Time & Reign

The war was generations old. Its origins now a mythology.

On the forty-second day of autumn, in the eighth year of the Targovian reign, a woman from the outskirts of the city rode into the center of the market place. She dropped a knife at the feet of a guard, bloodied and broken at the hilt. A crowd gathered as she relayed the story of her rape to him. How an Itin man arrived at her farmhouse and demanded one of her horses. The Itin were a tribe that lived beyond the Targovian borders. When she refused, they fought. The Itin took her, but not without her burying her knife into his shoulder. The fury of the mob grew with every word, and when her tale was finished, they gathered their swords and made for the Itin camp. The guard, Tires, stepped forward and demanded the guilty man. The Itin were silent, famously superstitious and mistrusting of the inhabitants of Targovia. The Targovians began raiding every hut, until Tires dragged a man out from a woodpile. The raped woman identified her attacker, and although his shoulder still bled, the Itin refused to surrender him. Tires would not deny justice, and slit the man’s throat where he stood. The Itin immediately reacted, attacking the Targovians, but their small encampment was no match and they were massacred.
The Targovians returned to the city victorious, but on the forty-fourth day the fires began. The Itin began torching fields on the outskirts of Targovia in retaliation for the massacre. Then poisoned animals, more rapes and then murder. The Targovian army finally drove the Itin into the Curovun Forest. Their attacks became fewer and far between, but more calculated. Permanent outposts now marked the borders of the city, and the population had moved inward.
Four generations after the massacre, the rumors began. Guards returned from the outskirts with stories of how the Itin were changing; something in the Curovun Forest… Civilians whispered stories of how they had seen captive Itin servants in the great halls, their ears pointed with cat like tales hidden under their robes. These rumors faded as new hardships confronted Targovia. The coming generations faced disease and poverty that comes to a growing city that cannot expand its borders.

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PRESENT DAY

The need to hold Foln fell hard on Ketheran’s shoulders. Six times now the village of Foln had been taken in Itin raids. This time it would stand. Three times the amount of troops had been dispatched to Foln, weakening two other outposts, but by the time the Itin discovered this, it would be past their advantage. Ketheran had been in the Targovian army since birth, and was now the captain of twenty-four guards. He, along with two other captains hid their guards in woods surrounding Foln.
At dawn the first arrows flew. Itin raiders entered the village and began their pillage. What was left of the civilians scattered. Only two were lost as the guards charged into the village on the heels of the Itin raiders. The raiders were massively outnumbered, and dropped their swords in a mix of surrender and confusion. The majority were executed. Their bodies burned and their ashes scattered surrounding Foln to serve as a warning. Ketheran lead his guards back to the city victorious.


Ketheran entered the great hall of Targov with his fellow captains, Hensu and Selav, from the battle of Foln. King Telarmin greeted them with praise, and they drank to their victory. After the banquet, Ketheran drew his sword and placed it on the table. He turned to Telarmin and said, “I offer my sword to uphold the safety of Foln”.
Telarmin approached Ketheran. “The steward of Foln will be Hensu.”
Disheartened, Ketheran replied, “I have fought many years and slain many Itin for the honor of Targovia.”
“Many years, yes.” Telarmin said placing his hand on Ketheran’s shoulder. “Now it is time that you use your talents to train others to be as strong a warrior.”
Ketheran’s eyes fell. “I meant no disrespect.”
“None was received, and to show you my respect, I will give you first choice.” Telarmin motioned to a guard by one of the doors. The guard returned, followed by three chained Itin captured during the Foln battle.
Ketheran grinned wickedly at Hensu and Selav, who both returned the expression in amusement. “I will take which ever is not already broken. Come here.” Ketheran motioned towards the Itin farthest to the left. Ketheran’s wicked smile returned as the Itin approached. He had never seen one fully exposed, its dangling member tiny and frightened compared to the tale that swung loosely from behind. The fully grown Itin was small in comparison to Ketheran, who towered over most Targovians. The Itin looked up at Ketheran and trembled as one of his scarred muscular hands lifted his quivering piece. “Open your legs.” Ketheran demanded, but the Itin was frozen with terror. Hensu and Selav laughed threw their wine. Ketheran kicked the Itin’s legs apart, and with his other hand, probed the small opening with his fingertip. The Itin winced and retracted. “What is your name?” Ketheran asked.
“Nokutu” the Itin replied.
“Nokutu-ran” Ketheran corrected, the suffix “ran” denoting that he now owned him. Only the most highly ranking captains were given Itin captives, a right and revenge that dated back to the origins of the war.
The Itin repeated “Nokutu-ran” with shame.
“Good. Clean this one, and send him to my room.” Ketheran told the guard, who then took Nokutu-ran away.
Ketheran returned to the table and took a jug of wine and a bowl of ice. “Leaving the celebration so soon?” Selav laughed. Ketheran winked at him, and put the wine into the ice. “It is right to give you Foln.” Ketheran said to Hensu. “You have my word it will not fall again.” The two captains nodded to each other, and Ketheran left the hall.


