Lord of the West

Chapter 7

Return of the Dark Lord


Captain Sebastian Kathix woke with a gasp bathed in cold sweat. At first he thought that he to must have woken having one of the nightmares that seemed to be endemic amongst his men since turning up at this accursed place. He had the distinct feeling that he was being watched, that someone was with him now, furtively he glanced about the shadowy room. He was alone.

Very little in his life disturbed Sebastian’s sleep, he was a career soldier, he had served on the grate north wall against the Chydras of the Hys-b-dry. Battle did not scare him, but on waking he could not shake of the feeling of impending doom. He swung himself off the bed he had clamed for himself in the town’s inn and looked over to the now open window. The shutters were wide open, banging in the wind, the catch broken during the battle and now as the storm that had trailed off over the night now had begun anew the shuters swang to and fro, hiting the walls. It must have been close to dawn the last watch of the night but the storm clouds blocked out the first tentative rays of light. The winds were rising to a deafening pitch and howled through the forest and then through the narrow streets like the calls of long forgotten demons. The inn’s sign creaked mournfully on its hinges. The seasoned veteran shivered. This place was eerie.

Once the storm had stilled the night had been balmy and warm. His men had gone confidently to their rest that night sleeping without armour in captured beds. They had posted men watching the keep for signs of escape but they did not fear attack. All the gates had been barricaded, all save one whose wooden door that for some reason had been burnt down by the defenders. The captain suspected that the defenders were trying to leave an escape route open to them, they were not expecting a relieving force to arrive for another week at the most, not with Lord Darcia’s army deeply entrenched in the still rebelling south. A small force was the most they expected to come from Bala, but if a force was going to come from there it would have done so already.

They had decided to attack in the morning when it was light. The heavy (and wholly unexpected) death tole on his men had convinced them that any other course was too perilous and now they were content to taunt the defenders by sitting just out of the reach of arrows and boiling oil. They had learned the hard way that someone in the keep could see well enough in the dark to pick out any who ventured to close even under the cover of shadows. Rumour was that it was a woman who’s eyes glowed like a cat’s in the dark. The day had seen hard battle, and the day before had been worse. There were still men moaning in agony, their skin charred away, or rent with blisters. The Captain pitied them as in a few days they would likely die of infection. Madness and death seemed to be all that they had found since beginning this siege.

The whole campaign had been a disaster from the start. They had not even left the Low counties when three of his young Lieutenants had disappeared, all they had found was some blood in their tents, but the bodies were no where to be found. There was no time to investigate; the army had marched that morning. It meant that the killers could still be in the company somewhere, an unerving thought, the first of many. There was a good chance that the young men had lost their nerve, in which case they would be arrested and hung. They wouldn’t be the first nor the of his men to have deserted on this mission. Perhaps it was better if they were murdered, less shame on the family that way, though in the past few days there had been some men stupid enough to desert rather than face the fire pots and fury that the defenders rained down upon them. A few men had been rendered useless with fear, suddenly driven to the edge of madness and had to be subdued. There had been strange weather, the one cannon had been struck by lightning. It was imposable to convince the men that it was an unnatural happening already spooked by strange dreams and nameless dread.

It was supposed to be an easy mission, they were well trained and against people they had thought of as little better than barbarians, the western mountains were practically still in the dark ages. It was supposed to be an easy mission, take four hundred men in to Marchadia while the Duke was elsewhere and capture his mother from a nunnery. It should have been easy, it should have been, but Lady Cyrus had escaped their clutches and then bolted for this accursed town, and they soon realised that they had grately underestimated the woriors of Marchadia, grate big blond barbarians, who had been well organised, well armed, highly skilled, and savage beyond anything that the Imperial captain had ever experienced in his twenty five years of service.

But it was not just the tall, broad shoulders worriers they had learned to fear even the women folk were as fierce as mountain cats with claws of steal. The harpies had thrown oil and all sorts of other things down on to them as they attacked the town palisade. Once in the town the women had fought like demons, screeching and wheedling everyday items with deadly intent to defend their homes.

However the two women who seemed to be leading the defence were by far the most dangerous. The infamous Captain Vespa was apparently as cunning as the rumours painted her they had however forgotten to mention her uncommon good looks; she was perhaps one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She sharp cat like eyes, high cheekbones and glossy mahogany locks. She wore vitality like glamour, baring her muscles with tightly fitting armour. The mysterious woman who sat astride her horse next to the captain was no less beautiful but in a more feminine way, she was ethereal, with pale skin and rich brown hair. He had ridden out to negotiate the surrender. The female captain had scowled with her full kissable lips. “Surrender I think not. Go fuck yourselves.”

The other woman’s refusal was as firm if more eloquent and polite than the Captain’s, there was an air about her that denoted breeding, she had all the quiet assurance as royalty as she laid their case before them. “And who am I addressing?” One of his men had asked with impudence, scornful of the woman’s presence on the battlefield.

The younger woman’s emerald eyes were captivating and she had a smile that hinted of secrets. “My name is Daen Oror, Sybilla and consort of Lord Darcia.” There was something drawing about her, enchanting, her voice was a seductive spell and as they listened to her Sebastian found himself wanting to do exactly as she asked. Turning around and leaving the Marchadian’s behind them. He had to physically shake himself out of the spell she seemed to have cast upon them. She had flashed him that secret smile again as if amused that she had been caught in her attempts at mind control. From then on he was more weary of the little siren, everything about her whispered of magic and he realised that she was perhaps more dangerous than the fierce and deadly warrior woman beside her. Captain Vespa would take your life, but the Sybilla would have your soul, and what’s more you would lose it gladly.

“You see we cannot surrender.” The sorceress said, “Our Lord would not surrender, and so we shall not.”

“Surely he would want to protect you. He would not want to risk you in a seige.” Sabastian offered.

Captain Kathix’s second smirked, “Yes a delicate woman like yourself should be careful.”

The captain internally winced at his second’s cadish manner. The female captain looked ready to stab them, but the other woman did not betray any anger, her smile fixed and easy on her face. “What my second is trying to say is that you would be treated as befits your position. You would be our honoured guests.”

