![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrI cannot write -__- I keep distracting myself, and I feel so rusty anf failz0r that I'm not certain I'm doing this correctly at all. Blah. I'm going to go grab a shower, maybe clean off my desk, see if change of scenery, sort of ish, will help me focus a bit more.
But, wrote a little bit more of succubus, and am bound and determined to finish this before my three day weekend is over. Damn it, I will.
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. Kohar's tendency to rattle off several questions at once annoyed everyone else, but Nerek had always kept up seamlessly.
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 Countess was not the immediate problem, though she was the likeliest source. Complicated magic with no other mage in sight meant that someone had premade the spells for a lackey to place – further credence was lent to that theory by the traces of run wax on the foreheads of the victims.
So, they needed to find the rat.
He rubbed his forehead and spoke as Nerek reappeared, almost smiling at the satisfied look on his face that always appeared when Nerek got to shout and threaten and toss things about. "We've got a rat, Nerek," he said. "It takes a mage at least as good as I to summon a succubus, and I would know if another of my caliber were around. As I am the only, that means the necessary spells were premade and then given to someone else to administer, hence the rune wax."
"I figured as much," Nerek replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
Kohar wondered absently, for likely the millionth time, why the man never bothered to shave. One would think Nerek would enjoy something that involved a sharp knife.
"The men are allowed leave on a regular rotation; I'll check the logs and see who was in the last batch. We're likeliest to find our rat amongst them." He grinned and looked at his cousin. "Unless Siran is up to something, but he's still too asleep to be committing crimes."
For reply, Siran yawned. "I am up to hunting out breakfast, but that's about it."
Kohar nodded. "I'm certain the cooks are already at work. By all means seek them out; this is not your problem."
Smiling faintly, Siran nodded, gripped his shoulder, then left the barracks in search of food.
"Lazy bastard," Nerek muttered.
Ignoring the complaint, because he knew damn good and well Nerek was just jealous Siran got to eat, Kohar swatted Nerek's arm and made him focus. "Lists, you lazy lummox, get the lists. Who was on leave? Who left? Who stayed? Who traded out?"
"It's against the rules to trade without permission from me," Nerek said. He snorted. "Which means at least a dozen of the bastards did it. Come on, we'll look'em all over." Bellowing a last few orders at the senior officers tending the bodies of the victims, he led the way to his office.
Inside, wonderful smells wafted over him. Kohar's stomach growled as he took in the food set out – simple bread and cheese and hot cider, but it looked a feast to him. Enough for two, so the cooks had known he'd be here.
Or maybe, he thought as he watched Nerek, they just knew how much the good Captain was capable of eating.
He strode to the desk and stole Nerek's seat, pulling the platters close and helping himself. Picking up a mug of cider, he looked over the rim at Nerek, who was rifling through surprisingly neat sheaves of paper.
"Here we are," he said after a few minutes, then yanked a hunk of bread out of Kohar's hand. He motioned to the papers as he picked up the second mug. "All good men, I cannot picture them as being responsible for something like this." He shook his head.
"It's always the one you least expect," Kohar murmured.
Nerek grunted. "True enough. Look at what a family of rough and ugly sailors produced." He smirked at Kohar.
Ignoring him, Kohar flipped through the lists. He knew most of the names; it was hard not to know them, really. Being the only mage in residence, he worked closely with the soldiers. "Why would they do it?"
"The Countess is a damned pretty woman."
A flicker of annoyance passed through Kohar, though he couldn't say why. The Countess was pretty – beautiful, in fact. No one could understand why his grace had turned her down at the last moment, and he had never seen fit to explain – not even to Kohar and Nerek.
"Maybe I should be examining you," he said sourly. "Did you fall beneath the wiles of the Countess, Captain?"
"I wouldn't kill my own men," Nerek said, voice cold.
Kohar nodded in apology. "I know."
Nerek glanced down at the lists. "I'll start grilling my men. You had better go speak with his grace."
Grimacing, Kohar swallowed a last bite of bread, drained his cider, then stood up. "Yes, I had better. Make certain you leave no detail out when questioning the men. If they are not guilty, perhaps they might have unwittingly spied some clue. Surely someone saw something tonight that would help us."
Nodding, Nerek reclaimed his seat as Kohar stood.
Brushing crumbs from his robe, smoothing back a loose strand of hair, Kohar departed and made his way back to the main part of the castle.
