The landing of two eagles aroused only minor curiosity in the soldiers who were just waking to prepare their morning grub—until the kiss of dawn fell full on the two birds and they underwent the transformation into elf and goblin.
“Akraz!” said Laya. “I’m sorry… I’m so tired…” She passed out in his arms.
A dozen soldiers with swords drawn tightened a noose around them. Akraz had transformed with his true face showing. Still, what the soldiers saw could not have looked good—a large man in the black uniform of Zathstragomal holding a naked, whipped woman in his arms.
The soldiers looked grim. They sent one of their number to go inform a leader, someone named “Hunter”, of the situation and then held their vigil around Akraz in silence until Hunter arrived.
As soon as Akraz saw Hunter, Akraz knew this must be the Hunter, a notorious thorn in the side of Zathstragomal.
“Nemesis!” said Hunter, upon seeing Laya. He reached to take her from Akraz’s arms. Akraz cradled her against his chest and growled. Hunter paused.
“It’s like that, is it?” Hunter’s eyes narrowed. He jerked a gesture to his soldiers. “Escort them both to my tent.”
Hunter’s tent was larger than Akraz’s den back under Mount Murk, and better furnished. It reminded Akraz of the tent in which Laya had first kept him prisoner. Hunter gestured to a bed—not a cot—a real bed, with sheets and pillows and embroidered blankets. Akraz gently deposited Laya’s naked form modestly between the covers.
“We knew that Nemesis had been captured by goblins,” said Hunter.
Akraz straightened. He faced Hunter. Here it comes, Akraz thought. The human will order my death—or torture, followed by death—for what I did to Laya.
“We never expected to see her again,” continued Hunter. He put his hand on Akraz’s shoulder and met his eye. “Thank you for helping her escape.”
Confused, Akraz could only drop his jaw.
“I have never seen an elf with your coloring,” said Hunter. “You are not of Sylvindell.”
He thinks I’m an elf? Akraz touched his own cheek and realized that in his true face, he could pass for a meaty elf. No wonder the human warrior was being solicitous instead of homicidal.
“No,” Akraz said, “I am not of Sylvindell.” He added, “I have been a slave in Zathstragomal’s dungeons since I was a just a child.”
It was the truth, albeit a truth meant to mislead. But it is the human who has made his judgments based upon skin deep appearances, Akraz argued with himself. I’m merely letting him believe what he wants.
“Was she raped?” Hunter asked softly.
Akraz reddened. He could not answer. Hunter drew his own conclusions from that too. He swore under his breath, cursing Zathstragomal and all goblins. Then, in a wild motion, he whisked his sword out of the sheath across his back.
“I swear by the ancient blade of my forefathers,” said Hunter, “I will allow no goblin beast to violate Nemesis again. So witness the gods of Light to my vow! I will escort the two of you myself back to Sylvindell.”
This was the last thing Akraz wanted. Yet so strange and otherworldly a light gleamed upon Hunter in that moment, almost like a nimbus of gold, that Akraz could only bow and murmur his thanks.
Laya dreamed of flight. The wind streamed under and over her wings, buoying her aloft. She dipped and dived over a patchwork world of peasants’ fields, forests and glittering rivers. In the dream, unlike when she had flown as an eagle, she somehow still had her real body. Akraz flew beside her, also in his real body and with his true face.
Their wings—fingers—touched in the air. He grinned wickedly at her, and then soared above her, out of sight. She banked into a circle in the air, looking for him. Only clouds filled the sapphire horizon.
Skin against skin. Naked, hot flesh slid against her buttocks, settled over her back. Akraz flew over her, touching her, sealing his body on top of hers. She could feel his immense cock prodding the crevice between her ass cheeks. She arched back into him. The wind swept against her breasts, whisking her nipples. The cock pierced her. She emitted an eagle screech of carnal joy. Cock in cunt, they banked and turned together. They glided as one.
“I love you!” Laya cried from the depths of her being. I love you, I love you. Even in the darkest hours of her ordeal in the dungeons of Mount Murk, when she had been summoned naked to cater to Zathstragomal’s sadistic whims, or when she had been put on display as trophy and a toy to the hateful lords and ladies of the Dark God’s hall, Akraz had always been there with her to protect her. She had not minded submitting, if it were to him she submitted. He was the only man who had ever mastered her, and the only man who ever would. “I love you, Akraz.”
The warm body filling her and flying with her vanished. She felt empty. Bereft. Where had he gone? Why did he not answer?
Laya began to fall. She flapped her wings, but they were only arms. Horrified, she screamed in terror as she plummeted toward the earth to certain death…
She sat up in a cold sweat. For several moments, she did not know where she was or how she had come to be there. She had been asleep in a comfortable, though narrow, bed. Sunlight warmed the red canvas walls of a tent. In a rush, she remembered Strathgora’s potion, the escape from Mount Murk, the journey as birds, the landing within the armed encampment of humans.
Heat suffused her face as she recollected fucking Akraz on the marble bench in the moonlight. Unlike the rest of the evening’s sex games, he had not been obligated to satiate her. Tell me you love me, he had commanded her.
The falling sensation from her dream returned, as if someone had kicked her stomach. Only now did it dawn on her that he had asked her to vow her love for him. But never, not once, had he told her that he loved her.
A man entered the tent. He wore a human-style scarlet and gold tunic over black britches. The tunic barely fit over his bulging biceps and pecs.
“Akraz?” Laya asked in wonder. “I hardly recognized you in a color other than black.”
“I feel like a walking target practice in this garish thing, if you must know. But your friend Hunter seemed to think it would be better to wear this than the armor of a goblin soldier.”
“Hunter?” Laya gladdened. “He’s here?”
“He mistook me for an elf,” Akraz said. He grimaced.
“Ah.” Laya’s mind raced to consider the possibilities. “That must have avoided certain uncomfortable…ah…”
“It’s probably the only reason he didn’t skewer me on the spot,” Akraz said dryly. “But, Laya, you know I cannot keep up the pretence. I can only maintain my true face for half the day. While we flew here I was pondering what Strathgora said about the magic being broken by the exchange of the sun and moon. Zathstragomal’s spell over me is only half broken. I think I must make a choice. I can either wear my true face during the day, or during the night, but not both.”
He held up his palm. The wizard’s sigil curled there in a ridge of scarred flesh. “As far as I can tell, he has not spied on me since the fete. Probably he thinks I am back in my den sleeping off too much drink and debauchery. But soon he will check on me and track me here. To this camp. To you.”
He passed a hand over a furrowed brow. “I can’t let that happen. If there is no way to cancel out his spell, as you did last time, then I must leave you, for your own safety.”
“Last time, it was the Seeress’ arrow which cancelled out the wizard’s spell. But I think I may be able to come up with something to keep him from seeing you. I can use a protective shield, less elaborate but similar to the kind that hides our city. However,” she touched his hand with hers, “Akraz, I don’t think that will free you to wear your true face all the time. I’m not even sure it was the Seer’s arrow that broke the spell before. I’ve been thinking about it, and I don’t believe even the Seer has magic stronger than the Deep Fire created by the hand of the Dark God himself.”