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Outlander Ch. 01

By: sirreadsalot10



Author's note: This is a fantasy tale about a heartbroken man who must learn to love again despite being pulled into a magical world and being the central figure in a titanic struggle between freedom and tyranny. I hope you enjoy it. I would like to thank the members of the guild for all your support and advice. I also want to give a special thanks to my editor JillieB

**********

Twenty minutes ago, Jack Forester had been the happiest man in the world. To most people twenty minutes is the time until some event or thing. It would be twenty minutes until their favorite TV show aired, or twenty minutes until dinner was ready. For children, it was usually twenty minutes until bedtime, or twenty minutes until it was time to leave for school. For Jack Forester, twenty minutes was all that was needed to reduce his entire life to ashes.

He staggered mindlessly through the streets of Boston, heedless of direction or destination. The pain inside him was so palpable that it took every last bit of his strength of will to contain it, leaving little room for trivial thoughts like where he was going.

Despite his determined effort, the agony would occasionally burst free and a groan of anguish would escape him before he would somehow manage to quell the outburst and fight off the urge to collapse in a sobbing heap.

Passersby looked at him with concern, but he shambled on, oblivious to their stares. At any other time, he would have been mortified to be showing this kind of emotion in front of strangers, but in this moment of misery, he was beyond caring.

Occasionally coherent thoughts would surface in his mind. Why? What did I do wrong? How could she do this? The answers were elusive, and his mind replayed the events of his life in the years since he met his wife, desperately seeking an explanation.

By the time Jack was a junior in high school, he stood just under six feet tall, and was of medium build. He wasn't a pretty boy, but wasn't ugly either. His hair and eyes were brown, and he had the muscles of youth, but not the kind of muscles that girls went crazy over.

In fact, Jack was an average teenager in almost all respects save one. He never quit. He played all the sports his school offered and wasn't exceptionally talented at any of them, but what he lacked in talent he made up for in determination. He never gave up, he worked hard, and he earned his place on the athletic teams through force of will.

His mom called him stubborn, but would laugh and say he was just like his dad. Jack always felt proud when she said that. His father had worked as a bricklayer his whole life to support them, and had passed that work ethic on to his son.

Jack knew he was nothing special and was astonished when Barbara Edwards, a cheerleader and one of the most beautiful girls in school, let it be known that she wanted to date him. She didn't tell him outright, but instead told her friends, who told his friends, who told him.

Fearing that it might be a joke, but praying that it was true, he gathered his courage and asked her out on a date. For the rest of high school they were inseparable. He was smitten by her from the start, and it wasn't long before he was hopelessly in love with his blonde haired cheerleader.

As seniors, shortly after she turned eighteen (he had turned eighteen the month before) they took each other's virginity. Afterward, she whispered that she loved him and his heart soared. He couldn't believe that this wonderful, beautiful girl was his and his alone. He loved Barbara with the same tenacity that had earned him the nickname Iron Head on his football team, and they began planning a life together.

His grades were good enough for college but his parents didn't have the money, so he and Barbara came up with a different plan. They got married right after high school and Jack went to work building industrial equipment while Barbara went to college. It was hard to make ends meet and Jack even had to work a second job a few times when things got especially hard.

They lived in a one bedroom apartment while Jack worked to put Barbara, first through college, and then through law school. After Barbara passed the bar and got a job at a good law firm, she wanted Jack to quit his job and relax, but Jack wouldn't hear of it. What kind of a man didn't work?

At his job, Jack earned the same reputation he had in high school. He never missed work, and he could be counted on no matter what. He was promoted and became a supervisor. Unwilling to let others do all the work he labored right along side his men, earning their respect.

By the time Jack was thirty-six his knees were wearing out. All the heavy lifting and kneeling on the concrete floor of the shop where the industrial equipment was built had damaged the cartilage. His company, rewarding him for years of excellence, transitioned him into an office where he oversaw shipping and receiving, and would be able to work without further damaging his knees. 

Not being able to work as hard as he used to, combined with sitting in front of a computer all day, caused Jack to put on a few extra pounds. He wasn't fat, but was about twenty pounds overweight as he approached his forties.

Through all of this, his love for Barbara never wavered, and he thought she felt the same way. They had seemed to grow even closer after they found out that Barbara was unable to have children. 

Barbara had focused on her career and became a successful corporate lawyer. With Barbara's salary, they led a very comfortable life. While a successful woman would threaten many men, Jack felt nothing but pride for his beautiful wife's achievements. He had never loved or been with any woman but her and would have been happy to continue that way for the rest of his life.

Today was Barbara's thirty-ninth birthday, and Jack decided he would take a rare day off work. He'd kissed Barbara goodbye that morning as usual and left as though he were going to work, but had gone birthday shopping for her instead. He bought her some diamond earrings that she had seen in a catalogue and said were pretty. He picked up the birthday cake he had ordered for her, and bought some balloons and streamers. Lastly, he went by the grocery store and picked up a few items. He wanted to have dinner ready for her when she got home.

