Sir Robar Preston yanked Silk out of the booth and plucked at his balls. “Yes,” he chuckled, “gonna have lots of fun with you later, Silky.”
Morgan Rivers appeared beside the young lordling, a fierce glare on his bearded face. “Need I remind you, Sir Robar, that is my son you are molesting?”
“My pardon,” Sir Robar said, releasing Silk and turning to look down at Tristan. Flipping Morgan two coins, he demanded, “A bottle of red and two cups! One for me and one for the lad.”
Tristan calmly said, “You may bring this haughty peacock the wine he has paid for, but there will be no need for two cups. If I wish for a drink, I will buy my own.”
Sir Robar leaned closer to Tristan. “Ah, you truly hurt my feelings. I only intend to keep you company on this dreary eve. Besides, a hire like the one you accepted is a serious matter.”
As Morgan Rivers turned to leave, Tristan wondered why he’d failed to notice the slight scars across his meaty knuckles or the crooked nose that might have been broken in a fight or two. It was quite possible his father might have been a formidable mercenary as Silk claimed, but standing there in his smoky inn, wearing a grease-stained apron, Morgan Rivers might have deceived him with his warm manners.
Sir Robar said, “This assassination business can be deadly.”
Tristan said, “I am leaving this city tonight. My business here is finished. Your fellow conspirators are being paranoid. If they intend to dispose of me, they are fools, for Dax Storm and his Ravens will seek out each one of them to answer to any harm that befalls me.”
Robar said, “You lie. My gut tells me you lie, and I need to apprehend you as instructed.”
Tristan said, “The only thing your gut is telling you, you pompous ass, is that you’d love to gorge yourself on these mushrooms! You’ve been greedily eyeing them ever since you walked in here.”
He slid the wooden bowl down the table toward Robar. The distraction was simply a ploy to get Robar to take his eyes off him. Tristan smiled, drew his dagger, and stood up. Robar attempted to draw his rapier from the sheath at his waist. Before he could, Tristan placed the tip of his dagger between Robar’s thighs, then raised it to tap his crotch. “Sheath it or lose it!” he said as Robar peered down to the seven inches of steel between his legs.
Sir Robar snapped, “What in hell’s name do you think you’re doing, Storm?”
Tristan said, “As I told you, I am leaving Brystyn. I am not involved in any schemes or conspiracies that will undermine yours. I simply wish to leave here in peace.”
Smiling seductively at Robar, Silk said, “Do you want to see him jizz, Sir Robar? Then let us take a room for some privacy. When I am done with him, we will both go our separate ways. Agreed?”
Robar took a long moment to consider the offer. Finally, he nodded silently. Silk led them both to a small bedroom at the back of the tavern. “Play along,” Silk whispered in Tristan’s ear. “Let’s give him a show!”
Silk grappled with Tristan’s belt and pants, loosening the first and pulling the latter down around his ankles. “Look at that, will you? The lad is starting to stiffen.”
Robar said nothing as Silk reached down and began smearing a gelatinous liquid all over Tristan’s erect cock. He removed the boots and pants from around Tristan’s ankles. Tristan planted his bare back to the wall and began to moan as Silk toyed with him.
“Go for it, Silk,” Robar said. “Milk the cow! Prime the pump! Rub the rabbit!”
Silk reached down and stroked Tristan’s cock with long, even motions. Tristan looked over at Robar, trying to muster a blistering look, but all he could manage was to roll his eyes and turn his head from side to side.
Silk took a firmer hold on Tristan, pulling his erection forward. “Allow me to suck out your seed, my love,” he whispered.
Silk ran Tristan’s cock through his hands and took him into his mouth. Tristan began to gasp and whimper. He bucked up, nearly going over the edge. He could feel the sperm roiling up from his balls and into his shaft, but he tamped it down as his cock pulsed rapidly. He was aching to cum at that point but knew Robar would want more of a show. He was going to have to endure Silk’s cock-teasing for a long while.
“Stop!” Robar commanded. “Not yet! Too soon!”
Silk stared at Tristan’s slick cock in fascination.
Silk sucked him long and hard, and soon Tristan was ready to burst. He grappled with Silk’s head, grabbing him by both ears, pawing spastically at his temples, pulling his face deeper into his crotch.
“Unnnh!” he gasped. “I am going to explode, Silk!”