The young woman’s dark lashes swept down, shrouding her emerald gaze, her lips curved even more, and her voice was carefully modulated, “No we would be your hostages to use against Lord Darcia. I may be a woman but I understand how such things work sir.”

They spoke for a while they left in no doubt that the women intended to hold the town. They were determined he had to admit that. However he would be the first to admit that he had underestimated them. He would have never believed that two women were capable of leading the defence of a town with such competence. It seemed to be the story of this mission, that they had underestimated everything. At least now things were beginning to look up. Tomorrow when it dried out they would use the Calverin and blow a hole in the keep walls big enough to pass a cart through.

He had a few hours until dawn and he settled back on the bed closing his eyes and trying to get back to sleep. Captain Kathix could not shake off the feeling of danger approaching. He wondered if that was how a sea captain felt when he saw grey gathering on the horizons, the sense of approaching malevolence. Something brushed against his mind, soothing, there was something feminine about it like the sound of a lullaby upon a harp, and the sent of lavender and rose’s, allowing him to settle to sleep.



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The wind was building, the lone figure’s hair was blown back from his face in a stream of midnight silk, and his cloak billowed back from his board shoulders, another shadow in the darkness. Eyes the colour of blue slate priced the gloom, his unwavering gaze rested on the town that lay just across the valley. None of his men could see what their lord was looking at, but none would presume to ask him for it was conman knowledge that Lord Darcia saw more than other mortal men. Mounted on his grate war horse, he appeared like a statue, unmoving, unblinking, the only motion was the almost liquid flow of his hair and his horses, and the flapping of his cloak. But his mind was sharp, planning his enemy’s downfall, bringing to bare all of his experience and instinct. He was born a warrior and a leader of men, one thousand years of breading had produced him, and a trial of by fire had finished the job. There would be no mistakes today.

Lord Darcia and a detachment of his main force had ridden more than ninety miles and arrived in the north of his land’s practically overnight. Lord Darcia had pushed them hard to cover the ground, and now he expected his men to fight. He knew they would, and win to, for him and no other. He left behind him Captain Kef and Captain Faoirin (Though Vieone had argued that he should come) in charge of his forces on the understanding that they would lay siege to Heronwall if they did not submit. It was the night and the Imperial troops had seized the town and broken in to the castle. The stone keep however still held, and if he knew his scout captain and his enterprising little lover it would hold it for longer yet. Lord Darcia had the advantage of having the Lord of Rhayd, Sir Roches in his contingent. Lord Roches was more than happy to lend his aid and expertise helping to direct the Ducal forces in the attack.

The thunder growled with ferocity as the rain lashed down once again. The duke smiled to himself, a slight lifting of his mouth that brought a cruel light to his steal coloured eyes. Bherith was welcoming his master to the fray with his form of battle drums and war horns. His squire was not imagining that the storm grew more wild and wet as they approached Rhayd. Lord Darcia could tell that his silence was bothering Alwen as he watched the sky a grim little frown on his mouth, but for the time it suited Darcia not to tell his men that he was the sole cause of this violent weather. They would follow him without question, without explanation, trusting him to lead them to victory. No one would escape his clutches that morning. The besiegers were about to become the besieged and the Imperils were about to learn a hard lesson in the pecking order this side of the border, this was his territory and Lord Darcia was the biggest predator and let them never forget it

“They have sought to strike at me when it was unexpected, to attack my softest flank. They will find that I have no such thing.” Lord Darcia said without emotion. Alwen looked up at his duke, and felt a chill right down to his spine, and he wondered not for the first time what kind of man it was that he had chosen to follow. A man who could light a fire in his men’s hearts despite his coldness, force marching them miles and still igniting the spirit of battle within them.

He turned his horse, reeling tall dark Per back around with no perceptive aids, as if they were one being. He rode forwards addressing his men his voice resonating with the depth of a grate bell. “We ride.” Blue flames seemed to dance in lord Darcia’s eyes as his voice rose, a stark order, a roar of challenge. “We ride to save our own from this vile intrusion, we ride to victory!”

The clamour of the storm drowned out the sound of his army’s approach from the slumbering Imperial troops. It showed a good deal of misplaced arrogance, they obviously had not heard of the Duke of Marchadia’s reputation for turning up with his army as if from a trap door. He drew his force up in the tree line, out of sight. He nodded and six of his men detached themselves from the group. Six shadows moved swift and low across the open ground. Even with the storm the smell of chaired wood had not been washed from the atmosphere. Before them the only unbarred gate stood, its openings baring a marked resemblance to the sockets in a scull.

Alwen was pulled up just behind Lord Darcia to his left. The young squire was holding his breath, straining his senses to look in to the darkness, his tension was written in every line. Lord Darcia merely waited, patient like a hawk in the sky watching a rabbit hole. From on the gate rampart a torch was lit and all knew that the gate had been taken as silently as death in ones sleep.

Lord Darcia lead the storming of the town as dawn broke over the mountains. He did not draw his sword so much as it simply materialise in his hand. A long bastard sword, the metal did not reflect light, seeming instead to draw it in. A wicked red ruby winked in its hilt. Alwen was the only one to see this. Lord Darcia for the most part did not display his powers in front of his men if he could help it, he was already set part from them, there was no need to confirm rumours, no need to give them reason to make them think he was a monster. He knew he was a monster, there was ancient and tainted blood in his veins, the only good parts of his soul lay in the walls beyond, trapped and surrounded by enemies. If the emperor was the one to sanction this back stabbing attack then he was a fool. For Darcia’s heart was black, his soul stained with blood from the countless things he was forced to do in the name of defending his people, in the name of justice, so that others could have peace.



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Captain Kathix didn’t t know where it had gone so wrong. He had struggled awake through levels of sleep, sodden and his mind unnaturally treacle like. At first he could not work out what was going on, the sudden clamour from the streets below him rousing him finally, a call that turned his bowls to ice. “The Marshal of the west is upon us!”

“That is impossible.” He had said to himself, “Surely there must have been some mistake?”

