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maderrOkay. I'm having a hell of a time keeping the damned names straight. No idea why. But hopefully I caught the majority of my fuck ups. I'll let my betas catch the rest. First five pages, and now you get the title ^_^ It's probably still a bit disjointed, tomorrow I need to plant myself in my room or at my desk, and stop letting TV distract me >.>;;;
The Succubus
Kohar sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, careful to avoid touching the nose piece of his rune-scribing monocle. He set his quill aside before he accidentally wrote rat instead of robe, mouth twitching at the image that mistake brought to mind.
Madame Karen would not be amused by the slip.
The horrendous shouting and screaming came again, and he wondered irritably what in the Nether Regions those damnable soldiers were up to now, to cause such a ruckus at this time of morning. The sun had not even risen, and would not rise for a few hours yet.
He did not spend money on his costly sun lanterns to work in these dark hours only to have the damned soldiers disrupt him.
The ruckus again subsided, broken up by the sharp, ringing tones of the Captain of the Guard. Finally.
Picking his quill up, he dipped it into a bottle of deep red ink, and slowly began to write out the proper runes.
He'd just finished one when the ruckus started up again – this time much closer. A pounding came at his door as he set the quill down yet again. "Come in!" he snapped, knowing only one person who would have the temerity to interrupt his work at this – or any – hour.
The door flew open, and Kohar did not need to turn around to confirm who had just walked in – Captain Nerek of her Majesty's Royal Guard. He was likely as rough looking as ever, in need of a shave, leathers scuffed and dirty from whatever was causing the racket outside.
"Whatever in the Regions is going on out there," Kohar snapped, not bothering to turn around, "you had better be putting an end to it. Some of us need peace and quiet, and I should think even your men could find a bit of consideration at this hour."
"You're a fine one to talk about consideration," Nerek retorted dryly.
Kohar sniffed, unimpressed. Carefully he tidied up his work table, capping his bottle of ink, cleaning his quills. He sensed he would be getting very little work done from here on out. A pity, he had hoped to finish Lady Karen's spells this morning so that he might go back to his own works for a time.
"I do not see how either one of you can be awake at this hour," said another voice. "Even with the current problem."
The voice poured through him hot and rich, headier than even the rush of magic through his blood.
Damn it all to hell, when had Siran arrived and why had no one told him the man was here? Kohar realized painfully and suddenly how he was dressed – nothing at all like he would normally appear, but rather in his bed robe, hair a mess and probably covered in ink smudges. Damn it to all corners of the nether regions.
He avoided pitching something heavy at Nerek's head, but only with the greatest of effort. The bastard had done it on purpose, he knew it.
Unable to resist, Kohar finally turned around, forcing back the dismay at his own appearance. He loathed that Siran was seeing him at his worst, but he would not make it worse. Pushing his chair back slightly, he turned and pushed back a stray black curl which had come free of the sloppy knot in which he'd bound it.
Siran was still beautiful. Unlike his cousin Nerek, who constantly looked rough and unkempt, Siran was always clean and neat. The contrast was all the more notable given that Nerek was Captain of the royal guard, and Siran was an aimless mercenary.
Like every other native of Hollar, Siran had dark hair and eyes. Unlike Kohar's long, loose curls and Nerek's short, razor-straight strands, Siran's hair was shoulder length and held the faintest wave, neatly tied back with a strip of leather. He wore no armor, so he had been here long enough to settle in. From the way he yawned, and somewhat fuzzy look to his dark green eyes, the noise had likely woken him.
Siran, however, was fully dressed. Black leggings and a deep red tunic, stitched with the moon and cat-head crest of his and Nerek's family. He'd buckled on his sword, and Kohar could see the barest hint of a dagger up his sleeve.
Always he took care to be well dressed around Siran. The same need for perfection that made him so good at magic scribing screamed in fury at being seen in so unkempt a state. His fingers twitched with a need to do up the loose fastenings of his bed robe, pull shut the gap that was displaying far too much leg. The only minor consolation he had was that the robe was of deepest midnight blue, matching his eyes exactly.
"Why are you bothering me?" he asked again.
Nerek smirked in that way that said he knew exactly what was irking Kohar so much. Well, that's what he got for working with the bastard for so long – they knew entirely too much about each other.