It was a little after noon when he unlocked their front door and slipped into the house. He headed for the kitchen with the groceries and then ran back out to his pickup truck for the cake. After putting the groceries away, he headed upstairs, earrings in hand, to look for some wrapping paper. He was sure Barbara had some in their bedroom closet. His knees protested as he climbed the stairs and he stopped to let them recover once he reached the top.

His head snapped in the direction of their bedroom when he heard Barbara giggle. What was she doing home? His first thought was she was going to ruin his surprise. He turned to head back down the stairs to hide the cake, but froze when he heard her giggle turn into a moan.

His brain tried to process what he'd just heard. Did she moan because she hurt herself? Was she masturbating? He slipped the earrings into his pocket and walked down the hallway toward their bedroom door. He told his legs to walk quickly but they refused to obey him. Instead, they moved reluctantly as if they had knowledge that he lacked and wanted to delay his acquisition of that knowledge as long as possible.

His open bedroom door loomed before him. The room slowly came into view as he moved in front of the door. For Jack, the entire universe came to a stop when his eyes lit upon his and Barbara's bed.

Barbara was on the bed and she wasn't alone. Jack, like all men, had wondered what his reaction would be if he ever caught his wife in bed with another man. And, like most men, he had told himself that he would kick the shit out of the bastard. Now faced with the reality, he could do nothing.

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't think; all he could do was stare in horror. He wanted to curl up in the fetal position and cry, but like a person who can't help but look at a gruesome car accident, he couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene before him.

Barbara was straddling the man with her back to Jack. Her long blonde hair hung down her back and swung from side to side as she rotated her hips, grinding her pussy on the man's cock.

Jack could clearly see the lips of her pussy grasping at the man's shaft as she swirled her hips. The man's hands grasped her waist and his toes clinched and released as she worked him. They both made little grunts of pleasure as she fucked him on her and Jack's bed.

A wave of dizziness and nausea threatened to overwhelm him and Jack had to put his hand on the doorframe to keep from falling. He almost fell back out of the doorway when Barbara suddenly swung around to face away from her lover, and used her hand to stuff her lover's cock back inside her.

She put her hands on the man's knees and rode him hard. Jack could see her face now, and his pain intensified at her expression. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her mouth was half-open in a silent moan. She was crinkling her nose the same way she had a thousand times before when he had made love to her.

Barbara would only have to open her eyes to see Jack standing there, but she was oblivious to his presence. 

"Oh yeah, baby," the man moaned, and began thrusting his hips up to meet her. "Fuck yeah, I'm gonna come!"

Jack's horror reached new heights when Barbara pulled off her lover's cock and slid back up his body until she positioned her pussy over his face. She grabbed his cock in one hand and pumped it quickly while stroking his balls with her finely manicured red fingernails. She licked and sucked on the enflamed purple head of the man's cock.

Her lover bellowed as he came. Barbara continued to suck and lick as his jets of cum splashed off her lips and tongue. In the throes of his orgasm, the man thrust upward pushing Barbara's head up. Her eyes locked with Jack's.

Her expression changed from one of passion to shock and fear. Her eyes remained glued to Jack as the last of her unknowing lover's cum pulsed out of his cock and onto her hand, which still grasped his shaft.

"Happy birthday, baby," the man said relaxing after his orgasm.

"Oh god, Jack," Barbara said.

"Hey! Quit accidentally calling me Jack," the man said with a laugh.

Barbara scrambled off the bed, and the man sat up with a surprised look on his face.

"What's wrong ba..." he trailed off seeing Jack in the doorway.

Jack knew the man. He was Roger Chapman, a junior partner at the law firm where Barbara worked. Jack had met Roger many times at Barbara's company functions, and had thought he was a nice guy. He was tall and seemed to have a way with women, but Jack had trusted Barbara completely. He felt like a fool.

Finally, Jack's mind seemed to wake up and the only thing he could think of was getting out of there. He needed to escape the horror and the pain that threatened to destroy his sanity. He turned and hobbled toward the stairs as fast as he could. He almost fell on his way down and had to grab the banister to keep his balance. He grunted as pain shot through his tortured knees.

Barbara caught up with him as he reached the front door.

"Jack, wait," she begged and grabbed him by the shoulder. She pulled him around to face her.

She had managed to slip on the green and gold silk robe that he had bought her last Christmas, Jack noticed. It hung open slightly in the front, revealing the inner slopes of her breasts. The sight of her soft flesh would have normally thrilled his senses, but now seemed lewd and repulsive.

"Let me go," he said. He meant it to sound angry, but even to his own ears he sounded like what he was, heartbroken.

"Jack, listen," she begged. "It was just a fling. It didn't mean anything to me. Please Jack." Her eyes were brimming with tears.

Seeing her tears tore at him, and for a moment he felt an urge to forgive her, to find a way to work things out. He was about to breakdown and take her into his arms when he noticed something next to her mouth. There was still a drop of Roger's cum on her face.

Anger surged in him for the first time. How many times had he kissed those lips that were now decorated with another man's cum? How many times had he caressed and lovingly worshipped her pussy with his mouth? The same pussy that had been filled by another man's dick just a few minutes ago.

"It was just a fling? It meant nothing to you? You betrayed me for something that meant nothing to you?" He hurled the questions at her.

"I," she paused as though grasping for words.