But there was no mistake, Lord Darcia’s army had come from seemingly nowhere, descending upon them like a demon horde. The defenders of Rhayd had been fierce and brave but Lord Darcia’s men were much worse. They were cold hard killers, weapons through and through, none of his men could match them.

Darcia’s men swarmed through the small gate and had begun rounding up his men before a cry of alarm was even raised. His men had gone to bed exhausted but confident that they would be safe from attack, sure that the only danger that they faced come from the keep which watched it like cats a mouse hole. However for good measure they set up watches on the walls, locking all the gates bar the small gateway that the defenders had burnt. They had sought rest, taking off their chafing and heavy armour for the first time in many days seeking a good night’s sleep. Sebastian’s men had woken not to the sight of dawns braking but the glitter of light on the cold steal of drawn blades and the even colder blue eyes of the Marchadian knights.

How could Lord Darcia have got hear so swiftly? He had been in the far south of his duchy; no army could move so far so swiftly and still fight at the end of it? Perhaps there inelegance had been wrong, perhaps he had been closer then they thought; that had to be it? The captain was struggling in to his armour but the clank of metal and the heavy booted footsteps told him that it was too late to do anything.

Two men entered the room black ravens on red emblazoned upon their breasts, one was tall, blond and blue eyed as was typical amongst the mountain folk in the west. The other however was a small and dark, as imperial as Sylvester was. The blond man laughed at the Captains predicament, he was only half dressed, bent over and struggling with his graves, and his sword was on the blankets chest close to the door. He didn’t even have a dagger to defend himself with.

“So’n am cael cop gan dwyig Crenio!” The Blond man said to the other, speaking in Chade the language of the Marchadians. To the Captains surprise the Imperial man replied fluently. They were mocking him and he felt colour razing to his cheeks with his anger. He looked over to where the men were conversing, if he was quick enough he could perhaps make a snatch for his sword, he licked a drop of sweat that has beaded up upon his lip.

“I wouldn’t if I was you.” The Imperial man said. “If you give us trouble we would have to kill you and that would be a pity as Lord Darcia has ordered that we take as many of you alive as we can. But my friend here and I have not been doing very well so far.” The captain balanced at the wide grin that the tall blond man gave him. He swallowed as a drop of blood ran down the man’s long sword, a droplet of ruby that caught his eye in the dawns pale golden light. Sylvester surrendered without a fight.

The narrow cobbled streets were still dark despite the swift approach of dawn, a dense fog so typical to this mountainous area rolled in now that the storm had abated. It shrouded the men from one another so that for the most part the Imperial troops could only remember small snippets of battle. Many would later describe the night in terms of a wakening nightmare. They were all on foot, armour-less, and confused. Knights attacked them, huge men dressed in steal, doubly protected by there own skill and bravery, riding huge dark horses that lashed out with iron shod hoofs. Those dark mounts reared up high only to come back down again so that the riders could bare sharp steal upon them. The dark warriors chased them through the town, routing them at every turn, hearding them like sheep. All who fought were slain, without mercy, without fuss. Those that surrendered, or were simply bested were captured and bound with bursk efficiency, most were defeated before they could even think to mount a defence. Now they were left bound, terrified and completely at the mercy of a man know to have none.


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The battle was over, but Lord Darcia was far from being happy. A large part of him would have gladly slain every bastard one of them. But Lord Darcia was still ruled by sense over sentimentality. Today but a few had died at his hands. He had ordered his men in the first wave to be brutal, not necessarily with orders to kill, but to terrify the will to fight out of the besiegers. After that first initial attack the rest of his men would round the panicking soldiers up. He would slap these men on the wrist and send them back to their emperor. Once bitten twice shy or so the saying went. If he killed them all outright now there would be no tactical benefit, in fact it would be an outright gesture of aggression on his behalf. Coming in to the summer Marchadia could not afford to be fighting a war on both sides. What ever his personal feelings might be, he had to set them aside for the sake of his people as he always had. By sending most of them back relatively unscathed he could embarrass the Emperor and the councillors.

“I will see them now.” Lord Darcia said though his eyes looked up at the keep his face taking on an uncharacteristic faint look of longing. But with a resigned sigh he turned to go.

Alwen put himself in front of him. “Sir take me with you!”

Darcia looked down at him. “Whatever for?”

“I… I misliked their looks my Lord.”

Lord Darcia laughed and then taking his squires shoulders set him aside. “I need no protection lad.”

“Oh but My Lord just let me come with you.” Alwen pleaded running after him.

“Did thou not her what I said Alwen?” Lord Darcia said softly.

“Yes my lord.” Alwen sighed and fell back. Lord Darcia walked across the now sunny market place to the inn, he went in quietly. His men moved aside from the door that they were guarding at his nod and he entered with his soundless step startling the men within so much so that one let out an oath.

He was an imposing figure in his black armour, standing at just over six-foot-four, he moved with the grace of a stalking panther, and his cool eyes were as sharp as daggers. He strode into the room confidently, unaffected by the animosity that his captives radiated. He looked over them for a while, saying nothing his face impassive as if they were not even there. After a moment he spoke, his voice was cultured, polite. “I hope that my men have not roughed you up to much.”

One of the men began to complain, spewing out his indignation at how he an Imperial officer had been treated, trussed up like some chicken and locked in a room. Sebastian wanted to hiss at the man to shut up. It was obvious that the Duke of Marchadia was a dangerous man, behind that mask of civility lurked barely suppressed rage. Life had taught the Captain that it was the quiet ones that you had to watch. He didn’t need to say anything, as from under dark brows the duke flashed the officer a look as cold as the north wind that froze the words on his lips.

“I see.” The duke said, unperturbed. His glacial gaze fell upon the unfortunate captain with some recognition. “You lead these men.” It was not a question.

Sebastian who was never lost for words found that he suddenly was struck dumb under Lord Darcia’s scrutiny. He swallowed thickly around a lump in his throat and he nodded. Lord Darcia turned to face him. Cold sweat broke out over Sebastian’s body. The Lord’s face was emotionless; there was no way to tell which way the winds blew in the nobles mind.

