Book 1
Part V

Summer would be early and hot, Bodie thought absently, his eyes following the serried ranks of clouds across the sky. They were high, fleecy, promising no rain, and already the wind was warm out of the south. Morhod was girdled by highlands: to the north, the Casdar range, to the east, the Black Hills that formed the frontier between the elven and human tuaths. To a degree the mountains acted to pacify the climate, earning these gentle lands their name. 'The Kingdom Of Summer'.

It was a name conjuring images of peace, prosperity and long life, but Bodie had learned better. It was twenty-five years since there had been peace along the Black Hills and many elves had paid for one human woman's freedom with their lives, with their pain. Feyleen had fled her home, her father and the marriage arranged for her, riding westward with the elven chieftain, Wulff; for her it was a blessed escape but the price of freedom was high.

Twenty-five years of sporadic fighting; many dead, many hurt. Among them, Bodie thought bleakly, Feyleen's own eldest son. Raven was quiet, subdued, letting Lightfoot pick his own way among the wagon ruts as they headed east in Amber's wake, toward home. The horses were tired, hard ridden for too long, and Jasmin was not much short of lame. Bodie walked much of the way to spare her, he and Raven seldom speaking, each ensnared by their thoughts.

Willow was dead, and many of the Kith, and there had been burning. Raven's face was taut, his body betraying his feelings more eloquently than his expression, for he was trying hard to school his face as a human might have. Ash had not known who was dead, who was hurt; the news that came out of the east with riders only a day before and as yet all was chaos. The humans had come through the hill passes the instant they were open, striking deep into the Kith heartlands, this much was known; Feyleen had been alive when last she was seen, and bound over the saddle of a warhorse. She was a captive now, or dead already.

And Raven blamed himself, Bodie knew. Had Garth's men not pursued him across the hills they would never have discovered Feyleen; he should have died one day in high summer, as so many others had died, a day when elves and humans met in a skirmish along the hills. He had not said as much but Bodie knew his mate too well to doubt what was in his heart. Raven had been silent for days, and if he had eaten or slept Bodie was unaware of it.

Grieving for his kin, for his sister, the human knew, though for himself he had little regard for Willow, remembering all too keenly how the girl had treated Raven after Falcon's death. As if her brother was a murderer, a savage. Anger could easily kindle in Bodie's guts as he thought back to the night of the judgment: he had stood in the hall, watching the elders strip Raven of everything, his honour, his birthright, even his jewellery and clothes, until he had nothing and was cast out for his sins.

His sins? Bodie sighed, shaking his head over the elf's slight figure as Raven rode a pace ahead of him, head bowed in introspection. If Raven had done anything at all worthy of penance, Bodie did not know of it. He had been a warrior since boyhood, a chieftain for several years, won battle honours and the respect of his clan. He had been a captive, a bed slave, used and abused until his spirit was broken, his eyes blind, death his only ambition.

If there are sins marked against us on the slate, they are mine, Bodie thought ruefully. It was I who brought him out of Garth's tuath, I who killed the shaman. He nudged Jasmin with his heels, urging her up alongside Raven's tired mount. The elf stirred, looking up with a preoccupied frown.

"Give Lightfoot an hour's rest," Bodie suggested. "We'll make tea." He watched Raven's nod of acceptance, waited for him to speak, but in all honesty he no longer expected his mate to say anything. The last time Raven had made idle conversation was the night before they had left Ash's farm.

It had been a bittersweet night, one of sensual excess, fierce passion and breathless tenderness, leaving them bruised and exhausted in the morning. Raven had spent himself utterly until there seemed to be nothing left. He slid to the ground at Bodie's prompting, leading Lightfoot into the shade of a young oak, bending his back stiffly as he gathered enough dry kindling for a fire. Bodie brought out his tinderbox, striking flint to steel and blowing on the wood shavings until they were well alight, his eyes never leaving his mate as Raven went mechanically about the chore of making tea.

He was withdrawn, moving like a shadow without substance, and Bodie felt a thousand miles from him. There was pain in that, an ache suspended between disquiet and despair, but nothing seemed to find Raven, not words, not a caress. Bodie chewed his lip, watching the long-fingered hands working the leather thongs of a saddle bag. That night at Ash's Raven had been smouldering, voracious, impossible to satisfy, impossible to resist. Now it was as if a wall separated him from the rest of the world, and Bodie wanted to tear it down a brick at a time with his bare hands.

Dried peppermint leaves flaked into the blackened can and Bodie slung it over the fire, taking the elf by the shoulders and pressing him down to rest by the tree. "Enough for now," he said softly. "You need to rest as much as the horse." He tipped Raven's chin up, thumb brushing across the full lips; the green eyes were dark, solemn, and Ray simply waited, passive beneath Bodie's touch. The human kissed him, softly at first and then demanding a response as Raven remained too passive. He thrust his tongue between the elf's teeth, courting passion as he crushed Raven's thin, hot body against him.

At last the elf moaned, responding with an obvious reluctance, his tongue curling about Bodie's for a long time until they broke apart and Bodie drew away to see tears on the long, black lashes. "Damn you," Raven whispered, averting his eyes and turning his face away.

"For what?" Bodie whispered. "What have I done?"

"I -- I'm trying to be like you," Raven said quietly. "I cannot."

"Trying to be like me?" Bodie echoed. "How so? Ray, look at me. Ray!"

The elf's slanted eyes were brimming as he looked up, compelled to by Bodie's fingers beneath his chin. "What must you think of one who is so wet-eyed?" He tried to smile. "You are strong as elves are not. I cannot help it."

"Idiot." Bodie crushed him again. "You're hurting, aren't you?" He felt Raven nod against his shoulder and threaded his fingers into the long, soft curls. "Then weep, you fool, ease your heart," he said very softly. "In days I have not been able to reach you and that hurts me." He felt Raven's arm go about him with an absurd, euphoric sense of relief. "Gods, is that what it has been? You are afraid to show me your tears in case they shame you?" He tugged at long, loose curls in admonition. "How little you think of me. Ah, I am human, and we humans are foolish in our own way. Should you not weep for your kin and friends?"

Raven heaved a sigh, his breath a warm draught inside Bodie's shirt. "I did not want to shame you. I am your mate, after all, and must look to your ways first."

Moisture tickled Bodie's skin and he felt his own eyes prickle. "Shame me? You did not see me weep, did you, the night Amber found us in the pass, and you were cold, near to death." He chuckled, ambushed by a gentle humour at the absurdity of it. "Aye, I wept while my heart broke, and I a human!"

"For me," Raven sniffled. "Oh, Bodie." He licked along Bodie's collar bone, tasting his own salt, and drew away. "I love you," he offered sheepishly. "I thought to be like you, lest you think me a child."

"You are a child, in elven years," Bodie told him, cuffing his head tenderly. "Never grow up, sweeting. Kiss me?"

The water was boiling hard when they remembered the tea and they spent an hour, lying in the sun while the horses grazed and dozed beneath the trees. Raven's eye was on the time and he stirred first, tossing away the dregs of his tea and whistling for Lightfoot. "We will catch up Amber this afternoon, and if we keep moving, sleep at home tonight."

At home, Bodie thought bleakly; if there is anything left of it.

Along the road they had gleaned a few more details as this farmer and that wagoner had tales to tell. They were ugly stories of battle and destruction, and Bodie watched his mate's face twist as he listened. They said there was a ruin where the house had been, scorched earth and the blackened skeletons of trees. Raven prayed the stories were exaggerated; Bodie had learned a terrible cynicism and could not find enough hope to doubt.

Rested, the horses adopted a steady clip, stepping out proudly through the morning, and Bodie began to scan the road ahead, looking out for Wind. Amber had ridden on along this road, heading for the Kith lands while the human and his mate had headed for Riverside, there to bring Ash the news that a shaman had been found. And Amber must have heard the news even before Raven's cousin had given them it, for he had put many miles between them, riding hard.

It was midafternoon when Bodie recognised his horse and Amber's tall, sparely built figure striding out beside her, the reins looped over his arm, his grey woolen robe marking him out as a shaman while his gait betrayed his mood. Amber was anxious, tense, Bodie knew; and little wonder. He was a Kith himself, and of Raven's own bloodline, back through however many generations. The spillage of Kith blood would wound him as deeply as Raven.

Lightfoot broke into a canter as Raven touched his heels to the horse's sides, and Bodie urged Jasmin after him as Ray called the shaman's name. Up ahead, Amber halted, turning toward the sound and raising an arm to wave as he recognised his kinsman. Raven slid from the saddle into the shaman's arms, fingers clenching on the grey wool as Bodie reined back and met Amber's odd, golden eyes over his mate's tousled head.

"Sour news," Amber said by way of greeting. "I have ridden hard enough, and your horses look lame. Still, we shall see home by eve. And then..."

"And then?" Bodie prompted, sliding to the ground as Amber lifted Raven's head to kiss his cheek.

"And then we shall see," the shaman said, looking into Raven's face with a deep frown. "Are you ill, little one?"

"He has driven himself without mercy," Bodie said when Raven merely shrugged. "As if fasting and going without sleep will somehow set matters to rights. He has the impression this sorry state of affairs is his fault!"

Raven's cheeks flushed as he looked away. "I am on borrowed time, Naryr," he said softly to Amber. "I should have been dead so long ago. Had I died, as a warrior should have, none of this would have happened and no more blood would have been spilt."

"That is not how destiny works," Amber said tartly. "Ask your mate. I think he has a keener sense of destiny than you."

"Bodie?" Raven chanced a glance at Bodie's face to see his mate's wry smile. "Something amuses you?"

"No." Bodie drew Raven out of Amber's embrace, both arms about him and holding him tight. "He means only that you cannot see destiny for honour, while I cannot see honour for destiny." A frown puckered Ray's brow and Bodie kissed the faint lines. "I could not give a bent penny for honour where you are concerned, little dove. I would lie, cheat, steal, kill, aye, and die for you. It is my destiny to do so, and I will do it gladly. Destiny sent you to me; you were not meant to die, the gods never intended you for the vultures. They had definite plans when they thrust you into my bed that night." He watched the green eyes cloud. "Will you go against their plans?"

"Destiny?" Raven echoed. "You believe? I thought you believed in nothing."

"I don't know," Bodie admitted. "But I have seen you come within a hand's breadth of disaster so often only to be snatched away again. There is some god who is in love with you, I think. He cannot keep you from hurt, but you are never alone, and what happens in your life -- aye, destiny. Honour is folly, Ray, I have seen men die for it, needlessly."

Raven bit his lip. "And what, Bodie, when honour is all you have left? When your name is a curse and your family have cast you out as a disgrace?"

The human looked up, meeting Amber's golden gaze with a faint smile. "Destiny, again. If you had not been cast out, we would never have met the shaman, and as his future and ours are woven like the strands in a basket, we had to be there. What say you of that, Falcon?"

The shaman spoke, but the voice was not that of Amber. Falcon's voice was not so deep, not so resonant. Amber's face, when he spoke in Falcon's voice, became serene and almost without expression, but the voice of one who had been dead for months was clear and strong. "The human speaks true, Raven. Let the gods decide what is to be."

"The last time I decided that," Raven grumbled, "I rode to battle and the next I knew I was hanging from a gate lintel wishing I was dead!" He gave Bodie's waist a hug and released him. "All right, so these shoulders of mine are not burdened by blame. Tell me how that makes matters any better!"

"It doesn't," Bodie admitted, "but at least you might try eating and sleeping now. Tell me what you can achieve by driving yourself?" He swooped on Raven's mouth with a kiss, hardly noticing Amber's presence; how often had they made love in the same room, in the privacy of another's polite disregard? It had been a long winter.

Amber was already swinging up onto Wind when Bodie released his mate. The shadows were lengthening and it was past time to be moving. Bodie recognised the lie of the land, the shape of the hills, the very smell and colour of this place. It was Kith country, lush and rich. Homecoming should have been a joy for Raven and it was a cruel twist of fate that he was taking the shaman back into a worse scene than the one he had left. But home was home and Bodie could see Raven enlivening as he watched.

The hills swept upward, the great swathe of Rapid River cut down into the southwest toward the sea, far away, and as they crossed its bridge even the human could have been in no doubt of where they were. It was early evening, the sunlight golden on new, green barley, when they crested the last rise and saw the estate that had been Raven's birthright. Or what was left of it.

The woodland hid most of the damage but there was a blackened area where the orchard had been, scorched earth from the paddocks to the stream, and the house had gone. In its place was a tumble of rubble, a scattering of shingles that marked the site where it had stood. Raven made a tiny choking sound and Bodie tore his eyes from the scene of destruction to look sidelong at his mate.

Beyond him, Amber was wearing a thunderous expression, but Raven looked merely stricken. "I was born here," he said softly. "All my life I have thought of this place as my home. Bodie, look at it."

"A house on a hill," Bodie reminded him. "Red bricks and a golden thatch, an orchard and -- remember?" He reached out, catching Raven's hand. "That will be our home, we always said so. Ray?"

"Aye," Raven admitted. "I wonder if my dogs are alive." He touched his heels to Lightfoot, urging the tired animal down the winding hill slope onto the path that led through the ruined orchard. On the right was the place where a band of Garth's warriors had come out of the woods, Feyleen a captive, their own shaman soon to give his life for hate, beginning a chain of events that led them, ultimately, back to this place and this scene of chaos.