"Fuck you," he yelled. She had never heard him yell like that and flinched back releasing his arm.

He spun, flung open the door, and hurried outside. His anger lasted until he got to his truck. He had left the keys inside the house, and there was no way he was going back in there. He needed to get away before she changed in to more suitable clothes and came after him, so he started walking down the street on foot.

That was twenty minutes ago; the Twenty minutes that had forever changed everything for Jack Forester.

After he had been wandering around in a daze for a while, Jack's knees began to ache in earnest. He found a bus stop bench and sat down to rest. He didn't even notice the city transit bus pull up.

The driver opened the door and called to him, but Jack only stared ahead unseeing. The bus driver shook his head. 'Another fucking crazy person,' he thought as he closed the door and pulled back into traffic.

Jack sat there until the pain in his knees subsided a little, then rose slowly and limped down the street. He lost track of how long he wandered, and how many times he had to find a place to rest.

As evening set in and the sky began to darken in a tapestry of oranges and purples, Jack shambled past a liquor store. Though he wasn't a drinking man, drowning his pain in a sea of liquor sounded like a damn good idea. He hobbled back and entered the store.

Jack emerged a few minutes later with a bottle of vodka concealed in a paper bag. He waited until he got around the corner before opening the bottle and taking a long pull. He coughed as the fiery liquid burned its way down his throat. 

He took another drink, and then glanced around. He saw an entrance to the commuter train that serviced Boston. Riding around the city instead of walking seemed like a good idea so he paid the fare and boarded the train.

He took a seat and stared blindly as the train pulled away from the platform. He took a drink of the vodka then noticed an elderly woman looking at him disapprovingly. Jack ignored her but decided to wait until he got off the train to drink the rest. He wasn't sure if alcohol was allowed on the train, and didn't want to be kicked off.

Jack rode the train until night had fallen completely, and finally disembarked when the train made one of its scheduled stops. The smell of the sea was strong in the air as he emerged onto the street. He looked around and realized he was near the harbor.

He began to drink in earnest as he made his way in front of the brightly-lit hotels that lined the street adjacent to the harbor. Jack drank the vodka with the same determination that he approached most things, and it wasn't long before he was drunk.

He watched the people emerge from the fancy restaurants and hotels as he staggered drunkenly down the street. He thought it morosely funny that they all smiled and laughed while dressed in their fine clothes, and seemed to ignore the stench of salt, dead fish, and wet garbage that permeated the harbor air.

Suddenly he hated them. How dare they go about their perfect lives when his very reason for existing had been taken from him? He had to get away from their sickening, smiling faces. He turned abruptly and headed down a side street.

The side street led him behind the glamorous street side façade of the hotels and restaurants. It took him to the alleyways where the hotel garbage and the uneaten food from the restaurants were piled in dumpsters and smaller tin trashcans. 'Yes, this is where I belong,' he thought.

Suddenly, a life without Barbara flashed in front of him. What would he do? His whole world and identity revolved around being with her. He realized that the alcohol wasn't deadening his pain; instead, it was eroding his will. His last barrier against the hurt crumbled.

Finally unable to stem the tide of anguish, he sat down against a brick wall that hid the alley from the eyes of the patrons who visited the hotels. Even drunk he still had the presence of mind to hastily glance around the dark alley before he completely lost it. He was thankful no one was around as he broke down, buried his face in his hands, and wept. He didn't know how long he sat there. Time didn't seem to exist in his new reality.

"Hey buddy, you alright?" some one slurred at him drunkenly.

Jack glanced up and saw a homeless man with a scraggly grey beard and a baseball hat that said I heart boobies on it. "I'm fine," he said. "Please, just leave me alone."

The man didn't take the hint and put a hand on Jack's shoulder. "You need any help?" he asked.

Jack set what was left of the bottle of vodka on the ground. "I said I'm fine," he replied and tried to get up. His right knee buckled as he surged to his feet.

The homeless man quickly jumped back as Jack staggered into some tin trashcans and crashed back to the ground, the cans spilling their contents all over him. He lay there in the garbage and didn't even try to get up.

"Yeah, you look fine, buddy," the homeless man said as he picked up Jack's vodka bottle and hurried away down the alley.

Jack lay there in the refuse and stared up at the night sky. He had loved Barbara so deeply and completely that her betrayal had wounded him in the very fabric of his soul. The wound changed him and something deep in his soul died.

His pain evaporated, leaving emptiness behind. He felt dead, or at least as dead as you can be while your heart still habitually beat and your lungs still mechanically inhaled and exhaled. 

He climbed to his feet and looked around. He noticed a door in the brick wall that he hadn't seen before. It was made of wooden planks like the door to some ancient torture chamber. He could have sworn that the door wasn't there a second ago. He noted dispassionately that he was drunk and probably just hadn't noticed it.

He was about to turn away when he caught the faint sound of strange music coming from the door. He listened but it was gone. He stared at the door. The music was different from what you normally hear these days. It sounded simple and melodic, like something played in a movie set in a time long past.

How could music be coming from a wooden door in a one-foot thick brick wall? He felt an urge to open it. The door was calling to him on some primal level that he didn't understand. He didn't really care one way or the other. Going through the door was as good an option as any. He shrugged, grabbed the handle, and turned it to open the door.