But in the next breath the smirk had faded, Nerek's mouth tightening into a grim line as he fell to business. "Three of the men have been attacked by…something…"
"Something?" Kohar asked. He really wished he could stand up and get dressed, but that would give away that it bothered him to be seen so, and he refused to make any show of weakness. He quirked a brow instead, and used the tone of voice that would make Nerek twitch. "Surely you can muster a better description than something, Captain."
Nerek glared. "If I knew, I'd say, but damned if I've ever seen anything like this – and how the fuck did it even get into the castle?"
All thoughts of aggravating Nerek and molesting Siran fled his mind as the matter at hand finally registered. Kohar stood up and pushed back his loose curls. "Is there no sign of the assailant on the premises? How exactly did it attack? Are the men alive? Why was I not summoned sooner? Any magical traces?"
"No signs other than whatever in the Regions happened to my men, no idea how he attacked. They're alive, more or less, and we summoned you the minute we realized the problem was magical in nature. No traces that I saw, but I was more in a hurry to get you," Nerek replied, keeping up easily with the barrage of questions, a habit that irritated everyone else.
Kohar frowned, nodded, and began absently to fasten his robe and smooth it out. Moving to his wardrobe, he dug out his leather boots and sat to tug them on. Standing, he took off his monocle and began to force his curls into place, swearing softly when he could not locate the clip that held it all together. He stopped when he saw a hand holding it out, and smiled at Siran. "Thank you."
Siran nodded, smiling briefly, then stepped back.
Retrieving his monocle, he settled it in place, twitching his nose to get it just right, then motioned for Nerek to lead the way.
The castle halls were cold; it would be some hours yet before the sun was high enough to warm them. He should have grabbed his cloak, but did not waste time to go back and fetch it. Normally at such an hour, everything would be dead silent. On the rare occasion he left his room at this time, Kohar seldom encountered any but one of the watchmen or Nerek. Where Kohar chose to be awake in the deadest hours of the morning, Nerek was often forced to be awake.
Today, however, the castle already bustled with activity. Servants stood muttering and whispering about what the problem might be, what was becoming of those damned soldiers, and it was only a matter of time before the family woke to start bellowing for answers.
Grimacing, he followed Nerek and Siran across the courtyard and to the barracks, where the soldiers stood milling fretfully about. Their eyes were filled with terror – and anger. Neither emotion surprised Kohar, but he was growing ever more curious as to the source.
"Nerek, if you don't tell me—"
He stopped abruptly as they halted in front of the bed of a soldier. Around them, the murmurs and fearful whispers died as everyone waited to see what the castle mage had to say.
The soldier was unconscious, but his eyes were wide open, as was his mouth, the whole of his face strangely contorted in a grimace of pleasure and pain. He seemed completely frozen, and only by looking and feeling carefully was Kohar able to confirm the man still breathed.
He raised both brows at the unfortunate state in which the man seemed to have been frozen – his leggings open, cock lying spent, and blatant evidence of what the man had been doing spread all over the soldier and his bedding.
"There's two more like this," Nerek said into the silence.
"So far," Kohar murmured, focused now on finding any traces of magic that he could.
His monocle was intended primarily for rune scribing – to the naked eye, runes were no more complicated than ordinary penmanship. Beneath the monocle, however, the special inks came to life, where the slightest variation in a stroke could mean the difference between glorious success and horrific failure. It showed him where to make a mark lighter or darker, where to curve, where to keep it straight, where to blend the colors – thousands upon thousands of nuances, a craft so challenging that precious few were able to obtain their master marks.
Intended for scribing, but it was also helpful in picking up magic occasionally – as it was now, as he saw the lingering traces of a rune marked on the unfortunate soldier's forehead. Frowning in thought, he moved close enough to reach out and touch it.
His finger came away greasy, and he thoughtfully rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, then brought them to his nose to sniff. "Rune wax," he murmured softly. "Someone transferred runes to these men."
"Not a magic user, then," Nerek said with a grunt.
Kohar nodded in agreement. "Show me the other two."
Nerek did so, and they proved to be just as bizarre and awful as the first.
"I had no idea your men were so bold about relieving their frustrations," Kohar said dryly, though nothing about the situation was amusing. "You should let them at the wenches more often, Nerek."
Nerek grunted. "What is it?"