Destiny, Bodie thought as he and Amber rode in Raven's wake, skirting the blackened stumps of trees and approaching the ruin of the house. As they broke from the woodland they saw the camp pitched alongside the mountain of rubble; a warband had gathered, a dozen pavilions and smaller tents, gaudy flags announcing the clans. Green and white for the Syrae, blue and yellow for the Ionae, red and green for the Silvae. Raven's colours were the green and white and he slid from Lightfoot's saddle, approaching the nearest pavilion in search of a face he recognised.

It belonged to an old man. Dermot was sitting on an upturned barrel, his pipe between his teeth but unlit; he looked up at the sound of footsteps, blinking at the young man's face in astonishment. He got stiffly to his feet, calling back into the pavilion. "Cuillin? Cuillin!"

"Aye?" Bodie recognised the voice at once; Cuillin was a warrior and a good one. He would have fought at Willow's right hand, backing her with his years of experience while she headed the warband, being the clan chieftain upon the disgrace of her brother. And Cuillin was hurt. He was limping, his left leg splinted, his left arm bound to his side, his face white with pain, though he, as an elf, must have been healing with that race's natural speed. He saw Bodie and Amber first, bit off an oath of surprise; then he saw Raven, and his face drew tight.

For a moment Raven was sure he was about to be rejected out of hand and his shoulders straightened; he was aware of Bodie at his shoulder, silent and supportive with all the unvoiced threat of a panther. But Cuillin's expression was merely one of well guarded grief and his brown eyes glittered with unshed tears as he spoke. "You are returned, Blackwing. And to this. You see the dishonour of failure. We are broken."

Raven looked up at Bodie for a moment, giving his hand to Cuillin a moment later. "Many are dead?"

"The warband was gutted," Cullin said gravely. "There are fifteen of us left who can bear swords."

"So few of our men are left?" Raven turned to Bodie, his expression simply blank with disbelief. "What of the other clans, Cuillin? Would they fight with us? I see their banners here."

"You see their banners here for the rites for the dead," Cullin said sadly. "The pyres burned yesterday. It was your brother who set a torch to Willow's pyre. Will the other clans fight with us?" He shrugged eloquently. "I don't know. I don't think so. They have had enough of the Kith, I think; we have had too much to do with humankind, and brought sorrow on ourselves." He looked at Bodie with a faint smile of apology. "I mean no disrespect, but even you can see what has been. But for Feyleen and yourself we would be at peace, still. And our warriors would still be alive."

Bodie nodded soberly. "No offence taken, Cuillin. But I don't think the fighting is over yet -- and the other clans may not be able to ignore it for long. Now that Garth's men have been in this tuath, and have won a victory here, seen your riches --"

"And looted them," Dermot growled. "We were never rich in material things, not like the Silvae, who have gold and emeralds in their hills. And what we had, Garth's men took." Taking the pipe from his mouth, he gestured about at the burned ruin of house and orchard. "What you see is what we have."

"Yet we must raise a warband," Raven said quietly. "Or Garth's men will be back. There is nothing left to steal but our young people, and he would have them. I know him. Elves are sold at market in his tuath, or given as war prizes. He will raid again, deeper and deeper into these lands until we are gone." He raised haunted eyes to Bodie. "Am I right?"

The human nodded. "Aye, though it pains me to affirm what you have said." He lifted one crooked brow at Cuillin. "The clans could not be rallied, in their own interests?"

It was Raven who answered. "They must first believe there is something to fight for. If they cannot believe, they cannot fight."

"So speak to them," Bodie suggested, one hand gesturing about at the gaudy banners fluttering in the evening breeze. "No need to call them to a hosting, they are already here."

"I am not their chieftain," Raven hissed.

"Then who is?" Bodie turned to Dermot, demanding attention as the old man began to whittle at a stick with a knife like a razor. "If Feyleen is gone and Willow is dead, who is the chieftain of this clan now?"

The old man sighed, setting his knife down. "Abelard is the chieftain, but he is too young to assume such responsibility, so until he comes of age we have no proper clan chieftain and our affairs will pass into the hands of the Kith elders themselves. We no longer have the right to speak for ourselves, Bodie -- aye. This is what it has come to."

The eldest Kith of royal blood wore the diadem of the whole tribe, Bodie knew. She was an ancient, so old that even she had forgotten her age. Lyra belonged to the Ionae, only remotely related to Raven's clan. With Willow's death the only legal heir left to Wulff and Feyleen was their youngest son, Abelard, and Abelard was not yet twelve years old.

"Oh, the lad will come of age in six years or so," Cuillin was saying as Bodie brooded over the state of affairs. "Then we will have our voice back. He will wed and sire his own heirs -- with all speed, we hope. Then we can begin again. Six years in silence is not so bad, is it?"

"Six years without a banner, without a voice," Raven whispered. "Ah, gods, what have I done?"

Bodie gripped his shoulder hard, hurting, drawing him out of the introspection before he could begin to fret again. "This is nonsense, Cuillin. Your heir is standing before you, a man and a warrior."

"Bodie." Raven spoke very softly. "You know that isn't true. I am a Kith only by blood, not in name."

"Are you?" Bodie made a derisive sound. "And they would sooner hand the clan into the care of a boy and a woman so old it is a miracle she still lives! You are making no sense. And besides, what was the dispute over? Falcon? Then it is finished! Raven, speak to them tonight while they are all here. Let Amber speak to them, let it end. Abelard is too young to be burdened this way."

The shaman stood a short distance away, not missing a word and not offering one either. Cuillin and Dermot did not even pretend to understand what Bodie had said, but they recognised the tall, yellow haired man's garb and were consumed by curiosity. It was Dermot who spoke at last. "Raven, you have brought a shaman home with you?"

"I have brought more than a shaman," Raven said, drawing away and leaning against Bodie, his shoulders against the human's broad chest. Sheer weariness communicated clearly to Bodie and he took Raven's arms in both hands, urging him to move. "Bodie?"

"A meal, a bath, sleep," Bodie growled. "Then dress, and Dermot will have gathered the clans, elders, warriors, everyone. Won't you, Dermot?"

The old man nodded, stoking his pipe. "Aye. I'll call them together, tell them that Raven has returned --"

"And that he has with him a man they will wish to meet," Amber said, speaking for the first time, his voice deep, resonant, in the gathering gloom. Dermot looked up, seeing a tall, angular stranger with long, yellow hair and strange, beautiful eyes. "You don't know me, do you, old man? No; not even you are old enough, though your father may have known me, in his youth."

The pipe was forgotten. "Shaman?" Dermot said, hushed.

"Later." Amber stirred. "I also would like to eat and wash, and our horses are in need of care. See to it, old man, and gather the clans as your young chieftain has ordered."

Young chieftain? Bodie thought as Dermot ambled away, whistling for young lads to see to the horses. He slipped one arm about Raven's thin shoulders. "This way. I smell food, and there must be a tent we can use."

Half an hour later Raven was stretched out in a wide, hooped tub, a cup of hot wine in his hands, and Bodie was pouring a last bucket of water on him, hot enough to make him yelp. Smiling, he dumped the last of it over his head, producing a bottle of soap and setting about his mate's tangled hair. Raven had eaten a little but his body was too tired and too tense to allow him much indulgence. He sighed under Bodie's hands, leaning back and allowing himself to relax as the fingers massaged his scalp, touching his ears without the human's conscious intent. Too late, Bodie realised he would be arousing his lover and he made noises of displeasure.

"You are displeased by my excitement?" Raven demanded. "There is a first time for everything, I suppose."

"You are almost spent," Bodie observed,"and you must speak to the clans this evening. Look at you! Thin as a lad and tired as one thrice your age. You think you have energy to waste in games of that kind? Later, perhaps, so look to your virtue, little chuck, and school your body."

Raven gave him a wry glance. "You may be right. So take your hands from my hair, kiss me instead."

"Your hair is clean enough as it is," Bodie judged, tipping half a bucket of cool water over his mate's head and kissing his mouth while he was still spluttering. Raven's tongue flicked his, a tiny caress without passion, and Bodie lifted his head. "Now, relax while I eat, then I will have the tub."

"And I shall pour boiling water over you," Raven threatened, lifting one slender leg out of the water. "See? I am stewed like last season's apples."

"You're beautiful," Bodie said softly, revelling in the sight presented to him. Raven was glistening in the light of four brass lamps, his hair streaming, his eyes enormous and dark with dilated pupils, drops of water trapped among the hair on his chest, the raised leg innocently flaunting his genitals. He stilled, looking up at Bodie unblinkingly, and Bodie watched him come fully erect without a touch. Raven swallowed hard, closing his eyes.

"I know you're right," he said ruefully, "and I am trying, but my body is too wilful, and it loves you."

With a mock sigh Bodie leaned over the tub, nuzzling his mate's ears while he feathered one hand about his groin, fondling him gently. "It has been days," he admitted. "And for an elf I suppose you have shown remarkable restraint." He sucked the point of Ray's ear into his mouth, felt the shudder ripple through Raven's every nerve, and tightened his grip about the elf's cock. "Come on, then, relax and be pleasured. You will sleep all the sounder for it, and perhaps eat again. Ah, like that. Push, try harder. Come on, Ray, push harder."

He was deliberately withholding stimuli, making Raven reach for it, needing to feel the desperate hunger building in his mate after days of Ray's silence and distance. A moan left Raven's throat, his hands sliding into the water as he tried to touch himself, but Bodie caught his wrist. "Not that way. With me, Ray."

"Touch me," Raven hissed, lifting his hips, his head tipping back, supported by the side of the tub. "Ah, gods, will you touch me, please!"

The feather-light touch of Bodie's flat palm became a firm rub and at last he sucked hard on the graceful tip of Raven's beautiful ear. Ray bucked, his free arm going about Bodie's neck as he sought release with desperate urgency. It swept through him like a summer squall and he was limp again, sagging against the tub, his mouth open to its plundering as Bodie searched through the dark, wine-rich haven within his lips.

Doped green eyes looked up at Bodie with a lover's smile, sending a thrill of contrition through the human. "I'm sorry. I teased you," Bodie said sheepishly. "I needed to feel needed, if that makes sense."

"It makes sense," Raven yawned. "And you were right -- I am exhausted now. I shall fall asleep right here if I lounge any longer." With an effort he lifted himself out of the tub, drying himself with obviously leaden limbs while Bodie stood leaning on the post which held up the pavilion's roofing, admiring the sight of his mate in a comfortable, exhausted confusion.

It was some time before they noticed a sound at the pavilion's entrance, which was hung with silks that screened the interior, affording a little privacy. Bodie turned, seeing a boy's face in the lamplight. The lad was waiting patiently to be spoken to, knowing he would be recognised. Raven's face and Willow's hair, Bodie saw, a slender body clad in a sky blue silk tunic. Abelard was a beautiful child who would grow into a beautiful man, almost as winsome as Raven. Not for the first time Bodie wished he could have known Wulff, whose blood had sired these two.

A hand on Raven's bare shoulder drew his attention and he turned, rubbing his hair with a patch of dry towelling; the sight of his brother was an obvious surprise and Bodie watched him smile in greeting. "Abelard, where have you been?"

"With Dermot." The lad took a step closer. "He said you were back but I didn't believe him. I thought you could never come back."

"Why?" Raven dropped the towel and sat down on the bench against the tent post to sort his clothes, although he was not about to dress. He would sleep first; an hour or two of sound sleep would be as good as a tonic. "You might have known we would return, after all the trouble there has been."

"They said you had run, with your human." Abelard stole a glance at Bodie and shrugged. "They said you have no honour."

All at once Raven's eyes were glittering with anger. "Who said that?"

"Some of the boys." Abelard was clearly ill at ease, sheepish, even a little ashamed -- though not of his brother. Of his own imaginings. He was looking closely at Raven, Bodie knew; seeing his brother's body, its whipcord muscles, its spare elegance. Looking at Raven as a boy looked at a man, wondering what it would be like to be a man himself. The notion made Bodie smile in spite of the insults Abelard relayed from his companions.

"Your friends have spoken out of spite," Raven said levelly. "I went with the human because they cast me out, and because I love him. I have never lied, nor pretended to be anything I am not. I am half human, as are you -- if there is shame in that, we share it, you and I. Do you begrudge me my lover because of his human blood? Then look to yourself, for there is Garth's blood there too!"

"No," Abelard said slowly. "I have never begrudged you Bodie. For a time, he was like kin to us."

"He is your kin!" Raven's tone was tinged with the edge of desperation. "They have disinherited me but I am still your brother, and he is my bonded mate, which makes him your brother also. Oh, Abelard, he is not an alien. He loves me also, and counts you his kin."

Bodie nodded as the boy looked up at him, saw the lad's cheeks flame into crimson patches. He hid a smile. "How long were you standing there, Abelard?"

"Long enough," the boy admitted.

There was a brief silence while Raven blinked at his brother, suspended between outrage and hilarity. At last, hilarity won and he laughed, a sound Bodie had not heard in days. "Then that will teach you not to creep about unannounced, watching people when they believe themselves alone," he scolded. "Were you very shocked at what he did to me?"

Scarlet replaced the crimson and Abelard shuffled from foot to foot. "Not shocked, because I have seen others doing... that. But it was you. It was -- I'm sorry." He cleared his throat, looking at Bodie again. "You do love him, don't you? The others said you bonded with him because he was a chieftain, and you a mere human warrior."