Silk pulled back as Tristan’s dick spurted white, creamy sperm all over his cheeks, his chin, as well as droplets into his wide-open mouth.
Robar stood there adjusting himself. “A fine show,” he said. “Very fine.”
The moment they returned, however, to the common room, laughter erupted from the four Tavosh mercenaries seated in the front alcove. Robar looked in their direction. Tristan did the same. “As the son of the esteemed Lord Preston,” Robar harshly commanded, “get yourselves over here, you mindless oafs! There will be an extra payment involved for each of you if you bring the hunt to a close now!” Robar sneered haughtily at Tristan. “You, Storm, are about to reap a whirlwind!”
As the majority of patrons scrambled for the doorway, the four Tavosh clansmen swiftly crossed the room and closed in on Tristan. Their leader, a big, brawny man, pinned Tristan’s arms to the wall behind him. Snatching his dagger from the sheath at his belt, Robar proceeded to slowly cut away his shirt, leaving him shirtless.
Morgan Rivers said, “Ease up there, lads. Enough of this foul play. The Owl is closing for the night.”
“Ohhh,” Robar said, “our playing has only just begun. No need to interfere in our business, Rivers! Do you even understand the enormity of his crime? He assaulted the son of Lord Keeton Preston! For that, he should squirm and writhe in long, slow intervals.”
“Robar?” said Silk. “He is the son of a ruthless man who will not be pleased when he hears you and your lads had your way with him. Ever heard of Dax Storm?”
The Tavosh merc leader grinned. “Storm? Leader of the Ravens? Assaulting this pup will insult the big dog. If he truly is the son of Dax Storm, we should deflower this little daisy.”
Morgan hurried across the common room and removed a black walnut cudgel from behind the bar. “I’d say let’s call it a night. What say you?” he asked.
Robar simply laughed. “The night is young. I am curious to see how many times this lad can cum before morning. Should I perform the wild pump on you, Tristan?”
Morgan sighed and said, “As Chief Marshall of the King’s Home Guard, do I need to use my authority to make you come to your senses, Sir Robar?”
Robar gave Morgan a shrewd look, saying, “There are some in this city who claim your dual role as the proprietor of the Pierced Owl and the Chief Marshall of the Home Guard places you in a very good position to serve as a master spy, Morgan Rivers. Why, my father and other nobles suspect that you might very well be working for Dannas, King of Rissen. If that is so—”
“My loyalty to King Mandan,” Morgan cut him off, “is being questioned by a pup like you, Sir Robar Preston?”
“Your authority over a noble of Brystyn,” Robar said, “stops at the palace gates. To me? Right now? You are simply an innkeeper.”
He turned to the four Tavosh mercs and said, “Let us rape the little whore! How would you like that, Tristan Storm? Think you would enjoy a little swordplay?”
Rian Blackthorn stood up from his table at the far end of the common room.
He calmly reached down to the sheathed sword hanging from the back of his chair. In one swift movement, Rian freed his sword from its sheath, and emerald light shimmered up and down its length.
Sir Robar stared at Rian now moving down the three steps of the platform. “Damn! It’s Blackthorn! This is not good. Not good at all! Perhaps I should summon the Watch.”
The Tavosh leader gruffly said, “No need for the Watch, my lord! We’ll sort this out ourselves!”
Robar replied, “I don’t think so.”
“Grandel?” came the harsh whisper from one of the Tavosh clansmen, a whip-thin man with a jagged scar running from his brow to the tip of his nose. “He’s no slouch with a blade! Only gonna be one outcome if we do this!”
Grandel, the leader of the band, gave an irritated snort. “Agreed, Scar. Only one outcome. Let’s make short work of this bastard so we can get on with fucking the pup. Moon? Burns?”
Another of the mercs, a broad-shouldered man with a crescent shaped birthmark on his left cheek, snarled, “Yes, Grandel. This young, raven-haired Gypsy is about to get the point, quite literally.”
Rian’s emerald blade sent dazzling sparkles dancing through the air as he lifted the sword and casually slanted it over one shoulder, beckoning the mercs to step forward.
Moon and Scar shot uncertain glances at their determined leader, but it was the fourth merc who decided to take matters into his own hands. Burns let out a thunderous bellow and launched a savage attack.
