First Move...

The first rays of little-sun-rising shone into Ka'adith's face, waking her from a cold, uneasy sleep. She winced and cracked open an eye, frowning as she caught sight of the slender figure at the cave-mouth…
      She was sure he'd stood vigil all night - just as he had for the previous five nights. Damn him! She shifted slightly, and his head whipped round to regard her, fierce golden eyes emotionless. She snarled at him. He ignored her and turned back, stepping outside and raising his head to the sky. His call, sweet as a silver flute but far deeper, echoed across the mountainsides…
      Ka'adith scrambled to her feet and hastened to his side, relishing the thin warmth of the early morning against her chilled, tawny skin. Above her, two huge winged shapes soared effortlessly, circling as they dropped lower. Moments later the two golden Royal Eagles landed, a little awkwardly, on the ledge outside the cave.
      The Warlord buckled a light but sturdy saddle onto the larger eagle, then swung Ka'adith onto its back, ignoring her growled protests. He slid gracefully onto his own bird, the slightest pressure of his hand signalling to the eagle to fling itself into space over the chasm below - then, huge wings spread wide, rise skywards in great circles. Ka'adith closed her eyes tightly as her eagle followed its companion, the wind from its wingbeats blowing her mane into a wild tangle of heavy honey-coloured tresses. She clung to the fragile pommel of her saddle and prayed to the Great Mother for this nightmare journey to end…

It wasn't her fault the seers had determined that, of all the king's latest litter, she was the one destined to be the consort of her father-kin, half a continent away. She had not been pleased when she'd been told. In fact, she'd torn her suite to pieces, then turned to start in on her siblings. Fortunately, in her frenzy she had also blunted her claws. She'd been able to inflict very little damage before her royal mother entered the apartments and halted her activities with a fast, hard blow to the side of her head. Ka'adith had rolled to the other side of the room and sprawled against the fretted ivory wall, shaking her reeling head to try and clear it. Her mother had then laid down her law in the most decisive terms…
      And now Ka'adith was being escorted to her consort-to-be by the almost-legendary Warlord of the Eagles. Hearing that he was to be her guard and guide on the journey had been almost enough to change her mind - stories of his beauty, power and unique gifts had been whispered around the court since before Ka'adith had been born - and at first sight of him she had felt the breath catch in her throat. Tall, slender, golden skinned, and those beautiful eyes!…
      She'd tried to get close to him - oh how she'd tried! - but to no avail. He would not speak to her. He would not even share the same space: at each night's rest he'd kept vigil at the entrance to cave, treetop haven or rocky henge, at each morning's arising he swung her into the saddle as though she were an inanimate object, his vast golden eyes cold and remote.
      Ka'adith was furious! Sometimes she wondered if he had actually realised just who it was he was escorting - but of course he did. Her mother had employed him before: Royal Eagles were by far the fastest and safest way of travelling from place to place.
      She wasn't used to being ignored. She hated it. The lust she'd felt at first sight of the Warlord had swiftly turned to frustration and a desire for revenge. She would have to speak with her consort, once their union had been consummated…