“You will remain with me as my hostages. I suggest that you write to the Emperor to arrange your ransom. I will write my own letter detailing your attack on my lands. You have threatened my lands and my people, even my mother and my woman. They are crimes I will not forgive swiftly. I have killed men for far less. You are fortunate that I still have some respect for the position that my feckless cousin holds.”

“Traitor!” Someone called behind him, “For the emperor!” and one of Sebastian’s lieutenants launched themselves at Lord Darcia a dagger that they had hidden now in their hands; murderous intent in there eyes. The young man had always been a hot head, a regular fire eater. He rushed on Lord Darcia blindly, his wounded boyish pride spurring him to action.

A muscle in the duke’s cheek quivered and his eyes darkened to pewter but remained passionless. He turned nonchalantly to face his assailant, his hand catching the officers hand mid-flight at the wrist, his arm moving almost too fast to follow. The assailant let out a cry as the duke tightened his iron grip jerking his arm upwards stretching the man out before him like a dead coney. “Normally I would kill one such as you. I have lamentably left my sword behind, count yourself doubly fortunate.”

“I care not for your threats!” The captured man growled though his feet were nearly dangling of the ground and he scrabbled for purchase like a hanging man.

“I do not threaten.” Darcia answered simply “You are not the first cur to try to slay me while my back was turned.” He paused staring in to his would be attackers eyes until they dropped away. “You have dishonoured your family. I thought that officers were taught better. Apparently not.” He spoke without a trace of sarcasm and yet Sebastian could practically feel the acid bite of his words. Lord Darcia released the man with a swift scornful gesture. He then turned back to Sebastian presenting his unprotected back once again.

The blade clattered to the ground. “I have never done that before.”
Lord Darcia did not spare him a glance. “I have dishonoured myself.” The young officer murmured. “Well kill me! My honour is dead.”

Still Darcia said nothing, The young man went before him his voice quivering. “Why do you not speak? Are you made of ice? I sought to stab you most foully like a cur! I deserve death by your hand honour demands it!”

“You are a little young to be quite so concerned with your honour oh fire eater. Mistakes are the province of young men. You may have sought to slay me but my life was in no danger.” Lord Darcia shrugging the question off, shrugged the incident off as if attempts on his life were of no concern. “This is not the first time nor the last time that someone will attempt do so.”

“Why don’t you kill me?” The young man demanded of the duke.

“And sully my blade?” Lord Darcia said with faint hauteur. “I think not.” He turned and faced the young man his voice stern, “You are by far too young to wish for death.” He considered his hand, clenching his fist slowly, “There is blood on my hands. I have slain more men then I care to remember. Do you think the wolf feels any remorse when he slays the rabbit? Your death means nothing to me. But it should mean everything to you. No I do not want your death. Your life however for the time being is mine, and I will have your obedience, all of you.” He sighed, “If you do not cause any trouble than you will be well treated, it is no more than you would have offered my people. And right now this is not a question of you surrendering, you have already been defeated you have no choice.”


He turned on his heal then. He had said his peace he would not waste his breath further. There was only one place he desired to be right now and he could feel his body tightening in anticipation. To many weeks he had endured her absence. He could feel his patience growing short as his body and heart cried out to see her. If anything delayed him longer someone was going to die. As he exited the building to mount Per he saw that his scout Captain was holding both his horse and her own. She looked worn, tired with deep crows feat about her eyes from worry and lack of sleep. He probably looked just as bad. ' Rhayd is safe.' He said. “You should get some rest.”

'My Lord.'

'Vespa well done I owe you a grate deal of thanks.”

'Sire the thanks should not go wholly to me.' Vespa replied. 'Daen was indispensable to me .'

'Your face, is she well?'

'I think so my Lord, she was wounded and became a little feverish but it was nothing serious. The Lady dowager has her tucked up in bed and is fussing over her like a mother hen. ” Vespa’s lips curved in to a smirk as she handed him his rains. “Your mother has been telling her stories about your boyhood to amuse her. I think they are planning to gang up on you.”

Lord Darcia’s eye brows twitched, and his mouth quivered. It pleased him to think that his mother liked Daen and vice versa. Further more since when had Captain Vespa and Daen become friends? He mused over these developments as he trotted briskly up to the keep, not pausing through the gates to clatter in to the courtyard.

The Duke entered the keep taking the steps two at a time entering the general celebration but his brow remained as dark as a thunder storm. His expression only lightened a fraction when he saw his mother standing sedately in the hall waiting for him. She held out a hand to him, and a warn smile. “You came swiftly.”

Lord Darcia took her hand in a strong grasp, and then enveloped his mother in a swift embrace ignoring gawps of the assembled company. “You have taken no harm?” He asked.

His mother shook her head. “No I am quite well Andras. In fact I have not felt this alive in a very long time. I think adventure agrees with me.”

“Good Goddesses!” Lord Darcia expelled, not quite laughing. He smiled and looked her just to be sure of her well being; certainly his mother looked in high bloom, her eyes sparkling with merriment. “I would rather that you were not put in such danger.” He paused and looked about the crowd then turned his attention back to his mother his deep frown returning. “Where is Daen she is not here?”

“I have sent her to bed.” Lady Cyrus said in soothing accents, she caught her son’s sleeve when he meant to move, “Andras she is just sleeping there is nothing more wrong with her that sleep wont cure, she did not sleep for three nights apart from here and there eventually the body has to rest, that is all. ”

Lord Darcia did not look convinced, “Take me to her.”

“Perhaps my son you should wash before you go to her, right now you smell of battle and two days on a horse. She dreams peacefully now.”

“I must talk to her.” He said looking down at his mother, prying her hand off his arm.

Lady Cyrus shook her head patently. “Go wash my son, let her sleep a little longer. I expect that you will have a lot to talk about.”

Darcia deciding that his mother’s advice was sound now that the constriction on his chest that had taken hold of him from the moment that he had received Daen’s urgent summoning had eased and he took himself off to the chamber that the steward had so promptly prepared for him and was soon provided with a tub of hot water. He had to own it was pleasant to be able to wash off the past weeks grime, and along with the suds much of the tension as the tightness he had been carrying in his shoulders and jaw seemed to soak away. It gave him time to think.

