THE LORD COMMANDER OF THE BLUE CLOAKS, Ser Latchlon of House Pierran roamed the kingdom for days with his men. They searched the golden city of Calipsos, the corners of the streets and alleys. They raided the whorehouses and tumbled the pubs. The King had given an order. A royal command to find the Wytcher. His officers went through all of the summerlands, plastering scripts dictating a coin reward to any man who delivered up the Wytcher's location.
Latchlon spent his days in the sun, marching with soldiers to ports and villages, questioning merchants and farmers but none seemed to have seen the white-haired mage. He had vanished away like the mists. Latchlon had spent his nights on the Seer Towers, watching for any sudden movement in the distance. He had tripled the number of the Eracusan patrol teams by the Blood Forests but no man saw the sorcerer. Latchlon knew the wizard was in the summer lands but his whereabouts evaded him. If the sorcerer was even a tad cunning as the Seers, then Latchlon doubted even the Kingsguards could find him.
He hadn't seen Caelywn for days and he was on edge. The little girl was his light and he always seemed to be calm-headed whenever she was around. Besides, she was his duty. He had ordered her father's execution. It seemed only honorable that he keep her safe.
Latchlon stood in an empty bedroom chamber in one of the Seer Towers, contemplating what method to use in order to draw out the Wytcher. If they couldn't find him, all they needed to do was flush him out. The problem was that the only thing the cold wizard seemed to care about was gone. The Wytcher cared about the Barkeep but she had slipped right through his fingers.
"Fuckin' Icelander!" Latchlon cursed and banged his fist against the bricken walls.
The woman would have been the excellent bait. Blood pooled around his knuckles and he moved to search for some cloth to wipe it up.
He found a light garment and grabbed it, wrapping it over his fist. His movements were rough and his skin simmered with wrath. Never more had he wanted to hear Caelywn's soft singing. The girl's shrilly voice could ease him of the tension tightening his muscles.
Latchlon heard a scuffle behind and abruptly turned to the sound. His new sword was out of its sheath and high up the air in seconds. A deadly Seer forgery. The learned men made the best weapons in the continent, aside from the ancient arsenals hidden up in the North.
Latchlon sighed and lowered his sword when his eyes met with his squire. A dark-skinned lad with a skinny body and fair eyes. The beautiful result of the intermingling of Syverians and Mithosians.
The squire's eyes held the truth of Latchlon's passions; the deep swirls of the Commander's secret, for Latchlon had tangled many a night and day with the boy. The squire walked closer and smiled at him.
"Not now, Seth," Latchlon growled, turning away.
He was antsy and only wanted to be left alone so that he could ponder his failures. How the shit had he let the Wytcher escape? He should've gone after him, but deep in his heart's chambers, Latchlon knew he would now be dead if he had. Forty soldiers had lost their lives and their families were still in mourning.
One of the Captain's that had ridden with him was his own cousin, Arayn Pierran. The man had died valorous and Latchlon made sure to get his name in the Bard's book of heroes.
Through the corner of his eyes, he spotted Seth moving for him. The lad walked close and stood behind him.
"I seek only to ease you of your armor, Ser Latchlon," the squire said. Latchlon didn't believe him. The boy had that epicene glow that seemed to always get to him. Latchlon knew it was but a while before they would be tumbling onto the bed to the right of the chamber.
Seth was the son of his Housekeeper in his estate at the army's fort; Mam Petyr. She was the one he had left to care for Caelywn. He knew the woman since he was a wean and was sure that she was the one that had pulled him away from his mother's tits. She was that beloved and a woman of good renown.
Latchlon didn't know Seth's father but he figured the man must've been a foreigner, maybe from one of the Isles on the Carrean sea. Seth's brown skin was of the mixed race. Mam Petyr had lost her entire family to the Iron Clan's savagery. She had being pregnant with Seth at the time and ran as her house toppled with flames to the only place she hoped for help. The Ivory Castle. The Kingsguards would have put her away but for the timely intervention of the then Queen; Marie Pierran, Latchlon's mother.
Mam Petyr remained with the royal family and had been with them for decades. Latchlon took her as his Chamberlain once he moved into the Fort. She was the only woman who truly understood and accepted his desires. Even Arlon didn't entirely comprehend his passions. His brother just thought it was some urge that would fade with time. His late father had thought it sickening that a man should lay with another man. But it was just who he was. Latchlon couldn't change his nature no less than others could change their parents. It was like blood. It ran free and wild, and he needed it to survive.