      In the meantime, she was condemned to a journey that was rapidly turning into a nightmare. She'd had no idea that the upper air could be so cold! Shivering in her thin furs, she clenched her teeth together and vowed she would not let him know her discomfort…
      To distract herself, she opened her eyes and, taking a deep breath and gripping the saddle, looked downwards, fighting vertigo. They had left the crags far behind, soaring swiftly on the winds from the mountains, and were now passing over open veldt. Nostrils flaring, she could just smell the dusty hot scent from below. A sudden wave of nostalgia and home-sickness washed over her, and she shook herself slightly to try and dispel it. On the ground, something was glittering: frowning, she stared until it resolved itself into a troupe of heavily armed Kentawri, presumably on their way to or from a battle somewhere. She breathed a sigh of relief that she was well out of their reach, and dismissed them from her mind - only to be sharply reminded of them a few moments later as an unearthly shriek sounded from the sky. Her head jerked upwards.
      Above them, almost impossible to see against the glare of little sun, a group of black harpies began to dive screaming towards them. Ka'adith gripped the pommel of her saddle, heart hammering. She'd heard rumours that the Kentawri had started employing the semi-sentient carrion eaters as aerial outriders, but had found it difficult to believe. Why should a race as self-reliant as the Kentawri stoop to using such creatures? But, as she now saw, the rumours were true…
      The Warlord stared up at the air patrol, frowning in concentration, obviously gauging numbers and tactics. There were at least four handfuls of the harpies, and he knew, from grim experience, that they were far faster than his noble Eagles. The only hope was to get the Felini princess out of harm's way as quickly as possible, and leave the birds to fend for themselves. The harpies weren't known for their bravery or discipline: if the Eagles separated and soared as high as possible, they should be able to survive intact… In any case, he had no alternative. Delivering Ka'adith unharmed was a sacred duty.
      She watched in awe as he spread his own huge golden wings and lifted from his Eagle's back, diving to sweep her bodily from the saddle. She clung to him in terror as he pulled his wings close to his body and dropped like a stone headfirst towards the ground.
      Moments later he pulled out of his dive and headed for the misty green of a vast forest a short distance away. Glancing over his shoulder, her cheek brushed by his wing feathers, Ka'adith could see the Eagles climbing higher, closely followed by the screaming black shapes of their pursuers. There was no sign of anyone tracking themselves.
      Ka'adith relaxed a little as she realised there was no immediate danger, and rather began to enjoy herself. Wrapped in strong arms, powerful rhythmic wingbeats taking her further and further from danger, she nuzzled against the Warlord's neck, ran a hand over the thick, soft down that covered his head and ran across his broad shoulders and down the length of his spine, and gave herself up to lascivious daydreams.
      The Warlord descended as they reached the forest, slowing to make negotiating the trees easier. Flying just below the canopy, where the branches were thinnest, he moved with consummate skill, almost soundless in the cool green gloom, powerful wings eating up the distance…