"Your friends are fools," Bodie said mildly. "I think you have seen enough here to persuade you of that, yes?" As Abelard nodded he gave Raven a push in the direction of the pavilion's skin-strewn bed. "Now let your brother rest, for he is all but ill with fatigue. And I wish to bathe, and I refuse to do so with an audience. I am human, and we guard our modesty closely."

They were alone a moment later and Raven slid into the bed, lying on his belly to watch Bodie disrobe. "He is a beautiful child," he said, slurred with sleep. "Isn't he?"

"Almost as gorgeous as my mate," Bodie said teasingly, winning a smile and a husky endearment. "Aye, he has the Kith charm." He slid into the water, lying back against the tub and rubbing his back on the smooth planking. When he looked back at the bed, Raven was already asleep and Bodie sat watching him with a frown. Amber had called him chieftain, as if he was so sure that Raven was to wear the diadem of his clan again --

And then it came to Bodie like a bolt out of the blue, a sudden understanding of the workings of elven affairs.

Of course Amber was sure! Raven had the right to call him by the familiar name, 'Naryr', which meant 'Old Father'. Amber was not merely his kin, but of Wulff's own bloodline. The heir to Raven's clan was not Abelard. The heir to the whole Kith tribe was not an old woman called Lyra. Amber was the heir to both the Syrae clan, and the Kith, but Amber, a shaman, would not claim that right, settling the chieftain's circlet on the brow of a kinsman in favour.

Raven. Bodie felt a vast warmth coil through his insides as he watched Raven sleep. Clearly, Raven had not yet considered Amber's position -- but it was clear, the shaman had. He had a right of birth, and he was about to exercise it. Bodie could have laughed, for all the awful state of affairs, for all the gnawing fear for Feyleen. Raven would close his eyes tonight as a chieftain, perhaps as the chief of the entire Kith tribe, and his banner, the green and white standard of the Syrae, would flutter higher on the mast than those of the other clans. Destiny? Bodie thought, settling back to soak away the aches of days on the trail. He would wake Raven with food as late as he dared, but he would say nothing, he decided, let events take their course.

Satisfaction would be the sweeter for letting things happen in their own good time.

The white silk tunic was loose about Raven's body; the clasp that held it at his left shoulder was not silver but gold, the stones set into the precious metal not moonstones but emeralds, and his arms were heavy with much jewellery. There was a chief's ransom stowed in their saddle bags, as yet a secret, for they had paid their way on the road with gambling and songs. Bodie delighted in choosing pieces for Raven to wear and pressed a fist full of rings onto him before he allowed his mate to buckle on the polished, supple baldric that marked him out as a warrior.

"Are we out to flaunt our fortune?" Ray asked shrewdly.

And Bodie nodded. "Out to show them what we have achieved, aye. They sent us from here with nothing. I remember repairing roofs, I remember you toiling in the fields last harvest until your hands bled, and taking a beating on behalf of a girl. They intended you for poverty and hardship, but we have fared better than they thought. We have a fortune at our command the like of which the Kith have never dreamed they could own. And they were correct -- it is not theirs, it is ours." He stepped forward, half clad in black breeches and boots of soft black pigskin that cupped his thighs, catching Raven against him. "I love you. Make me proud. Speak to them as their master, for you are."

"Am I?" Raven relaxed against his mate's body, rubbing like a big cat against Bodie's bare chest. "I care little for their favours. I wish simply to raise a warband and go after my mother. We are hunting even now, Bodie."

Bodie sighed. "So we are. But the end of the trail is in sight, for this time it takes us back to its source." His expression darkened. "Garth. Her father, your grandsire. Your nemesis. The man I hate most in this world." He cupped Raven's face. "I will kill him if the gods grant me the chance."

"Kill him for me?" Raven murmured. "Revenge?"

"For me." The human bruised Raven's lips with a fierce kiss. "For satisfaction. You are my darling, more precious to me than all these baubles, and vengeance is my right by the law of possession. You are mine to protect, mine to avenge. Mine to possess. Aye?"

In answer, Raven shivered, pressing against his mate. "Aye. It is only the mirror that haunts me, love. I cannot forget the things we saw there."

The Chrysalis, Bodie thought bleakly, holding Raven for a few treasured moments as they waited for Dermot to summon them to the meeting of the clans. Images of chaos and terror; images that were sweet and promising. A girl with Raven's face; Raven himself seated upon a grand chair in the shape of a griffin, a chief's torque at his throat, a chief's circlet on his brow; a cottage on a hill; a funeral pyre; blood and the outrage of a flogged back; Raven again, captive and in servitude. Bodie sighed, lifting his mate's chin to kiss him more gently, nuzzling across the elf's smooth cheek.

"I can forget the images no more easily," he admitted, "but what will be, will be. We cannot deny the future, Raven, no matter where it leads. This I have learned." He tightened his grip. "But I have not come this far to end in defeat and death. We will win through. Amber is sure of it, and he reads the stars nightly."

"The stars?" Raven rubbed his nose against Bodie's, as intimate a caress as a kiss. "I know nothing of his magic, but I trust him."

"Yet you are shaking," Bodie said softly. He sighed heavily. "I too am afraid, if you would have truth of me. Honour lies not in knowing fear but in pressing ahead, regardless. I think --"

Dermot's voice interrupted from the pavilion's silk-hung entrance. "The elders are gathering, Raven, and they are impatient. Best not to keep them waiting, I would say."

Drawing away, Bodie stood back to admire his mate as Raven chose a tunic for him. Black silk and silver embroidery; two big silver bracelets, luminous as moonlight; serpentine rings with emerald eyes, and for his neck a heavy chain hung with tiny icicles. Diamonds. Raven looped it over his head, fingering the chain thoughtfully while Bodie chuckled. "There is a fortune hanging about our limbs tonight. We look outrageous."

"You look beautiful," Raven corrected. "Black is your colour, silver your metal."

"And you in white and gold," Bodie added. "You could be an angel, little scamp -- until you smile like that, and put back your shoulders! I can see your nipples through the silk, they make me itch to have you."

"Later," Raven said, smiling. "I promise." He looked down at his own white silk and russet red boots, which cupped his thighs, buckled about the knees, matching the soft deerhide breeches he wore. The garb of a prince. "For now, I go to play words with elders who hate me. Stay close, Bodie."

"You don't trust them?" Bodie demanded. "They would not harm us, surely."

"No, there will be no fighting," Raven corrected. "But I have never needed you more." He offered his hand, pleased when Bodie took it. "Amber will be there ahead of us."

They left the pavilion, drawn by the glow of firelight to the levelled area that had been a garden. A bonfire burned brightly there, the trees were hung with lamps, and the banners fluttered in the night wind, flanking the clan leaders. Abelard sat beside the green and white standard of the Syrae; one-eyed Swallow lounged indolently at the head of the Silvae; beside the Ionae banner with Lyra and young Jade, a man of Ray's height whose green eyes had earned him his name and whose quick tongue was well known. Lyra was his grandmother; his presence beside her was no accident, for she was old indeed -- too old to do more than preside over her clan.

They were clustered about the fire and there was no laughter, merely sporadic, desultory talk and the crackle of burning timber. Amber was there, holding to the shadows just out of the ring of the firelight, waiting, and Raven went to join him, holding out both hands. Amber took them, drawing him closer to whisper into his ear. Bodie watched Raven nod, looking up and accepting a kiss upon his lips, a tender but impassionate gesture which did not offend Bodie, for he understood Amber's feelings toward Raven. Fiercely protective of his young kinsman was Amber, knowing all that had befallen him. Bodie was not the only man who would kill for Ray, and the comradeship the shaman felt for his mate simply made him smile.

Then Raven and Amber stepped apart and Bodie joined them, taking Raven's shoulder as he stepped into the firelight. A hush fell on the gathering, elders and warriors looking up at him with curiosity, some displaying animosity, most simply waiting. Bodie stood aside deferentially, enjoying an enormous satisfaction as he feasted his eyes on his lover. Raven was gorgeous in the firelight, all silk and gold, his hair like burnished copper, his bearing proud, as befitted the son of a chieftain.

It was Lyra who spoke up, leaning forward on her knee, her face wizened like a pickled walnut but her eyes bright and sharp. "You are returned to the fold, black sheep. And the road has been kind to you, I see. There is much gold about you; won fairly, was it?"

"Won fairly," Raven said mildly, refusing to take the bait as he was taunted. "The shaman will attest to it. Oh yes, I bring the Kith a shaman. Tell me, Lyra, what was the charge held against me? Why was my rank stripped from me? Falcon died while I lived. I have never sought to deny that."

A girl's voice answered, speaking from the body of the Kith. "You could not. I saw Falcon die. I saw your human mate destroy him for his pains!" It was Lilith, small and slender, clad in a shaman's white robe though she had yet to earn it; she had been the nearest to a shaman the Kith had possessed since her teacher, her lover, had died.

Raven met her eyes, smiling sadly and beckoning her forward. "Come, Lilith. There is sweet news for you, perhaps sweeter than for the rest of the Kith." He held out his hand but though she joined him in the firelight she refused to take it. "I have brought a man called Amber," Raven said clearly, speaking as much to the elders as to the girl. "You know the name, I think."

For a moment there was a stunned silence, then cries of outraged denial. Jade raised his voice, shouting for order, and in the silence that fell Lyra stabbed one gnarled finger at Raven. "We will have no lies from you. The gold about your limbs cannot buy you the right to deception!"

"No deception," Raven said carefully, glancing grimly at Bodie. They had known it would not be easy. "We followed a legend into the mountains. There is a valley, just below the timber line, and there, a man whose name has long been known to the Kith. Amber is a Kith. And he is my kinsman." The silence was like cut crystal, brittle, waiting to shatter. In it, Bodie held his breath, watching Raven beckon the shaman forward into the light. "Amber, please."

Tall, angular, commanding, Amber wore the shaman's robe by right, his hauteur furled about him, his scorn for the disbelievers curling his lips. He smiled faintly at Raven, bent his neck before Lyra, accorded Jade and Swallow no more than a glance, and fixed upon Lilith with an intensity that made the girl hesitate. Bodie watched her shiver and frowned, wondering. Falcon was with Amber, alive in his aura; if Lilith was a shaman in the making, should she not know? Should she not feel him there?

Raven was waiting, his eyes moving from Amber to Lilith and back again, watching the shaman's face soften, its lines somehow reflecting Falcon's face, or if not his features, his expression. Tall, gaunt, compelling, he stepped forward, holding the girl captive without a gesture. Neither of them spoke. The Kith were intent upon the silent interchange, waiting as was Raven, and Bodie realised that much hung upon Lilith's reaction in the next moment.

They respected her, had turned to her as their shaman in Falcon's absence and come to trust her. She swallowed, her mouth open to speak although no sound escaped her lips, and her brow puckered in a frown. One slender hand raised toward Amber, reaching, questing, though she did not seem to know for what.

At last Amber said softly, "Close your eyes, little dove. Look at me with the eyes the gods gave you instead."

Obediently, Lilith blinded the eyes she had been born with, her frown deepening as she studied Amber with the odd, fey senses that had come to her as she grew into adulthood. She took a breath, choking, and cried out. "Fal -- Falcon?"

Crumpling at the knees, she was out in a dead faint a moment later but Raven caught her before she could fall, holding her weight against him until Amber took her from him. Lyra and Jade were on their feet, their faces wild with a curious mix of defiance and longing to believe. The old woman shouldered her grandson aside, approaching the shaman with the arrogance of great age.

"Who are you?" she whispered, looking up at him, for Amber stood a little taller than Bodie, which was tall indeed for an elf.

He smiled at her, an expression that illuminated features that could be cool, distant, warming them. A young expression, Bodie thought, though he well knew the shaman's incredible age. "Your fathers knew me," he said slowly, speaking clearly, his voice accented with the hill dialects. "I left here so long ago, too long ago for any of you here tonight to have known me. Not even you, Lyra, for all the eight generations you have watched grow beneath your wing. You know my name, you have no need to ask who I am."

"Amber?" The old woman's eyes narrowed. "She called you by another name. She called you Falcon."

"She sees me with other eyes," Amber said, his tone deep and resonant. "She looks upon me with the shaman's other senses and sees a deeper truth than you. I am Falcon. Falcon is with me and has been since he gave his life to Raven."

Jade took a step forward. "Gave his life? It was said the human murdered him!"

"You should not be so ready to believe all you are told," Amber said tartly, and then his voice changed utterly, lightening, the resonance smoothing out, until any who had known Falcon could not have mistaken the tone. "I gave my life. At the final instant, I chose to give it. It may not have been mine to give, but you Kith had owned my whole life for a century and I reckoned the little that was left was mine to squander as I chose." One hand extended, fingers running through Raven's hair, cupping his cheek. "Raven is as much your chieftain as ever he was. You wronged him on the night of judgement, you Syrae elders, though the fault was unwitting." He paused as the girl stirred in the crook of his arm. As she wandered back to consciousness he set her feet to the ground, looking down into huge brown eyes. "Tell them, Lilith."

The Kith were breathless, waiting; even Bodie was barely breathing, the electricity in the air making his spine tingle. Lilith's fingers were still knitted into Amber's and she heaved in a breath, searching for her voice. "He -- he is Falcon. I feel Falcon about him. I don't understand, but --"

"Falcon came to me," Amber said simply, as if that explained everything.