Ketheran returned to his room. He placed the wine and ice on a table next to large window that looked down onto the city. The hot night air rushed over him as he looked down into the street. The city was still celebrating the victory at Foln, they had been since two days prior when the first riders returned with the news. Exiles would now be able to return to their homes, and more would move out of the center of the city seeking prosperity in Foln. The living conditions in the center of the city were becoming worse everyday. Hundreds were without shelter, and disease spread rampantly through the streets. Funeral pyres burned nightly, and there was barely enough food to feed to healthy. Ketheran looked down at his wine and felt guilty for the luxuries he had, but the victory he helped to claim at Foln would eliminate some of these problems. There was plenty of land for crops there, and plenty of civilians willing to work those fields.
Ketheran’s fantasies of a new era for Targovia were interrupted by a knock on his door. A guard entered with Nokutu-ran. “Thank you. You can leave us.” Ketheran nodded to the guard. Nokutu-ran remained still by the door.
“Come in. Don’t be nervous.” Ketheran said, offering him the wine. Nokutu-ran sipped shyly from the jug. “You’ll need more then that.” Laughed Ketheran as he took a shard of ice from the bowl and began sucking on it. Ketheran removed his shirt, and stood only in his white draw-string pants. He spit the ice into the palm of his hand and pulled Nokutu-ran towards him. Ketheran sat on the edge of his bed, turned Nokutu-ran around and spread apart his backside. The flesh surrounding his opening was flush pink. Ketheran ran his finger around it.
Nokutu-ran gasped.
“Were they rough when they cleaned you?” Ketheran asked.
“Yes.” Nokutu-ran whispered.
“What did they use?”
Nokutu-ran did not answer. Ketheran slapped his buttocks hard. “What did they use?” he repeated.
“A reed with water in it.”
“A thin reed?”
“Yes.”
“Good, they kept you tight then.” Ketheran slowly inserted the ice into Nokutu-ran’s sanctum. His legs shook from the cold and the pain.
“Don’t push it out,” Ketheran advised, “it will numb you.”
Ketheran lay back on the bed and pulled Nokutu-ran with him. Ketheran held his spread backside over him, pushing the ice in and out slowly. Nokutu-ran moaned and looked down helplessly at the Ketheran’s growing erection as he lay straddled backwards over his new master.
With his free hand, Ketheran untied the draw string of his pants, and removed his massive piece. It fell heavy against his thigh. Nokutu-ran could feel the heat coming off of it. He began with sob with fear at the thought of it entering him, the ice and Ketheran’s finger hurt enough.
“Put it in your mouth.” Ketheran commanded. Nokutu-ran did not immediately obey. Ketheran jabbed his finger in fast and hard, then repeated “Put it in your mouth.” Nokutu-ran leaned forward, and fit his lips awkwardly over the pulsing head. Ketheran, still not satisfied, thrust two fingers in harshly, and this time pulled down. Nokutu-ran cried out painfully.
“Don’t waste my time! Suck on it.” Ketheran shouted angrily. Nokutu-ran took Ketheran into his mouth again and sucked slowly.
“Good, good.” Ketheran sighed, and returned to his more gentle probing. “There are others who would not be so kind in taking the time to prepare you. I could have just as easily thrown you to the floor and torn you. There are plenty of attendants who are well paid to clean blood from the walls.” Ketheran removed his finger, and let what remained of the ice melt in a thin trickle down Nokutu-ran’s thigh. He wiped the water aside with the tale, and laid back enjoying his pleasure.
Nokutu-ran gagged and released Ketheran from his mouth when a tiny drop of his essence escaped. Ketheran pushed Nokutu-ran off of him, and got up from the bed.
“You’re first taste?” he said with a wicked a smile. He took another shard of ice from the bowl and returned to the bed.
“Open your mouth.” He ordered, and Nokutu-ran obeyed, knowing better this time. Ketheran put the ice into his mouth. “Bite down on this.”
The Itin lay on his back trembling. Ketheran spread his legs and forced two fingers in hard. Nokutu-ran would have screamed, but the ice filled his mouth, so all he could do was follow his orders and bite. Ketheran positioned himself at Nokutu-ran’s entrance. The Itin closed his eyes. For a split second, Ketheran’s member felt like a bull preparing to charge, with a hot breath and life of its own.
Ketheran penetrated with his entirety in a single thrust. The force of his pumping pushed Nokutu-ran’s head up against the wall, which Ketheran know braced himself against. Nokutu-ran’s body balanced only Ketheran’s thighs and his penetrating member.
Finally, his limp body fell back onto the bed once Ketheran had expelled himself inside the Itin’s ravaged sanctum.
Ketheran got up from the bed. He took a towel from a rack of clothing in the corner and wiped himself. He then filled the towel with ice and returned to the bed. He placed it gently between Nokutu-ran’s legs.
“It could have been worse.” He said catching his breath, “Remember that.”
Ketheran walked out into the hall and came back with two attendants of Targov hall.
“Clean this up, and be careful with him.”
“Yes sir” one of the guards replied. They took Nokutu-ran, and Ketheran returned to his window.