Darcia though sure of the girls heart as he could be had been a little discouraged by the young woman’s tepid response to his offering his hand in matrimony to her. This was a new experience for him. From his entering manhood so many handkerchiefs had been cast towards him that it had never previously occurred to Lord Darcia that his suit might not be acceptable to any female upon whom he decided to honour with such a proposal. But then Daen was not on the catch for his wealth or rank, nor any other man’s that he could tell, and he was now uncharacteristically uncertain himself as to whether she liked him well enough to marry him for his own sake. He was also not entirely certain whether he could bear to hear her say no. Deep down he knew that she was made for him, his missing heart, but did she know it to?

He had missed warm water. But on campaign he chose to endure the same conditions as his men, which meant washing in the river or lake water, which at this time of the year was still mostly melt water from the mountains. The best that could be said of such a practice was that it was bracing. Still Lord Darcia insisted on cleanliness not only for his own person but for all his troupes. He yawned deeply, the hot water making him drowsy and his limbs heavy as he began to feel the sleep debt he owed his body. With sigh he closed his eyelids which were suddenly very heavy.


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Daen had awoken some time little earlier she had no doubts that the castle would be safe now that Lord Darcia had arrived. The moment that she had seen that impressive figure upon a familiar horse she had been so relieved trusting in her Lords prowess to carry the day. She had been shocked and frightened by the violence unleashed upon the besiegers though she understood and cheered wildly with the rest of the defenders, cheered until she had gone horse and Lady Cyrus had shoed her back to bed like a naughty child. “Get some sleep. You would not want your fever to come back and all this cheering and standing about bare foot on the ramparts will do you no good.”

Daen had capitulated to be tucked up in bed. Lady Cyrus did not fuss over her as Lady Penn had; she treated her like a girl. But for some reason this did not annoy Daen. The young woman had lain in bed for a little while. Lord Darcia would be busy with negotiations and making arrangements for a while and she knew she would have been a distraction. She had shifted unable to settle, uncomfortable, restless. Daen idly wondered if it meant her fever was returning, but she suspected that the heat coursing through her body had quite another source. She finally managed to give the priestesses the slip and snuck out of her room creeping down the corridor to where she could feel Lord Darcia’s aura.

She knocked first but hearing no answer slipped in to the room stealthy and gregarious, like a house cat. Daen found herself pausing mid-step to admire the view. Lord Darcia was asleep in the large high backed, copper bath tub. His face was turned towards her, all male angles and elegant strength, his sensuously curved lips slightly parted with his breathing. Her licentious gaze flowed downwards, to the tendons in his neck, the swell of the muscles over his shoulders. His chest rose and fell in a steadily rhythm drawing Daen’s attention to his chiselled pectorals and his flat brown nipples. |It reminded her of the first time that she had seen him naked in the steamy pool back in the Core-d- Imperium. he had been just as desirable then, perfect as a marble statue of a god. She moved closer taking in the corded strength of his arms and how the water was disturbed around him as his toned stomach muscles rippled as he breathed. Couching down on her hunches she watched him for a while laying her cheek on her arms as she lent along the edge of the tub. He was so beautifully male; she had forgotten just how truly hansom he was. Daen ran her finger tips in a feather light caress over his lips. They were soft, inviting. Kissable. She wondered why she had been so scared of him; he looked so peaceful like this, innocent, a little lonely. She bit her lip and then smiled evilly; it was about time that he woke up.

Lord Darcia startled awake as a jug of water was dumped over his head. The water was cold and he let out a very un-gentlemanly curse and then shoved at the sodden fall of his ebony hair to glare daggers at whoever had so rudely intruded upon him. Whoever it was obviously had a death wish. Musical laughter reached his ears and the scowl had softened considerably by the time his eyes had found her. His dark gaze lightened from dark slate to molten mercury when he saw her standing before him, his very own dearest desire. “You look like a drowned cat!” She said before letting off another peal of laughter.

“Daen come here.” He said softly indicating that she should kneel buy the bath tub.

Daen shook her head, her mahogany hair bouncing as she did. “No.”

“Oh.”

“I know you want to box my ears.” She smiled merriment dancing in her eyes.

“Minx.” He admonished with a flash of his very white teeth. Lord Darcia lent back, ducking his head under the water, revealing his strong thighs. He emerged back again slicking back his hair with both of his hands. Water streamed down over his back, following the V’s and indentations. Daen thought that it was the singular most alluring thing that she had ever seen in her life. He caught her looking at him and his elegant brow lifted as the corner of his mouth lifted in a smirk.

Oh why did he have to look so dangerous even on his back, why was he so devastatingly attractive, so powerful, so intimidating? When he looked at her like that she felt that he could see deep in to her soul and knew even her most secret of desires. “It’s a bit chilly tonight.” Daen said, putting her arms around her seeking to hide the effect he was having upon her. The thin night robe she was wearing suddenly felt like scant protection against his hungry eyes and she backed away from him. He was very real and very naked in the same room with her, and they were all alone. Should he want her there was no one here who could stop him. The knowledge of her venerability hit her hard.

"You're not leaving me," Lord Darcia stated. His tone was less secure as he added. "Are you?"

Daen's chest tightened. "No. No, I'm not."

Lord Darcia smiled. Daen's heart leaped in reaction. She crouched down by the fire turning her back on him although her every instinct was screaming at her to keep her eyes on him. Darcia was a dangerous predator. Now that he was awake she couldn’t find the words she had been practicing in her head during his absence, not the questions she had wanted to ask, not the angry words, nor the words of love. Daen felt like she could not think straight at all. He was a magician, his mesmerising gaze casting a spell upon her. Perhaps if she did not look at him then she would be able to gather her thoughts to face him.

Lord Darcia watched Daen as she feed another log to the fire. As the embers turned in to a blaze he watched as red highlights danced in her hair, making it look live a living flame. Shifting gold’s reflected in her eyes. There was a frown between her brows, she was thinking, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. He read her emotions, her face so very expressive. She was anxious, and there was fear haunting her eyes, she was trying her best to hide it from him, shielding her mind. It was fear that he had caused. The last time they had been together he had been brutal with her. It was a shame upon his soul that nothing could ever erase. Should she never forgive him for his trespass he would understand but he had to know, this thing had to be resolved between them.

