Coming in from the Cold

Warming Up


Jinn slowed her progress along the ley line and slithered to a halt. This was where training showed. Many with a natural talent for walking the lines could not voluntarily leave a conduit before their strength faded and the line itself expelled them. The wayfarer loosened her hold on the shimmering blueness thus allowing herself to drift back into the corporeal world.

Before she left the line she marked the nearest nexus. Outside the glass smooth walls of the conduit, the physical world was pallid. If she concentrated on the nimbus of light that marked the crossroads, Jinn could see slick dark rocks and pools of steaming water. She resolved this image with the map she carried in her head; the Dragon’s Breath Springs.

A landscape that had been misty grey resolved into misty white when she left the line. Jinn cried out with the shock of materialising into a blizzard. A wind fiercer than anything she had felt whipped at her. Darts of ice stung the bare skin around her eyes as she struggled to lower her goggles. Clearing her sight gave her only a little more detail. The storm had turned a hillside clearing into a sea of snow.

The wayfarer dragged herself into the pitiful lee of a pine tree so she could catch her breath. The cold bit at her. Jinn had dressed for winter in the mountains but this frigid landscape was beyond her expectations. It was painfully obvious she could not last outside. Huddling against the tree trunk, she fixed her mind on the map. There was a cave a short distance upslope.

She had to keep checking and rechecking her progress against the mental chart not to drift off course. The wind howled like a banshee, snapping branches. It wielded icicles and debris as weapons. A rock the size of her hand missed her head only because she slipped as it catapulted past. Jinn fell prone in a drift, sinking into the snow. She thrashed gracelessly with cold numbed limbs before eventually staggering upright.

Scrambling, fighting the storm for every step, the wayfarer reached the mouth of the cave. It was a narrow cleft higher than it was wide with a deep overhang. She ducked inside as the wind shrieked and pulled at her. Jinn silently thanked the cartographer’s accuracy, promising incense for her departed cousin when she returned to their clan’s ancestral shrine.

A short tunnel brought her to the cave. Loose stones and bones littered the floor. The gnawed spars splintered under foot. The wayfarer grimaced at the noise as she carefully investigated the cramped interior. She was prepared to bunk with the most disagreeable creature imaginable so long as she was out of the storm. Jinn discovered she would have to do so.

He lay swathed in a rough leather cloak with his knees drawn up to his chest. A bow stood propped against the cave wall and an axe rested near at hand. Jinn backed away as he sat up. His unlovely face was bare despite the cold. Grey skin stretched over craggy features made him look hewn from stone. Ochre paint swirled over his skin in erratic stripes designed for intimidation rather than camouflage.

The cave’s other occupant was an orc. His roan hair was spiky and short except for a few kill braids at his temples. His beaky nose creased as he sniffed for her scent. That gesture and his wedge-shaped ears gave the impression of a predator. The dark pelt he wore across his heavy shoulders and the bone charms around his neck heightened the effect. He bared his teeth.

“What you?” Char demanded in harshly accented trade common. The person edging from him was not one of his people far less one of his tribe so he was instantly wary. He could tell from the stranger’s long quilted coat, high leather boots and strange eye covering it was not a lowland shepherd. The hunter studied it closely as it pulled down its hood and scarf.

He saw a pale, foxish face with large almond eyes in a startling shade of red. She, he guessed her gender from the delicacy of her features as the bulky clothing masked her figure, had black hair so dark it looked silver. His gaze slid to the sharp points of her ears. Char growled to himself in dismay. A fey, may his totem snarl. His luck was not good this day.

“I am a traveller seeking shelter from the storm. I have no quarrel with you.” Jinn held her arms relaxed against her sides and tried to look non-threatening without appearing weak. The orc took her statement with a frown, favouring her with a toe to tonsure appraisal. She waited and weighed strategies while he laboured towards a decision. Outside, the wind keened.

“You keep peace of cave or you go.” Char was prepared to tolerate her presence until the blizzard blew over. She appeared unarmed and unarmoured but appearances could be deceiving. Still, he was bigger, tougher and stronger than she was. If he feared threat from a weaponless fey then he was a feeble son of the Black Wolf. Besides, if it got any colder he would have need of her.

Jinn cleared a section of floor, sat down and shrugged off her backpack. She usually travelled light but the Eagle Claw Mountains in winter necessitated certain supplies. A heavy woollen blanket was one of the extras she had packed for this trip. The wayfarer set her pack as a pillow and lay down to wait. It seemed she had reprieve until the storm cleared.