He expected to step through the wall and into the parking lot of the hotel; instead he squinted as unexpected light assaulted his eyes. The light wasn't bright but having come from the darkness of the alley his eyes needed a second to adjust to the flickering dim light.

He was in a room of some kind and the music that he had thought he heard filled the air with its unfamiliar chords. He blinked his eyes in astonishment and looked around. The room was lit by several lanterns mounted in sconces on the wooden walls. There were old, stained, wooden tables spread around the floor. A young woman dressed in a gray, low cut wool dress moved briskly among the seated patrons bearing a tray and distributing drinks in what appeared to be clay cups.


Outlander Ch. 01



He gaped in confusion as he stared around the room. It seemed to be a tavern but it was unlike any tavern he had ever seen. The wood-planked floor was covered in straw, and a haze of smoke hung in the air from the fire that burned in a rock fireplace halfway down the wall to Jack's left. There was a dais in the back of the room and two men stood on it playing the music that filled the air using instruments Jack had never seen before.

One of the musicians played something similar to a guitar except it only had three strings and the back was rounded like a gourd. Another played a horn like instrument but it split in the middle and had two flared mouths instead of one, and it had holes along the top that the musician covered with his fingers as he played.

The patrons themselves were a rustic looking bunch, wearing rough-looking clothes of wool in hues of browns, grays, and greens. Many of them smoked a variety of pipes as they went about their eating and drinking, adding to the smoky haze that drifted above their heads. 

The man playing the guitar-like instrument saw Jack standing there and stopped playing. His partner on the horn trailed off as well, looked at his companion, and then followed his line of sight to Jack. The other patrons looked up from their food and drink and stared curiously at the musicians.

Jack jerked, startled, when the door behind him swung shut with a loud thud. Every eye in the room turned to him. Silence filled the air as they stared at Jack and he stared back. 'What the fuck,' he thought as several of the men's hands darted to the hilts of the swords that hung at their sides. Until then, Jack had failed to notice the assortment of knives and swords that the patrons wore at their hips.

'What the hell is going on here,' he thought. He realized that some of the strange tavern patrons were staring at him with looks of fear on their faces while others looked almost joyous. The unnatural silence seemed to stretch on until, finally a man stood, his chair screeching loudly in the silence as he pushed it back from the table where he sat.

Jack studied the man as he approached. He appeared to be in his late forties or maybe early fifties with long black hair streaked with gray. He wore a smile, but it looked out of place on his weathered face. He was a few inches taller than Jack and wore a tunic of brown wool laced in the front half way down his chest with leather thongs. He was thin but had an air of strength about him. He held his hands in front of him soothingly as though approaching a skittish animal, keeping them well away from the sword that hung at his side.

"Forgive us," he said. "It has been a long time since an outlander has come through that door." His voice had an accent that Jack didn't recognize. It had a lilting almost lyrical sound to it as though the man were singing the words rather than speaking them.

"What is going on here?" Jack asked. He felt a hell of a lot more sober than he had a few minutes ago. "Who are you?"

"I am sorry," the man said, "I am being rude. My name is Garek. Will you please join me at my table for a drink?" Garek gestured back at the table he had just come from.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Jack said glancing around nervously.

"You are among friends here, outlander," Garek said reassuringly. "I promise no harm will befall you."

"I can't stay," Jack said, "I have to get home to my..." Jack trailed off. What did he have to get home to? A cheating wife? A house full of lies and deception? A life of pain?

Garek looked at him with concern. "Outlander, you look like a man that could use a drink," he said.

"Jack; My name is Jack Forester," Jack said woodenly.

"Very well, Jack Forester. I would be honored if you would join me."

'Fuck it,' Jack thought. 'I have nowhere else to be.' He nodded his head and walked to Garek's table. He didn't see Garek nod at the two men standing near the fireplace, didn't notice the men silently move to block the door through which Jack had come.

As if released from a spell, the other patrons of the tavern returned to their drinking when Jack sat at Garek's table. The musicians began playing again and except for an occasional glance Jack's way the tavern's patrons seemed to return to normal. If there was a feeling of nervousness around the room, the alcohol in Jack's blood stream kept him from noticing it.

As Jack sat down he saw another man sitting at the table. He was of an age with Garek, but where Garek's hair was dark his was fair, and he had a scar that ran from his forehead under a black eye patch and down his cheek. The scar pulled up the corner of his mouth in a rictus of a half smile. His piercing blue eyes regarded Jack coldly. 'This is a dangerous man,' Jack thought.

Garek sat in the chair across from Jack, next to the dangerous-looking man. "Jack, this is Ithos. Ithos is my first mate," he said.

Ithos nodded to Jack. "Outlander," he said in a gruff, raspy voice.

"You will find that Ithos is a man of few words, but there is no one better to have at your back in a fight," Garek said, casting a fond look at his grizzled companion.

Ithos harrumphed. "Twenty years ago, maybe," he said casting a baleful look at Garek.

Garek broke into a hearty laugh, and Ithos turned to his drink looking affronted.

