Down In Flames

Sharp shadows masked the face of Liam's silent lover. The only thing Liam could make out were the sable curls and kind eyes now darkened with lust. It was the same damned dream.  Hands eased down into the loose undergarments he wore to sleep. Liam moaned as the clever hands sketched out the shape of his bottom and his crotch. The dream shifted, and he was nude, sensitized.  The hands him pressed into the grass, opened to the sky. Liam's hands scrabbled for purchase on the broad shoulders above him. Phee thrust once, spearing him, the spread of pleasured pressure tying Liam's body into knots. His shadow partner pulled out then thrust again...

In.

Deep.

Liam ripped himself awake, the sheets twisted up around his legs and damp with sweat. It was the same damn dream for two weeks that wrenched him awake and kept him rock hard for hours.

"Phee."  He growled. Instead of fading with time, the demon had just grown stronger. Ripping the sheets away, the prince padded over to the balcony overlooking Ryndhart's extensive gardens and took a lungful of clean night air.

 

Liam was no closer to the elusive creature than he had been when he'd arrived at Ryndhart, damp, dazed, unaccountably healthy for a man who'd almost died, and completely aroused.

His initial state of arousal hadn't dissappated. It waxed; it waned, but he'd been walking around half hard for the past two weeks.

Whoever this Phee was, he'd turned the Prince of Karrath into a twitching mess. Liam had to find this kid. Had to. There were too many unanswered questions. The Vigilant's crew had pulled his tank from the river. It was a mangled wreckage. The core had blown, and the driver’s-side wall had been completely torn off. The thing was made of ordinance-repulsion grade steel. Nothing should have been able to put a hole in it, not even a hundred foot drop, but there were crumple marks in the plating and the hinges looked like they'd been pulled apart like taffy.

Liam folded his arms, rubbing at the goose flesh there. He’d come close to dying. Those last moments were so hazy. What the fear hadn’t crowded out, the pain of being tossed off a cliff had dealt with. He should have broken every bone in his body, yet he’d arrived at Ryndhart whole and walked into the darkened castle on his own power.

Liam's rescuer eluded two dozen elite guardsmen. No one saw anyone leaving the glade. His men on the water saw no one despite the Vigilant’s searchlights trained on the river. Liam himself had poured over the ship’s recordings searching for any sign of his rescuer’s passing.

Liam’s goblin contact at the Corps of Engineering agreed that there was no way he could have gotten the door off by himself. His father’s physician also agreed that he was rather injury free for someone who’d just driven off a cliff. The day after that conversion Liam launched a search. Wrexler knew everyone in the area and compiled a list.

Liam watched from the luxurious suite in Ryndhart’s North Tower. He watched Jas interview farmers, merchants and foresters from across the province. Most of them had alibis that placed them far away from the Deone. There had been one boy, the son of an Arcturus Fallon that knew the forest really well, but during his interview he mentioned not being able to swim.

The lad seemed very much like a moron, eyes downcast and hunched over, nervously looking back towards his father for confirmation. Liam had Jas dismiss him and move on to the other interviews of the day. Unable to find his rescuer, Liam widened the search, concentrating in Mima Iscara, the largest town in the Province miles south of Ryndhart Castle and the Cote.

There was nothing else to do. There was no one to entertain him but Jas, all of his mechanical toys couldn’t distract him from the fevered lust that held him in its claws. There wasn’t even anyone suitable to spend some of that pent up desire on. All of the local women were married, under age, or otherwise unsuitable, and he’d be damned before he forced himself on one of the maids.

Jas neatly removed the possibility of a dalliance with many of the strapping males in the royal household. Home farmers were extraordinarily hidebound. Jas put together a little slide show of news clips from the area and titled it “What Home Farmers do to Deviants.” Grisly didn’t even begin to describe it.

Liam pined for the entertainments and excitement of Ida, the capital of the Karrathi Empire. Bored, frustrated and homesick, he’d been haunting the castle like a ghost. Liam’s mood deteriorated rapidly, and he often found himself enraged for no good reason. Liam placed his troubles squarely at the foot of his rescuer, whoever this Phee was he’d pay for not coming out of the woodwork when called, after sating Liam’s every dirty desire of course.

“Jas!”