The wind howled, sending billows of snow into the cave tunnel. Jinn rolled herself tightly in her woollen blanket and clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. The storm was fierce enough for her to suspect magical augmentation. It seemed to hold the chill of the grave. She muttered a ritual curse against the magian she strongly suspected was directing the weather.

“Praying not keep you warm.” Char huddled in his cloak, silently thanking his forethought in wearing his hide leggings. The day had dawned temperate enough for him to consider doing without his heavy leather armour. His totem must have whispered in his ear that morning. Without his thick clothing, he would have frozen already. He studied his companion intently.

“I was not praying.” Jinn corrected. “I was swearing an oath against the wizard who created this storm.” She curled herself into a ball to conserve heat. The walls of the cave and her layers of clothes were barely sufficient to keep her warm. The prospect of the freakish weather worsening chilled her as much as the temperature. “He has no moderation.”

“You think spell-man does this?” The orc stumbled over the common tongue. He had learned the merchant’s language so he could eavesdrop on caravan camps. Char was a hunter and a scout, one of his tribe’s best. The fey nodded firmly. He considered her allegation. He had never seen a snowstorm blow up so quickly or so ferociously. “Maybe you right. You guess how long he keep storm?”

“The wielder of the staff of Ysinnhalmar can control the weather for so long as their own magic lasts. The magian is strong enough to fuel the storm for days. Once he recovers, he can do it again.” The wayfarer stuffed her gloved hands into her armpits. Jinn could not feel her fingers any more. “He has enough power to keep the territory of the Black Wolf in winter for years.”

“How you know I Black Wolf?” Char asked, surprised. Few lowlanders knew much of the ways of his people. Such fey as he had previously met, green haired savages from the Dapplewood, had certainly taken no interest. Orcs and tree-kissers did not get along. In other circumstances, he might have hauled her into camp as a slave or taken her ears as a trophy.

“Your war paint shows you are a full member of your tribe and few hunters, whatever their species, willingly take on a shadow wolf. Your tribe are the only ones who stalk the black wolves deliberately.” Jinn had travelled through the Eagle Claw Mountains before. “Although another orc might down such an animal, they would hang the pelt in their trophy lodge rather than wear it.”

“You smart for fey.” The hunter conceded, proud she had recognised his tribe marks. He shivered and wrapped his cloak closer around him. Char wiggled his toes as best he could, grimacing as he realised his feet were numb. That was not a good sign. He could trek through snow for a day and not lose feeling. Eying the wayfarer, he came to a decision. “You come here. We freeze else.”

“You may have a point.” Jinn admitted after a long moment. As much as she disliked the idea, pragmatism dictated they should share their body heat. She shuffled over carefully as she was loath to open her blanket more than necessary. The orc tugged the heavy wool over him and wrapped his cloak over her. The fey wriggled into his grasp, her head pillowed on his bicep.

“Who this spell-man you come to tribe lands for?” Char asked as he settled himself around her. He had never been this close to a fey before. She smelled of mint and pine, likely from the soap she used to clean herself. The female was small and delicately built like all her kind. For her to come alone to the mountains seemed the height of idiocy to the hunter yet she did not seem a fool.

“I do not know his name. We have not been introduced.” Jinn’s teeth ground not from cold. She meant to make the magian’s acquaintance of her as brief and unpleasant as possible. The trace she had on him had remained constant for a week, leading her to surmise he had reached a sanctuary. The wayfarer could sense she was getting nearer. Unfortunately, she did not know where she headed.

“Odd you not know him but you know his stick.” The hunter observed. Char was not an authority on magic. His tribal shaman had once told him few orcs had less talent for spell casting than he did. However, he thought it unusual the fey would have the full title of the wizard’s staff, which had sounded rather fey now he thought of it, but nothing of its possessor’s name.

“He stole the staff of Ysinnhalmar from my brother.” The wayfarer said flatly. Jinn did not add the platinum staff was a family heirloom, crafted by her great, great grandmother and passed down through the eldest line of her clan. The orc made a noise of understanding. His people dealt harshly with thieves, particularly those who robbed their tribe mates.

“If it brother’s stick, why you hunt it?” Char did not add what he thought of anyone who would send a female to do his work for him. The few of his sisters who were not married lived almost sequestered in his father’s tent. When, after a couple more seasons of good hunting, he had enough for a bride price his wife would stay in camp. A loose female showed her father or husband was not strong enough to keep her safe.

“My brother has not yet recovered from the wounds he sustained battling the magian. As the next eldest, the task falls to me.” This was not the whole story but then the orc did not need to know all the details. Jinn was the only one who had blooded the spell caster and survived intact enough to start the chase. When she found the wizard, she would contact her clan. They would make the thief regret his crime.