Jack was seriously beginning to doubt his sanity and wondered if he hadn't hit his head when he fell in the alley. The thought occurred to him that maybe he was still laying in the garbage unconscious, and was having a vivid dream. He dismissed the thought almost immediately, this felt entirely too real to be a dream. It was surreal, but definitely real. Still, he needed answers. "Garek," he began and then stopped, alarmed, when Ithos head snapped up.

"That's Captain Liaman to you," he barked.

Garek laid a hand on Ithos's arm. "Easy, old friend," he said. "He doesn't know."

"I meant no offence," Jack said casting a wary glance at Ithos. "I was just wondering, what is this place and who are you people? Is this some kind of historical group? I mean, the swords, the clothes, what are you people doing here?" 

Garek leaned back and steepled his hands in front of him. He studied Jack as he formulated his response. The outlander seemed to be a man deeply troubled. Something in his eyes spoke of pain and loss. He looked soft and chubby to Garek, weak. Would this man have the strength to face what lay ahead? Could this man really be the one to stop the Karokai from enslaving them all?

'What do I say to him?' he thought. 'I can't tell him the truth, not yet.'

Jack felt the urge to fidget as he waited for Garek to speak. He felt like he was being weighed and measured under Garek's intense gaze. He was grateful when the young serving woman arrived at their table with a drink for him. Her hands were shaking as she sat the clay cup full of dark amber liquid in front of him. He glanced up at her and she squeaked fearfully and scampered back toward the bar. 

"What do you have to go back to?" Garek asked, drawing Jack's attention away from the strange behavior of the serving girl.

"What?" Jack asked, surprised at the question.

"You said you needed to get back to something," he said, "What is it?"

It seemed like such a simple question, but the answer was anything but. He took a drink from the cup the serving girl had placed in front of him to give himself a moment to think. The amber liquid warmed him as it made its way to his stomach. It was some kind of beer that he had never tasted before but the flavor was complex and rich. 'Probably an import,' he thought. The infusion of fresh alcohol seemed to remind his brain that he was drunk, and a wave of dizziness hit him, causing the room to slowly spin. He struggled to come up with an answer to Garek's question.

Suddenly an image of Barbara sucking the cum from Roger's spewing cock flashed in Jack's mind, and the pain of her betrayal slammed into him. His face momentarily twisted in agony before he mastered himself, but Garek saw his brief loss of control.

"Nothing," Jack croaked, cleared his throat, and then said more clearly, "I have nothing to go back to." He raised the cup to his lips again and drank deeply.

This was the moment, and Garek knew that what he said next and the outlander's response would determine whether Jack Forester came with him willingly or unwillingly, but one way or the other there would be no going back for the outlander. All their hopes hinged upon him and when Garek and his crew sailed away the outlander would be on board. Too much was at stake to entertain any other possibility.

"It sounds to me that you are a man in need of a new beginning. How would you like to join my crew?" he asked casually, as though it didn't matter to him one way or the other.

"Your crew?" Jack asked, surprised. "Your friend said you were a captain. Do you have a boat?"

"I am the captain of the merchant vessel Arabella. She's a modest ship but sails as true as any ship on the seas," Garek said, and even through his drunken haze, Jack could see the pride Garek had in his ship.

The offer stunned Jack. Could he accept? He imagined having to explain to his friends and coworkers why he would be getting a divorce. He imagined the humiliation he would have to endure, the whispers behind his back and the looks of pity he would receive. Anything would be better than that. "Are you serious?" he asked.

"Of course," Garek replied.

"What would I do? I have no experience working on boats, though I have worked shipping and receiving. I'm good with inventory."

"That's perfect," Garek said, "I have need of a cargo officer. We are a merchant vessel after all."

Jack was tempted to accept. He may not have consciously realized that he had been searching for an escape from the hopelessness that had engulfed his life, but that was exactly what Garek was offering him. His offer was an escape from the platitudes his friends would offer, an escape from the divorce attorneys, an escape from having to face Barbara again, but most of all it was an escape from who he had been, a dupe, a laughingstock, a fool.

"I accept," Jack said and relief washed over him. Barbara could have it all. None of their possessions meant anything to him anymore.

A broad smile split Garek's face. "Splendid," he said and shook Jack's hand. "Barmaid, more drinks!"

They drank deep into the night, and Jack lost himself in the celebratory mood that the tavern seemed to take on as the evening progressed. Tables were cleared and men and women took to the floor, dancing and spinning as the musicians played one lively tune after another. Jack even had a dance with the barmaid who had earlier seemed afraid of him.

The revelry continued, and at one point Jack found himself standing on the dais with Ithos singing a duet, though they seemed to be singing two completely different songs at the same time, neither of which had anything to do with the music that was being played. Jack was giving his best rendition of Lynyrd Skynyrd's famous ballad "Free Bird" and Ithos was singing something about a goodwife that was caught stealing a pig. Garek got so confused trying to keep time to the song that he lost his balance and fell to the straw covered floor, laughing the whole way down.

Eventually the musicians grew weary and stopped playing for the night. The tavern's customers staggered home one by one, leaving Jack, Garek, Ithos, and a few others nursing their drinks as they sat quietly before the fire that burned weakly in the fireplace. Jack's head slowly lowered until his forehead rested on the table. A moment later, he began to snore.

