The Price of Freedom (Heirs of the Empire #2)

4. Elric

4

ELRIC

I n the cellar, roped to a chair, Elric can do little except wait to see what will happen next.

Strange to think he had idly considered that this might be his fate. Considered this, even, as the most favourable outcome of his mission into the mountains.

Thrilling and dramatic and dangerous. The kind of thing a fool like him would hope for.

His current situation doesn’t feel thrilling and dramatic in the least, however. It is uncomfortable and boring and will likely kill him.

But there is a handsome man threatening him with a sharp hook. He could take a little solace in that. It would add some colour to the tale if anyone were to care enough to write a bawdy song about it one day. One of the ones the bards have to sing in Juran or Ambolk to hide how filthy it is.

Elric checks his thoughts. This isn’t helpful. He needs to get it together. He needs a plan to get out of this alive. He has a sharp mind. He ought to start using it. If he is to survive this he needs to get these outlaws to take him to some kind of civilization. And once there, he needs to find a way to run.

So, Elric thinks, here he is, captured by outlaws. In a grubby cellar room, tied up in a way that isn’t fun, cold, hungry and tired. He needs to start forming this escape plan, but it’s late and his mind is heavy.

His mind keeps wandering back to handsome hook-man. Really, quite distinctively handsome with his messy dark hair, wide mouth, certain something in the lines of his jaw and permanent scowl.

Handsome hook-man . Of course, that isn’t who he really is. And it’s amusing that he seems to think Elric has no idea of his identity. But who else could he be? A Mortingale with a noble’s education and silver speckles in his eyes.

Elric wonders what happened to his right hand. That could be useful information. He should try and find out. In fact, anything he can find out about his captor could be valuable knowledge in the future. Perhaps thinking about him isn’t such a poor use of time.

Despite the discomfort, somehow Elric manages to fall asleep in his ropes. When he wakes, it takes him a moment to remember where he is. He’s still bleary when he realises he’s been woken by a sound from outside the cellar.

The door opens with a soft creak.

And standing in the doorway is… Not the handsome hook man.

Standing in the doorway is someone else. Someone Elric probably ought to have considered might be a problem if he found himself in the grasp of the Mortingales. But in truth, Elric had simply never thought that this old acquaintance might also be amongst his captors if he was taken hostage.

Red Wolf, Elric had assumed, would be long dead in the purge.

But apparently not. Elric takes a breath. This could be interesting.

And if he isn’t careful, very, very dangerous.

Elric looks at the figure in the doorway. Tall. Hair as red as Elric’s own. And a charming kindness in his eyes that he’s never been able to hide. “Good evening,” Elric says as calmly as he can. “It’s been a while since I last saw you.”

Red Wolf walks across the cellar to Elric’s chair. The torchlight flickers on his hair. Those familiar warm brown eyes are fixed on Elric. His boots clip on the stone floor. “So,” he says. “Elric Underlia. I didn’t recognise you when I was scouting. Didn’t get close enough for faces. Just saw the Azurian colours. If I had known you were part of the group I spotted, I would never have told them to attack your party. I would have left you well alone.” He comes to a halt standing right in front of Elric’s chair. Close. Making Elric look up at him. “I never thought someone like you would come into the Mortingale Mountains. I thought your work was strictly between the sheets.”

Elric shrugs. “I’ve moved on from that sort of thing.”

Red Wolf nods. “Silverhand told me he had a captive with red hair calling himself Elric. And Inga was certain you were a whore. That had to be you, didn’t it? I had to see for myself.” He pulls a knife from his belt and puts the tip of it to Elric’s neck. “I really ought to slit your throat right here. This is my home.” He sounds quite sad about the situation.

Elric takes a slow steady breath. He knows Red Wolf is right. Red Wolf ought to kill him. But Red Wolf is not a killer. For all this showy bravado he knows Red Wolf is soft. Too soft for his own good. “Not your style, Red Wolf,” Elric says, keeping his voice steady.

Red Wolf’s deep brown eyes seem to darken. “Don’t be so sure about that.”

Elric holds Red Wolf’s gaze. “He’s very proud to have captured me, you know. This Silverhand. I’m sure it would devastate him if he came back to this room and found someone had disposed of me.” Elric swallows. Would this work? He has no reason to think Red Wolf cares about Silverhand. But it’s the only thing Elric has to trade on outside of Red Wolf’s soft nature. And his captor had seemed quite desperate. “He went to a lot of trouble to snatch me from the woods. He needs this.”

Red Wolf says nothing.