“I see now.” This reasoning Char could understand. Fey lived a long time and were not fecund. He could accept she had no immediate male kin who were of tribe age or still hale enough to hunt the wizard. Sending a female was better than asking someone outside the family to avenge the insult. The hunter shifted closer so her back pressed against his chest. He was at last warming up.

They lapsed into silence. Char lay quietly contemplating the curved wall of the cave as the fey apparently dozed off. He was not tired yet having done little beyond checking trap lines that day. Besides, he was rather enjoying snuggling with a female. Until he had a bride price, the hunter could only borrow one of his father’s slaves and bed her in his father’s tent with his sire’s permission.

Char did not particularly like the arrangement but he could not afford a slave of his own. If he had been more of a risk-taker he might have tried one of the unmarried girls. Naruz’s second daughter often snuck out at night to flirt with the young hunters. She was amenable to persuasion. However, the repercussions of discovery outweighed the pleasure in his opinion.

The fey on the other hand was far from her kin. Whatever her father’s objections, they were not likely to immediately impact on him. Char let his free hand slide under the female’s arm so he could investigate. It was difficult to feel anything through her clothing so he unfastened the toggles of her coat and inveigled his fingers inside. He soon found what he was seeking.

“Take your hand off me.” Jinn impressed herself with the calmness of her voice. She tried to keep her breath slow and regular so her chest would not heave. The orc rubbed his palm over her breast, squeezing the nipple between his thumb and the edge of his index finger. She grimaced as her body reacted to his caress. Her flesh betrayed her because in her lust for revenge she had neglected her physical desires for some time.

“You big for fey.” Char remarked, unperturbed by her objections. He had previously only observational experience of fey physique. The pointy-ears tended to be willowy not buxom. This female was nicely rounded to fill his hand. He wondered if she came from a different tribe than the Dapplewood. She did not particularly look like the lowlanders.

“I am not fey and I tell you again to remove your hand.” She injected some battlefield command into her usual placid tone. She stiffened as he nuzzled her neck and inhaled her scent. In this position the wayfarer could not easily get at her boot daggers but the knives up her sleeves were readily accessible. Jinn anticipated she might have to resort to violence. Then a new plan occurred to her.

“I could take you.” The orc observed, stating a fact rather than threatening. He tightened his arms around her to illustrate his strength. Char continued to massage her breast, silently debating whether to undo the lacings of her shirt or untuck it from her belt. The hunter was in no hurry. He had the opportunity to take his time and intended to savour it.

“You could try.” Jinn conceded coolly. He was unfortunately not exaggerating. If the situation devolved to violence, the result could go either way. The wayfarer was not a gambler but the orc was not so ardent she could not steer him where she wanted. She rolled her hips against him. Better to appeal to his groin than his brain. “But it would be more enjoyable if we took each other.”

“You want to mate?” Char made a deep throaty noise as he rubbed himself against her. He could feel himself hardening. She was warm and soft in his arms. He speculated how warm and soft she might be in other places. The hunter eased some of his weight off his right shoulder so he could use both hands to cup her breasts. Jinn smiled to herself. It was a rare male you could not lead by his genitals.

“I do not know you.” The wayfarer stifled a moan as he rolled her nipples between his fingers. She had always enjoyed that. Jinn felt his lips curve into a grin as he kissed the back of her neck. He had heard the soft noise. His fingers strayed to her waist, tugging at her shirt. Char untucked the layers until he could slide his hands over her bare skin.

“I Char the hunter, third son of Borga of the Black Wolf Tribe.” He introduced himself formally, though he left out the customary recitation of his trophy kills. The orc was uncertain whether the fey would consider his fighting prowess enticing. Remembering she had liked it, Char pinched her nipples and rubbed them back and forth.

He explored her body. Her skin was as smooth as ice but burning hot to the touch. He slid a hand down her stomach then slowly lower in between her thighs. The hunter rubbed her there while his other hand moved across her chest. She sighed and the last of the tension left her as she sagged against him.

“My name is sirra Yvantmir Jinn.” She doubted he could pronounce her name or if he understood the significance of her title but it counted as an introduction. Her hands moved down his arms to twine her fingers with his. This gesture the orc did comprehend. “You may call me Jinn.”

Char murmured her name into her ear as he undid her belt. She caught his hands and stopped him, rolling over so they could see eye to eye. The fey brushed her mouth against his, her tongue daintily tracing his lips. Her touch made his skin tingle. The hunter kissed her passionately in return. His arms clenched around Jinn, pinning her to his chest. She winced.