To Bodie it was still mystifying, but the Kith elders muttered oaths, the odd prayer, a scattering of obscenities, and Lyra stepped back, one hand on Jade's shoulder for support. Her old eyes demanded truth of the girl. "You could not be mistaken?"

"No, my lady, I could not." Lilith looked up at Amber with a quizzical smile. "I have mourned Falcon for too long to be mistaken, and now..."

It was Falcon's voice that spoke again. "I did what I must, child. Do you despise me for it?"

"I did." Lilith was speaking with her eyes closed now, her face twisting in concentration as she feasted on Falcon's presence, rampant in the shaman's aura. "I blamed the human, I blamed Raven --"

"It was never Raven's fault," Falcon said gently through Amber's mouth. "He was tranced, and mine. And he was ill, afterward, was he not? Human?"

"I thought he would die," Bodie said, stepping forward as he was invited to join the elves. One hand cupped Raven's shoulder. "I thought I had taken your life and I was willing to pay the price for it."

"I gave it," Falcon said offhandly before Amber's voice returned and the shaman's face cleared, his golden eyes blinking down at the girl for a moment. He looked up then, fixing on Lyra, Jade and Swallow. "You know me. I am of the Syrae, and much older than anyone about this fire. I am Amber, grandsire of so many of you, and of Raven. I am Falcon, also, as Lilith has told you. There is my birthright to be considered. I am the High Chief over all the Kith by virtue of my age. I am the chieftain of the Syrae by blood right."

Lyra nodded readily, reclining against the skin strewn chair brought out here for her. "Aye, so you are. And few would argue that. The Kith have been gutted lately, as you know. They need a strong chief and I am too old. The Syrae need a strong chieftain, and Abelard is too young. Fate has an odd way about it."

"But Raven is a man, and a warrior," Amber said levelly.

"Raven?" Jade was on his feet again. "Raven was cast out."

"Wrongly," Amber snarled, his dislike for the younger man plain. "I have spoken already of this, as has Falcon. You seek to challenge me?"

Jade held silent, though he also held his ground.

"Then, you wish to challenge for the chieftain's circlet of the Syrae clan?" Amber pressed. "Will you fight me, Jade? You will die. I have been a warrior all my life as well as a shaman."

"Fight you -- to the death?" Jade echoed. "And perhaps kill a shaman by sheer luck, and be cast out as my hapless cousin was cast out?" He flung a rueful glance at Raven. "Not I!"

Amber nodded. "You have some shred of sense, at least. Then there is no one here who would challenge my birthright."

The old woman cackled, birdlike laughter. "There are few fools among the Kith, shaman. What of it? You have the circlet of your clan, and that of the High Chief, if you want them."

But Amber shook his head. "I want neither. You are welcome to the chief's honours, my lady. I want nothing of that. Neither do I wish to burden myself with the responsibilities of a chieftain."

"Abelard," Jade said acidly, "is a mere child."

"And Raven," Amber spat, "is a man. The chieftain's circlet is mine by blood right, as you have conceded. Then it is mine to bestow upon my heir."

"Your -- heir?" Lyra stood again, curiosity enlivening her.

"Aye." Amber smiled faintly, coolly. "Many, many of you fit into that category! Dozens around this fire can trace their lines back to me, but one in particular is close to me. I am of his clan, of his bloodlines through his father, Wulff. Oh, yes, Raven is my heir."

There was a hush, quickly replaced by an eruption of consternation. Beneath the din Bodie caught Raven's eye, saw the quick rise and fall of his chest as he breathed shallowly, the clench of his fingers as he waited it out until Amber spoke again. "Abelard," he said, beckoning the lad as the hosting of the Kith quieted again. "Give me the circlet."

The lad had worn it by right, but his relief was obvious as he took it off, coming hesitantly to pass it into Amber's fingers. Bodie had seen it before, a thin gold band that had graced Raven's brow the night of their bonding and on other occasions when he must play the part of the chieftain. It was very old, worn smooth, its length engraved with runic characters so old perhaps only Amber could read them. The shaman turned it over in his hands, until it caught the firelight, studying it with overt fascination.

"How long is it since I have seen this? I never wore it myself, never wished to. Raven?" He looked up, beckoning Raven closer with a lift of his chin. "Will you accept your clan into your care?"

It was an odd question. Bodie puzzled over it, wondering at the perversity which made Amber ask it. Would Raven even want to be taken back by the clan that had treated him so harshly? They were doing him no favour by thrusting the circlet back onto his head; the Syrae were a broken clan, their riches looted, their warband cut away, their royal household all but destroyed and their only direct heirs half human, which meant no elf would wed or bed with them.

Bodie looked into Raven's face, saw the pageant of emotion chasing across his features, confusion, longing, a little wariness, finally, resolve. "They are my clan, my family," he said huskily. "Whom shall they turn to, if not to me? I will take it."

"You may rue it," Amber said wryly, but he lifted the golden circlet, sliding it onto Raven's smooth brow and tugging at one loose curl. "You are my heir, little Kith. Look to your clan and take care." A kiss for Raven's cheek, and Amber stepped aside, addressing the gathering again. "When you speak to the chieftain of the Syrae now, speak to Raven."

Bodie could not have held back his smile to save his life. He came to Raven's shoulder, luxuriating in his mate's time of glory, and took Ray's hands, kissing his palms. He leaned close to one pointed ear. "Full circle, love. You are their master, let them know that."

"Bodie," Raven admonished, half delighted, half abashed. He smiled at his mate and then turned away, thanking Amber with a stiff half bow before meeting Lyra's bright, dark eyes. "My lady, the first duty that falls to me is to raise a warband."

She put one hand to her head. "A warband? Ap Wulff, are you mad? For what?"

"Feyleen was taken," Raven said patiently. "She will be put to death for the treason of consorting with Garth's enemies. Would you have me abandon her to that death?"

"Your warband has been torn apart," Lyra said wearily. "And as for the warriors of the Ionae and the Silvae -- ah, gods, speak with Jade and Swallow, it has gone beyond me."

The chieftain's circlet caught the firelight, threading through Raven's hair, and Bodie watched his mate turn toward his cousins, given leave by the High Chief. Swallow was not young; for his face to be seamed and lined he must be already well turned the century, Bodie knew, for Falcon had been a young man at that many years. He had one eye, the other cut away in a knife fight in his youth, though his body carried no scars, as an elf's would not. He was a warrior through to his bone marrow and Bodie respected him for his years of experience. Jade, by contrast, was young and soft, born into a rich householding, raised in wealth, groomed for power and blooded as a warrior as a merely cursory duty, so that his warrior status might allow him to judge and order other warriors. He was handsome, tall, his face smooth, his body rounded with muscle, and the scorn he felt for Raven was clear in his expression.

Scorn, Bodie thought bitterly, because his bondmate is human, and Raven himself is half human -- and trying to raise an elven warband to liberate yet another human. He bit his lip, silencing himself as Raven faced the two men and drew his shoulders square.

"I cannot believe that you would let Feyleen be put to death," he said honestly. "You all gave her your acceptance when she wedded my father."

"True," Swallow agreed, his voice deep and gravelly. "We came to love her, aye; but there is a difference between love and madness, ap Wulff. Love ends and madness begins tonight. She is condemned by her own people for consorting with elves, and, many Kith would say, condemned by our people for bringing death and suffering into Morhod. You would ask our warriors to ride into the human tuaths on her behalf? There would be blood, Raven. More death. We cannot afford so much killing -- much more, and we would have no warband and have to look to other tribes to protect us. There is no honour in that."

Raven took a breath. "Blood ties are strong," he said levelly. "She is of our tribe, even by marriage. Her blood is in my veins, and Abelard's."

"And Garth's blood." Jade was angry, unable to maintain his calm facade. "The blood of that monstrosity is a scourge upon your line! Well was it when you mated with a man, so that Garth's lineage ends with you."

"Jade!" Lyra barked the name, silencing her grandson. "Enough. We are not here for feuding, but to settle the matter of the warband. Continue, Raven."

Beneath the crackle of the fire, Bodie heard Raven sigh heavily and took a step nearer his shoulder. "There is much truth in what Jade says," Ray admitted. "But blood is blood, and Feyleen is my mother. Wulff was old when he married her, though to a human's eyes he would have seemed young." He looked at Bodie and smiled sadly. "Wulff mated also with a man, in his youth, so coming to his later years without an heir. With his lifetime's experience he chose Feyleen for his wife. Are you saying he was wrong, a fool?"

There was silence then as Jade and Swallow considered the question. Wulff had been great warrior, respected and adored by all the Kith; to impeach his name now would be a mistake, and even Jade would be rash to speak so. It was Swallow who answered at length. "Wulff gambled upon the woman's beauty and gentleness, that her blood would overcome her sire's and yield child kin worthy of the clan." His face creased in a smile. "And he was right. Your honour will be the end of you, Raven. You are the conscience of this clan and there is nothing of Garth about you. Wulff's gamble was a wise one."

"Then you will fight on Feyleen's behalf?" Raven asked, holding his breath.

But Swallow shook his head. "No. The woman is condemned and a warband riding after her would ride to its doom. I see no reason to condemn yet more of our warriors to death. Any such hunting can only end in disaster. Madness."

At last Bodie spoke up. "There are strategies, ways and means. It is not so impossible as you might think." He paused, tense under the scrutiny of the clans, knowing that they were judging him and, through him, judging Raven. Ray was looking at him, pleased to have him speak, his expression wistful. "Remember, I know Garth's tuath like my own backyard. I was born there. My knowledge of the passes, the woods, the hiding places, is the reason Raven is alive, for they pursued us to the bridge on the Chaika River before they counted the hunting finished. I can lead a force into Garth by those ways --"

"Madness," Jade hissed. "Perhaps you could do it, human. But not with Ionae warriors under your banner. Look to the Silvae, for we will have none of it. You would have us gutted the way your own clan has been gutted, and -- Feyleen is not even one of us."

Bodie glanced at Raven, one brow up; the lines of Ray's face were drawn taut as he turned toward Swallow. "You speak for the Silvae. How say you?"

"I speak with regret," Swallow admitted. "But we cannot invite the tragedy that has befallen your clan. We grieve for you, Raven, and for Feyleen, but there can be no Silvae warband beneath your standard. With regret," he added, "we cannot help you."

For a moment Raven closed his eyes and when they opened they were cold as ice. "Then there are other ways and we will take them," he said quietly, "other means."

"Other ways?" Lyra leaned forward on her knee. "You will not go alone? I will not allow it, ap Wulff! You have obligations to your clan, since you have accepted the Syrae from Amber's hands. You will do them no good as a corpse."

Again, it was Bodie who spoke. "We will buy an army of mercenaries," he said mildly. "Professional warriors who war for pay and expect to take reasonable risks in return for rich reward." He smiled, not a glimmer of humour in his eyes. "We can afford it. Pass the word amongst the tribes as you return home on the morrow. The Syrae are bound for war and will pay handsomely for any sword that can rally to the banner before the new moon."

Lyra's dark, birdlike eyes went to Raven. "He speaks boldly, for one who is merely the chieftain's mate. Does he speak with your voice, Raven?"

"Aye, he does." Raven's expression warmed by degrees as he looked at Bodie, so tall, so broad, clad in black from head to foot, his long hair tossing in the breeze, the silver jewellery shimmering on his fair skin like captive moonlight. "Bodie speaks with the voice of the Syrae, of whom he is one, and I think he has said it all. There is nothing more, my lady." He accorded her a stiff half bow. "So we will end here and bid you goodnight."

The Kith murmured, a sibilant whisper beneath the crackle of the fire and sough of the wind in the trees. Bodie fell into step a pace behind Raven, joining Amber, Abelard, Dermot and Cuillin beneath the standard of their clan. The human reached up to touch it, outline the shape of the griffin that was embroidered into its heart in gold wire. The shaman took Raven into an embrace, his fingers tracing the line of the chieftain's circlet. "You spoke well, did your clan honour. As did Bodie." The golden eyes smiled at the human. "The Kith have no more cause to regret your presence than they had to rue Feyleen's marriage. But what of these strategies, Bodie? You spoke in earnest, not in spite, I trust. You will no doubt raise a fine warband -- the best professionals would welcome the opportunity to ride against the humans, for they have long wished to avenge so many dead friends. But do you court disaster, Bodie, or are there ways, as you told the chieftains?"

Bodie gave Amber a look of reproof. "Have you not known me long enough to know I weigh my words with care? Especially when it comes to the safety of my chieftain? He rides with me, remember. There will be danger, as there has always been danger, but there are strategies that will hold water."

"Explain," Amber prompted, absently tousling Abelard's fine brown hair, which was deeply wavy rather than curly.

But the human made negative noises. "Not tonight. Tonight we rest. I don't know about Raven, but my spine is crying out for somewhere soft to lie."

They left the firelight, walking back through the chilly night wind to the silks at the entrance of the chieftain's pavilion. Abelard stood aside deferentially, giving the comforts of it to his brother with a muttering about sleeping with Dermot, and Amber's eyes were on the stars. "I must work," he said, preoccupied, drifting away as Abelard went with the old man, leaving Bodie to usher Raven in out of the cold.

