men
consumed the filling country fare, the rancher noted:

"I saw that four of your men are lancers, Lord Artor. Good. That is exactly
what is needed against these creatures. Three of my own men wield the
lance, all veterans of the Army of the Plains who fought at the Battle of
the Great Entrapment. They know the lay of the land hereabouts and would
like to help as guides."

"We are happy to have them. My personal retainers have also killed
centaurs. That was during a raid on Elysion some years ago."

"I see, but those four are the only lancers among you."

"My constables are our trackers and night guards and camp factotums."
Lieutenant Gern explained. "Three of them can call light so nothing can
sneak up on us or our remuda out of the dark."

"Besides, two of our number have powerful magical gifts. Lord Artor is not
only a Dread Hand of the Commonwealth, he is also a Firecaster. His friend
Ensign Altair is a Fetcher who can fling steel spheres around with deadly
effect. Both fought valiantly in the recent war against the centaurs."

"Of course! I knew I had heard those names before. Ensign Altair, would you
oblige me by autographing my copy of your book."

"Happy to, sir."

The next day the hunt began. The hunters were in a race against the
oncoming rainy season which made travel across the flooded or at least
spongy landscape difficult. Once the rains fell, the livestock would be
herded to areas slightly higher than the water-logged lowlands.

Berro's guides led the hunting party to the site of the killings of the
herd boys. It was far too late to track the marauders back to their nest,
but the guides pointed out what they had found at the time, how the
centaurs used the patches of woodlands to hide their approach then rushed
upon the hapless youths.

"Why kill a couple of skinny kids when there were all these fat steers
around?" The lieutenant asked.

"Centaurs prefer the taste of human flesh to beef." Drew replied, drawing
on what he had read in the only two scientific monographs ever written
about the beasts, both published posthumously from reconstructed drafts and
field notes. His remarks brought looks of grim determination on the faces
of the entire hunting party.

Two days later, guided by the trackers, the hunters crested a ridge and
spotted a pair of retreating centaurs in the open the better part of a mile
a way, too far for Artor to throw fire either as a stream or as a great
clinging ball of flame. Drew called a halt then dug a pair of glass globes
out of his saddle bag. They held the dark oily liquid, the one that clung
to its target.

"Artor, can you set oil aflame from this distance?"

"That I can do. So if you would be so good, Ensign Altair..."

With a jaunty salute, Drew flung the globes at the retreating centaurs in a
high ballistic arc taking close control only as they neared their
targets. As the glass globes struck the backs of the centaurs and
shattered, Artor invoked his gift and set the oil alight. The centaurs
writhed with pain, unable to continue their flight. Four lancers, two ranch
hands and two of Klarendes' retainers charged the stricken centaurs and
drove their lances deep into their bodies, killing them.

"This was a good beginning, with honors all around to our guides, trackers,
lancers, and those with magical gifts," the lieutenant observed.

That set the pattern for the next two weeks. The hunters sometimes returned
to camp with nothing to show for their efforts, but most days they killed
one or two centaurs who lived scattered across the region. The Molossians
proved their worth again and again as they flushed centaurs who had
concealed themselves in thick brush.

Eventually the hunters found the nest or rather the nursery, for the eggs
of the centaurs had hatched. With disgust on his face at the sight of the
foul younglings and their dam, Artor invoked white fire [subatomic plasma]
so that nothing would be left of the monsters, not even charred bits or
ashes.

Centaurs were finally extinct on the continent of Valentia and good
riddance.

On Artor's recommendation, the ten constables and their officer were later
decorated and awarded a handsome bonus. Drew had his own bonus and the
salary he had earned while on active duty turned over to the ranch hands
who had taken part in the hunt. For the young journalist, the adventure
itself was compensation enough, not least because once again he got to put
his byline on a scoop published by the Capital Intelligencer.

Perhaps best of all was the welcome Aodh gave Drew when he and Artor
returned to Elysion.

			Author's Note

If you have enjoyed this story and others like it, consider making a
donation to the Nifty Archive. It is so easy. They take credit
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This story is one of an occasional series about the further adventures of
the characters introduced in the fantasy novel 'Elf-Boy and Friends' and
published by Nifty Archive. The chief protagonist of the novel, Dahlderon,
elf-boy and druid, will appear in these stories in a supporting rather than
starring role. Each story stands on its own, with the focus on one or just
a few of the original characters. This story is entirely fictional, with no
resemblance intended to any person living or dead.

Readers who like these stories might want to try my two series 'Daphne Boy'
and 'Naked Prey' in the Gay/Historical section of the Archive. My 'Jungle
Boy' series of Hollywood tales is posted in the Gay/Authoritarian section.
The recent series 'Andrew Jackson High' relates the trials and tribulations
of five of its gay students. For links to these and other stories, look on
the list of Prolific Authors on the Archive.

Comments and feedback welcome.