Servants ran to and fro now, busily tending to the morning chores. The faintest threads of gray were beginning to lighten the sky, though it would not be true light for a little while yet. He stopped a passing maid, the poor thing already looking harried and out of breath. "Is his grace awake?" he asked.
"Yes, your lordship," the maid said, indicating the tray in her hands. "I was just taking him breakfast."
"I will take it to him," Kohar said, relieving her of the tray and sending her off with a nod.
Reaching the end of the hall, he turned right to go toward the northern staircase – and paused as Siran stepped out of a spare bedroom. He smiled. "Were you well fed?"
"Of course," Siran said with a smile. His smiles were always pretty, Kohar didn't doubt for a moment Siran knew how to use those smiles to full effect. "Did you have any luck so far with finding your culprit?"
"Unfortunately, no," Kohar replied. "We've barely begun, however. I am off to report to his grace. Was there anything you required?"
Siran smiled again, but this time it was slow and burning, a bit of an unmistakable gleam in his eye. "Not at the moment. Thank you for asking."
"Of course," Kohar murmured. "If you will excuse me for now, I do not want to keep his grace waiting."
"By all means," Siran said, sketching a brief bow. "I will see you later, Kohar."
Indeed he would. Kohar forced himself to calm down as he reached the stairs and began the climb up to his grace's solar. After all this time…was Siran actually showing an interest in him? What had changed? Regions, he'd given up doing anything but admiring since Nerek had informed him in that damnably smug and annoying way of his, that Siran only had a taste for women.
Maybe stupid Nerek didn't know his cousin as well as he thought.
Smiling faintly, he knocked lightly on the Duke's door, then pushed it open.
Bedros, the Duke of Rehm, was one hundred percent noble Hollarian. Pale skin, dark eyes, ink-black hair still in its messy sleeping braid. Tall, broad in the chest and shoulders, and currently he wore only an old pair of leggings and a faded deep violet tunic. He'd tugged on light leather house boots, but that was all. The Duke was a beautiful man, even if he unfortunately shared Nerek's tendency towards always looking rough and unkempt. Somehow all the years of living in a harsh climate defending the border against all comers only enhanced that beauty.
Bedros turned at the sound of noise, and greeted Kohar with a grunt. "I hear there is a succubus on my premises?"
"I see the gossip mills are still functioning flawlessly," Kohar said dryly, setting the breakfast tray on the table near the fireplace. "Yes, your grace. Nerek and I are currently attempting to locate the culprit responsible." He quickly explained what little they did know; sadly, it took only a moment.
Grunting, Bedros sat down and began to eat. "Tell me everything you know about succubi, Kohar."
Kohar frowned in thought. "Not much, your grace. Demons are not my specialty, though of course I was required to study them. They are part of the fornication class of demons, and high in that class. A level two or three ranking, I believe. Succubi prey upon any individual who lusts after the female form."
Bedros' brows furrowed. "I see. So…what about those who would rather fuck men?"
Ignoring the crudity of the statement, long used to it from both Bedros and Nerek, Kohar answered the question. "The succubi have a counterpart – incubi. An incubus preys upon anyone who lusts after the male form."
"Interesting," Bedros said. "What could possibly rank above a demon that kills men and women with lust?"
But, wrote a little bit more of succubus, and am bound and determined to finish this before my three day weekend is over. Damn it, I will.
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. Kohar's tendency to rattle off several questions at once annoyed everyone else, but Nerek had always kept up seamlessly.
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 Countess was not the immediate problem, though she was the likeliest source. Complicated magic with no other mage in sight meant that someone had premade the spells for a lackey to place – further credence was lent to that theory by the traces of run wax on the foreheads of the victims.
So, they needed to find the rat.
He rubbed his forehead and spoke as Nerek reappeared, almost smiling at the satisfied look on his face that always appeared when Nerek got to shout and threaten and toss things about. "We've got a rat, Nerek," he said. "It takes a mage at least as good as I to summon a succubus, and I would know if another of my caliber were around. As I am the only, that means the necessary spells were premade and then given to someone else to administer, hence the rune wax."
"I figured as much," Nerek replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
Kohar wondered absently, for likely the millionth time, why the man never bothered to shave. One would think Nerek would enjoy something that involved a sharp knife.
"The men are allowed leave on a regular rotation; I'll check the logs and see who was in the last batch. We're likeliest to find our rat amongst them." He grinned and looked at his cousin. "Unless Siran is up to something, but he's still too asleep to be committing crimes."