It was well into the afternoon that Ka'adith finally became aware of the Warlord's laboured breathing. Although his wings still beat as rhythmically as ever, the strokes were slower. She could feel his arms trembling with fatigue, and glancing sideways she saw his face tight with exhausted determination. She suddenly realised he had been carrying her for most of the day.
      "Can we not stop? You should rest."
      He ignored her, keeping his attention fixed on the terrain ahead. His kind usually flew high, and amongst unhindered peaks. Flying among the trees was testing his skills to the limit. He badly needed to rest, but was unwilling to halt in such unfamiliar territory. On the other side of the forest was a mountain range, and beyond that their final destination. He would rest when they reached the foothills.
      Ka'adith glanced downwards, sharply, puzzled, as a strange 'twanging' sound echoed in her ears. Then she gasped as the Warlord suddenly stiffened, his face an agonised mask, and as his arms went limp she felt herself falling, falling… Closing her eyes in fear, tensed to hit the ground, she didn't see the slender blue shape dive towards her. All she felt were the talons that pierced her shoulders like red-hot spikes, stopping her fall with a jerk. Then the pain from her shoulders flared through her entire body and she lost consciousness.

It was dark. He seemed to be in a tent, lying on something soft. The muted sounds suggested it was night-time, but the Warlord wasn't in any fit state to appreciate such fine details. Fever burned through his body, and he was drowning in the agony from the broken wing crumpled uselessly beneath him. Reaching a trembling hand to the source of the worst pain, his fingers brushed against the thin shaft of an arrow and he bit his lip to keep from crying out. The shaft had ploughed straight through his shoulder and come to rest inside the massive wing muscle, chipping his collarbone on its way. He could feel the poison from the arrowhead worming its way deeper and deeper into his body. Desperately he tried to pull the arrow from his flesh - but the head was barbed. A wave of nausea flooded him as he felt the barbs tear at already-tortured muscle and broken bone…
      He must have lost consciousness for a while, because the next thing he was aware of was the Sitawri squatting at his side, its mouth wide in a lustful leer.
      "Chidai, but you're a pretty thing! I'd like to play with you awhile…"
      The creature reached out a hairy hand and stroked the helpless Warlord's face. He closed his eyes, trying to distance himself as the callused hand moved lower, twisting in pain as the Sitawri tugged at the arrow shaft, then holding himself absolutely still as the rough fingers traced a path ever downwards. Despite the pain, despite the fever, as the fingers pushed through the thick down at his groin he felt himself responding. He groaned. The Sitawri laughed coarsely, his other hand kneading at his own massive, hairy organ as he closed his fingers around the Warlord's shaft and began to rub slowly up and down, up and down…
      A huge, heavy hand closed around the Sitawri's neck. He froze for a second, then reached to claw at the hand with both of his. The Warlord glanced up in time to see the Sitawri thrown bodily from the tent: he struggled to focus on the owner of the hand.
      A Tawri. Huge, shaggy, his horns the same width as his massive shoulders, his hooves gleaming like bronze in the muted lamplight. He lowered his heavily-muscled body ponderously to sit beside the Warlord, running large, deep brown eyes over the captive's body. They stared at each other for an endless time.
      Then the Tawri smiled.
      "Sha'haran. I have missed you, little bird."
      The Warlord closed his eyes in anguish. The Tawri stroked his cheek.
      "Surely you haven't forgotten?"
      Resigned, helpless, the Warlord shook his head very slightly.
      "No. I have not forgotten." His voice was low and musical, though husky from lack of use. The Tawri nodded as if satisfied.
      "Say my name."
      "No…."
      A huge hand gripped the Warlord's jaw, threatening the fragile bone beneath the smooth golden skin.
      "Say it, Sha'haran. Unless you want the other wing broken as well."
      Huge golden eyes desolate, Sha'haran stared into the Tawri's face.
      "…Minthoth..."
      The Tawri smiled.
      "There. Not so difficult, was it. Now let me look at that wing."
      He lifted Sha'haran gently onto his side, deftly avoiding further injury, and began to probe for the arrowhead. Sha'haran moaned and gripped the edge of one of the cushions, his teeth grinding together to stop himself from crying out. Minthoth frowned.
      "I'll have to push it through. Anything else will only worsen the injury."
      Before Sha'haran had time to respond, the Tawri had snapped off the feathered end of the shaft and shoved hard, ramming the arrowhead deeper into, and then through, the wing-root. He gripped the tip of the tang as it broke the feathered skin and tugged the rest of the bloodied shaft into the light. It was a triple barbed arrow, designed to cause the maximum amount of damage with the minimum of effort. He frowned, glancing at the smooth body under his hands, but, perhaps mercifully, Sha'haran had lost consciousness again. Minthoth threw the arrow aside and began to probe along the broken wing, carefully manipulating delicate bone shards back into their appointed place.
      Anyone watching would come to the conclusion that he had obviously done this before…

When Sha'haran regained consciousness, he found himself lying on his side, his wing throbbing where it was bound securely against his back - but it was a good pain, a healing ache rather than the grating torment of shattered bone. His fever had abated, and the bruising he had suffered from his fall to the ground was fading. He had never felt so weak, but at least he was still alive. Although, remembering his last encounter with Minthoth, he couldn't be sure, yet, whether that was entirely a good thing…