"Well, I would have to consult my books to be certain, but to judge from the state of them and the faded runes – I think we have a succubus feeding on your men."
"A succubus?" Siran asked, speaking for the first time. He looked at Kohar with a look of disbelief.
It stung. A lot. Siran had been dropping by to visit Nerek for years and years – never often, only a handful of times a year, and only a day or three at a time, but often enough he should not be so quick to disbelieve what Kohar had to say.
Kohar glared, and spoke in his iciest tone. "Yes, a succubus. Extremely rare, because summoning one is high level magic, but not impossible."
"Why?" Nerek interrupted. "That is what I want to know."
"You have to ask?" Kohar said dryly. "After the failed betrothal?"
Nerek winced. "I had hoped that with two months well past, perhaps revenge would not be exacted."
Kohar murmured a soft agreement. He and Nerek were in the employ of the Duke of Rehm, helping to guard the northeast corner of the country. Two months ago, the Countess of Greesom had arrived to finalize betrothal arrangements with the Duke."
His Grace had at the last moment decided against it – rather an unpleasant conclusion to month after month of discussion and debate. The Duke was brilliant in martial matters, but not in marital. Even now, no one knew why he had all but pitched her out.
"I cannot see who else would do this," Kohar continued. "Though, it lacks subtlety."
Nerek shrugged. "As mad as she was, I doubt being subtle was high on her list of concerns. I suppose we had better confirm it before we go raze her damned palace."
"You think?" Kohar asked. "I'm impressed you can manage it this ear—"
A sudden scream cut him off, and at the far end of the long barracks, a wave of men surged toward them, bellowing for Nerek, motioning, bolting away as quickly as they could.
Nerek shut the men up with a bellow.
"Wake up anyone who might still be asleep," Kohar ordered as they took in the latest victim. "Succubi feed on sleeping men – the runes are to connect the demons to dreams."
Noise exploded around him as the men took in Kohar's words, more than a few of the soldiers making the motions to ward against demons, and hastily muttered prayers mingled with the chatter.
Turning away from Kohar, Nerek began bellowing orders, instilling order with his fists when words did not suffice. In mere minutes, the barracks were empty, and soon the sounds of soldiers at drill and chores filled the castle.
Rubbing his forehead, longing for a cup of tea, Kohar forced himself to focus on the matter at hand.
The Succubus
Kohar sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, careful to avoid touching the nose piece of his rune-scribing monocle. He set his quill aside before he accidentally wrote rat instead of robe, mouth twitching at the image that mistake brought to mind.
Madame Karen would not be amused by the slip.
The horrendous shouting and screaming came again, and he wondered irritably what in the Nether Regions those damnable soldiers were up to now, to cause such a ruckus at this time of morning. The sun had not even risen, and would not rise for a few hours yet.
He did not spend money on his costly sun lanterns to work in these dark hours only to have the damned soldiers disrupt him.
The ruckus again subsided, broken up by the sharp, ringing tones of the Captain of the Guard. Finally.
Picking his quill up, he dipped it into a bottle of deep red ink, and slowly began to write out the proper runes.
He'd just finished one when the ruckus started up again – this time much closer. A pounding came at his door as he set the quill down yet again. "Come in!" he snapped, knowing only one person who would have the temerity to interrupt his work at this – or any – hour.
The door flew open, and Kohar did not need to turn around to confirm who had just walked in – Captain Nerek of her Majesty's Royal Guard. He was likely as rough looking as ever, in need of a shave, leathers scuffed and dirty from whatever was causing the racket outside.
"Whatever in the Regions is going on out there," Kohar snapped, not bothering to turn around, "you had better be putting an end to it. Some of us need peace and quiet, and I should think even your men could find a bit of consideration at this hour."
"You're a fine one to talk about consideration," Nerek retorted dryly.
Kohar sniffed, unimpressed. Carefully he tidied up his work table, capping his bottle of ink, cleaning his quills. He sensed he would be getting very little work done from here on out. A pity, he had hoped to finish Lady Karen's spells this morning so that he might go back to his own works for a time.
"I do not see how either one of you can be awake at this hour," said another voice. "Even with the current problem."
The voice poured through him hot and rich, headier than even the rush of magic through his blood.