The servitor didn’t move from where it sunned itself. He drew energy from the sun, and Liam had been running the servitor ragged with petty demands. The Goblin machinist who had designed Jas’ personality had short fuse, like maker like machine. Jas bleeped.

“What now?”

“Don’t be rude to me ‘Bot. I want my rescuer here.” Liam folded his arms and pouted at the forested vista beyond the castle as if he could call Phee out with his stare.

The proclamation went out the next day, and the day after a line of would be “rescuers” stretched from the rear entrance of the castle through the garden maze to the Bailey’s and out into the road.

Pissed, Liam had the robot make an announcement.

“Anyone found lying about his involvement in the rescue will spend a week in the stocks.” Jas announced and the line scattered and was gone like mist in strong sunshine.

Three days later a truly stymied Prince Liam could barely function. The dreams had intensified, robbing Liam of sleep. In them, Liam and the mystery rescuer made love, fucked, cuddled, kissed. There was so much in them, so much strangeness. Sometimes he saw himself through the ghost-lover’s eyes sometimes there was pain that flavored the pleasure he was feeling like a piquant seasoning to a favorite dish. Sometimes the dreams ran along the lines of his darkest fantasies.

Sometimes they weren’t Liam’s dreams at all. He could tell these from the bucolic bent they took. Making love in a haystack? That had never happened to Liam. Until this week he’d never even seen a haystack. Whatever had happened it needed to be figured out. Fast. He wouldn’t have some stranger invading his dreams with stupid nighttime antics. It was just damned rude.

The next night Liam woke with his seed spilled all over the sheets and the servitor leaning over him with a concerned robotic frown. The prince felt as though he had been beaten, and his head stuffed full of cotton, his throat scratchy and raw from shouting. This was just too much.

"You at least sounded like you were having a good time?" The robot ventured and received a shoe flung with great wrath from the crowned prince.

Liam stripped, tossing his soiled clothing in a corner, and as he walked into the shower he gave his orders to the robot.

“Get Skype.”

***

The witch known only as Skype appeared later that day. No one could tell how she got access to the castle’s inner chambers without going past a single guard but then no one had the rocks to ask her. Especially the Imperial Guardsmen, they’d heard about what Telemarc witches did to people who cross them.

The last time Liam had seen Skype, he’d been bent over his cot on the Hinterlands front line, screaming and retching, his back torn apart by the lashes he’d endured. Before the ordeal, Liam had this noble idea that he wouldn’t allow his father to see him scream. He’d take the punishment like a man. That lasted through about three of the cat’s strokes. He knew he cried and screamed. He was sure he begged for mercy. The rest was a haze of pain, the crack of the whip, the smell of blood, urine and puke, all his own. He regained consciousness with her standing over him. His back covering in a green paste that smelled like citrus and bat shit, but the pain has subsided enough for him to put a conscious thought together.

Skype was as dark as any Eastlander Liam had ever seen. Her skin was the color of rich black earth, her hair stood out in thick black spirals all over her head. She watched him with those cold light eyes, the hue of country lavender.  She had probed his wounds carelessly but the pain continued to subside. He knew her from court vaguely. She was Telemarc, a nation especially feared by his father. This was more than enough reason for Liam to learn more about them. There wasn’t much to learn. Much of their culture was unknown to Karrathi scholars. Their borders were closed to travelers and jealously guarded. They were explorers and, according to many, powerful sorcerers. Any mention of magic to technology loving Karrathi was met with scoffing laughter or wary disbelief. Liam had only taken up his mechanical hobby for a short time but he’d studied more than just war tactics at the Academy. Perhaps the Telemarc simply knew more about the world than Karrath did.

Skype always wore a loose tunic that matched the light color of her eyes and a pair of leather fighting trousers and armor like a soldier. During his time on the front he’d watched her go in with the infantry or climb trees like a reconnaissance operative. She used her magic to assist Karrathi troops and completely ignored his father’s directions unless they suited her.

Liam had plucked up the nerve to talk to her a couple of times. Learning that Skype wasn’t her name but a title her people used to call battle witch-priestesses that led the Telemarc armed forces. Skype was unpredictable, dangerous and brilliant. She’d use her other worldly knowledge to get to the bottom of these dreams. She would fix things. Liam was sure of it.