In the three seconds it took for the huge merc to clear the space between them, Rian lifted his green blade from his shoulder and smoothly dropped to one knee. He performed a fierce whipping motion with his sword, swiftly slicing Burn’s thumb off his sword hand. The Tavosh merc let out a startled grunt, stumbled forward, his sword falling from his grasp. Pawing in pain at his wound, the bladesman crashed to his knees on the floor. Burns fell on his face, passing out from shock.
Rian stepped away from the fallen merc, his luminous steel blade wavering in the air as he faced the seething mercenaries. Grandel swore. Both Moon and Scar raised their swords and prepared to launch a concerted attack.
It was Moon who started the whirlwind.
Shouting savagely, the big clansman charged Rian, rushing in to his immediate right. Rian simply parried his brutal attack, sending Moon’s own blade hammering into his face. He staggered off balance. Whipping his blade back into position over his left shoulder, Rian glided away from the stumbling merc and launched an explosion of swift attacks at Scar, who drove in from his left. His brilliant blade rising and falling like a swift-winged swallow, Rian parried three wild swings from Scar.
Blocking a wild slash from Moon at his front, Rian spun and drove his sword directly into Scar’s sword hand. The gold blade pierced the clansman’s flesh and Rian ripped it free of Scar’s hand and wheeled about to parry a wild swing from Moon.
Ducking out of the path of Moon’s last stroke, Rian performed an overhand cut, a sideways slash, and one last terrible backhand stroke that ended Moon’s swordplay as well. Both Scar and Moon dropped their swords at the same instant, peering down in surprise at the gaping holes in the back of their hands.
Grandel came at Rian, making no sound. But with Rian’s continual swooping motions, he created a killing zone between him and the merc leader. Grandel’s savage strokes were deflected by the rapid positioning of Rian’s shimmering blade. And as the big Tavosh attempted to deliver a second series of vicious blows, Rian danced away from his sweeping blade with all the grace of a forest cat, leaving Grandel madly cleaving at nothing but air.
Rian spun completely around to face Grandel. The merc leader raised his blade over his head and leaped across the space between them. As Grandel’s long sword came down in a killing stroke, Rian smoothly moved to one side. Carried forward by the savage swing, Grandel’s sword tip sank deep into the wooden floor. He made a desperate effort to yank the sword free.
Taking his sword in a two-handed grip, Rian spun about on the balls of his feet and slammed his hilt directly into the base of Grandel’s skull. The Tavosh swordsman gave a grunt of pain and collapsed, landing next to his sword standing upright in the common room floor.
Robar was halfway to the door when Blackthorn’s voice caused him to skid to a stop. “Robar Preston? Where are you off to in such a hurry? Going to summon the Watch? I suppose the Watch will want to investigate why a reputable noble of Brystyn was planning on raping this young man.”
“Rape?” spluttered Robar. “I was attempting to subdue this devil for crimes against the throne!”
Rian pointed his sword at the four Tavosh, two sprawled unconscious on the floor, the other two swooning on their knees. He asked, “It was going to take all five of you to do so? He must be extremely dangerous. Morgan. I assume you know who he is and why Robar wanted to apprehend him. But I know nothing of this, nor do I want to.”
Morgan told Rian, “He needs sanctuary, Ri. It’s no small affair either. I received a falcon shortly before sundown with a message in regard to him and his troubles.”
“Which are none of my own,” declared Rian. “We’re wasting time here. Robar? Fetch the Watch so a full account of this matter can be recorded.”
Sir Robar darted out through the door. The moment the door swung closed behind him, Silk said, “Rian, please escort Tristan here to sanctuary. Father? Tell him who he is and why he’s here.”
Morgan said, “Rian Blackthorn, meet Tristan Storm, son of Dax Storm, leader of the Ravens. His father, an old friend of mine, sent me the message via falcon, and he’s none too pleased about this state of affairs. He came here on his own, determined to carry out a mission, one that Dax wisely turned down. He came to Brystyn to assassinate Prince Corin.”
Rian sighed.
When the doors to the Owl swung open behind them, the four of them turned to see a young man clad in silvery chain mail enter the tavern. He hastily made his way across the room and stopped before Morgan, giving him a prompt salute.
“The king commands that you come at once, Captain Morgan!” the young, fair-hair soldier said. “This night Eldwood Keep is under attack! The king and his Golden Company prepare now to ride there in great haste! You are to come with us, sir!”