Damn it all to hell, when had Siran arrived and why had no one told him the man was here? Kohar realized painfully and suddenly how he was dressed – nothing at all like he would normally appear, but rather in his bed robe, hair a mess and probably covered in ink smudges. Damn it to all corners of the nether regions.
He avoided pitching something heavy at Nerek's head, but only with the greatest of effort. The bastard had done it on purpose, he knew it.
Unable to resist, Kohar finally turned around, forcing back the dismay at his own appearance. He loathed that Siran was seeing him at his worst, but he would not make it worse. Pushing his chair back slightly, he turned and pushed back a stray black curl which had come free of the sloppy knot in which he'd bound it.
Siran was still beautiful. Unlike his cousin Nerek, who constantly looked rough and unkempt, Siran was always clean and neat. The contrast was all the more notable given that Nerek was Captain of the royal guard, and Siran was an aimless mercenary.
Like every other native of Hollar, Siran had dark hair and eyes. Unlike Kohar's long, loose curls and Nerek's short, razor-straight strands, Siran's hair was shoulder length and held the faintest wave, neatly tied back with a strip of leather. He wore no armor, so he had been here long enough to settle in. From the way he yawned, and somewhat fuzzy look to his dark green eyes, the noise had likely woken him.
Siran, however, was fully dressed. Black leggings and a deep red tunic, stitched with the moon and cat-head crest of his and Nerek's family. He'd buckled on his sword, and Kohar could see the barest hint of a dagger up his sleeve.
Always he took care to be well dressed around Siran. The same need for perfection that made him so good at magic scribing screamed in fury at being seen in so unkempt a state. His fingers twitched with a need to do up the loose fastenings of his bed robe, pull shut the gap that was displaying far too much leg. The only minor consolation he had was that the robe was of deepest midnight blue, matching his eyes exactly.
"Why are you bothering me?" he asked again.
Nerek smirked in that way that said he knew exactly what was irking Kohar so much. Well, that's what he got for working with the bastard for so long – they knew entirely too much about each other.
But in the next breath the smirk had faded, Nerek's mouth tightening into a grim line as he fell to business. "Three of the men have been attacked by…something…"
"Something?" Kohar asked. He really wished he could stand up and get dressed, but that would give away that it bothered him to be seen so, and he refused to make any show of weakness. He quirked a brow instead, and used the tone of voice that would make Nerek twitch. "Surely you can muster a better description than something, Captain."
Nerek glared. "If I knew, I'd say, but damned if I've ever seen anything like this – and how the fuck did it even get into the castle?"
All thoughts of aggravating Nerek and molesting Siran fled his mind as the matter at hand finally registered. Kohar stood up and pushed back his loose curls. "Is there no sign of the assailant on the premises? How exactly did it attack? Are the men alive? Why was I not summoned sooner? Any magical traces?"
"No signs other than whatever in the Regions happened to my men, no idea how he attacked. They're alive, more or less, and we summoned you the minute we realized the problem was magical in nature. No traces that I saw, but I was more in a hurry to get you," Nerek replied, keeping up easily with the barrage of questions, a habit that irritated everyone else.
Kohar frowned, nodded, and began absently to fasten his robe and smooth it out. Moving to his wardrobe, he dug out his leather boots and sat to tug them on. Standing, he took off his monocle and began to force his curls into place, swearing softly when he could not locate the clip that held it all together. He stopped when he saw a hand holding it out, and smiled at Siran. "Thank you."
Siran nodded, smiling briefly, then stepped back.
Retrieving his monocle, he settled it in place, twitching his nose to get it just right, then motioned for Nerek to lead the way.
The castle halls were cold; it would be some hours yet before the sun was high enough to warm them. He should have grabbed his cloak, but did not waste time to go back and fetch it. Normally at such an hour, everything would be dead silent. On the rare occasion he left his room at this time, Kohar seldom encountered any but one of the watchmen or Nerek. Where Kohar chose to be awake in the deadest hours of the morning, Nerek was often forced to be awake.
Today, however, the castle already bustled with activity. Servants stood muttering and whispering about what the problem might be, what was becoming of those damned soldiers, and it was only a matter of time before the family woke to start bellowing for answers.
Grimacing, he followed Nerek and Siran across the courtyard and to the barracks, where the soldiers stood milling fretfully about. Their eyes were filled with terror – and anger. Neither emotion surprised Kohar, but he was growing ever more curious as to the source.