Skype knelt to no one, not even the emperor so he was not surprised to see her cozied up in his chair. She wore the dark blue uniform of a Karrathi spec ops officer but without the seals and pips that marked a rank. Even Emperor Victus watched himself around Skype, she called the king by his first name even though no one knew hers. It was allowed because the Telemarc was simply too useful to alienate over a matter of protocol.

“I heard you’d been exiled.” Skype also had no use for pleasantries.

“M’ father finally got sick of my face.”

“I heard there was a little more than just your father’s irritation…” The Telemarc also seemed to know exactly the things a person most wanted to leave alone.

“I just wanted to get laid. You know those army boys. All work and no play.” Liam shrugged hoping a flippant answer would suffice.

“Seducing Admiral Rothchilde seems more like work.”

“He’s alright after a few bottles. He loosened right up and I mean anally.”

“Uh huh.” Skype rolled her eyes.

“But what’s really curious is why he’s still an admiral. Getting caught mid-fuck with the country’s delinquent royal usually isn’t a stellar career move.” Skype also had no problem putting the truth as baldly as she could. Liam thought on more than one occasion that she took pleasure in making people wince.

“Right like my father would ever let anything happen to that brown-nosing closet-case.”

Liam didn’t hate Westleigh Rothchilde precisely, at least not right from the start. However soon after his arrival at the front the emperor made it clear that Rothchilde was everything that an Emperor could want in a second son.

The aristo was a model officer, a statesman and an impressive fighter. He’d won his admiral status at the ripe old age of thirty two; a full decade younger than all of the other heads of the Karrathi military and the youngest admiral ever. The Rothchildes made a name for themselves in the military. They were driven by duty. Westleigh in particular was consumed by it.

Liam had gotten very tired of Malcolm and his father throwing Westleigh Rothchilde in his face every time Liam made a mistake. Day and night it was Wes this and Wes that.

Sick to death of hearing about the Admiral, Liam wasn’t surprised when he finally did meet his father’s Golden Boy, he found nothing to be particularly impressed with.  Yes, Wes was handsome, but it was in a perfectly boring Aristo way. Liam had been sleeping with the captain of the Latham at the time, a pretty little Southerner with a mouth like a vacuum. The officers treated him all the same, a little deference because of who his father was and a lot of disdain for who they thought the prince was, a useless disinterested burden.

Liam wasn't offended. He felt the same way about the post. His officer peers had no idea that half of the safety devices on Karrathi weaponry and assault vehicles had been designed by the Imperial Corps of Engineers, a body that Liam directly funded and submitted patents to. A full dozen safety and assault vehicle patents in current use were of Liam's design. No one cared about that. His father had no interest in such weak pursuits, like a Karrathi Prince shouldn't be interested in doing things like oh... saving the soldiers of the Empire from screaming death.

 

The party where Liam had met Wes was a high level social event for the Karrathi generals from the three divisions to mix and discuss current strategies. Liam was bored and took himself off rather than listen to any more veiled comments about his uselessness as an officer. Liam had retired to a quiet garden balcony to drink in peace.

The balcony was set below the smoking salon of the Imperial compound. Every word could be heard from the smoking salon. It had been silent for quite a while but it seemed just Liam’s luck that as soon as he had settled for a drink, the salon became occupied.

“So who’s getting the Stallion?”

“Wes, I believe.” Both voices were older, unfamiliar to Liam, though if they discussed Wes with such familiarity they would have had to be part of the Admiralty. The next voice was unmistakable. Cursing fluently, Wes had his audience in stitches.

“Awww Wes it won’t be that bad. I hear he’s good with the 'bots and things. You may even get the assault tank upgrades you’ve been asking for.”

“It’s just not worth it, Darin. He’s a total disaster! Did you see him sashay in? He looks like he belongs in a harem, not in the army. A true freak. He might as well officiate over the camp followers."

Liam just sighed to himself. They were screwed if they wanted him to dress differently. His sense of style was purposely finely tuned.  Even covered in engine grease Liam knew he was hot. If his taste in clothing was the problem the army was shit out of luck.



“A few days on the front will knock the girl out of him. “

“I don’t think so Darin” said Wes. “There’s something soft about him.”

“It’s his mouth.” Another voice chimed in.

“Rueen like his mother. He’s got his mother's mouth.” Liam did recognize this speaker. It was Darin, the head of the Corps of Engineers and a person he considered a friend.