Ka'adith groaned and tried to squirm into a more comfortable position. The searing pain of her punctured shoulders froze the motion before it had really started, and she whimpered.
      "Sorry about that." said an unfamiliar but not unfriendly voice. "But would you rather I'd let you fall to your death?"
      Ka'adith struggled to open her eyes. Sitting beside her, leathery wings neatly folded and crossed at her back, was a young blue harpy. Ka'adith stared at the long, wickedly curved grasping talons on her feet, remembering that harpies habitually caught their prey with those immensely strong claws… The harpy followed her gaze and grinned.
      "Yeah… Though I must admit, you’re the heaviest thing I've ever had to carry. Thought my wings were going to give out, I did."
      Ka'adith struggled to sit up, whimpering as every movement sent a fresh bolt of pain through her shoulders. The harpy handed her a flask of water, and she drank gratefully.
      "I'm Tau."
      "Ka'adith." She took another draught of water and regarded the harpy, frowning. "Do you know what happened to my companion?"
      Tau shrugged. "Sorry. I was too busy trying to keep a grip on you. I expect he was captured - if he survived the fall."
      The harpy's voice was brusque, and Ka'adith glanced at her curiously. Tau grinned.
      "His kind and mine aren't exactly on speaking terms."
      Ka'adith was about to ask why, when Tau froze, eyes wide and alert. She turned her head to scan the forest clearing - but before she could move more than a quarter-circle a large pair of paws grabbed her from behind, imprisoning her arms and wings and gripping her tightly. She squawked in surprised fear…
      Ka'adith watched helplessly as Tau was lifted and flung onto her back. The creature that loomed over her was entirely unfamiliar, a long, lithe tawny-furred body, lashing tail, large tawny wings, and a mane not unlike her own. She caught a glimpse of brilliant blue eyes, flashing fangs and a hugely erect phallus, then the creature shoved Tau's legs widely apart and rammed viciously into her, heavy paws holding her pressed to the mossy earth. She shrieked and struggled, but the beast was immensely strong, riding her squirming body with powerful thrusts. Then, before Ka'adith had time to collect her senses and run for safety, it was over. The creature collapsed on top of its prey with a satisfied sigh.
      Tau wriggled her arms out from under its heavy body and gripped its face, lifting its head from between her breasts. She scowled.
      "I'm not going to warn you again. The next time you do that I'm going to disembowel you. Slowly."
      The creature's voice was a low, purring growl. "Ahhh, but you love me really…"
      The harpy struggled out from under his furry body and shook her wings. Then she noticed Ka'adith, staring at the two of them in disbelief. She grinned.
      "Ah… Sorry about that. This is Graiy. My sort-of partner."
      Graiy rolled onto his side and rested his head on a large paw. Ka'adith couldn't help but notice that, unlike the rest of his body, his groin was hairless, and that even when not aroused his genitals were the largest she'd ever seen. He waved a languid paw.
      "Hi there."
      Tau gestured to the Felini. "This is Ka'adith. I rescued her from a fate worse than death."
      Graiy inclined his head. "Sitawri?"
      "Yup."
      He sighed. "I thought we'd driven them from the forest."
      "Well, now they're back."
      Graiy rose gracefully to his feet. He was sleek, built for hunting, and walked on the toes of his hind paws, his forward-leaning stance balanced by his tail and wings. Ka'adith frowned.
      "What are you? I've never seen your like."
      "I'm not surprised. I'm a Gryphin. We're quite rare."
      Ka'adith's jaw dropped. She'd heard of the fabulous ancient race, of course - who hadn't? But it was generally believed they'd been wiped out in the Wars of Succession, way back in the mists of time. She raised a hand to her throat and bowed slightly.
      "It is an honour."
      Tau chuckled. "Yes, it is, isn't it?"
      Graiy winked, then became serious. "So, what is a Felini doing so far from home?"