The pavilion was richly decorated. Fine rugs underfoot, deep snowy-white sheepskins on the bed, two braziers burning fiercely, food and wine, a rack of robes at their disposal. A servant was behind them, bringing their saddle bags and leaving them at the entrance, then they were alone again and Bodie saw that Raven was shaking. Fatigue, tension, even fear, he guessed, and poured a cup of wine, pressing it on the elf before he could resist. Raven drank it to the lees, passing it back into Bodie's hands for it to be refilled. He brimmed it again, watching Raven drink deeply before taking a breath and subsiding against his lover's body.

"You have driven yourself too hard," Bodie observed softly, taking the cup from him and holding him tight. "Your muscles are cramped. Lie down, let me rub you. There must be something here to use... ah, olibanum, this will do." He lifted Raven's head from his shoulder, slipping the circlet from his brow and kissing him. Piece by piece, the king's ransom of jewellery was stripped from his limbs, then Bodie luxuriated into the task of undressing him, tumbling him onto the softness of sheepskins. Raven was pink from the wine, drunk much too quickly, his eyes heavy, thoughtlessly seductive, and Bodie turned him over, discarding his own clothes and jewellery, lest the oil foul the costly black silk.

"We ride to war," Raven said hoarsely. "For the first time, I am afraid."

The oil left a glistening swathe from nape to buttocks and Bodie knelt astride the slim hips, massaging from the shoulders downward, every muscle, every bone receiving its share of attention. "I don't think anyone ever rides to war without some trepidation. Yet we still go. There is a reason to go, let that be good enough."

"Feyleen," Raven whispered, beginning to relax beneath Bodie's hands almost reluctantly. "And the future. Garth's people will be back, now they have sacked us once. Next time they will take our young people, to stand on the block at a market auction." His face twisted. "Had I lived, I would have stood there. Gelded and worn out, little use for anything anymore. I would have fetched a pittance." He wriggled under Bodie's ministrations. "We have to go."

He spoke as if he was trying to convince himself, and Bodie frowned. "Do you doubt, love? If you do, speak now and we will make an end to it. Feyleen might be dead even now and what awaits us on the trail was shown us by the mirror."

"No!" Raven's voice rose sharply. "I cannot believe that the mirror showed us what must be. It sets out what might be -- what might be. Forewarned, we can make light of battles that would be the death of others. Believe that. I do."

But he was shaking. Bodie kissed his neck, warm under the heavy curls, and redoubled his efforts, massaging the elf's thin back until the skin was glowing red. "I believe," he said, throaty with emotion. "And what of the other images, Ray? We leave behind us a scorched ruin where your home stood. It will take years to rebuild it."

"A cottage on a hill," Raven whispered as Bodie began to massage his buttocks and thighs. "The hill above here, perhaps? We could pay the masons to build it for us, it would be quicker than waiting for the whole house to be rebuilt, and give us somewhere to call our own when we are returned."

Bodie smiled. "Now you are thinking properly!" He coaxed the knotted muscles to relax, kneading the big sinews that corded the backs of Raven's thighs. "They can rebuild the big house too, for the sake of tradition -- we can afford it. And when we run out of funds we know where the pass is, we can find our way through to the valley one summer. The riches were left there for us." He rubbed the slender calves, manipulating Raven's ankles, which eased tension and relaxed the body, working slowly back up to his thighs and spreading them.

A sigh, and Raven sprawled helplessly beneath his mate's hands, expecting the massage to continue within him and not disappointed. Relaxation pulsed through him in waves from his very centre as Bodie oiled him and gently stroked there, knowing and sure. Overwrought and fatigued, he was slow to arouse and was still not much more than passive when Bodie turned him over, reached for more oil and began again, this time beginning at his jaw and working from there down.

"A child with my face," Raven said softly, watching Bodie as he worked, kneading breast muscles with firm strokes and then pampering nipples with gentler touches before he used his flat hands to relax taut belly muscles.

"And the torque that was taken from you, about your neck," the human added. "That bodes well for us." He passed one oily palm over Raven's groin, barely touching him at all, before he began on the big, hard muscles in his thighs. More oil, strong fingers, deft manipulation, and Raven was limp, saturated with the pleasure of touch and warmth.

He watched through slitted eyes as Bodie worked down to his feet and back up. A drop more oil, and the square, capable hands parted his thighs, massaging with fingertips now, pampering his swelling testicles as if handling a dove. Raven watched his cock fill with blood, arching over his belly, and sighed, lifting off the sheepskins as his spine tingled. Bodie smiled. "Ah, you like this?"

"Oh, no. I am quite indifferent," Raven teased as his lover's fingers transferred to his shaft at last. He was breathing deeply, every nerve alive, his eyes drinking in Bodie's white, beautiful body as the human knelt at his side, intent upon his task. "Bodie, let me spread for you," he whispered, nudging Bodie's knee with his own. "Move aside, let me open."

Kneeling between slender, wide-spread thighs, Bodie continued to stroke and pull, smiling at his mate's response as Raven began to sigh and moan. "Tell me when, little chuck," he whispered, finding himself just as breathless and quivering, not far short of his own climax, without Raven once touching him.

"When?" Raven whispered, lifting his knees. "Ah, now. Now."

Bodie lifted the long legs over his shoulders, nudging into position and pressing. Open, boneless and oily, Raven's sheath about him was like hot, moist velvet and he moaned, letting Ray's legs slide down to hug about him and settling on the elf's chest. He took the beloved face between his hands, massaging the high cheekbones with his fingertips while his tongue performed a similar service for lips and mouth. Otherwise he lay still, holding much of his weight on knees and elbows and luxuriating in the caresses as Raven's hands cut tingling swatches across his back. Their tongues made love without urgency as Bodie massaged his mate's smoothing brow, lifting his head at last with a smile.

Beneath him, Raven was floating, his arms falling away to lie over his head, his breath coming in shallow, panted moans, his eyes closed and mouth open, and Bodie could feel the steady throb against his belly. He pressed down, rubbing Ray's cock between them, felt his mate stiffen in response, breath catching. The green eyes opened, dark as a stormy sky, and Raven licked his lips, raising his hands to cradle Bodie's skull. "Move. Please move."

It was lush and endless, leaving them asleep before Bodie had even found the energy to do Raven the courtesy of cleaning him. They woke -- perhaps minutes, perhaps hours later, and the human's limbs were like so much lead. He watched, drugged with the glow of shared pleasure, as Raven slid out of bed and went stiffly to fetch the wine. He was still glistening with oil, as exhausted as his mate, and smiling at his condition as he sought a scrap of linen rag and saw to his own needs, mopping at his legs as Bodie's seed escaped him.

Was there anything half so beautiful? Bodie wondered as Raven slid back into bed and passed him a cup of wine. "The warband will gather swiftly," he said, sipping the rich liquid. "News of what has taken place here tonight will be heliographed into the west with sunrise, and I... I love you." He could not hold back the confession as Raven stretched and pulled his fingers through his hair, disorganising it into a tousled halo, like burnished copper in the lamplight.

"I know you do," Raven said softly, stretching out on Bodie's sated body and wriggling once before he put his head down. "I was proud of you tonight. You spoke up like a warrior --"

"I am a warrior!" Bodie protested.

"-- and like the mate of a chieftain. You are a Kith, no matter what Jade might say to the contrary."

"Jade," Bodie said scornfully. "Amber dislikes him intensely."

"So do I," Ray admitted. "He and I had a dispute over a horse when I was just a child. The animal was mine, out of our own stables, but bred from his stock. My father had gambled with him for the services of a stallion, and won a mare in the same game. Jade disputed the outcome of the gambling -- but not before he saw the colt. He took back his mare and the foal with her, and I was in tears over it." He chuckled quietly. "I was seven. Jade was already a man; he is Feyleen's age. I think he may have been in love with Feyleen himself, at the time, and trying to hurt Wulff through petty things like the horse."

"And hurt you instead," Bodie observed. "Did your father not contest it?"

"Wulff took the whole matter to Lyra," Raven yawned. "She said there was no way to decide it, as both Wulff and Jade oathed on the Kith standard that each of them was in the right. So Jade kept the colt." He paused, nuzzling Bodie's shoulder. "And Lyra gave me another horse, the pony I learned to ride on. A lovely little skewbald thing with a sweet way and endless patience. I fell in love with it and forgot the colt."

Bodie laughed gently. "I thought Lyra had a fond spot for you! She agreed to your return with great speed! And Jade loved Feyleen, you say?"

"Aye, so I would say," Raven muffled, yawning again. "I saw the world through the eyes of a child, but that was what I thought. Feyleen is so beautiful, and Jade is one who warms only to women, you know. He hated Wulff, I think, for having it all. He married Feyleen after his bondmate of many years was killed, or I would never have been born! Wulff paired with a man first." Raven lifted his head, kissing Bodie's mouth deeply. "His mate was like you, they tell me. Big, dark, with eyes that were deep and laughing and skin that was white."

"While you favour your father," Bodie added. "Wulff was like you, so Feyleen says. His hair so curly, his eyes green and slanting. He was not quite so beautiful, but he was gorgeous enough for a human woman to look once upon him and fall beneath his spell." Setting aside his empty cup, he wrapped both arms around Raven, tongue in his mouth and tasting only the wine. "It is why Feyleen loves you so. You are like Wulff born again."

Raven smiled, his expression growing wistful as he thought of his mother. "They will treat her badly, won't they?"

"She will be confined," Bodie said thoughtfully. "If she tries to run and is captured she will be chained to secure her in future, and she could be beaten for her trouble. But she knows this and will be mindful of it. They will not violate her; she is Garth's daughter, after all, and they will remember that."

"Aye." Raven settled, the gust of a yawn tickling Bodie's chest. "It is a long ride back to Garth's tuath, and they will be slow because of their injured prisoner. But the new moon is a fortnight away. How long has Feyleen before they will try her? Kill her." The last words were a whisper.

Bodie tightened the embrace. "Human law is most specific. There will be a moot, but not until full moon. The elders will try her and if it is decided that she will die, proclamations will be made so that the people will be in no mistake about Garth's justice. They will wait until the tribes have all heard and many chieftains will come to watch the deed."

"And how --" Raven shivered and began again. "How will it be done?"

"With a sword." Bodie closed his eyes, burying his face in Raven's hair. "They will take her head off cleanly, one blow. At the last she will not suffer. But we will be there long before that. Tomorrow, we counsel with Amber, plan our strategies, make plans." He pulled the sheepskins higher about his mate's shoulders. "For now, sleep."

Wine, fatigue, worry and his mating had left Raven like a washrag and though his thoughts were a painful chaos he slept soundly. Bodie's sleep was less deep, though the night spent itself easily, and they stirred as the encampment began to break up, the elders and their entourages wanting an early start, with long journeys ahead of them.

Stiff and cramped, Bodie slid out of bed, wrapping his cloak about himself as he went to answer his body's demands for relief. The sun was an hour up, and atop the hill to the north there was the blinding flare of the heliograph sending the news into the westcountry as fast as it could be flashed out in code. The humans had nothing like it, as basic as the codes and concepts might have been, and Bodie still marvelled at the system. The news that Raven had returned, brought back Amber and accepted responsibility for his clan would be on the seacoast beyond the western highlands by nightfall, and professional warriors from all over Morhod would answer the summons to arms.

Mercenaries, Bodie thought, standing barefoot and cloak-wrapped by the green and white standard of his clan, which fluttered in the breeze by the pavilion's silk-hung entrance. Mercenaries were the best and worst of men: idealists and those to whom ideals were an alien concept. Not all elves were creatures of honour and ethics. There were rogues, gamblers, adulterers, the violent, the reprehensible. Bodie watched the camp break up with a strange, uneasy feeling in his chest. How often had he watched such a sight? And it had always been a precursor to war.

So an army of mercenaries would gather beneath the banner of their clan, and in spite of the Kith there would be a hunting into Garth's tuath. It would end in blood, Bodie knew. Garth's blood -- a river of human blood to avenge the elven blood that had been spilled. He turned back into the pavilion as the Ionae pulled out, their horses laden, wains carrying their pavilions, wagon masters shouting at the animals, boys and girls playing senseless games under the horses' feet.

Raven was still asleep, which was unusual in elves. Even at Amber's home, in the mountain valley, cloistered away from the sun within a cave, he would wake as if some sixth sense told him when it was dawn. Bodie pulled on breeches and boots, warming his hands at the fire as he waited for a steward to arrive with breakfast, enjoying the sight of his lover at peace.

There would be little peace from here on, if there had ever been gentle times before. But soon, Bodie promised silently, soon, the war would be over forever. Garth was the instigator of the war -- the other human chieftains would not treaty with him and elves were still free to trade in their lands. Bodie thought back with bitterness to the last mission he had performed for Raven's grandsire. Garth had sent him into the north to parlay with Ethron, the chief of the Fen, a wild, savage people whose boreal forests would have been a cold hell to other tribes. Ethron had had a scribe, a beautiful little brown eyed elf with yellow hair and a sweet voice. At first Bodie had thought it was a slender woman, realising only later that it was a young man. Among the big, burly fen, at first glance almost any elf would look like a girl.

Ethron would not treaty; nor would Garth's neighbours to east and south -- they traded with the elven tuaths and knew how unwise it was to incite the people of Morhod to anger. Elven warriors, though of small stature by human standards, were fearsome and brave, and their war horses were the finest stock to be found anywhere. Garth had misjudged his neighbours badly and would soon learn that his mistake was a costly one.