Elric watches him carefully. This has definitely made Red Wolf pause. And perhaps there is something more Elric could use here. He says, “Oh, and he was very secretive about my capture as he smuggled me in. He was very concerned that if anyone knew I was here they’d insist on killing me. So, I’m guessing, he’s not exactly been shouting about what he’s got in this room. Could it be that you’re the only person he’s told?” Elric watches Red Wolf again. This, he is sure, is the truth. And he sees something more in Red Wolf’s expression. “Oh no,” Elric adds with a small gasp. “Are you his lover ? Does he trust you? You? After what you did?”

“He’ll never find out what I did if I kill you now,” Red Wolf snarls. Voice shaking the tiniest amount.

“He wouldn’t. But he would know you were the one who stole me from him if you killed me now, wouldn’t he? Who else could have done it? His own lover slitting the throat of his great prize. What a betrayal. And if you killed me he’d wonder why, wouldn’t he? Maybe it would even cause him to think a little more about what else you might have done.”

The blade pricks Elric’s skin, as Red Wolf says, “He’d never think that.”

Elric pauses. He looks at Red Wolf. Funny how his plan would come together like this. However, he has never been anything if not one to make the best of the situations in which he finds himself. “Perhaps if you would allow me,” Elric says carefully, “there is another solution to this problem. You want me gone. I want to be gone. We have mutual interests. You said if you’d known I was amongst that party you sent the Mortingales to attack you would have kept quiet and let me pass on by. It’s not too late for that. Why not free me? Don’t kill me. Free me. Free me and your secret is safe. I have no interest in betraying you, only in saving my own skin.”

Red Wolf shakes his head. “He’d know. He’d know I’d freed you just as he’d know I’d killed you.”

Elric keeps his eyes on Red Wolf’s. “But I don’t want you to free me now. I want us to make an agreement, Red Wolf. I’ll stay quiet about our past associations. I’ll let no one know we’ve ever met before. And you can do the same. It will remain our secret. And in return, when the moment is right, you will help me to run.”

Red Wolf pulls the blade back from Elric’s throat and looks at him. “You want to spend more time with the dashing Silverhand, do you? I can assure you that brooding thing he does gets old fast.” He smiles slightly.

Elric matches Red Wolf’s sly smile. “I can assure you I have no interest in Silverhand,” he says, although that isn’t exactly true. Considering who Silverhand really is, Elric is very interested indeed.

“Then why do you not want me to release you here and now?”

“Because,” says Elric, keeping his voice feather-light, “my idea of fun isn’t to be alone in the Mortingale Mountains having to hide from bandits and daedons and eat tree moss while I hope to stumble back to the great Jewel of the Empire. No, free me when we are somewhere that my escape to safety can be assured.”

“Like where? What makes you think you won’t just be tortured and killed here?”

Elric nods. It’s all coming together now in his mind. A plan. A solid plan that will get him exactly what he wants. “Because I’m going to tell the delightfully glowering Silverhand who I am, and then I am certain, plans will be put in motion to take me to civilization. When we get there, you will help me escape the evil clutches of the Mortingales.”

“And in return, you will keep silent about me?”

“I promise I will treat you like any other handsome man I’ve just met,” Elric says very sweetly. “And you can do the same. We are both well practised at mummery, after all.”

Red Wolf looks at him. “Very well, but if you breathe a word to Silverhand, or anyone, even so much as a hint…” he begins, before trailing off, face pale.

“I won’t,” Elric says brightly, feeling quite pleased with himself. “You can be sure of it. If you’re part of my escape plan, why would I do anything that would risk us both being killed by bloodthirsty outlaws?”

Red Wolf looks at him. He looks uncomfortable. “I didn’t want to do it,” he says quietly. “I stopped after, after what happened. I’ve refused ever since. I’ve done everything I can to make amends.”

“I don’t judge you, Red Wolf,” says Elric. “What do I care about what side you are on when it comes to the Mortingale Outlaws and their battles with the Empire?”

Red Wolf gives Elric a tight look. He steps back. “Don’t hurt him,” he says.

“Who?”

“Lucky. Silverhand.”

Elric blinks. “Really? Don’t hurt him. He has me tied up and has already threatened me with his vicious hook. How do you think I would ever hurt him?”

“He’s more fragile than he seems,” Red Wolf says, sounding quite wistful. He gives Elric one last look before he leaves.

Further sleep eludes Elric. He waits a long time in the cellar after Red Wolf leaves. He grows even more hungry and thirsty and reaches a point where he is sure he will soil himself if someone doesn’t come soon.

He should have struck a more helpful bargain with Red Wolf. Food and drink and a trip to a privy to buy his silence about Red Wolf’s past. But he is pleased with himself nonetheless. Trading secrets has always served him well.