Lord Darcia filled in the silence that stretched between them. His voice was low and edged with sorrow. They were words that had lain heavy on his heart for long weeks. But he was not a man to shrink from doing what was right no mater how unpleasant it might be. “Daen I whish to apologise to you for the way I treated you that night. It was unforgivable. By all rights, but the laws of my people you could have me punished if you so should wish. I would willingly submit to that if that is your choice.”

“No.” Daen denied. “It was my fault really I provoked you, but I had to let my brother go.'

'You could have asked me first. Trusted me to do what is right.' He hung his head. “No, I should have controlled myself. Daen do not blame yourself, I was a beast, less than a man! I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”

'I do trust you to what is right that's just it. I couldn't make you sully your hands in that way not for me.’ Daen admitted her voice muffled against her knee.

Lord Darcia could hardly believe what he was hearing. He had decided to apologise to her, to beg her forgiveness. He however had never expected to receive it, though he had hoped. The size of Daen’s heart left him humbled. He needed to know it was true, that this was not just some trick his mind was playing upon him. “Daen look at me.”

She let out a week laugh, “Do you have to make everything an order.”

She glanced up at him, her gaze hastily jumping to his before she averted it. Lord Darcia’s eyes glowed in the firelight. "Will you join me, Daen?"

It was the moment Daen had been both dreading and looking forward to since her dark Lord had arrived in Rhayd. She searched herself, and then she said quietly, "Yes."

When Lord Darcia smiled, there was so much relief on the mercenary's face that Daen realized that if she had said no, her dark lord would not have pushed her. He would have waited, even if it tortured him to do so, until he could win over her confidence. Simply knowing that her habitually overbearing and masterful lover was determined that the choice be hers, made Daen want to say yes to everything. She wanted to throw herself in to his arms; it would be so easy to rely on his strength as he wanted her to. But it was not that easy, she had always looked after herself, relied upon her own whits, her own judgement. Never the less she stood now and approached the bath tub.

Darcia looked up as Daen stood; she turned swiftly her hair sent flying before she stepped slowly towards him. She walked on the balls of her feat; he admired her shapely ankles, and the sway of hips. Lord Darcia developed difficulty breathing, and the lapping of the water around him tickled his suddenly very sensitive skin. He let his eyes drink their fill of the slender, scantly clad body before him, but he did not attempt to touch her. Daen stood before him a, petite, luscious, smoky eyed beauty, but Lord Darcia was content for now to admire her. If Daen was gifting him with her trust, he could return the favour by proving his control. Veione was right, she was a flighty filly, spirited to but as he knew the most skilled riders always used the lightest touch. The most gentle hands. She needed to be handled carefully.


Daen knelt by him as she had done before. Lord Darcia’s reached up to cup her check, he lent over and testing her reaction kissed her gently, barely a touch. Daen’s smaller hands came to frame his jaw, feeling the slight stubble upon them. With this encouragement he kissed her again deeper this time, but still ever so carefully, tenderly. It suddenly became very important to tell her something. “I will never harm you like that again. I swear that on my life and honour. As it is I will carry the shame and the guilt of my actions for all time. I had no idea of the depth of the emotions you create in me.”

Her dark eyelashes swept down to cover her shining eyes. “I know. I have been in your mind remember?”

His hand found the skin where the robe was parted by her heaving breast. His finger tips found the still healing wound and they flinched. “I could have lost you.”

“Are you angry that I came?”

“Do I look angry?!” He smiled, “I was frightened to my whit’s end for you. Only you would do something so reckless, but had you not acted I think my mother would be in there clutches right now.” He brushed his finger tips reverently over the scar. He lent up and kissed the wound, laving it tenderly with his tongue until she laughed and pushed him away.

“You’re getting me all wet!”

His eyes darkened and smouldered. “I intend to get you much wetter.”

She thumped him playfully on the shoulder. “Your incorrigible!”

“You know I feel at a bit of a disadvantage being so unclothed.”

Daen flashed him a knowing look. “You don’t fool me, not with that tigerish look. You’re never at a disadvantage, even when you’re naked.” Despite her teasing she stood and let the robe slip to the floor, bearing her body to him.

"Gods, Daen," Darcia whispered. He was overcome by Daen's beauty as the young stood there bathed in the shifting firelight. But more than that, Lord Darcia was awed by the little witch’s courage. Daen held her stubborn little chin high and after only a moment's hesitation, she then turned his head to look him in the eye. Daen’s shyness was evident in the colour on her cheeks, but it was a clean sort of embarrassment free of fear and doubt. “I forgot how smooth your skin is," Lord Darcia mused quietly as Daen paused shyly beside the tub. "It glows in the firelight as if you were burning." There was no mistaking the darkness of a blush that had shifted across her cheeks before she ducked her head, hiding her emotions under the silky fall of her hair. He continued, seducing her shamelessly. “How I have missed you little one, the sound of your voice, the touch of your hands, the taste of your lips, all have haunted me endlessly.”

“You walked in my dreams as well.” Daen admitted. Lord Darcia was proud of his body, knowing he had a form that pleased. But that knowledge meant nothing to him until Daen. A soft sigh escaped his lips and her hand caressed down his neck and over his shoulder. "You look even better than I remember you.” She said.

"And how is that?" Lord Darcia couldn't help asking, watched hopefully as her hand trailed lower, circling one of his nipples until it pebbled, another part of his anatomy swelling in accord.

A wistful smile graced Daen's lips as her eyes wandered over Darcia’s body. Her finger outlined one of his abdominal muscles. “Strong, powerful. " She lifted his eyes to his. "Untamed, dominating but with the promise of gentleness. Wildness like a grate cat but always leashed. My Dark Lord. "Darcia’s heart warmed at the description. He had never considered himself that way before, but it was suddenly important to him that Daen thought it. Skin to skin he sensed her slight hesitation. He needed her to show him that her desire for him matched his. He was willing to sacrifice some of the control he usually demanded for her security, for her trust.