Dim morning light filtered through the silky door hangings of the tent. Sha'haran woke slowly, aware of a raging thirst that drowned out the throbbing pain from shoulder, wing and back. He shifted slightly, trying to ease muscles cramped from lying in one position for too long. The tiny sound of smooth flesh against the fur-covered leather of his sleeping mat alerted the undersized Sitawri keeping watch outside the tent: the shaggy head peered in, then the youngster scampered off to tell his master that the winged one was awake.
      Minthoth entered, his huge form seeming to fill the tent. He seated himself carefully beside the Warlord and helped him to sit, lifting a water skin to dry, cracked lips and tilting it so that Sha'haran could drink. For long moments neither spoke.
      His thirst eased, the Warlord gazed at the Tawri, keeping his own face emotionless, alarmingly aware that his fate now rested in Minthoth's massive hands. The Tawri watched him thoughtfully. When he spoke, it was almost as though to himself, musingly.
      "I have spent the night in meditations, wondering what I should do with you now that I have you again."
      Sha'haran tensed, imperceptibly, echoes of remembered pain flaring deep within. Minthoth's gaze travelled down the smooth golden body before him.
      "I was deeply hurt when you left me."
      "Only your pride." Sha'haran's musical voice was bitter. Minthoth shook his heavy head.
      "You do my sensibilities a great wrong. I felt deeply for you."
      Great golden eyes regarded him accusingly. "The lust of an owner for a valued possession!"
      The horned head inclined slightly. "True - you are valuable. And beautiful. But I had thought our friendship more than that."
      "Friendship! We were never friends."
      "Lovers, then."
      Sha'haran fought down sick fear, forced himself not to tremble, reminded himself not to antagonise the Tawri... He lowered his voice.
      "Then, for the sake of what we once shared, set me free."
      Minthoth regarded him sombrely, and reached a hand to stroke his cheek. For a moment Sha'haran dared to hope he might actually be persuaded. Then the Tawri shook his head.
      "No, I don't think so. I have missed you too much." He reached beneath the sleeping mat, pulling out something that jingled. Sha'haran froze.
      "And you must be punished for leaving me so bereft."
      The Warlord felt the cold, hateful solidity of metal as Minthoth snapped something closed around his neck, reached hands frantically to the collar as the Tawri jerked the leash-chain, snapping Sha'haran's head back and leaving his throat exposed. Keeping the chain taut, Minthoth leaned forwards and placed warm, soft lips on the tender skin, large hot tongue licking wetly under the collar. His other hand stroked slowly, inexorably down the lean golden body, pausing just above the golden down of Sha'haran's groin.
      "Shall I make you beg, little bird?" The Tawri's voice, deep as earth and roughened with lust, whispered in Sha'haran's ear. The Warlord shivered. Minthoth's lips moved lower, his teeth nipping gently at Sha'haran's jaw, tongue licking at the hollow of his throat. The huge hand cupped his groin, the thumb probing into the thick down, circling around the head of the rapidly swelling shaft it found there…
      Sha'haran collapsed slowly onto the soft fur of the sleeping mat, narrow hips pushing upwards, forcing himself hard against Minthoth's palm. The Tawri smiled and closed his hand around the long column of darkly golden flesh that thrust upwards from his captive's groin - closed his hand lightly and began to stroke as Sha'haran bucked and gasped below him. As he felt the Warlord begin to throb, he lowered his head, taking the sweet, hot flesh into his mouth and licking as Sha'haran moaned and writhed, half in pain, half in ecstasy. His hands gripped the Tawri's horns, pushing his head further down as Minthoth gently bit and circled, taking Sha'haran further and further into his throat. As the Warlord's thrusts became faster and more urgent, the Tawri guided one of the slender hands to his own massive erection, sighing in pleasure as long nails scratched at the tough hide there. He raised his head until only the tip of Sha'haran's shaft was still in his mouth, and paused, holding his captive still with one huge hand and running his tongue in circles under the delicate foreskin. The Warlord quivered with frustration and need, and Minthoth raised his head to smile into the huge, haunted eyes.
      "Beg."
      Sha'haran shook his head, trying to hold onto the last shreds of his dignity. Minthoth's huge tongue licked up the length of his aching shaft.
      "Beg."
      "No…"
      The Tawri slid a large finger between Sha'haran's legs, stroking, caressing.
      "Beg."
      The finger pressed against the sensitive skin surrounding the scent glands, manipulating the nodes, sending intense pleasure shrieking through Sha'haran's body. His back arced, his need too great, the pain in his wing disregarded. His voice hoarse, panting, he gasped out,
      "I beg you!"
      Minthoth smiled and lowered his head once more, this time circling with his tongue as he sucked harder and harder. As the slender body stiffened under him, the shaft pulsing iron-hard deep in his throat, he gulped the precious essence that spurted again and again from his little bird, his sweet one…

© 2002 September 15^th Joules Taylor

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© 2002 WordWrights

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