Garek and Ithos instantly dropped their drunken demeanor and exchanged relieved looks. "Damn, I thought he was never going to pass out. Kairn give us a hand," Garek said to one of the men that he had earlier sent to guard the door through which Jack had come. "Grelik, you get back to the Arabella and tell the crew we are coming, and trouble might be coming with us." The men, Kairn and Grelik, had stayed near the door all night in case the outlander tried to leave.

"Aye Captain," Grelik said before slipping out of the tavern's main door on the opposite end of the room from where Jack had entered. Kairn and Ithos hoisted the unconscious Jack between them while Garek moved to the tavern door.

"Listen up," he said to Ithos and Kairn, "Word of the outlander has probably spread like wildfire through the village by now. Stay sharp and if anyone approaches drop the outlander and draw your swords. Defend him at all costs. Understood?" 

He waited until they nodded before turning to the barkeep. "Master Ulfes, please send a bird to the king, tell him that the seer's vision has been realized. Tell him an outlander has come through the portal, and I am bringing him as fast as I can."

He turned back to Ithos and Kairn. "Now, let's get to the ship," he said before he opened the door. With his hand on his sword hilt, he led the way as they plunged into the night.



Outlander Ch. 02



Author's note: As always, I would like to thank the guild for their invaluable support, and give a special thank you to my editor JillieB.

**********

Garek's dark penetrating eyes scanned the darkness as he led the way down the cobbled street. Every dark opening between the wooden shops, warehouses, and dwellings that lined the street seemed like a maw from which an attack could spring at any moment. Every fleeting shadow seemed ominous and drew his gaze before his eyes moved on to the next. 

Ithos and Kairn followed close behind, carrying the unconscious outlander between them. They each had and arm tucked around him and his feet dragged along the cobbled stones of the street. "Damn, he's heavy," Ithos grunted.

"Quiet," Garek hissed, "We don't want to draw attention." 

Ithos gave Garek an irritated look but said no more as he struggled. The outlander's dead weight was a painful reminder that he wasn't as young as he used to be. He cursed silently when his foot slipped in something soft and wet. 'Horse shit,' he thought but said nothing aloud. His breath came in ragged gasps but he did not slow as they moved toward the harbor.

They reached the corner without incident. They turned left down the next street into the market area where during the daylight hours traders and merchants hawked their wares. They moved cautiously with all their senses intent on finding any hint of danger. Garek heard the patter of footsteps echoing off the walls of the shops that lined the market. They sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet of night.

At Garek's signal, the men ducked behind a market stand. The stand was covered by a course canvas like material that might once have been part of a sail. It was about three spans wide providing enough room for them to hide behind while casting plenty of shadow to conceal them from anyone who might, by chance, look out a window facing their makeshift hideout.

After laying the outlander down, Ithos fought to get his labored breathing under control. Jack let out a snore and Kairn quickly covered his nose and mouth with one hand while gripping his sheathed sword with the other. Garek silently motioned for them to be ready and then peeked around the corner of the stand toward the approaching footsteps.

Two figures moved in the shadows and one seemed to be chasing the other. A young woman appeared from out of the darkness with a young man close behind. She held the hem of her dress up as she ran with her long dark hair streaming behind her. The young man quickly closed the distance between them and caught her by the arm. She let out a little squeal as he spun her around and gripped her shoulders roughly with both hands.

Garek's hand tightened on the grip of his sword hilt, preparing to intervene, then relaxed when the girl giggled. She gave her pursuer a quick kiss before spinning out of the man's embrace and darting away again. The young man growled lustily and resumed the chase.

The young man caught the girl again a few feet from the stand where they were hiding. He grabbed her by her wrists and pressed her against the market stand with her hands pinned above her head. She gasped and started to speak but instead moaned wantonly when the young man pressed the length of his body against hers.

Garek put a finger to his lips as he made eye contact with Ithos and Kairn. The two lovers were just around the corner of the stand, only feet away from where they crouched. The darkness hid their faces from him and they were probably just the young lovers they appeared to be, but he wasn't taking any chances.

"Oh, Terell," the girl moaned when the young man pressed his lips to her neck. "What about your wife?" she asked breathlessly.

"That old harpy never spreads her legs," Terell replied between kisses. "Besides, she's ten years older than me and my father made me marry her for her family's money. She doesn't know what her cunny is for, but you do. Don't you my sweet Trina?"

"My name is Frina," she said indignantly.

"That's what I said," Terell replied innocently and then covered her mouth with his. Her only response was to moan and return his kiss passionately, her tongue sliding silkily around his.

The men hiding behind the stand exchanged startled glances when they heard the girl speak the name Terell. At the sound of the young man's voice, Ithos's face turned an ugly shade of red. Only a shake of Garek's head and his hand on Ithos's shoulder kept the old warrior from striding out to confront the young man. The last thing Garek wanted was to frighten the girl. If she started screaming at their sudden appearance, she would bring a lot of attention that he wanted to avoid.

"Wait," the girl protested when Terell released one of her wrists and began pulling up her skirt, "Not in the street. My father's shop is just over there and I have the key. Let's go inside."