A stirring of silks, and Bodie turned to see a girl at the entrance, carrying a basket of food. She nodded greeting to Bodie but her eyes were on Raven, still deeply asleep. Bodie took the basket from her, smelling fresh bread, honey, herbs, roses, cheese, and she glanced once at him before returning her attention to the young chieftain. A little miffed, Bodie tousled her hair.

"Manners, girl. He is asleep and I awake." She coloured swiftly and ducked her head sheepishly. Bodie laughed. "But he is beautiful, I'll grant you. Be off with you. And if you see Amber, tell him we would speak with him."

A yawn from the bed announced Raven's waking as the girl hurried away and Bodie went to dump the basket of breakfast down beside him, luxuriating in his mouth as he came awake. Raven wrinkled his nose affectionately, fingernails scratching through Bodie's beard stubble. "It is like kissing a sanding block," he complained. "Won't you shave?"

But Bodie shook his head. "From now, my beard grows, so does my hair. It is part of the strategy we spoke of, remember. It must begin now, there is no more time to spare, little dove. If you would prefer, I will refrain from kissing you until my beard is less painful."

"I spoke in jest," Raven scoffed, sorting through the food. "Kiss me by all means... only take care, or my tender skin will burn!"

The strategy was simple. Bitterly so. Amber arrived while they were still eating, breakfasting with them and lending them his undivided attention as they spoke by turn, setting out the plans they had often made, only half in earnest; plans by which a victory could be wrought and the fighting ended forever.

An army of mercenaries would be easy to raise and easy to pay, with the riches they had brought down from Amber's valley. No more Kith needed to die to achieve the victory Bodie hungered for, and he saw the same hunger in Raven's eyes. He sat on the bedside, eating bread and honey while Raven wrapped a cloak about himself, going to boil a can of water on the brazier and make tea. Amber watched his heir's slender form with a frown, saying nothing as Bodie spoke, though he clearly had misgivings.

Two could pass through the forest and along human paths unnoticed where an army would be challenged and fight for every foot of the way. It would be the death of both of them if they were recognised, but Bodie had the solution to that. He was raking his nails through a day's growth of stubble and putting his fingers through hair that was much longer than he had ever permitted it to grow before. It was long on his shoulders now, the fringe heavy upon his brow, and given it, the beard and the unaccustomed lightness of his body after so long spent on the road, he knew he could pass among men who had known him all his life and not be recognised.

Raven was a different matter. He could grow no beard, as elves never shaved, and though his hair was much longer now than it had been when he was a captive in Garth's tauth, he could do little to disguise face and body. Still, Bodie hoped it would matter less. Raven had been a captive for ten days and for much of that time his face had been bruised, swollen from beating. The bruises had subsided with the elf's usual rapidity, but by that time he had been the chief's property. He had spent his days chained by the ankle to a ring in the floor, sleeping away the nights drugged in a shadowed corner, and few would have noticed his face. By night, he was sometimes lent to Garth's guests, but if as many as a dozen of the men would recognise his face it would be no more than that. They were more likely to recognise his body, Bodie thought ruefully, his eyes following Raven's movements with lazy sensual pursuit as the elf brought the tea back to bed and sprawled out, his long legs crooked before him.

So two could pass unchallenged among the humans: one as a human wanderer, heavily bearded and with long, concealing hair, the other -- a prisoner, Bodie thought bleakly. A prisoner with his hands bound behind him and his feet tied to the stirrups lest he make off. The humans in Garth's tuath would see them and assume that a soldier of fortune had captured an elf in whose body he delighted. It was odd and perverse; among humans, if a man fell in love with one of his own gender he was an object of scorn and reviled -- for the love, Bodie guessed. Because if the same man raped an enemy, captured an elf and kept him for a catamite, there would only be laughter, some of it directed at the human for his lusts, most of it directed at the elf, for his pain.

They could ride back through the forest by the same trails, Bodie told Amber as they breakfasted, come to within a few miles of the chief's settlement, and there listen for news of Feyleen, scout the fortifications, check the security that surrounded the woman, seek a way to snatch her to safety before the fighting began. For fighting there would be. By stealth and wile, a mercenary army might pass through the same woods, making camp and waiting --

Waiting for men on the inside to create diversionary chaos, to breach the defences, give them all the opportunity they needed to strike hard and fast at the humans.

The plan was sound, watertight, strengthened by Bodie's intimate knowledge of Garth's tuath, but Amber was making noises of displeasure as they finished. "I can see a dozen ways for it to go awry. Accident, to begin with. Suppose one of you is hurt. You would be alone in alien country."

"I could fall from my horse, break my neck and be on my funeral pyre in the morning," Bodie growled. "If we are to call an end to this, give me good reasons, Amber."

"Raven," Amber said promptly. "Once you have bound his hands, tied him to a horse and paraded him before the humans, what makes you sure you can keep him safe?"

Bodie bit his lip, looking up to meet Raven's eyes, which were oddly serene while he knew his own face was haunted. "It is the one aspect of the plan that affrights me," he admitted. "We must take care, Amber. What more can I say?"

"And if they are determined?" Amber pressed. "They offer to buy him from you. You refuse, and they challenge you."

"Then I will kill them," Bodie said coolly. "I have never been defeated in a combat and do not intend to start losing at this stage."

"He must look to me, we know," Raven admitted. "We have seen what the future might hold -- the mirror. But I must look to him also, for I have seen him bloodied by the lash and I am no more ready to see that come about than he is to see me in the hands of others." He turned to Bodie with an intense expression. "If you never leave me alone, nor leave me unwatched, we will win through. Tie my hands only lightly so that I may slip the ropes if there is real need. I can ride a horse as well without my hands as with them, as can you -- a warrior must learn the trick of that, since he will have his sword in one hand and shield in the other. And I will watch your back for you. They will not question that your bed slave watches your back." He flushed, averting his eyes. "To be the catamite of one man is paradise compared to being the plaything of a dozen. A dozen could kill me in a hour's careless sport. Knowing that, they would expect me to protect my interests, such as they are. Better to watch your back and stay alive so as to one day escape, no matter that you rape me when the fancy takes you."

Bodie shuddered visibly. "Speak once more like that, my love, and I will call an end to this myself," he warned.

"We will take care," Raven repeated. "And I will look to you also. Your skin is too precious and too beautiful for it to be broken by the leather and I should hang my head in shame for letting it happen to you." He reached for Bodie's head, kissing him, and then turned back to Amber. "The plan will work. We will get into Garth's stronghold, cripple his defences and perhaps snatch Feyleen before it begins. We will assign a date, one night at dark of the moon when the humans are blind and we elves will see as if it is day. Then there will be the final reckoning between Garth's clan and ours. Twenty-five years is a long time to wait for the reckoning. It is past time."

The shaman sighed, resigned to the fact that they were going, no matter the danger. "Maps," he suggested. "I will ride with your army of mercenaries to keep them in line, but I have never been across the Black Hills and must have maps if I am to lead them properly. Can you draw them, Bodie?"

Vellum and indigo were brought at a word from the chieftain, and Abelard came to look over his human brother's shoulder as Bodie drew detailed charts of the human tuaths, marking rivers, fords, bridges, the hiding places and snares, the hamlets and farms. The last chart he made was of Garth's encampment and he drew it in great detail.

"They call it Garth's forest," he explained, labelling the chart in the cursive eleven script he had learned. "No special name. Before this it was Cua's Forest, and Rho's Forest. Each usurper expunged his predecessor from the map and so there is little that survives from the past." He looked up ruefully. "Foolish, I know, but it is the human way." A few notes were added to the chart. "It stands on a forested hill above a river; four trails meet there. We took the south one, away from the busy roads, this one leads north, into Ethron's tuath, eventually. Here is the river -- it forks, see? Both rivers lead to the sea, in the east and south, and Garth has boats on them. Sometimes large boats. He captured a trader once. Put its crew in irons and seized the boat as well as its cargo. So avoid the river banks, for there will be warriors on the water."

The shaman was watching closely, absorbing each snippet of knowledge until, by the time Bodie was done it was as if he knew the fall of the land personally. "We will ride by this trail," Raven told him, tracing a line on the map. "And end at the hamlet of Deera. There, they will know the news, what has become of Feyleen. We will take to the forest again, travel in hiding, and I will remain in the woods while Bodie goes into the stockade itself and springs Garth's defences before the warband is due." He straightened, one hand on his brother's shoulder. "We will gut the warband before it knows we are there, and seize the stockade. With that, all the tuath will be in our hands. We will hold Garth hostage, and his sons with him."

"Three sons," Bodie elaborated, replacing the quill in the pot of indigo. "Though when we left one of them was ill unto death from a wound sustained in the battle in which Ray was captured. His liver was pierced, so they said. No, I do not think Japeth would live long. So Garth will be left with Feyleen's two brothers, Blackfox and Gilead. They are not pleasant men. Like their father, you understand. One is a riever -- Blackfox. Many children wear his face in that tuath. It is a tradition that whatever woman the chief or his sons desires must go to them. An old tradition, long abused. Blackfox is lame, but it never slowed him and his blood is quick to heat at a beautiful face."

"I know," Raven said softly. "He had me many times, with my hands bound at my back and my face bruised on the floor. Does he treat the women so harshly?"

"So I have heard," Bodie said, reaching for Raven's head, not to kiss him before Abelard but simply to massage his sensitive scalp with loving fingertips, which would make Raven purr. "And sundry lads too -- you were not alone. The other one, Gilead, is more predisposed to killing. More likely to ignore the woman and kill her husband and sons, and take her possessions. He will fight, for sure, while Blackfox lingers on the fringes of the fracas like a lame duck. Gilead will die that night, if not on my sword, then on someone else's. And Blackfox will die thereafter, I think."

"On my sword, if he stands between me and Feyleen," Raven oathed, looking down into Bodie's eyes with grave intent that softened into affection as he saw the love in the human's blue gaze. He dropped a kiss on Bodie's mouth, not caring if Abelard did see it, and then stepped away to consult the charts. "We wait now only for the mercenaries, and they will not be slow in answering the call... One thing troubles me, Amber. We carry with us a great weight of diamonds and other precious stones -- all we own in the world now. We cannot take it and keep it safe while we ride into Garth's tuath. What shall we do with it?"

"Some I will take, to supply the warband," Amber mused, "the rest I would hide. There is a dolmen near here, where lies some ricon no one remembers. It is said to be haunted and few people go there. Buried beneath it, the stones will be safe enough -- leave the task to me."

Raven stirred, stretching, his shoulders snapping audibly. "Gladly. Now, I am for exercise before my body sets like cement! Ride with me, Bodie?"

A smile, and Bodie was on his feet, one long arm cradling Raven's waist, fingers tickling his ribs. Abelard bounced up off the foot of the couch, his eyes bright. "Can I ride with you also?"

But Raven had caught the look in Bodie's eyes and shook his head. "Another time," he told his brother. "Stay with Amber instead and learn something. Ask him to teach you mathematics, or how to read runes. We will be back by noon, I think. Bodie?"

Their horses were tired and lame and the stable lads brought up other animals, fresh, skittish young things that pranced and fought the bit, eager to run. The morning was warm, promising the first hot day of the season, and spring was rapidly becoming summer, like a butterfly born out of its chrysalis. Raven was mounted on a tall, rawboned grey gelding, Bodie on a chestnut mare with a temper to match her colour. She would be mated soon, Raven told him; he was eager for Lightfoot to sire progeny and the mare given to Bodie for a morning was the finest female in the stable.

She was a wonderful animal and Bodie looked forward to seeing the colt she would throw at Lightfoot's pleasure. One of next season's colts, he thought, realising that he was looking into the future. There would be a future. He refused to consider that they were bound only for disaster, planning to share the colt's birth, and his training, with Raven. The mare carried him up the hill slope away from the blackened site that had been the house, courtyard and gardens, and on the brow of the hill they reined back to grieve over the view.

There was a glitter in Raven's eyes that was irresistible, a flush to his cheeks, and Bodie recognised that expression. The elf's blood was up but he was out to tease, out to make an elaborate game of it, and his lover would earn the right to pleasure today. Bodie caught him by the shoulders, kissing him soundly before Ray began to wrestle, slippery as an eel and agile as a boy. Bodie wrestled him down, kicking and laughing, and he was up again the instant the human's grip relaxed, pouncing on his mate, all nipping teeth and tickling fingers. Rolling, Bodie was on his feet, Raven's right hand trapped, the left shouldered aside as he yanked up the blue tunic and grabbed for the knotted tie at the waist of his breeches. Raven was hard already but not about to give in yet.

A twist and he was loose again, hands on Bodie's shoulders, trying to topple him, though he was laughing too hard to wrestle well. Bodie secured his feet, ignoring the grappling and reaching under Ray's tunic again to slip the knot in his waist band. The breeches loosened and the elf stepped away quickly before his mate could have him, turning to keep Bodie at bay while he fumbled for the loosened knots. But Bodie redirected his attack, hands under the linen tunic again and yanking the breeching down over Raven's rump.

A gust of laughter became a yowl of outrage as Bodie dealt two stinging slaps, one to each bare buttock, and Raven leapt out of his grasp, sprawling in the grass and glaring at him, though the whole effect was ruined by his infectious laughter. "That hurt," he accused a moment later, schooling his voice to sternness.

"Ah, poor love," Bodie crooned. "Shall I kiss the damage better?"

"I -- yes," Raven said darkly, and knelt up with a fluid wriggle, baring his rump again, every movement designed to tease. He bent forward, presenting, and gave Bodie a sultry look. "Well, where are the kisses?"