For reply, Siran yawned. "I am up to hunting out breakfast, but that's about it."
Kohar nodded. "I'm certain the cooks are already at work. By all means seek them out; this is not your problem."
Smiling faintly, Siran nodded, gripped his shoulder, then left the barracks in search of food.
"Lazy bastard," Nerek muttered.
Ignoring the complaint, because he knew damn good and well Nerek was just jealous Siran got to eat, Kohar swatted Nerek's arm and made him focus. "Lists, you lazy lummox, get the lists. Who was on leave? Who left? Who stayed? Who traded out?"
"It's against the rules to trade without permission from me," Nerek said. He snorted. "Which means at least a dozen of the bastards did it. Come on, we'll look'em all over." Bellowing a last few orders at the senior officers tending the bodies of the victims, he led the way to his office.
Inside, wonderful smells wafted over him. Kohar's stomach growled as he took in the food set out – simple bread and cheese and hot cider, but it looked a feast to him. Enough for two, so the cooks had known he'd be here.
Or maybe, he thought as he watched Nerek, they just knew how much the good Captain was capable of eating.
He strode to the desk and stole Nerek's seat, pulling the platters close and helping himself. Picking up a mug of cider, he looked over the rim at Nerek, who was rifling through surprisingly neat sheaves of paper.
"Here we are," he said after a few minutes, then yanked a hunk of bread out of Kohar's hand. He motioned to the papers as he picked up the second mug. "All good men, I cannot picture them as being responsible for something like this." He shook his head.
"It's always the one you least expect," Kohar murmured.
Nerek grunted. "True enough. Look at what a family of rough and ugly sailors produced." He smirked at Kohar.
Ignoring him, Kohar flipped through the lists. He knew most of the names; it was hard not to know them, really. Being the only mage in residence, he worked closely with the soldiers. "Why would they do it?"
"The Countess is a damned pretty woman."
A flicker of annoyance passed through Kohar, though he couldn't say why. The Countess was pretty – beautiful, in fact. No one could understand why his grace had turned her down at the last moment, and he had never seen fit to explain – not even to Kohar and Nerek.
"Maybe I should be examining you," he said sourly. "Did you fall beneath the wiles of the Countess, Captain?"
"I wouldn't kill my own men," Nerek said, voice cold.
Kohar nodded in apology. "I know."
Nerek glanced down at the lists. "I'll start grilling my men. You had better go speak with his grace."
Grimacing, Kohar swallowed a last bite of bread, drained his cider, then stood up. "Yes, I had better. Make certain you leave no detail out when questioning the men. If they are not guilty, perhaps they might have unwittingly spied some clue. Surely someone saw something tonight that would help us."
Nodding, Nerek reclaimed his seat as Kohar stood.
Brushing crumbs from his robe, smoothing back a loose strand of hair, Kohar departed and made his way back to the main part of the castle.
Servants ran to and fro now, busily tending to the morning chores. The faintest threads of gray were beginning to lighten the sky, though it would not be true light for a little while yet. He stopped a passing maid, the poor thing already looking harried and out of breath. "Is his grace awake?" he asked.
"Yes, your lordship," the maid said, indicating the tray in her hands. "I was just taking him breakfast."
"I will take it to him," Kohar said, relieving her of the tray and sending her off with a nod.
Reaching the end of the hall, he turned right to go toward the northern staircase – and paused as Siran stepped out of a spare bedroom. He smiled. "Were you well fed?"
"Of course," Siran said with a smile. His smiles were always pretty, Kohar didn't doubt for a moment Siran knew how to use those smiles to full effect. "Did you have any luck so far with finding your culprit?"
"Unfortunately, no," Kohar replied. "We've barely begun, however. I am off to report to his grace. Was there anything you required?"
Siran smiled again, but this time it was slow and burning, a bit of an unmistakable gleam in his eye. "Not at the moment. Thank you for asking."
"Of course," Kohar murmured. "If you will excuse me for now, I do not want to keep his grace waiting."
"By all means," Siran said, sketching a brief bow. "I will see you later, Kohar."
Indeed he would. Kohar forced himself to calm down as he reached the stairs and began the climb up to his grace's solar. After all this time…was Siran actually showing an interest in him? What had changed? Regions, he'd given up doing anything but admiring since Nerek had informed him in that damnably smug and annoying way of his, that Siran only had a taste for women.