Seth's family had always been part of the royal family. His cousins were among the castle servants and a few of them were low-ranking Kingsguards. Seth was the one his father, Vaster the Third had caught him with that night of the royal ball, hidden away in the gardens...
Latchlon was still locked in his thoughts when Seth moved close and peeled off the blue cape falling from his squared shoulders. He loosened the metal rings holding the edges and the cloak fell to the stone floors. He gently picked it up and draped it over a rack to the side. His hands fingered the silver epaulettes and they came off next. He slowly undressed Latchlon down to only his white underpants. The Commander was aware of the sensual movements of his squire; the way his eyes moved over him. It was the grip of his fingers on his arms, the soft brush of his fingertips over his skin. Latchlon knew the game Seth played. They had played it many times before. It was the slow seduction.
Latchlon stood in front of a large mirror with Seth behind. Their eyes met in the looking-glass and Seth's hand pinched at the defined muscles of his naked chest.
Latchlon turned around with a growl and grabbed the boy. Their lips met in a sweaty kiss. Latchlon gripped him hard by the thigh and felt the press of his arousal. He pulled away suddenly and before Seth could utter a word, he turned him roughly to his back and bent him over a study table. His breeches ripped under Latchlon's large hands, the material flying away to some shadowed corner.
Latchlon roughly pulled at his pants, pushing them from his loins down to his ankles. He wet his palm, lowered it over Seth's bent figure between his legs. The boy groaned as he pushed in completely to the hilt. Their shivery pants and groans echoed in the chamber as Latchlon held him down, his head flat against the table surface as he slammed deep into him. After a while, Latchlon lifted him off the table and took him to the large bed.
The next minutes were full of rough grips and rumbly rasps as they tumbled the sheets. Seth took him in his mouth more than once and Latchlon formed a silent breath as they drove each other mad. They settled sweaty into the sheets after about an hour's length of passionate exertion.
Seth stayed in bed with Latchlon for all of three heartbeats before he rose, moving for his clothes scattered across the floor. Latchlon lifted up the bed to a sitting position and watched him get dressed. Seth was one of the very few people Latchlon knew he could give his life for. The first was his brother, Arlon. Aside from his duty to give his life for the King, Latchlon knew he would give it even if he wasn't an officer in the royal army.
Seth went about his work silently with Latchlon watching. He rearranged their scattered clothing into a neat pile to the side of the room and Latchlon wondered at how a man could be so composed. Seth could easily depict as a woman. Latchlon should know. The boy's figure already did. He was skinny with flesh in places men grew muscles. This alone was what normally sent Latchlon into his lust for him.
Seth carefully picked up his blue cape and hung it over a high rack off the walls so that the material flowed smoothly to the ground. He ruffled a few edges and picked off the hanging lint. Latchlon sat admiring his lithe stature as he moved. Seth was moving for the door when Latchlon stopped him.
"Wait," he called to him. He rose off the bed and walked to Seth. Latchlon stood a full head taller than him. He grabbed hold of his face with both his hands and pressed his forehead to his.
"Seth," he whispered, "I know I never show my feelings to you but I do care. Believe me, I do."
The boy nodded in his arms and gave him a small smile. Latchlon returned with a bright grin that showed his flawless dentition. The royal house of Pierran were a beautiful family, full of men and women who possessed golden looks no doubt inherited from their first father, Nihila the Golden One.
Latchlon released Seth and the lad moved away. He opened the door but stopped at the entryway.
"Ser, I think you should talk to the king. He may be your King but he is also your brother, and you both together are wiser than any sorcerer. I think you can figure out a way to get the Wytcher if you both work together..." After a few moments spent judging Latchlon's expression, Seth added, "...just a suggestion, Ser."
Latchlon replied with a nod of understanding.
"Thank you, Seth."
His squire smiled, silently shut the door and walked away.
Latchlon turned around and stared into the empty room. Seth was right. He needed Arlon's help not as a dictator but as a brother. Syveria was formidable for a reason. They had both secured the empire's wealth and borders because they had learned to work together from a young age. The King and the Commander, brothers in blood and heart. The last time they worked together, Father had died. There was no man they couldn't bring to his knees. Flesh was still flesh, and the Wytcher no matter the magic flowing in his veins, was still a man.
