The Destroyer (6 page)

"I am thin," he said to me.

"Yes," I said back. "You should eat something before we leave."

"I remember my name," he stopped and touched the mirror, then his face, then the mirror again. "I am Kaiyer. I was a stable boy. I served the Elven tribe of Laxile. My father's name was Kai."

I sat stunned for a brief second before excitement made me vault to my feet. "Are you the O'Baarni? Did you destroy the Ancients?" I realized that my hands were clenched.

He looked at me sadly as he set down the mirror. In a smooth movement he went from kneeling to standing. Jessmei stood closest to him and she shuffled back a few steps from him in surprise.

"I remember being a stable boy. Washing horses, fixing shoes, shoveling manure. I remember standing in an army. I remember a red flag and a black skull. I heard wind and cheering. I don't remember more."

He turned away from me and started to sort through the clothes.

I quickly translated to my companions.

"A stable boy? I don't know if I can believe that." Nadea seemed disappointed. "What stable boy fights like that? How did he become imprisoned if he is just a stable boy? It doesn't make any sense."

"It could just be that he doesn't remember yet. I have trouble remembering what I ate for dinner when I wake up in the morning. If he slept for over fifteen hundred years, I can imagine that he might forget what happened during his life. It will just take time," Iarin tried to ease Nadea's worries, but she seemed pretty devastated.

"That doesn't look like the body of a stable boy," Greykin muttered to us as he pointed back at Kaiyer. We all looked over and gasped. He had taken off his robe and stood naked. His body was painfully thin, with ribs protruding so far I might grab one through his skin. I even thought that I saw his heart beating in his chest.

His skin was covered in countless scars, long, thin cuts that could have come from swords or whips, wide circular scars from an arrow or crossbow, burns, and rips. I hadn't noticed it before, but his left hand looked like it had been burned down to the mid forearm. He may have dipped the limb into a scalding pot of water or oil at one time. He found a pair of dark brown pants that he struggled to put on. His penis hung from his body and bounced as he maneuvered into the garment.

"Turn around and give the man his privacy ladies," Greykin commanded and the girls did. Jessmei's face looked bright red and her eyes opened in amazement before she turned her back to us. She was a bit older than me and may have never seen a naked man.

"He spoke of an army. He mentioned a red flag and a black skull," I said, suddenly remembering what Kaiyer told me in the ruins.

"Did he say anything else? No records indicate what design his banner carried. Did he say if he was a commander or the actual O'Baarni?" Nadea was grasping for anything that proved he was our savior. I shook my head.

"One thing's for sure. The boy needs food. Let's get out of this blasted jungle and back to our camp before nightfall," Greykin said.

I turned back to see that the thin man had put on socks and had already tied one boot on. It only took him another few moments to put on the other boot and slide into a cream-colored tunic. The clothes suited him, but he didn't seem happy until he had tied a few of the sword belts from the pile around his waist and studied the blades.

"Looks like we finally agree," Nadea said to Greykin with a smile. "And I think our friend is ready to go."

She always waited for her trainers to leave before she spoke to me.

"Human," she would say with a smirk, her face beautiful and mischievous, "come here."

I would stop whatever I was doing in the stable. Today I was about to rub down her horse after she had ridden it halfway to death. Now the horse would have to wait. When she asked me to come to her, I had to obey.

She was the eldest daughter of the chieftain and therefore benefited from special privileges, including full access to the stables, as well as riding, archery, combat, and military strategy trainers. I guessed horses were her favorite pastime since she rode every morning before the sun awoke.

This morning, in particular, seemed different than all the other times she harassed me. I had just finished taking off the saddle and led her horse, a beautiful chestnut Destrier that stood eighteen hands high, into his pen.

I closed the stall door and turned to her. She sat delicately on one of the shipping crates we kept full of oats. Her long legs dangled and swung off the ledge like olive branches in the wind.

"Now," she said as her smile turned into a flat line. Her hand gripped the side of the crate where she perched. The wood cracked under her awesome strength and tore easily in her hand. The meaning was clear; she could have crushed my skull with far less effort.

"Sorry Mistress," I apologized as I scurried over to her, wiping my dirty hands on my slightly less dirty pants.

"Take off my boots, human," she said as she lifted her right foot and pointed her toe at my chest. The boots were of the finest leather and ran up past her knees in a wrap of flower embroidery. I carefully grabbed the heel and pulled. She sighed when the boot came free.

"The other," she said as she lifted her left leg. I tried not to look up at her, but I could never help myself. The woman's skin almost matched the color of fresh snow, and her almond-shaped eyes reflected blue and silver like a cloudy sky. Her hair was the color of the setting sun and fell down in all directions, ending at her thin waist. As she looked at me, one of her fingers spun through the golden hair. The movement created a ring around her finger that most of her kind would have paid a handsome sum to possess. The tips of her ears came out from behind her tresses and made sharp, dainty points. She brushed her hair back over them when she saw me staring at her. Then she pointed to the boots.

"Polish them." I nodded and ran to get my oil and brush. I could polish a mirror-like shine in her saddle and it would take me a few minutes to get the boots looking the same. I doubted that would be all that she wanted with me today.

"Sit on that stool while you do it. Face me." She pointed a few feet from her. I obediently sat down and began to brush the boots. After every dozen strokes I glanced back up at the beautiful woman to see if she was paying any attention to me. Each careful peek confirmed that she was staring at me with fascination, and my back started to dampen with cold sweat. Perhaps today she would grow bored with this game and kill me.

