Ancient Magic: Darkness

Ancient Magic: Darkness
Part Two

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Outside, the day was bright and hot. Only a few minutes after feeling the sun beat down on his neck, Iphrell removed his upper robe and carried it in his arm. It was a relief to feel the soft breeze blow against his chest. Matthian did the same, revealing a torso that looked as if it was carved by the gods. His chest was large and firm, his abs rippling. Iphrell longed to see his back, but it wouldn’t be polite or proper for him to look. As high mage, he did have the right, but openly admiring the boy’s body would instantly label him a whore. Such was expected of the yosho nowadays, but not his mage.

Iphrell had created an image for himself, commanding and imposing and surrounded by mystery. It was dangerous to get to close to the public. After all, Usan was his puppet, and he couldn’t work the strings if he were dead. No risks could be taken. And so he preferred his name to be generally unknown; he was simply “The High Mage”. There was no need for a personal level with the people. That came through Usan.

“Was it your father’s decision, or yours, to apply for the position?” Iphrell asked as they walked down the hill towards town.

“It was originally my father’s,” he replied, “but he convinced me to like it myself. It’s fascinating, what you do, and I’d love to be a part of it.”

Iphrell smiled. “It’s not all glory, I’m sure you understand. We work behind the scenes, keeping the pumps and the lights and all of those mechanics going throughout the city. You only really see us when it’s time to build something.”

“Sure,” replied Matthian, “but it takes a lot of work and effort. Everyone says magic isn’t easy. I like a challenge. It gives me a chance to better myself, to be more than I thought I could. You know what I mean?”

“Absolutely.” They crossed the bridge that separated the lands of the mansion with Ezrasin. The city was busy, filled with various stands selling their wares, and people from all around coming to buy them, even as far as Tursdek. Ezrasin was a crossroads of trade, and it was time to take advantage of that. Far past time, as far as Iphrell was concerned.

They reached a small restaurant on the shore of the Wetrill River. A waiter showed them to a table and Iphrell ordered them the finest wine and grilled pheasant soaked in a creamy, spicy sauce, a specialty brought in from Usrain. They ate, and Iphrell admired the boy’s manners of the nobility. Etiquette seemed a lost art, but this boy ate with a grace and dignity one would only expect on the dance floor or on the stage.

“What did you plan to do before you got this opportunity?” Iphrell asked.

Matthian frowned. “I can’t say I was sure. I liked poetry, but you know there’s really no market for that, and I had hoped to join an acting troupe.”

“And your father approved?”

“Hardly. That’s why I’m so glad this came up. Magic has always been fascinating to me, but I never imagined it was something I could do. I always thought you were born with the talent, and then, when I heard it could be learned, it still never crossed my mind that somebody might give me that gift.” He smiled, piercing another slice of peasant with his knife and eating it. His beautiful skin seemed to glow in the sunlight.

“Your father did tell you where that gift comes from, didn’t he?” Iphrell asked. He watched the boy’s face.

“Of course,” Matthian grinned. He put down his knife and leaned in closer. “I must tell you though, I have never slept with a man.”

Iphrell felt his heart skip a beat.

“Father wanted me to keep clean until it was time to make such connections. However, I have worked hard on my body, and I know I can give intense pleasure to the yosho. Father has told me everything I could possibly do to please him.”

“A virgin. I will make sure to let Yosho Usan know. He’ll be pleased. He hasn’t received fresh meat in a long time, and no doubt he will find greatest pleasure in adding to your knowledge.”

They finished eating, Iphrell paid, and they left, walking for a while along the river. There was a large, closed garden up ahead, surrounded by the tallest hedges. It belonged to the yosho, his own private space on the river, to be enjoyed alone or in whatever company he chose to bring there. According to stories, it was sealed by magic, and, while true, Iphrell couldn’t help but smile at the superstition of the people.

“That’s the yosho’s garden, isn’t it?” asked Matthian.

“It is. I have to perform one final test on you before I can judge whether or not you are suitable.”

Matthian looked at him, worry on his features. “What is that?”

Iphrell smiled. “You have nothing to worry about; it’s only a massage. Relaxation for you, and an opportunity to truly examine your body.”

“You won’t take me, will you?”

“There’s no reason to. The yosho will do that. I only make sure he will be satisfied as best I can within the limits.”

They reached the outer hedges of the garden, and Iphrell pressed his hand into the hedges, sending energy down his arm and into the plants. They moved aside and made room for the men to walk in.

This was the simplest of the yosho’s gardens. Only a few flowers grew around a fountain depicting a nude man, but most of it was the greenest grass overlooking the bank of the river. Iphrell took Matthian down to the water’s edge. “Disrobe, and soak yourself in the water. Then, come back up here and lay on the grass.”

Matthian obeyed, and when he took off his pants Iphrell saw that he was gifted, certainly more than his father, and maybe even more than the mage himself. He watched the muscles of Matthian’s back and legs ripple as he stepped into the water and submerged himself. The boy rose from the river, dripping wet and glistening in the sunlight.

Matthian lay down on his back, looking up at Iphrell with a nervous expression on his face. It bothered Iphrell, but he knew the boy simply wanted to remain clean before he slept with the yosho. “Roll over,” he directed, then straddled the boy’s back to give him good access to the shoulders.

He kneaded the boy’s muscles, feeling them firm up at his touch, and then relax as dug into the tension and pulled it out. He clutched the large shoulders, squeezed the firm biceps and snaked his hands all down the boy’s back, pressing here and there. Matthian moaned under his touch, and Iphrell felt him sink into the grass.

He worked the boy’s legs next, feeling them harden and relax as he manipulated them. The boy was strong, and his muscles filled Iphrell’s hands, and he made sure to feel every inch of skin. He grabbed Matthian’s butt, working it up and down, feeling how firm and full it was. He longed to kiss it, to drag his tongue over the boy’s skin, but that would be later, when Matthian wouldn’t know.

He got up and rolled Matthian over, the boy limp with pleasure and his mouth hanging open, gorgeous lips framing white teeth. He stroked the boy’s chest, the hard plates of sinew resisting him, and he felt the creases in the boy’s abs. The boy’s dick shuddered, and a drop of precum formed on the tip. He moved his hands to the boy’s groin and laid down upon him, his lips close to the boy’s ear.

“I could take you right now,” he whispered. “The yosho would never know, and I could give you the sweetest pleasure you’ve ever known.”

“No!” said the boy, pushing him off.

Iphrell smiled. “Congratulations, Matthian. You are ready to see him.”