Before he gives up and makes a shameful mess of his breeches, the door opens. And he’s back. Silverhand.

And, even more thrillingly, he has a tray of bread and ale which he sets down before untying Elric with a soft growl of, “Don’t try anything. I’m really not in the fucking mood. I slept in the stables.”

Elric doesn’t try. He wants the food and ale enough that he’s willing to be obedient. Silverhand helps him up from the chair and leads him over to the corner where there is a pail. Silverhand kicks it with a boot. “Relieve yourself,” he grunts and turns away, giving Elric a little dignity as he does what he must. When he’s done he turns to find Silverhand sprawling in the chair he had sat in before. “You should eat,” he says, nodding towards the wooden tray on the cellar floor. Elric’s body aches. He shuffles over to it, kneels and eats and drinks his fill without speaking. Only when he’s satiated does he turn and say, “Couldn’t stay away?”

“Couldn’t let you starve. More like. Sit down.”

Elric walks back to his chair. Feeling more alive now he has pissed and eaten and drunk. He sits. “You going to rope me again?”

Silverhand shrugs. “See how I feel.”

“Do you enjoy that kind of thing?” Elric says as he sits. “Having a man roped? Helpless? At your mercy?”

Silverhand shrugs again. “You seem determined to imply my motives for capturing you are driven by my cock.”

“You’re not worried I might run, Silverhand?” Elric says.

From a pouch on his belt, Silverhand brings a pipe. He uses the candle stub to light it and puffs. Moonleaf. Elric recognises the pleasant, woody scent. Silverhand exhales a pale cloud and says, “Run, Lordling? Into the heart of the Mortingales? You’re no fool. You know you’re safer hidden in here.”

Elric says nothing. Silverhand seems more sure of himself today. It makes Elric bristle a little. He feels sure he can see the Darek royalty in him.

Silverhand gazes at Elric and smokes his moonleaf. It feels like a long while before he says in a smooth voice, sauced with honey, “How about you just tell me why you were sent here? What was your mission?” His accent is very refined. Pure Rose Palace. He doesn’t even try to hide it.

Elric raises an eyebrow. “You really think I’m just going to tell you that because you untied me, gave me bread and asked in that seductive voice?”

Another shrug, this one slow and lazy. “I do, actually. Why not tell me? A soft pampered little lordling like you. Sooner or later you’re going to break and tell me everything. You can tell me now or I can hurt you. And once I hurt you, it won’t take long at all for you to talk, because I don’t think you have any idea what it feels like to be really hurt by someone who is trying to hurt you.” Silverhand ends his nasty speech with an equally nasty smile.

Elric wets his lips. “Fine. As you are so keen to know. You are correct. It was a scouting mission. I’m here to find out how dangerous these mountains are. How many outlaws still make their home here? The Rose Court know your numbers are depleted after the purge, but Vindar the Thousand Eyes was sure you had been growing again in the last five years. I’m here to assess that and how well-equipped you are.”

Silverhand swallows. He looks shocked that it has all come out so easily. Unsurprisingly. “That sounds like an important mission to entrust to a youthful commander,” he says, sounding cautious. “Why you?”

“I assume because I’m expendable. It’s a dangerous mission. I suspect the true purpose of it was simply to discover how long it was before I and the rest of my party were killed by your band of outlaws.”

“You’re expendable?” Silverhand’s voice seems to stutter over the word. As if he is surprised to hear Elric admit such a thing.

“Yes. Very much so. My father had a use for me, some time ago. But I got too damaged for that. Too old.”

He can see Silverhand thinking behind his eyes. “Too old? How old are you?”

“Twenty-six summers.”

“And that’s old enough for a father to toss you to the Mortingale Outlaws? Did he not wish to get heirs from you?”

At this, Elric laughs. “He is well aware he will be getting no heirs from me.”

Silverhand picks up one of the ale cups and takes a long drink.

Elric watches him. There were many rumours about the current whereabouts of Lukas Darekul. The second illegitimate son of Rafus, Crown Prince of Azuria. The bastard who fled the palace at the age of fourteen to join the Mortingale Outlaws. And who'd returned years later as part of a raid meant to kill Emperor Selim. Elric had heard that when the raid had failed, Lukas had been the only survivor. He’d returned to the mountains where the remaining Mortingales had tortured and killed him as punishment. He’d heard other people say Emperor Selim had rode into the mountains himself to execute Lukas personally, while Prince Rafus wept with remorse. Clearly, Lukas had not been killed by either of these means. There were other rumours, like the one that Lukas had fled the mountains to become a whore at the docks in Lunatum. As Lukas Darekul sits before him, Elric wonders if that last rumour is the truth.