"Little imp," Bodie said fondly. "Here, then, kisses, since I seem to have left my fingerprints on you." He knelt behind his mate, stooping to nuzzle his buttocks. A kiss became many kisses, the nuzzling intimate and tender where a moment before they had been wrestling, and at last Raven relaxed in the grass and let Bodie do what he would. Bodie's hands covered the palm prints left by the slaps, holding the rounded buttocks apart to expose him, and Raven bent his knees a little, guessing that Bodie wished to mate him again. "No, not so soon. I am not out to hurt you," Bodie purred. "You don't look sore but I cannot see inside you." He pulled the elf over onto his back, knelt astride him, opened his shirt and unfastened his own breeches to display his arousal. Cupping Raven's head in both hands, he lifted him toward his groin.

Slender hands took hold of his waist, holding most of Raven's weight, and Bodie inched forward a little to help as Ray nuzzled and kissed, at last sucking his mate into his mouth and tugging on Bodie's hips until the human gave a moan, thrusting between soft lips until the throbbing head of his cock grazed Raven's throat. He felt Ray swallow to relax the muscles of his gullet and gentled his rhythm for as long as he could bear it.

At last he could take no more and writhed out of Raven's grasp to feast his eyes upon his mate. Flushed and heavy eyed, Raven lay in the grass, his clothes disarranged, his mouth swollen, and Bodie fell in love again. He discarded his clothes as Raven watched, pretending to examine the elf's own cock before laving it with saliva to supplement the hot sticky pre-ejaculate that wept from it as a caress. Then he kissed Raven's mouth and lay down on his side, wriggling back until his buttocks were against a bony hip.

"I am impatient," he scolded, "so be quick about it."

"Be quick?" Hands on his pelvis, a knee behind his, a sudden shove, and Raven was inside him. "How quick?"

Bodie was suddenly suffocating with the heat and bulk within him. "Not -- not that quick --"

"I'm sorry, I was playing." Raven withdrew with a sharp breath and began again, entering slowly, infinitely gentle. "Forgive me." He nuzzled the human's ear as if he were an elf, tongueing within it. "I love you. Forgive the game."

"Sweet -- idiot," Bodie panted as Raven's tongue caressed his neck and slender fingers found his groin. "Ah, you are so sweet in me, so sweet, you cut out my heart and take it for your own. Take me, Ray. Aye, deeper now, like -- like that." He was gasping, trembling with rapture, whispered endearments gentling him as Raven sheathed himself to the hilt and began to work at pleasure for them both.

The sun was warm and perspiration was glistening on them when Raven carefully withdrew and took Bodie in his arms. Climax was still quivering along Bodie's nerves, his muscles weak with it, and he lay against his mate, pushing his tunic out of the way to reach his chest. Raven smiled and pulled it off, holding Bodie's head as he suckled -- he knew full well how to arouse an elf again. Blue eyes, doped with satiation, looked up at Raven as Bodie lay back, and Ray knelt astride his lover's sticky abdomen, letting Bodie spread his thighs until his tendons were pulling. The human did not offer his hands, merely watched as Ray attended to himself, and when Raven stilled, on the point of release, captured his wrists and held them away so as to watch him come.

Wreathed in heat and musk, Raven went down onto Bodie's chest, panting as if he had run for miles, and Bodie held him, stroking his hair until he was calm. "We will plant the orchard here, and have that swing seat," he said softly. "And do this whenever we like. And the cottage will be there; I wonder if we can save these trees, or if they will have to go to make space?"

"Ask the masons," Raven yawned, wriggling comfortably. "We will contract them today and the cottage will be complete when we return from the east. I am not taking Lightfoot, and I think your horses have had all they can take. There are warhorses in our stable that would serve. Choose any; they are all your property, since they were mine."

Bodie lifted Ray's face to look at him. "Elven law does not work that way. A person's mate does not necessarily own that person's goods."

"True," Raven said indifferently. "But I choose to make you my heir. I will document it with Amber before we leave. If I am dead, everything belongs to you, not to Abelard. Abelard is not cut out for soldiering; he will be an artist, a poet, not a fighter. And this clan needs a fighter at its head. If I am to die, so be it. You will see that the clan prospers, I know. Amber will agree; he knows and trusts you, you are a Kith through your bonding, and far better fitted to be a chieftain than my brother. Amber does not want the circlet so --" He kissed Bodie's brow. "If I am dead, you are the chieftain of this clan."

For a moment Bodie struggled to absorb what he had been told. A human who had soldiered for pay would be a prince among the enemies of his people? Then he shook his head in denial of the notion. "If you are dead, I am dead. I have gone far beyond the point at which I can live without you. I told you once, I am your chattel, your owned thing, and the words were honest."

"You are mated to a chieftain," Raven whispered. "You have responsibilities to your clan."

"You have a brother and a shaman in your line, let them choose another heir," Bodie said, closing his eyes and tightening his grip on Raven's thin, hard body. "Do you want me to oath upon it? I will." He reached aside, bringing his knife from its sheath at the belt of his discarded breeches. Raven knelt up, frowning deeply, for he had never seen such human ritual. Bodie lay still, looking up at him with a smile that stole the elf's breath, primal and beautiful. "I am mated for life and to death," he said mildly, "and I oath vengeance for whatever harm befalls you. With your death, I too shall end. The gods are my witness and it is sealed thus." He turned the knife, nicking his forearm, sucking the tiny wound clean. "My words and my blood are one." Bodie tossed the knife away. "There. It is as legal as any piece of parchment witnessed by your elders."

The green eyes flooded and Raven turned away to hide the tears, grateful for Bodie's arms about him as the human embraced him, back to chest. "Damn you," he murmured. "Ah, damn you and your gods with you!"

"You curse the gods because they made me love you?" Bodie whispered against Raven's ear, trying to nuzzle it, but Raven turned his head away before his mate could fill him with the mind-numbing pleasure, knowing it for a tool that could be used against him.

"For making me love you," he corrected. "Do you realise what you have done? These shoulders of mine carry the weight of your death."

"I am alive," Bodie purred, nuzzling Ray's neck instead.

"And will remain so, until my luck has expired," Raven hissed, "at which point -- I take you with me?" He shook his head. "I will not - -- cannot. See what you have done? I dare not ride to battle, if my death is yours!"

"Raven." Bodie turned him about, fingers digging into his arms. "It has always been so, since we met. I have just never said it before." He watched the green eyes close. "Wolves mate for life; so do swans and even little forest creatures. Shall we be different? Do you imagine I would want to live on, without you? Or let your death go unavenged? You think poorly of me, little dove."

At last Raven smiled ruefully. "Foolish human."

"Foolish elf," Bodie retorted. "We come as a matched pair, one more foolish than the other. In future, think first before you act rashly. Think of your life as if it were mine. It is, you know."

Raven lifted the forearm that had been nicked, sucking at the little cut, tasting the iron tang of Bodie's blood. "Do you want me to oath in this way?"

"You have done more than that," Bodie said softly, stroking his hair. "As Falcon will attest. You gave more than a drop of blood. You went to an old man and offered everything you have short of your life." They were silent for a long moment, not a muscle stirring, and at last Bodie had to break the spell at any cost. He rolled, dislodging his mate, and bounced to his feet, pulling Raven up with him. "Enough of this. We came out here to ride horses and each other, not to be maudlin on so beautiful a day. Put your clothes on while I catch the nags." He dealt another stinging slap to the buttock he could reach and threw Ray's blue linen tunic at him before Ray could plan any retaliation.

"Contrary, unpredictable, tormenting, facetious, arrogant --" Ray grumbled, plucking a hand full of grass to clean the silvered trails of semen from his skin before reaching for his clothes. He had his breeches on when he heard a soft animal voice, high and familiar, echoed by another a moment later.

Sandals in one hand, tunic in the other, he squinted in the bright sunlight, following the sound, and was murmuring in delight a moment later. "Bodie, come and see! Bodie!" Dropping his clothes, he knelt in the flattened grass, his attention fixed on the shaded nook between the aspens. Bodie's human eyes would have had more difficulty distinguishing shapes in the well of shadow but Raven could easily make out the four cats. Fluff, Feather, Brighteyes and Whiskers came to rub against his legs and he scooped up two, holding them against his chest as Bodie brought the horses back from grazing.

Fluff and Whiskers rubbed against Bodie until he picked them up, then climbed all over him with sharp little claws that made him yelp. Raven looked up from his pets, his eyes at least as feline as theirs, impossibly green in the sun. "They must have run when the fighting started. Cats are wise. The dogs would have fought, I think."

"Aye." Bodie draped Fluff around Raven's neck, watched her bite his hair and laughed as Raven ducked in the interests of self preservation. "Something to build a home around," he observed, playing with Whiskers' soft, black fur and then setting him back onto his feet to rescue Ray from Fluff's mischievous, destructive claws.

The cats chased each other back into the woods and Raven pulled on his tunic and sandals, surveying the hillside with pleasant satisfaction. "We will contract the masons today. The silver bracelets should pay for the cottage, I think. And that ruby, the one in the earring, will pay for the big house to be rebuilt from the foundations up."

"The earring?" Bodie grunted in displeasure. "I liked that."

"But I cannot wear it," Raven admitted ruefully. "It holds my ear just tightly enough to keep me in a constant state of helpless lust, and I don't think even you have the stamina to match pace with that!"

Bodie chuckled richly. "I dare say I haven't." He handed the gelding's reins to his mate and kissed his nose. "I'll race you to the stream."

"The stakes?" Ray asked, swinging up into the saddle.

"A promise from you," Bodie said in a spuriously bland tone as he mounted up also. "If I win you will promise to guard your own life as jealously as if it were mine. Fair enough?"

The gelding was far faster over short sprints than the chestnut mare; Bodie knew full well that Raven held him back and conceded victory.

In a week the first of the mercenaries rode in, five wind tanned, leather clad, surly individuals, two of whom were women, all of whom were seasoned and whose gear betrayed much use. Bodie eyed them shrewdly, seeing trail dirt on them and knowing they had come far. They had been fighting Painted People for a chieftain of the Avan, the Kith's neighbouring tribe, to the north. They were a motley band, some of them unsure even of the tribe they hailed from, so long had their people been on the road, but they bent the knee before the green and white banner of the Syrae clan and pitched camp in the woods to wait for others of their kind to swell the ranks of the warband.

They arrived by twos, threes and groups, some riding out of the south where there was trouble between warring chieftains of the Laika, same from the west where pirates were at work on the river as high as Osiri, where Raven had once fought and been wounded.

Some had heard that this clan of the Kith had been looted to the point of poverty and demanded to see their pay first; some Syrae elders took umbrage but Raven bade them be silent, displaying a tiny part of the cache he and Bodie had brought from Amber's valley. The remainder was already buried, only the shaman, the chieftain and his mate knowing where it lay. The dolmen was the tomb of a chief long forgotten, dating from the era when the elven peoples were not yet properly elves and the forest creatures as yet more than animals, an era when humans had yet to be born out of the primordial slime. Many swore it was haunted but Amber dismissed the tales as superstition, burying the gold, silver and gems in an oilskin, to be reclaimed when the fighting was over.

The moon waned and hammers rang on the hill, loggers cutting back the scorched sections of the forest and hauling timber up to the carpenters and masons who were at work on a cottage. Thatchers were at labour as soon as the wood was up and Bodie spent an afternoon watching a craftsman making their windows, tiny panes of glass going together to form a whole sheet, sealed into strips of lead.

They were long, warm days as summer fast approached, and they might have been happy but for the restlessness of knowing that soon, too soon, the warband would march. Amber studied the maps and charts Bodie had drawn until he had memorised every stream, every hamlet; and he read the stars nightly. The portents were good, he said, speaking to the mercenaries who had accepted that until battle was joined they would answer to the shaman. They watched Bodie with interest and some mistrust but Bodie cultivated patience. Most of these warriors had fought against humans and buried their friends and kin -- they were riding to war at Raven's behest as much to avenge their dead mates as to earn their pay.

It was a philosophy Bodie could not disapprove, no matter that the animosity was directed against humankind. Only the older mercenaries remembered the days when there had been no fighting between their people and humans. The days before Feyleen had come to Morhod. But there were few old mercenaries; their work did not encourage old age. Bodie showed them a human at work as the band massed, let them see that a human was a man also, that his work was the equal of their own, and that he had the trust and the love of a chieftain.

Raven was restless, sleeping and eating little as the moon thinned away and the day of their departure drew nearer. He and Bodie would march first, a few days ahead of the warband, travelling light but heavily armed. Behind them, Amber would keep the mercenaries to schedule and on the right trails, holding to the forest and travelling often by night so as to evade human eyes. The plan was sound yet the dangers were as awful as they were unavoidable and Bodie watched his mate prowl like a caged tiger, refusing rest and food until even Amber noticed the chieftain's behaviour and gave Bodie unequivocal orders to do something about it at once.

There was one way to make Raven sleep for a time, and Bodie employed it, arousing him again and again until he was exhausted and complaining that his ears were sore; when he woke it was to discover himself the pawn in an elaborate game he could not possibly win. He was bound hand and foot to the leather couch with scraps of silk, his hands fast over his head, his legs stretched until he was immobile. He glanced ruefully at his body and shook his head at Bodie. "I am past rising, I am afraid. You have waited too long if you wish to give me pleasure too, and if you wish to take pleasure, you have bound my feet together in error."