"I want you to take me now, Daen. You can take your time, be in control, I won’t harm you."

Daen’s eyes glimmered with curiosity and excitement. She had never before been on top of a man, and certainly not Lord Darcia. “But what if I cannot please you?” She asked uncertainly.

“You always please me.” He assured her and pulled her hand down to his straining desire concealed by the water. “You see, all we have done is kissed and I am already fit to burst like a green boy.” He cupped the back of her head, kissing her again, deeply. He pushed away the lingering fear in her mind with his heated tenderness.

Daen stepped carefully into the tub. In a gentlemanly way he offered his hand to help steady her. She griped his, her own hand was warm and dry. Darcia's mouth went dry as he watched the young woman’s slender legs part in order for Daen to clear the lip of the tub and straddle him revealing in all its glory her most feminine parts. His hands found her hips to steady her.

The tub was large enough to accommodate them both, but it was still a tight fit. It took some manoeuvring to get Daen’s long legs folded and settled on either side of Lord Darcia's hips, his own heavily muscled legs taking up a good deal of room. But once there, it felt good to have Daen’s folds pressed against his own sex. His hands still encircled her hips spanning them easily. She was so small, delicate compared with him.

Daen enjoyed the feeling of the warm water lapping around her hips. His hands held her firmly in place, but she found the gesture more comforting than restrictive. His thighs were two hot coulombs that supported her, she rocked against him experimentally, unprepared for how urgent her desire had become. They writhed against each outher, their bodys slik. lips met and tounges tangled, their hands were evrwhere needing to reaquaint themselfs with framilar curves and planes.

"Do it little one," Lord Darcia said, his dark velvet in his mounting excitement. "Ride me Daen. Do what you want with me. I am yours to use as you will."

Daen gasped, her face shiny with sweat, between him, the fire at her side, the steaming water and her own bodies mounting lust she was burning up. Her chest rose and fell quickly and Lord Darcia bent over her to take one of her coral nipples in to his hot mouth, laving it with his tongue as she rocked against him." I want you so much . . ."

The young woman’s eyes were feverish, Lord Darcia could see that his little love was too far gone to know what to do next, so he took matters into his own hand. He smiled as Daen bucked up as his knuckles brushed her sensitive petals.

"Just a bit of help, little one. Hold on."

Daen caught on swiftly and raised her hips up enough to hover above her Lord. Darcia rubbed the head of his desire back and forth over her centre idly, enjoying the way she jerked as he stimulated those nerves before he arranged himself at the secret opening to her body.

"Do it now Daen, make me yours as you are mine."

Daen closed her eyes, throwing her head back and wrapped her arms about his neck for support, her hands twining themselves in the richness of his hair. The first push against her body burned like fire. Daen concentrated hard, sweat spilling down her temples; she had forgotten how large he was. Taking a deep breath she sank down, a sheath to his sword. She watched from under the veil of her eyelashes the expression on his face. It was a look of complete shock and lust. She could feel his heaving sides against the tight grip of her thighs. “Your so beautiful little one.” He murmured as his hand ran in a long caress down her body. Smiling, Daen rose up to then sink down further as she relaxed her muscles. They both moaned loudly as Daen repeated the process this time as she sank down she used the muscles in her channel to squeeze every inch that pushed into it. By the time she'd settled her buttocks against Darcia’s groin he looked to be on the verge of release.

"You're so tight..... so tight and hoter than the water!" He choked out, hands kneading over her hips. Her dark lord arched his neck back as Daen gave an experimental squeeze. It pushed her up, making her gasp and giggle. "Ah, goddesses! Don't!"

Daen laughed softly, she decided that she liked this position. "Why, my lord? Does that feel good?" He did it again and was rewarded with her dark lord’s shuddery moan. The sound made her shiver.

"Please, don't!" Lord Darcia pleaded and finally settled with grabbing her peach shaped rear, digging his nails into the firm flesh. Daen moaned as jolts of pleasure ran resonated in her core from this rough caress. She jerked forwards, making his staff so deeply held within her slide out a few inches. Instinctively, Daen rocked back clenching her inner muscles hard. Both lovers cried out.

"Please little one have mercy," Darcia repeated "I want it to last. You'll make me release . . . too soon."

Daen liked the sound of that thoroughly enjoying being on the giving end of things for once. It was a heady experience to have her stoic dark lord gasping and bucking beneath her. She rolled her hips until Darcia’s stiff flesh rubbed against her own internal source of pleasure. When Darcia unconsciously bucked to meet her it caused a ripple of raw ecstasy to wash over her. It was her turn to temporarily lose her control as he ground down hard into Darcia's groin. "Oh that's it. Right there!"

Darcia's eyes darkened to almost black as he watched Daen's unbridled reaction. She was a gold and red goddess, a phoenix like flame of desire, his very own fallen star, burning just for him. "The way you look right now . . ." he sighed hungrily.

"Do that again," Daen demanded, bracing her hands on the sides of the tub.

“Do what?” He asked his voice husky.

“Roll your hips up when I come down, it feels…Ahhh!”

Darcia groaned and thrust upwards, his arms wrapping around her waist, behind her back to cup her shoulders so that he could gain some leverage. His lips locked on to hers, his tongue sweeping in to her mouth to devour the cries that would have spilled from her ripe lips. The water sloshed violently between their bodies, washing over the sides and on to the floor. Daen moved faster and more wildly as the passion between them built to a crescendo.

He moaned loudly at the sight of her body writhing against him. He breast bouncing, her hair half wet stuck to her slick body, the rest wild and moving like living silk. "Little one. Slow down . . . oh, please, slow . . . down. I'm going to . . . going to…"

"Do it, I will be with you." Daen gasped, her body tightening in anticipation as she raced towards orgasm, her mind a red haze of pleasure. She felt curiously dizzy, her blood was boiling. Daen wondered if it was possible to spontaneously combust when one was surrounded by water.