Maybe stupid Nerek didn't know his cousin as well as he thought.
Smiling faintly, he knocked lightly on the Duke's door, then pushed it open.
Bedros, the Duke of Rehm, was one hundred percent noble Hollarian. Pale skin, dark eyes, ink-black hair still in its messy sleeping braid. Tall, broad in the chest and shoulders, and currently he wore only an old pair of leggings and a faded deep violet tunic. He'd tugged on light leather house boots, but that was all. The Duke was a beautiful man, even if he unfortunately shared Nerek's tendency towards always looking rough and unkempt. Somehow all the years of living in a harsh climate defending the border against all comers only enhanced that beauty.
Bedros turned at the sound of noise, and greeted Kohar with a grunt. "I hear there is a succubus on my premises?"
"I see the gossip mills are still functioning flawlessly," Kohar said dryly, setting the breakfast tray on the table near the fireplace. "Yes, your grace. Nerek and I are currently attempting to locate the culprit responsible." He quickly explained what little they did know; sadly, it took only a moment.
Grunting, Bedros sat down and began to eat. "Tell me everything you know about succubi, Kohar."
Kohar frowned in thought. "Not much, your grace. Demons are not my specialty, though of course I was required to study them. They are part of the fornication class of demons, and high in that class. A level two or three ranking, I believe. Succubi prey upon any individual who lusts after the female form."
Bedros' brows furrowed. "I see. So…what about those who would rather fuck men?"
Ignoring the crudity of the statement, long used to it from both Bedros and Nerek, Kohar answered the question. "The succubi have a counterpart – incubi. An incubus preys upon anyone who lusts after the male form."
"Interesting," Bedros said. "What could possibly rank above a demon that kills men and women with lust?"
no subject
Date: 2008-05-24 07:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-24 07:32 pm (UTC)also, totally random, but i was on your website the other day reading through some of my favorites when i happened across the innkeeper's tale- did the rest of the stories from that ficathon exchange ever get posted?
no subject
Date: 2008-05-24 07:33 pm (UTC)You know, the succubus/incubus question is one I have pondered before. Is the gender of the demon or victim most important in the name? I did not ponder enough to research, but I do love that you address the question at all, and that you give a most satisfying answer.^_____^
Good luck with the shower/change of location plan. *snugs*
no subject
Date: 2008-05-24 07:48 pm (UTC)Yes, they did, unless I'm crazy. I think whatever got written is here:
http://community.livejournal.com/whatnowficathon/
no subject
Date: 2008-05-24 07:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-24 08:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-24 09:50 pm (UTC)would it be horribly rude to beg for more? :3
no subject
Date: 2008-05-24 10:31 pm (UTC)1) I love Kohar. He's just the right amount of fastidious and snarky. XD
2) I also really love Nerek, and I do wonder at how he is around Kohar and how he gets under Kohar's skin so effortlessly. ^_^
3) Siran is...suspicious, but I won't judge until there's more to go on. I do love the way that Kohar pines over him and the way Nerek is obviously aware of it but hasn't tattled it to Siran.
4) I do so love your explanation of succubi and incubi that Kohar gives the Duke. ^_________^ <333
5) More please!!! *bounces excitedly* ^____________________^
no subject
Date: 2008-05-25 01:48 am (UTC)Yes. I live in a jeff foxworthy world and want *out* So, i sympathize with your finding writing difficult tonight.
no subject
Date: 2008-05-25 01:51 am (UTC)Oh, nice. Reminds me why I'm soooooo very happy to be out of small town life. My sympathies, m'dear <3
no subject
Date: 2008-05-25 03:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-25 03:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-25 12:09 pm (UTC)and although this pains me to say it, is putting pressure on yourself a good thing (when writing)? i mean, granted, i will be pleased to see whatever you write, no matter the circumstances, because i can rarely see what's 'wrong' (the odd typo perhaps). but i don't want you to post and then be upset about what you've written. i like my writers happy.
ps. is there a reason you didn't post all of the drabbles? i seem to remember a certain crossover between 'perfect' and 'deceived' that i cannot find again.
thankee!
no subject
Date: 2008-05-25 01:31 pm (UTC)I swore I said you could the firs time you asked. By all means, please do.
no subject
Date: 2008-05-26 02:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-26 02:27 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-05-26 02:29 am (UTC)sounds like fun ^__^
no subject
Date: 2008-05-26 02:39 am (UTC)