“I remember when they brought her back after the Ruenic campaign. She was stunning. So… exotic. She wore her sexuality like armour. Goddess, she was hot,” came a voice Liam didn’t recognize.

“I remember m'mother speaking of her and in quite unpleasant terms.”

“The Rueen are a very different people…” Darin murmured trying to ameliorate the tone of the discussion.

“She was a fey slattern, stunning yes but, like the rest of her people, completely immoral. That’s what it is! He has a mouth like a woman. A family resemblance no doubt,” Wes guffawed and was followed by a couple of other voices. Liam however was not amused. No one had ever referred to his mother in such derogatory terms. Immoral? Slattern? There was never a whiff of scandal anywhere near here. Just because she was a great deal more beautiful than most of the Karrathi women at court it didn’t merit the kind of evil talk he was hearing. She had been buried with full honors. His father cried when she died. It was one of the few times it had been confirmed for Liam that his father was indeed human.

“So that explains a bit. A slut from birth. His reputation is probably deserved then and his whoring, congenital,” Wes continued fueled by aristo conceit.

“A bit too tough on him aren’t you Wes?” Darin broke in.

“But it’s true. They say he’s fucked his way through half of Ida including many of his own gender,” Another of the group cut in.

Wes went silent in mid rant. The young admiral’s palpable shock fueled more mocking laughter.

“Perhaps he can officiate the camp followers! Liam Tacticus, Prince of Whores!”

“That filthy shitpacker is not getting anywhere near my men.” Wes finally recovered, practically snarling. “No matter who his whore of a mother was.”

The last bit had Liam seething mad. He would bring Westleigh Rothchilde’s career to an end in the most humiliating way possible. Rothchilde would see who was the whore soon enough.

Like all ignorant people, Rothchilde was easy to manipulate. The desire was already there, hidden and pressurized by a childhood’s worth of conditioning.  He could see it and feel it whenever he and Wes shared a space- the hazy and hate filled stare. All Liam needed to do was cut, and Wes would come apart at the seams. The plans Liam hatched for Wes was supposed to annihilate the Admiral completely.  Liam was completely cool to the conceited aristocrat as opposed to the warmth and sunshine he bestowed on underlings and less prestigious bloodlines. Liam easily drove Westleigh to the edge simply by ignoring the Aristo. The strategy worked like a charm.

Westleigh had pretty much had anything he wanted offered to him on a silver platter, his army boy body could get what his wealth and aristo name couldn’t. Watching the younger prince flirt with all sorts of lesser beings had Wes questioning his own superiority despite his previous hurtful words. Once Wes was caught, Liam thoroughly enjoyed making Wes crawl through broken glass for every favor, and beg for every kiss.

Liam twisted Westleigh Rothchilde into knots until word of Wes’ fits of temper and public emotion reached the Emperor. From there it was easy to set the trap. Liam simply introduced Westleigh to the exciting world of public sex and used his access to the Imperial calendar to expose Wes’ new groove to Emperor Victus and his top three military aides.

***

“It turns out that having sexy time with another man is illegal in the Karrathi Armed Forces.” Liam said to the fascinated Skype. “… and as the superior officer, Westleigh was considered the aggressor. They were going to execute him, Skype, he wouldn’t even hear of getting a barrister. He just wanted to get it over with and save his family the humiliation of a public trial. I told them I drugged and raped him. A little misery, I could stomach but I couldn’t let him die.”

Skype looked completely disgusted.

“Forty lashes? Typical Karrathi overreaction. Makes sense now why your father summoned me to the front before you’d actually gotten hurt,” she said. “Let’s see your back.”  Liam turned around and flipped his shirt up.

“Whoever did you after I got to you did an amazing job though. These look years old already.”

Liam frowned.

“No one else has looked at it since.”

“What?” Skype said sharply.  “Your back should look like so much raw meat.” She put her hands over the scars.  

“That’s part of why I called you here.  On my way to Ryndhart, I had an accident. Someone pulled me out of the river, I think… I can remember being badly hurt but there’s no sign of anything wrong with me now.” Skype’s hands were warm and careful on Liam’s back.

She hummed to herself and then did something to his back that felt like the pull and fuzz of static cling but underneath his skin.

“You were healed recently but not in any way I can figure out. If what you say is true, the healing should have killed the healer. That’s why you got salve from me and not magic. If it was Telemarc magic there would be a trace on you that I could recognize.” Liam’s hopes for an end to the dreams plummeted. He turned in time to see her eyes go from liquid gold back to the changeable lavender color.