"No error." Bodie sat down on the edge of the couch, fluffing the pillow beneath Raven's tousled head to make sure he was comfortable before producing two items. In one hand he had a goose feather, in the other an enormous platter of food. "Now, you will eat."

"I'm not hungry." Raven tugged at the silks, discovering that his hands, gently confined as they were, were absolutely captive, like his feet.

"I did not ask if you were hungry," Bodie said mildly. "I said you would eat, and eat you will, or I shall torture you until you do." He brandished the feather and used its tip to disturb the hair at chest, armpit, belly, and groin. Ray's face twisted as he wriggled. "Now, will you eat?"

"I don't want to," Raven muttered. "Let me go!"

"Not until this plate is empty." Bodie drew patterns across his mate's ribs, hips and genitals until Ray was gasping and pink in the cheeks.

"Let me go!" Raven roared. "I'm not hungry!"

"No," Bodie admitted, "I don't suppose you are, but you're going to be awfully desperate soon, aren't you? Amber has said you will be ill if you refuse to eat, and I won't have that." He played the feather over thighs and testicles, nipples and navel, until Raven was whimpering. "Will you eat?"

"All right," Raven gasped, his face twisted and sheened with a film of sweat. "What have you got?"

After almost a year with his lover, Bodie knew exactly what Raven liked best and had brought it all. Too much food, he knew, but he was not prepared to relent until Ray was claiming sickness. He held a wedge of bread, honey and roses to the elf's lips, watched him bite into it, stooped to lick away a trickle of escaping honey before it could get onto the pillow, taking care that his new beard did not chafe the elf's skin, and held it to his lips. Again. "There is milk, too, when you thirst."

"Wine," Raven said through a mouthful of bread.

"Milk," Bodie corrected blandly, pressing a dried apricot on him. "Then there are cherry pastries filled with cream. And potatoes with garlic butter. And apples that have been soaked overnight in barley spirits. Which would you like first? Because you're going to eat them all or suffer the torture."

Raven glared at him, the muscles standing out in his arms as he tested the silks again. "Monster," he accused, muffled by another dried apricot which made him come up spluttering. "Milk, then, you horror."

Very gently, Bodie lifted his head, held its weight while he drank, returned his head to the pillow and mopped his lips with a cloth. "What next?"

"I'm not hungry," Ray growled and then rethought his position as Bodie picked up the feather, twirling it about his nipples. "Did you say you have cherry pastries with cream?"

A pastry was forthcoming, broken into small pieces and delivered to his lips until it was gone, followed by milk and a kiss. Bodie licked his mouth clean of cream and stroked his hair. "I shall torture you this way every time I can somehow tie you down," he said softly, "unless you are kinder to yourself. What will it be, the feather or garlic bread?"

Green eyes glowered at the feather poised over the elf's quivering belly, and Raven sighed. "If you tickle me now, I shall be sick. A waste of good food."

"Hm." Bodie studied the goose feather thoughtfully. "Perhaps we shall put that to the test." He drew a pattern on the sole of Ray's left foot.

"Monster!" Raven howled. "Give me the garlic bread, and if I am sick, you will clean the carpets yourself or wake in bonds like these and be tormented until you cannot remember your name!"

He was not sick, and most of the food passed his lips; very full and very exhausted, at last he simply turned his head away from another offering and begged softly to be released, no longer at play but in discomfort. Bodie slipped the knots and helped him sit up, covering him with a rug. "Gods, what it takes to get you to eat a decent meal." Ray was moving his shoulders stiffly, wincing as cramps assaulted him, and his mate held him, rubbing him until he was almost asleep again.

Amber appeared at the pavilion's entrance as Raven made the effort to stir, seeing the debris of the meal and lifting one brow at Bodie. "Servants have told me you have been rowing and fighting, that Raven has called you a horror and a monster. These walls are thin, you know."

"Fighting?" Bodie guffawed, displaying the feather. "He has been put to the torture, shaman, until he ate." Amber laughed aloud, taking in Raven's chagrined scowl and Bodie's look of smug affection, the feather and the knotted silks. "And I have threatened to do it again," the human added, "if he does not eat."

"I shall eat," Raven muttered, clutching the rug about himself. "And in any event, we march tomorrow. What are our numbers, Naryr?"

No fewer than two hundred swords had answered the call to arms. The encampment on the fringe of the forest had become a bustling city under canvas and so many warhorses were difficult to feed. Grass would not foster the kind of spirit required of them and grain was brought in daily by wagon to supply them. Swordsmiths had serviced every blade, the leathers were all refurbished, every archer supplied with two score clothyard shafts.

The time to march was at hand. Amber sat on the couch beside his kinsman, twisting a scrap of silk between his hands. "You should leave with morning, Raven. The war band will be a day or so behind you, the timing is right. We have the new moon tonight, and dark of the moon in four weeks. Time enough to cover the distance, scout Garth's defences, seek news and have the red work done at our leisure, eh?" He cupped Raven's chin. "Take care. He will be like your shadow, you will come to no harm. I believe this, or I would counsel against the hunting."

"I know." Raven met Bodie's blue eyes levelly and smiled. "I have never been so gently tormented, nor so lovingly, as just now. Nor have I ever eaten so much! I feel too full to move."

"So sleep," Bodie said with an insolent grin. "Go on, put your head down. I will see to our packing and show your swords the whetstone one last time."

The shaman gave one loose curl a tug of admonition as Raven settled. "Look to your body, or how can you guard his back?" Then he was on his feet, leading Bodie from the pavilion. The shadows were already long, hammers still ringing up on the hill where the cottage was well begun, the smoke of mercenaries' cookfires tainting the breeze. Amber watched Bodie pace with a frown, recognising the signs of fretting about him as much as Raven. The human was more artful at concealing his fears but they were there nonetheless; his jaw was set, his skin a little more pale, his eyes hard, cynical, when they were not looking at his mate. There was no one Amber trusted more, for all the man's human failings -- or perhaps because of them. He offered his hand, and Bodie took it, gripping it strongly.

"Luck, Bodie," Amber said quietly. "But stealth will take you further."

The night was cold for one so close to summer and Raven lay close, eager to share his mate's body heat. They would ride with dawn and from the early hours were subconsciously listening for the war horns that called the mercenary encampment to order every morning. They did not make love, not feeling the need or the urge and luxuriating simply in closeness, rarely even speaking.

The horns brayed at the first inch of sunlight and Raven sat up, looking down at Bodie in the last glimmer from the lamps. With light fingers he outlined his human's features, closing his eyes as he did so to remember the time he had been blind and alone, desperate and in need. Full circle. Now he rode to war, in command of an army of soldiers of fortune, a prince among his people, and Bodie was not his rescuer but his sword brother. He smiled, opening his eyes to feast them on his lover's face. So beautiful in the lamplight, was Bodie, not even the beard detracting, for Raven had long since grown accustomed to it.

Bodie watched him, returning the smile in the last moments of gentleness before they became fighters once more. "What are you thinking?"

"How gorgeous is my mate," Raven told him. "How beautiful are his eyes, how much I love him, how I wish to hold him close, guard him jealously as he grows old with me, and tell him each day how I adore him."

An unaccustomed blush warmed Bodie's face and he sat up to reach Raven's mouth. "When I get you home safe and sound, little imp, you will be mated until you are sure you will not survive, then mated again." He pressed a kiss to the elf's brow and rolled out of bed as the horns called again. "And so to war."

Few saw them leave, for they departed on the trail through the burned out orchard, Raven astride the grey gelding, Bodie sitting on a black animal, a stallion that was the grey's stablemate. Two fine horses but neither of them so costly that they would draw attention to themselves. They wore warriors' leathers and steel and carried few in the way of comforts, but the woods were full of food and even Bodie had learned to tell the best of fare at a glance.

They slept rolled in knotted sheepskins as they had slept every night since the Kith elders had disinherited the young chieftain; a few weeks of comfort had not softened them and to Bodie it was a source of pleasure to lie with Raven under the stars of late spring. The weather held fine and they made good time, sighting the Chaika river, which was the border between Morhod and Garth's tuath, with time to spare.

Resting the horses, they camped on the Morhod side of the river for several days, and Bodie found Raven's attention on the moon as he counted days on his fingers, reckoning the date. "It is summer tomorrow," he said thoughtfully. "And tonight my people will be celebrating Velen. Do humans mark the first day of summer in some way?"

"By sacrifices," Bodie told him. "They go out and kill things. Doves and bulls, sometimes white chickens, to propitiate the gods. Then they get drunk and some fight and some will mate anything that moves until they are overcome and fall over." He chuckled at Raven's horrified expression. "What do your people do?"

"Weeks ago, people were netting for birds," Raven said. "Tomorrow, at dawn, flocks of doves will be set free, the priests will spill wine on the earth, then --" He snorted with laughter. "Then many will get drunk, some fight, others mate anything that moves until they fall on their faces. There is no blood but in the end it is the same. Like any of the festivals, Velen is an excuse for wine and sex. As if an excuse is necessary."

"Humans need such excuses," Bodie said glibly."Our priestkind tell us that sensuality is a sin, you know. Oh yes. Which is why we preserve our modesty, observe monogamy and do such awful penances for transgressions. You know, scourging and fasting, and walking on hot rocks."

"For -- for being aroused?" Raven demanded, and shuddered at Bodie's nod of affirmation. "I don't think elves could afford such beliefs; we would starve to death and have no skin left before long. Some of your customs mystify me."

"Not my customs," Bodie corrected. "I am of the Kith, remember. And I intend to celebrate Velen... We have no doves to free, but we can spill wine on the earth, drink the rest and make love till we cannot stand. We have a few days to spare, Ray, and this may be the last time we can risk pleasure for a long time. Once across the river we are in human country, and you are a captive, remember."

There were words to be spoken as the wine spilled; Bodie did not understand them but Raven knew them by heart, almost singing them in the old language before he poured the last of the rough red into two cups and held one to Bodie's mouth. They celebrated in a nook between young oak trees, the horses tethered out of sight of the river, sleeping soundly when they were beyond rousing.

The river was low now, spring's meltwater gone down to the sea, and carpenters had serviced the bridge. Bodie regarded it with a jaundiced eye; he had seen it once before, the memory red-tinged with pain. He had lost consciousness soon after using it and woken -- at home, he thought. With Feyleen watching over me. The memories were bittersweet, not quite a year old, and Bodie savoured them as he nudged the big black animal alongside Raven's grey, crossing the bridge from Morhod and safety into the human lands.

Familiar wooded hills rose before them, fresh and green; they were headed for the pass by a trail Bodie knew well, and did not tarry in the open. In the concealment of the forest Raven was in no danger but still the human felt his spine lock up with tension as he led his mate deeper into a tuath that had once almost killed him.

They made camp beneath aspens and elders, out of sight of a wagon path and taking it in turns to stand watch, for these woods were full of hunters. Deer scattered away from them, afraid of human and elf alike, fear learned at the hands of the hunters.

Farmers had been cutting back the woodland lately. Great tracts of land that had been virgin forest when they rode this way the summer before were now under the plough, and Bodie drew rein, halting the black on the fringe of the trees as he saw a house and smelt hearth smoke on the wind. Raven was a pace behind him, well aware that now the charade began in earnest.

Sliding from the saddle, they set about a deception planned long before. Ray's weapons were rolled into their bedding, thonged over the rear of Bodie's saddle and, unarmed, the elf took off his tunic and boots, pushing them into a spare corner of one pannier. From the bag he brought a length of hemp rope, handing it to Bodie with a wry smile before he turned about and clasped his hands at his back. "Not too tight. Think of my delicate skin."

Deft as any woodsman, Bodie tied artful knots that would hold firm unless a lot of pressure was put on them. Satisfied, he stood back and frowned over the elf. "Pull them." The sinews corded in Raven's neck and sweat broke on his forehead. "Too tight?"

"Just -- a moment," Raven hissed through his teeth, knowing the ruse had to be convincing. He took a breath and pulled again, and at last the knots gave way, allowing him to get his hands free. Beneath the saddle flap was a dirk, honed like a razor, well within his reach. Bodie retied the knots and lifted him into the saddle, producing a few feet of rope and securing Raven's ankles into his stirrups with knots that would be split on the blade of the dirk in the event of trouble. He took the grey gelding's reins over his ears, looping them over the pommel of his own saddle, and swung up onto the squeaking leather. Raven was quiet, pale and withdrawn, his eyes downcast.

"Is it too uncomfortable?" Bodie asked softly, loathing the look of helplessness as Raven lifted his head. Bare chested, his hair brushing his shoulders, his hands secured behind him, he was the picture of a soldier's whore, and Bodie hated it. If he had ever half suspected that the image would be arousing, he knew he was wrong.

"No," Ray said carefully. "But I itch and cannot scratch."

Bodie hid a smile. "What itches? Your arm? Hold still. Better?" He leaned over with a kiss and drew back to see Raven's rueful expression. "All you must do is be silent, keep your eyes down and trust me. That, or we go back right now. You tell me, little dove. We go back?"

In answer, Raven nudged the grey gelding forward, setting their feet on the path that would lead them, inevitably, to Garth's stockade.

There were labourers in the fields. Bodie nodded greeting to them, watched them peering at his captive, muttering amongst themselves, but he did not look back, trusting Raven's phenomenal hearing to forewarn them of any danger. They held to the road now, since the woods had been hewn back, and m