"Where is your father, human?"

"He is obtaining some tools at the bazaar, Mistress." I tried not to sound meek. I knew what would happen next.

"When will he return?"

"He normally comes back in the afternoon. But he might finish early and be back any moment, Mistress." I tried to sound confident, but the bazaar was on the border of our tribal lands and it took him all day to make the trip.

"Hum . . ." she purred, as she leaned back and looked at the ceiling of the stable. "I doubt it." She began to take her socks off as she glanced away from me. Her feet and calves looked like they were made out of the white marble that decorated her house.

Her hands went flat to the edge of the crate and lifted her lower body off of the wood as if she weighed only a pound. Then her legs formed a straight line with her toes pointing ahead of her. After a few seconds of holding herself off of the crate she wiggled her toes and sighed. With no effort, she tucked her legs under her chest and spun her body around beneath her arms. She emerged from the roll in a perfect handstand and draped her wonderful hair almost to the ground. She held this position for a few minutes on the edge of the crate. Finally, she let out a long sigh and completed a front flip to land with a puff into the dirt on the stable ground.

"Which horse is your favorite, human?" she said as she walked around and began to touch the horses in the stable.

"Yours Mistress." I almost cried. Her feet were covered in dust and dirt from the short walk across the floor of the stable. I swept it every night, but her entourage used six of the horses today and they had created a mess when I put them back in their stalls.

"Why mine, human? Is it because he is the best, or because he is mine?" She reached up and patted her mount's face. This horse was smart enough to fake affection and leaned into her hand. Her last horse bit her once and she rode him so hard the rest of the day that he had collapsed. Then she ripped the legs from his body as easily as a child pulls the legs off of a bug. If I answered this question wrong she might do the same to me.

"Both, Mistress." This was the most conversation she had ever engaged me with, and I dreaded an incorrect answer.

"You are smart for one of your kind, no?" She looked over at me and began to walk in my direction.

"My father often calls me a lummox when I forget one of my chores," I said, looking away from her and going back to scrubbing her boots. One of them was finished and I hoped that she would be satisfied with their shine.

"Perfect." She reached down and inspected the boot. "You are also good with your hands, human. Do any of your masters compliment you? Or is it just me?" Her silver-blue eyes burned into me. My hands shook when she handed it back to me.

"No Mistress. I only talk to you. If you don't want to speak to me I don't mind," I stuttered. Her smile turned into a sudden frown.

"I do not care if you mind or not. Your opinion of the matter isn't important to me, human. I choose to talk to you now. You will answer. Understand?" I nodded and struggled to control the terror in my body. My eyes were probably the size of her horse's.

"The other boot looks perfect. Stop now," she commanded. I picked up the other one, got on my knees before her, and raised them up so she could accept them.

"Yes. They look fine. Unfortunately, it looks like my feet are too dirty to put them on again. You will have to fix that, human." Her face wore the smirk again. This always happened after I polished her boots.

"Yes Mistress. I will get warm water." I dashed toward the back of the stable. The first time she asked me to do this I didn't have any warm water ready. It had taken me ten minutes to grab a bucketful from the well and boil it. The wait didn't suit her, so she cuffed me across the ear so hard that I wondered if I had been kicked by a horse instead. Now I always kept water simmering throughout the day.

She was perched on the crate again when I came back with two buckets of water, soap, a soft scrubbing brush, and a towel. Once I was set up on my stool she wordlessly pointed her foot into my chest. Then I reached out my hands to caress her feet.

Touching her was a mixture of pleasure and fear. Her skin felt like the smoothest piece of cloth I had ever touched: a patch of satin that another slave had stolen from the dining table at one of their mating parties. We passed it around like a sacred totem and wondered at how it could have been made. Humans weren't allowed such finery.

"Rub in the arch human," she whispered as I traced my fingers across the ball of her foot. I dug deeper with my thumbs and she hummed in appreciation. If she knew that I enjoyed this she would kill me. It was forbidden for my kind to touch the Elvens unless they were in danger of death. Even then the offending human would probably be killed.

I had never even touched a human girl. My father, brother, and I were the only three that managed the stables and blacksmith. Maintaining both involved endless work. We didn't have time to attend the rare holiday the Elvens granted us, or even walk across the estate to the hall where we could eat with our own kind. Even as I washed her feet, my mind was turning over all the other tasks I needed to do in my father's absence. My brother was managing the same impossible list of responsibilities in the smithy.

"That feels good. Next foot." My hands were not nearly as strong as hers, but the work I did around the stables and smithy ensured I had decent fortitude in my arms.

I appraised the fine network of muscles in her feet. They were sleek with water and soap and I found myself wondering what the rest of her body looked like without clothes. It was madness, but my efforts to push the thought away only prevailed for mere seconds before my imagination returned tenfold with the beautiful image.

"Excellent work human. Dry them." I complied, and stole a quick glance up at her face, hoping she would be happy with my effort. She had asked me to do this for her almost every day for the last two months. Her face seemed pleased as she looked down at me. I was careful to dry between her toes. I used the cleanest towel I had and worried that it wasn't soft enough.

"What is your name, human?" she asked, her voice only more than a whisper.

"My name?" I gasped. My hands wrapped around the towel that hugged her feet.

"Yes. Father's personal slave is called 'Wiial' or something I don't care to remember. Do you have a name?" She raised an eyebrow in question and her eyes focused on me like a sliver of sunlight over the ocean.

"Yes Mistress. I'm called Kaiyer, Mistress," I said as I looked to her feet and continued to dry.