“Do you know who did this? How?”

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Liam sighed. “The only thing I recall is the lightening strike then waking up to the softest lips I’ve ever tasted… then my rescuer disappearing just as I tried to thank him.” Liam left out the part about the raging hard-on he’d been sporting.

Skype arched an eyebrow. “Softest lips?” She asked poking fun at Liam for the statement.

“Yeah yeah yeah. I’m a little hot and bothered by the whole thing. He rescued me… I think. I’m feeling particularly grateful. I think I saw him… his face, but I can’t seem to quite remember it. You did something similar for my father once when he needed to remember.”

“I don’t think I should… you might be suppressing painful memories from that fall off the cliff.  Invoking that night might cause some serious damage.”

Liam looked stricken.

“You have to help me here, Skype. Please! I need to know who he is.” Some of Liam’s desperation must have come through in his voice because Skype gave him a skeptical look.

“I’ll do it but you’re holding something back Liam. You’re the only one who will get hurt by it.” She settled down in Liam’s chair then pointed to the ottoman. Liam frowned.

“What?  Like right now?” He asked his voice cracking a little bit. For all his bravado, Skype was a witch, a foreign war-witch. Liam had heard all the stories and while he’d discarded them as wild fables in his mind, lizard brain and scrotum shriveled up at the thought of her playing with his head. Skype wasn’t interested in his hesitation.

“Sit!”

Liam sat.

“You called me here. Man Up!” She ordered and Liam told his balls to return to their former place. He looked at Skype. She blinked once and suddenly he could smell rain and metal… and forest.  The memories came quickly; driving through the rain, the river, Jas, the lightening, his fear and anger at his imminent demise, the stomach-churning drop, the piercing pain in his side then in his heart, water closing up over the roof of the tank and then nothing, nothing for a long while.

“Liam! Liam!” Skype snapped her fingers in his face. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs.

“Did you find it?”

The witch frowned, her fists were clenched tight and her mouth drawn down.

“There were some interesting bits that you’re suppressing naturally,” she said carefully but Liam was more interested in the unsaid.

“You think other parts were suppressed unnaturally.” Skype simply looked at Liam whose eyes widened in shock. He stood up from the ottoman holding his head as if to ward off further intrusion. “He did! You think he could have messed with my memory?” Skype rolled her eyes.

“A little overdone, don’t you think?  You might have been out of it for the majority. A conk on the head will shift your consciousness in a million different ways. That might account for what you can remember. Or the healing might have been too excruciating for you to keep the memory of it. Some people’s minds will remember pain. A wound that the mind believes is still hurting despite the actual flesh being long healed.”

“He’d hidden himself.  I ordered whoever it was that rescued me to deliver himself to the castle and he didn’t show up! Who wouldn’t want to be owed one by the Imperial family!  What does he have to hide?  Why won’t he come when I call!”

Liam had the urge to clench his fist and stomp but that would have been just too much like a petulant child even to his own ears.

“He may have simply not wanted any reward you can offer.”

“I’m a prince! Who the hell wouldn’t want my gratitude? He’ll be made for life.”

“Perhaps he just doesn’t like you?” Skype’s grin was pure malice. Liam just looked at her for a few seconds, mouth open, head tilted like the witch had said something completely out of the realm of possibilities.

“Perhaps you should take a good look at me again.” The prince said wearing his confidence like a cloak. “Besides we’ve kissed.”

“Meh, likely some kind of contact was required for the healing.”

“Whatever. I need to know who he is. Can you flush him out?”

“It’s going to be a bit of work. All I have to go on is your hazy outline and a taste of his power.”

“Whatever it takes Skype. I want him.”

“As you wish, your majesty” The look in Skype’s eye had Liam regretting the order.

“Just don’t hurt him.”

---

 

A.N.: Hi. Thank you for all the glowing feedback. I'm glad you're all enjoying it. I started writing this way back in 2001. It's complete but I never finished posting it here. I wrote it specifically for the AFF community as a thank you for all the excellent stories I read on here when I desperately needed a distraction. An old friend pointed that out to me and I thought I would try to clean up what I had the time for and share it. Again thanks for the kudos and all the great stories. 

~Dizdayn