"Frina, it is the middle of the night, everyone is asleep. Besides, what fun would that be?" Terell asked and continued bunching her skirt around her waist.

"You are so bad," Frina said, desire heavy in her voice.

"I know," was all Terell said. His fingers found her moist sex beneath her dress and she moaned huskily as he explored her silky folds.

She held her dress up with her free hand while Terell fumbled with the bone buttons of his breeches. He slipped his hand into the opening and fumbled for his hard cock. He grunted in discomfort as he forced his hardness around, out of his breeches, and into the chill of the night air.

Frina lifted one leg to give her lover access to her womanly flower. Her pussy was hot and saturated with her juices and she shuddered when the cold night air touched her moistness, sending a chill through her body. 

Terell pressed his body against her and hunched slightly to line his cock up with her entrance. When he had the engorged head nestled between her dewy lips, he recaptured her wrist and repinned it above her head. He paused until she wiggled her hips trying to take him inside her then thrust upward sharply, embedding his shaft in Frina's depths so hard that he momentarily lifted her feet off the ground.

"Oh!" she cried as his hard shaft stretched her pussy wide and his length drove deep inside her. Her body shuddered involuntarily as the sensation of his thick cock sliding into her filled her with pleasure.

He hastily released one of her wrists and covered her mouth with his hand. "Quiet, my love," he said. "We wouldn't want to be discovered now, would we?" He waited until she had recovered from his entry then began thrusting into her. She cupped his buttock with her freed hand and encouraged him to more speed as he pushed violently into her again and again. She grunted with every impalement but somehow controlled her urge to cry out as waves of pleasure assaulted her senses.

Garek looked at Ithos as young Terell ravished the girl only feet away. Ithos's face had now turned an ugly shade of purple that contrasted sharply with the white puckered skin of his scar. Garek couldn't help but be amused by the whole situation. He glanced at Kairn and saw the same amusement written on his face as well. If their circumstances were not so serious, he wouldn't be able to keep from laughing at his old friend's expense.

Frina's gasps became more urgent. She squealed and buried her head in Terell's shoulder to keep from crying out as an orgasm crashed through her body. Her legs gave out and Terell quickly released her other wrist and grasped her buttocks with both hands to hold her up. He continued to thrust into her without mercy as her pleasure crested.

The feel of her tight slick walls squeezing and quivering on his cock pushed Terell over the edge. When he erupted, he grunted once then froze fully encased in her molten pussy. He held his breath as his cock pulsed his seed deep inside her. He groaned in satisfaction when his pleasure waned and gave two more shallow thrusts before stilling. He held her in that position for a moment more and then set her legs back on the ground. 

"Oh my!" she said and then began to giggle breathlessly. She sighed softly, almost regretfully, when he withdrew his softening member from inside her moist depths.

When she had pulled her dress back into place and Terell had stuffed his manhood back into his breeches the lovers embraced. "I love you so much, Terell," Frina said wistfully.

"And I you, sweet Frina," he said. "But now I must go, for I must sail on the tide."

"Will you come back to me?" she asked, a tear spilling down her face.

"Do not cry, love," he said tenderly, brushing the tear from her cheek. "I will free myself from this horrible marriage and the tyrannical grip of my father. I will return to you. I don't know how long it will take or how I'll do it, but nothing will keep me from returning to your loving arms." He held the girl a moment more as she cried.

"I will wait for you forever if I must," She cried then grasped Terell's long blond locks in both hands, pulling him into one last desperate kiss before tearing herself away from his embrace. She crossed the street heading for the house behind her father's shop where she and her family lived. She hesitated for one last longing look at Terell before disappearing behind the wooden building.

Terell waited a moment after Frina was out of sight then whooped and began dancing a little jig. He yelped in surprise and almost fell in the street when he danced around to find Ithos standing behind him.

"Father," he said in astonishment as he staggered and waved his arms in an attempt to regain his balance. He finally succeeded in righting himself, but promptly took a step back in alarm at the rage etched into his father's face.

"A tyrant, am I?" Ithos spat at his son, his one eye blazing with fury. "Forced you into marriage to an older woman, did I?" His fists clenched and unclenched as he spoke.

Terell backed away from his father with his hands held defensively in front of him. "Father, I..." he trailed off, unable to formulate a response in the face of his father's livid countenance. 

"You lied to that girl," Ithos spluttered indignantly and advanced as his son retreated. "If anything, I have been too soft on you. And what do I get for my kindness? A womanizing son who beds every other girl he meets! And didn't I tell you to stay aboard the Arabella?"

"Enough," Garek said as he and Kairn appeared from behind the market stand. "You two can discuss this aboard ship. Right now we have more pressing concerns." He glanced worriedly up and down the market street.

Terell flinched again when he saw the captain and flushed red with embarrassment. He realized they had been hiding behind the stand through his entire encounter with Frina. "Captain Liaman, I am sorry for-"

"Not now, Terell. But as long as you're here, you might as well be useful. Help Kairn carry the outlander," Garek said and moved into position to resume their trek. 

"What?" Terell exclaimed. "The outlander has come?" He stared in bewilderment from the captain to his father.