Latchlon strode to the bundle of his folded clothes, distorting what was just arranged by Seth. Soon, he stood in the chamber, clad once more in his shiny silvery armor. The blue robe flowed down his shoulders once again and he took a brief glance at the mirror before he marched out the door.
The two officers mounting the door followed him closely.
"Ser, your command?" one of the men asked.
Latchlon continued on, speaking without turning to the soldiers.
"Get me a meeting with the King," after a while, he added, "...privately."
"Yes, Ser," the man turned and hurried down the hallway, moving to perform Latchlon's order. The second guard followed from behind as Latchlon continued his power walk down the steps of the tower.
He felt renewed, revitalized. He felt once again powerful; all because of a tangle with his lover, the Squire, Seth Petyr. Fuck anyone who called him a cocksucker! he mused. As long as he could feel such energy in his bones, he couldn't care less about their insults.
~. ~. ~.
THE MOOR OF WILHEIM RESTED a great scape of green wild. The land was postioned on the other side of the White Lake, and opposite it, far across the expanse of gleaming waters was the residence of House Cranmer, the White Keep.
The acres of green field was owned by Lord Geralt Cranmer. The man loved nature and had purchased the marsh solely for pleasure. He left the field to grow wild and the grasses to grow high. He let the animals wander in, and often visited to watch them play during his recess. The distance to the field was travelled by a small boat, clear across the deeps of silvery water. It was in this untouched patch of green that Gryther the Whyte materialized out of thin air.
The weather was breezy and beautiful, and the grasses brushed like fur in the cool wind. The air was whispery, the kind of serene nature Bards composed poems about. A few birds sung high on the evergreen orchard and some squirrels openly danced on the thick branches.
Suddenly, the winds turned fierce. The birds instantly took flight and the squirrels hurried to their homes, peeking out from the tree holes with wide eyes at what seemed to have caused the abrupt change in weather.
A tiny flicker appeared in the air, then grew to a silver shine. It spinned forth in a brilliant halo until it stood seven feet high. Out from the brilliance shone an enchanted doorway, shaped like a door. The light dimmed and small female feet appeared out of the glowing portal.
Elrina took a tentative step out of the shining cloud overwhelming her. She was stunned when her feet met with tender grass. She looked around and was stunned even more by the verdancy of her surrounding. She had vanished off with the Wytcher some moments ago in the hard earth lands of the northern villages, yet here she was, in a land so green it looked painted.
As the thought of the sorcerer flittered by her, she turned behind just as she spotted him emerge also from the magical door. The man was undoubtedly powerful. He'd summoned a fog at the King's army and just a few seconds later, he made her disappear, only to reemerge in a place that looked like paradise.
The portal flickered behind as Latchlon exited it. The silver aura shined brightly then winked out and only fruit trees rose behind once again. No sign of magic or enchanted doorways. Just gone in a heartbeat. Elrina was awash with emotions as she stared at the Wytcher. The man had just saved her from a horrorful fate. Those arrogant pricks were going to burn her.
Elrina walked close to him, looking into his pale eyes. She noticed he shifted a small distance away. The man was mysterious. He was preserved and quiet, and only said few words at a time.
"Thank you, Ser," Elrina said.
She couldn't help wondering at his startling moon eyes and flowing silver mane as he stood before her. She could tell he was aged but the angles of his face were strong and he had a nimble posture. A sort of inner strength. He made no comment at her. He did however turn and begin to walk for the meadows a short distance away.
Elrina walked beside him, looking to his strangely beautiful profile from time to time. Her bare feet were cushioned in the soft grass and her toes revelled in the moist earth under. She could spot out the glassy surface of a loch to the side. Everything around was thriving and everywhere they turned was refreshing.
Elrina couldn't help but wonder how the sorcerer knew of such a place. He had only been in the summerlands for about two moons if her deductions were correct. It was as if he could somehow follow nature, as if he could read the wind and follow the clouds. She suspected he could. She wouldn't put anything past him at this point.
His stride was spaced as they walked the pasture. Bountiful willow trees, plump heaths and hydrangeas spread across on both sides, dotting the wholesome terrain. His steps were interrupted by the mild thunks of his Wytchwood staff on the earth.
Gryther slowed and Elrina, with her eyes glued to the perfect haven, barreled straight into him.
"I'm so sorry, Ser," she immediately voiced out. She noticed he didn't look the least bit bothered.