"Gods, little one, do it now!" Although it was nothing less than torture to do so, Darcia stopped thrusting up in to her body. His body screamed out for completion, Daen continued to ride him, leaning forwards to move faster, unrestricted by his guiding hands. With a last desperate moan Darcia’s release exploded. Lightning arced through his body followed by a warm tingling pleasure that infused him from his scalp to his toes. The hands on Daen’s waist clenched painfully and then Darcia bucked up beneath him, trapped beneath her weight. Daen watched as her lord’s eyes rolled back into his head and he was arching backwards, a low growl escaping from his throat as he shot his seed deep within her.

Darcia managed to peel his eyelids open in time to see Daen's face flush with colour as her release overcame her. Daen shook and shivered above him. The young woman moaned as she finally collapsed weakly against him. Darcia stroked her hair, and the sought her lips, talking him through the intense release she trembled in his arms. His own spent desire inside Daen slowly softened and slipped out. But Darcia continued to kiss Daen on her hot cheeks and over her closed eyelids. After a while, she smiled and playfully pushed herself off from his strong chest. "That tickles." She scolded.

Her arms were like jelly and the wobbled, she fell back against his firm body. Sighing she welcomed his warmth. His arms held her to him and he made a low male noise of contentment. Daen sighed and looked up her lord; he returned her gaze his expression one of wonder and deep gratitude.

"I can't believe you let me do that to you." Daen said in a distracted voice.

Darcia caught one of her hands in his and kissed the knuckles. "I hope this will prove to you that the love I want from you doesn't involve pain, only pleasure."

“I have missed you…oh terribly.” Daen wisped against his neck, nuzzling the skin there. Her voice was vague, dreamy. “I still feel like I am burning with your touch.”

Darcia chuckled. “That must have been some climax.” He brushed his hand over her forehead attempting to brush her wild hair back. Her forehead was hot, feverish. He stopped breathing for a second and sat up a little. Daen tried to readjust herself but he pressed his hand back to her forehead. He then cursed eloquently in several different languages.

“What’s wrong?” She asked in response to his essay, noticing the anxious look on her lovers face.

“Daen you have a fever.” His voice was serious. “Why didn’t you say you were sick?”

“I didn’t think I was.” She shrugged. “I was fine earlier.” Under his scrutiny she sighed, he would have the truth one way or another. “I thought that I had slept it off.”

“You never look after yourself properly.” He stated before taking her in his arms and picking her up as if she weighed nothing. He sat her down on a bench, fetching a drying cloth with which to dry her. He chaffed every limb, working swiftly and thoroughly. It reminded Daen of being a little girl when her mother would dry her. It made her feel safe cared for. “Mother said that you were in bed. How did you get past the Priestesses?”

“I hardly need a babysitter.” Daen huffed. She then smiled. “I slipped out when they were not looking to come see you; you know you could be just a little grateful.”

“Imp! Don’t turn it around on me like that.” Lord Darcia’s brows were frowning, but his eyes were tender. She watched his face as he worked on her, his seriousness, his concentration.

“What about you?” Daen asked. “I can dry you now.”

“No I want you to rest.” He said firmly. He did however retrieve his own drying cloth and wrapped it around his hips. Once he had finished he covered her with his own robe, Daen’s having been soaked by the spilt water. He carried her bridal styled back to her room.

“You know I could walk.” She said dourly.

“Let me look after you for once.” Darcia replied. When they reached her room, he carefully laid her on the bed as if she might brake. He sat on the side of the bed. “I will fetch a tisane for you in a minuet.”

There was a strange look in his eyes as he gazed down at her. There was more to his behaviour than met the eye. Daen cupped his cheek in her hand; he nuzzled in to the contact, his own hand covering hers. “What’s wrong? You can tell me.”


"I thought that you were going to die. And there was nothing I could do about it.” Lord Darcia said softly, brokenly.

Daen pulled him down and embraced him, whispering soothing sounds. "But I'm not, I'm not. I'm sorry I thought I had to do that to you. I'm so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. The last time we touched I was just a soul in your hands, but you saved me then. I call and you always answer. I just hope that one day I can return the favour.
”
"You'll save me by staying with me," Darcia stated "Don't ever do anything that dangerous again."

“I don’t intend to.” Daen smiled wanly. She didn’t promise, and he did not make her for who knew what life would hold in store for them. Darcia went and got her a warm herbal concoction. Daen was very glad that he didn’t manage to get hold of what ever that nasty medicine he forced down her by the spoonful back in the Core-d-Imperium. He settled to rest beside her, wrapping his larger frame around hers as if he never intended to let her go. The past few days’ violence began to seep in to her mind, closing her eyes against the encroaching images she pressed closer to lord Darcia.

Darcia was exhausted emotionally and physically, but now that she was safe in his arms he could rest. However something was making her tense, he could feel it in her body. Gently he rubbed her shoulders and back. Daen twitched when she herd a low rumble start deep in darcia’s chest. She suddenly realised that Lord Darcia was singing to her, a lullaby; his voice low and sleepy.


“Cold as the northern winds on the white stag’s mornings,
Cold is the battle cry that rings from this far distant land.

Winter has come too late too close beside me.
How can I chase away all these fears deep inside?

I'll wait the signs to come. I'll find a way.
Watch the Northern sky, listen for voice raised in song

I'll find a way home. My light shall be the moon
and my guide the morning star as I ride home you.”

Daen let his voice, rich like the stroke of velvet sooth her. She took a deep breath of his sent, like the woods, leather, and the smell just before it rains made up his indefinable sent. Tomorrow would take care of itself, and they could face it together. Right now they were together and that was enough.






A/N:
Luinil_Telcontar, Don’t worry Timor will met a suitable fate. Sorry about the abrupt end on chapter 6, but I needed to save some things for further chappies. Hope you enjoyed the latest instalment! I have some big plans for Cira, just wait and see. Darcia loses his temper in the next chapter when someone threatens Daen by the way.

kitsunekilala, Glad your enjoying my story so far. Your support is so ridiculously appreciated!

luv_bug, Leoff might not turn up for a chapter or two. Sorry to keep you hanging on but I will get there evenly.