"Nerek, if you don't tell me—"
He stopped abruptly as they halted in front of the bed of a soldier. Around them, the murmurs and fearful whispers died as everyone waited to see what the castle mage had to say.
The soldier was unconscious, but his eyes were wide open, as was his mouth, the whole of his face strangely contorted in a grimace of pleasure and pain. He seemed completely frozen, and only by looking and feeling carefully was Kohar able to confirm the man still breathed.
He raised both brows at the unfortunate state in which the man seemed to have been frozen – his leggings open, cock lying spent, and blatant evidence of what the man had been doing spread all over the soldier and his bedding.
"There's two more like this," Nerek said into the silence.
"So far," Kohar murmured, focused now on finding any traces of magic that he could.
His monocle was intended primarily for rune scribing – to the naked eye, runes were no more complicated than ordinary penmanship. Beneath the monocle, however, the special inks came to life, where the slightest variation in a stroke could mean the difference between glorious success and horrific failure. It showed him where to make a mark lighter or darker, where to curve, where to keep it straight, where to blend the colors – thousands upon thousands of nuances, a craft so challenging that precious few were able to obtain their master marks.
Intended for scribing, but it was also helpful in picking up magic occasionally – as it was now, as he saw the lingering traces of a rune marked on the unfortunate soldier's forehead. Frowning in thought, he moved close enough to reach out and touch it.
His finger came away greasy, and he thoughtfully rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, then brought them to his nose to sniff. "Rune wax," he murmured softly. "Someone transferred runes to these men."
"Not a magic user, then," Nerek said with a grunt.
Kohar nodded in agreement. "Show me the other two."
Nerek did so, and they proved to be just as bizarre and awful as the first.
"I had no idea your men were so bold about relieving their frustrations," Kohar said dryly, though nothing about the situation was amusing. "You should let them at the wenches more often, Nerek."
Nerek grunted. "What is it?"
"Well, I would have to consult my books to be certain, but to judge from the state of them and the faded runes – I think we have a succubus feeding on your men."
"A succubus?" Siran asked, speaking for the first time. He looked at Kohar with a look of disbelief.
It stung. A lot. Siran had been dropping by to visit Nerek for years and years – never often, only a handful of times a year, and only a day or three at a time, but often enough he should not be so quick to disbelieve what Kohar had to say.
Kohar glared, and spoke in his iciest tone. "Yes, a succubus. Extremely rare, because summoning one is high level magic, but not impossible."
"Why?" Nerek interrupted. "That is what I want to know."
"You have to ask?" Kohar said dryly. "After the failed betrothal?"
Nerek winced. "I had hoped that with two months well past, perhaps revenge would not be exacted."
Kohar murmured a soft agreement. He and Nerek were in the employ of the Duke of Rehm, helping to guard the northeast corner of the country. Two months ago, the Countess of Greesom had arrived to finalize betrothal arrangements with the Duke."
His Grace had at the last moment decided against it – rather an unpleasant conclusion to month after month of discussion and debate. The Duke was brilliant in martial matters, but not in marital. Even now, no one knew why he had all but pitched her out.
"I cannot see who else would do this," Kohar continued. "Though, it lacks subtlety."
Nerek shrugged. "As mad as she was, I doubt being subtle was high on her list of concerns. I suppose we had better confirm it before we go raze her damned palace."
"You think?" Kohar asked. "I'm impressed you can manage it this ear—"
A sudden scream cut him off, and at the far end of the long barracks, a wave of men surged toward them, bellowing for Nerek, motioning, bolting away as quickly as they could.
Nerek shut the men up with a bellow.
"Wake up anyone who might still be asleep," Kohar ordered as they took in the latest victim. "Succubi feed on sleeping men – the runes are to connect the demons to dreams."
Noise exploded around him as the men took in Kohar's words, more than a few of the soldiers making the motions to ward against demons, and hastily muttered prayers mingled with the chatter.
Turning away from Kohar, Nerek began bellowing orders, instilling order with his fists when words did not suffice. In mere minutes, the barracks were empty, and soon the sounds of soldiers at drill and chores filled the castle.
Rubbing his forehead, longing for a cup of tea, Kohar forced himself to focus on the matter at hand.