Lukas brings his pipe to his lips. He takes a slow inhale of moonleaf, before saying, “Who are you, Elric?”

“You really want to know?”

“I do, actually.”

“Kiss me,” Elric says. “Kiss me and I’ll tell you.”

“Kiss you?” Lukas shakes his head. “I don’t think so, sweetheart.”

“I’ve told you almost everything for free. Surely you’re not scared of giving me a single little kiss for the final piece. My last name. I promise you it's worth it.”

My last name, Elric thinks, is almost as interesting as yours.

Lukas sighs heavily and hard. He puts down his pipe. “Fine.”

His sudden agreement startles Elric. He watches, stunned, as Lukas Darekul stands up. He walks over to Elric and looks down at him. Elric turns his face up. He finds his heart is beating unexpectedly hard. Lukas Darekul has a nice body. He’s crudely dressed in a roughspun shirt that might have once been white but certainly isn’t now. His breeches are a nondescript brown colour. But the body underneath is very fine. Although he's not tall — if Elric was standing it would be Lukas who was looking up — and Lukas is not noticeably well-built like his brother the One Man Army was. His muscles aren’t obvious. But just the way he holds himself conveys a certain strength. He could best Elric in a fight, Elric is certain. He could hold Elric down, easily. He could do all manner of things to Elric. Things Elric can easily imagine as he gazes up at Lukas Darekul, Bastard Prince and says, “Or if you prefer, I could suck you.”

“Or I could hit you in the face again.”

Elric sucks in a breath. “I’d prefer the kiss. And I must say, I’m impressed. One doesn’t expect this level of pre-coital negotiation from a mountain-dwelling outlaw.”

Lukas raises a dark eyebrow. “Will kissing you shut you up?”

“If you’re good at it, Silverhand.”

Lukas smiles. “Let’s see.” He bends, slowly. He puts his lips on Elric’s. They are soft and warm and for a moment it seems like the kiss will be a simple matter. Just a touch of skin to skin. A whisper of a thing that is here and gone in a moment, but, when that moment passes, it isn’t that at all.

Lukas puts his hand, splayed wide, on the back of Elric’s skull. The tips of his fingers move, grinding Elric’s hair against his scalp. It feels sweet. Delicious. Elric gasps into Lukas’s mouth. Enough for Lukas's tongue to drive in. Elric moans. Lukas makes a low growling sound. His hook slides inside Elric’s silken shirt, tracing his skin. The sharp point ghosts over one of Elric’s nipples. Elric moans, feeling his cock rouse with need, as Lukas lifts one leg and puts his knee up on the chair’s seat, nudging Elric’s legs apart to make space. Lukas growls again as he deepens the kiss further, taking Elric. Elric loses himself. Sparks of pleasure fly up his spine. Lukas’s knee pushes against Elric’s swiftly hardening cock. Elric writhes on the chair as Lukas takes Elric’s mouth like he’s fucking it.

Elric does not believe he has ever been kissed so thoroughly and competently in his life. And he’s been kissed a lot, but rarely by someone who used pleasure as a weapon to undo him. Lukas is kissing like he means to win. His mouth as deadly as his sharp hook.

This game they’ve been playing, this unspoken little struggle for control, Elric just lost. And he’s not at all unhappy about it.

Lukas pulls back leaving Elric panting and hard. Utterly undone.

They both pause a moment, Lukas looking at Elric with a patient smile on his face while he waits for Elric to compose himself.

Eventually, after what feels like a long time, Elric sniffs. “That,” he says, “was unexpected.”

Lukas’s smile twitches higher at one corner of his mouth. “It seemed rather like it was that or spank you.”

Elric can’t help the little gasp he gives, which clearly amuses Lukas even further.

When he’s quite finished being unbearable Lukas says, “We had a bargain. You have something to tell me.”

Then it is Elric’s turn to smile. “Oh yes, Silverhand,” he says. “As you certainly earned it. My name is Elric Underlia. My father is Lord Harwin Underlia, Warden of Pluma-Ferris.”

The way Lukas Darekul’s mouth drops open a little is very satisfying. He’s speechless for a moment before he says, “Lord Harwin…So you’re quite valuable?”

“Quite valuable, yes.”

Lukas shakes his head, regaining his composure. “You know, if I were the son of the Warden of Pluma-Ferris and was taken hostage by outlaws, I would scream that information at them the first opportunity I got.”

“Would you?” Elric takes a moment to offer Lukas the reflection of his own smug mouth twitch. “I think my method worked out rather well.”