“What wrong?” The orc asked, worried she had changed her mind. The wayfarer straddled him and ran her hands up his breastplate. Jinn tapped the boiled hard leather armour. Char realised what she wanted and undid the lacings. He felt nary a pang at removing his defences in the presence of an enemy. She helped him struggle free then he aided her out of her quilted jacket.

The female lent forward so he could pull her layered shirts off over her head. Char, mindful of the cold though he no longer felt it, tucked the clothing near him to keep it warm. He gazed up at her and grinned as he admired the view. Her skin was the colour of new ivory unblemished by scar or mark. The hunter grabbed her breasts, marvelling at their softness.

“Not like that.” Jinn held his wrists and showed him what she wanted him to do. Gently, she massaged his hands over her in a circular motion with his finger tips just brushing her nipples. Char felt the pink buds harden. It was then he noticed the blades strapped to her forearms. The sheaths blended with her skin. The hilts of the knives were flat, designed to lie flush against her wrists.

“Rabbit blades.” He observed derisively. “You not need those.” Char did not think much of a weapon smaller than his spread hand. The wayfarer held out her arms to him. Carefully not touching the weapons so he would not violate ‘peace of the cave’, the hunter unbuckled the sheaths and tossed them out of reach. It paid to be conservative. A skinning knife in the eye could end your days as easily as a broad sword.

Jinn began to slowly loosen his tunic, tracing her fingertips along his collarbones and sending little shivers down his spine. Char grew impatient with her teasing and tugged off his shirt. He heard the cloth rip and cared not at all. His mind was on what the fey was doing to him as she tickled his nipples with the tip of her tongue to repay his attentions. It was his turn to groan.

She smiled at the sound and rolled her hips against his hardness. Jinn lifted herself over the bulge of his erection, settling on his thighs. Char watched avidly as she rubbed her hands over him. His arousal was becoming almost painful as he strained against his breeches. The fey leisurely untied the laces, running her fingertips over him before easing his member into view.

Char had half-closed his eyes at her touch but he saw the look of concern cross her face. He was well endowed enough not to be mocked in the sweat lodge though not as large as some of his tribe mates. Would he be too big for her? The hunter gathered Jinn into his arms, blazing a trail of kisses up her neck. He murmured assurances he would be careful. He did not want her to shy off now.

The fey accepted his word, rolling onto her back to allow him to remove the last of her clothes. Char traced a finger along the hairless lips of her mound and marvelled at the silkiness of her skin. The hunter moved his mouth to her breast to suckle as he probed her recesses. Jinn sighed with pleasure, her hands caressing the taut flesh of his penis.

He leaned over and rubbed himself against her inner recesses. The wayfarer spread her legs, signalling she was ready for him. Char resisted the temptation to plunge into her depths. Slowly, very slowly he pushed himself inside her. Jinn gasped at the achingly prolonged penetration. Gritting his teeth to control himself, the hunter was panting before he was halfway.

Despite the cold, sweat dripped off him. Char eased himself inside to his full length before withdrawing as gradually. The fey ran her fingers up his chest and gripped his shoulders. She rolled her hips as he was sliding into her again, wrapping her legs around his waist. Jinn purred when he bucked lightly. The hunter increased his pace and lost himself in the pleasure of their coupling.

She was as tight as he imagined a virgin would be and so wet and hot every stroke was bliss. Char felt her tense under him and heard her cry out. He tried to pull out, alarmed at her reaction but inside her flesh spasmed against his and held him. The clutching sensation was enough to tip him over the edge into an explosive, shuddering release.

Jinn eased herself out from under him as the orc collapsed onto the floor. She scrambled back into her clothes. Although she had shared pleasure with males not of her race, the wayfarer had never united with a orc before. She had not appreciated how intense the encounter would be. Judging from Char’s stunned expression he was similarly surprised.

Being a sensible person, even with the aftermath of pleasure singing in her veins, Jinn retrieved her wrist knives and replaced them. She collected the orc’s scattered garments before scuttling back to the warmth of the blanket. Char favoured her with a grunt of thanks as he struggled back into his leggings. Once clad, he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly against him.

The hunter could not suppress a smile of satisfaction when Jinn snuggled into his chest. He liked touching her. The fey was the only female he had enjoyed without having to share and Char intended to keep it that way. He breathed in her fresh scent as he closed his eyes, falling into sated slumber. Jinn was sated in the flesh but not in the mind. She had plans for the orc.