Most Blue Cloaks back at Calipsos wouldn't have hesitated to send their palms into her face for such 'disrespect'.
Stupid wench! They would call her. She noticed she had been staring timidly into the man's colorless eyes and averted her gaze. She just couldn't help herself. The Wytcher was different. He didn't mock her plumpness, or snort at her when she stumbled. His eyes were soothing and his features were benevolent.
"I'm Gryther," his voice rumbled to her.
Elrina looked up at that instant. She couldn't help her smile. The Wytcher had spoken, and he had spoken to her.
"I'm sorry for the stumble, Ser.. Ser Gryther..." she stammered.
"No worries, and I'm not a Lord. I am a person of blood and bone like you. Just Gryther."
Elrina turned pink at his deep voice and humble words.
"I'm Elrina," she offered, stretching out her hand to him.
Gryther looked down at her palm for a moment. When he spotted her eyes glint in disappointment, he hurriedly grasped her hand. Elrina noticed his touch was warm. The Blue Cloaks had often spread word that the sorcerers' skin were cold as their weather, lacking color and light, like the vampires they accepted into their fold. But Gryther's grip proved them wrong. His skin was pale but it was unnaturally so in a beautiful way, not at all the scaly fish-likeness the Officers had equated them to.
Gryther pulled away and walked to a large Holm Oak some feet away. He waved his staff and the grass underneath cleared to a perfect mat. Elrina was dazzled at the sight and enamored at the way he used his magicks; in a calm, sure manner.
Gryther was aware of the woman watching him. She looked upon him the way his people looked upon the flames. She looked upon him like a god. Gryther inwardly groaned at this. He didn't particularly like attracting attention to himself. That was why he had chosen the moor as the perfect place to reappear. No one would think to look for them here.
He had studied the entire continent before embarking on his journey. He knew by heart all the lands of Syveria. The kingdom's army wouldn't think to look for him in such place. The Moor of Wilheim was the property of a Lord. The soldiers would need permission to search the grounds. He would spot them from a mile away and would disappear before they even crossed the lake to him. The land was the perfect waiting spot till he could begin his mission.
Gryther had felt the spells of his brother Wytchers, calling him back home to the North but he never answered their summons. He had a duty. A task of immensely dangerous proportions. The survival of both realms hung in the balance. If he failed in his mission, fire and ash would rain down from the sky.
The summer dwellers were oblivious to the deadly entity that dwelled in their lands and lived amongst them. Gryther believed the ancient prophecy. He knew to believe it all.
The son of the frost had been born; the Dragon Changeling, and the way he was brought up mattered a lot.
Eighteen winters had already been wasted without knowing of his existence. Gryther could only hope he wasn't late to find him and train him in the right path. A boy that powerful could burn the entire continent to the ground. Adramon didn't stand a chance to the fury of a dragon. If the boy shifted without the proper training, neither Syveria nor Valkalon would need to worry about petty squabbles.
It would be a rain of fire. Hell would fall from the Heavens.
The Dark days prophesied by the Sisters of Magda. A time of blood that would rival the Night Wars.
Gryther had to find the boy. Fast. He felt his brothers summoning him back home but he subdued them. The North could wait. There was a far greater matter at hand. Gryther contemplated this to be the reason why the Aeon allowed him passage of the Blood Forest. The Crimson Knight had to have known of the imminent danger.
Elrina watched Gryther stand with his back to her for minutes, still like a tree. His body glowed with a strange halo and he looked transient, like he was being summoned but withheld.
She knew not to prod and busied herself with gathering the apples from the low-hanging tree branches. She didn't stress much for the fruits hung down in splendor. Elrina sighed at the lushness of the land. Someone must pay good coin to keep such a place this natural. A Lord perhaps, she contemplated. At this thought, she smiled. The Wytcher was brilliant. If this was a Lord's land, no one would think to look for them here.
Elrina gathered a few more apples and walked back to their small camp. When she arrived, she spotted Gryther folded into his cloak, lien at the foot of the tree.
She sat a few feet away from him and watched him sleep, munching away on her apples as the delightful wind stirred across her skin. The evening was slow in coming but she retired too at the amber glow of Nightfall. Staring at Gryther's ethereal features, she drifted off into her own dreamy slumber.
She forgot all about her near death and the bastard Commander. As her eyes closed over, all she could think about was the sorcerer before her, the serenity all around her, and a future that seemed brighter than ever.