"Just shut up and carry, boy," Ithos snapped and moved up beside Garek.

It only took a moment for Terell and Kairn to retrieve Jack from where he lay hidden behind the stand. With Jack supported between them they began following Garek and Ithos up the street. 

Jack seemed to wake for a moment though he made no effort to walk. "I'm as free as a bird now," he sang drunkenly before slipping back into unconsciousness.

"Damn, he's heavy," Terell said quietly to Kairn.

Kairn just snorted in amusement. "How long have you known that girl?" he asked.

"About three hours," Terell said with a lopsided grin.

Kairn laughed softly. "You are unbelievable."

"Hey, you wound me," Terell said with a look of mock hurt on his face. "There are a lot of women out there in need of love." 

"Love? Is that what you call what you are giving them?"

"Close enough," Terell shot back.

Kairn laughed a little louder than he intended.

"You two stop fucking around and be quiet," Ithos snapped, casting a furious glance their way.

Both men decided it would not be prudent to press their luck any further with the First Mate and spoke no more as they headed for the ship and safety.

With Garek and Ithos leading, they made their way up the cobbled road and turned right at the corner. They only had to go up two more streets and turn left, and then it was a straight shot to the docks. They made it past the next intersection and were approaching the last corner when a group of men moved out of the shadows and blocked their path.

Garek held up his hand and they stopped, facing the men. Kairn and Terell laid Jack down and Kairn moved up beside Garek and Ithos while Terell stayed with the unconscious outlander. Garek cursed silently. He hadn't heard them approach, which meant they must have been lying in wait.

"Well, well, well. What have we here? Captain Liaman and a few cohorts stealing through the night with an unconscious man," the leader of the group facing them said to Garek. He was a short man with a face dominated by a beak-like nose and dark beady eyes. His pale thinning hair was oiled and combed in an attempt to hide his impending baldness. He wore a blue doublet of brocaded silk and breeches of dyed blue leather. His pose radiated the arrogance of a small man consumed with his own importance.

"Captain Drebin," Garek said, recognizing the man before him. He quickly scanned Drebin's men and counted ten besides the captain. By their demeanor and armament, they must be sea dogs. He was surprised to see only ten. Drebin's ship, the Kraken, had a complement of at least thirty of the skilled fighters aboard. "Let us pass; we are about the King's business."

"The outlander, you mean?" the other captain asked with amusement. 

"Drebin, a bird has already been sent informing the King that I have him. What do you hope to accomplish with this display?" Garek asked his voice filled with contempt.

"Well it just so happens that two of my men were in the tavern tonight. One slipped out to tell me about the outlander's arrival. The other stayed and after you left ensured that no birds were sent to the king." Drebin said, nodding to one of his men who flashed an insolent smile at Garek. "So you see," Drebin continued, "It is I who will be presenting the outlander to the king."

"You bastard," Garek said. "I always knew you loved glory and gold above all else."

"We all have our vices," Drebin said dryly. "Now hand over the outlander and you won't have to die here tonight."

"Come take him, you overblown popinjay," Garek snapped and as one, he and his men drew their swords.

Drebin stared at the drawn weapons in distaste. "Very well," he said, turning to his men. "Kill them." He waved his hand dismissively at them and stepped behind his men.

Drebin's sea dogs started forward with deadly intent, their swords hissing as they were drawn from their scabbards. Suddenly they froze at the sound of running steps behind them. Being trained soldiers, their surprise lasted only a second before one of them barked a command and they quickly encircled Captain Drebin and faced outward in a defensive perimeter.

Garek and Ithos exchanged a worried glance, wondering who was approaching. Garek almost gasped in relief when Grelik stepped out of the shadows. He held a crossbow at the ready and leveled it at Captain Drebin's chest. At least twenty indistinct figures moved up behind him in the darkness. The arrogance on Drebin's face was replaced with shock and fear. He nervously ran his hands down the front of his silk doublet.

"You're not the only one who has sea dogs at his command, Drebin," Garek said icily. "And it seems mine now outnumber yours two to one." He paused to let Drebin's situation sink in. "Now, let us pass and it is you who will not have to die here tonight."

Drebin's eyes shifted from the crossbow pointed at his chest to the figures lurking in the shadows behind Grelik before turning to Garek. "Damn it, Liaman! This is my watch on the portal. You are only here to deliver supplies. The outlander is my responsibility by right."

"And yet you weren't there, were you?" Garek replied. "You had lackeys watching the portal and when the outlander came through your men did nothing. I had to intervene before he scampered back through the portal to his own land like a scared chicken. I don't trust you to do your duty, Drebin, so I will do it for you. The outlander stays with me."

"Liaman, see reason, we are on the same side. It will be safer if two ships escort the outlander to the king," Drebin said pleadingly.

"Captain Liaman," Grelik interrupted. "It's a trick. He sent the rest of his sea dogs to take the Arabella, but we bloodied them good." The satisfaction of a battle well fought was evident in his voice.

Fear shot through Garek. His wife, daughter, and son were aboard, and the crew had become like family over the years. "Did we suffer any casualties?" he asked, dreading the answer.

Grelik broke into a smile. "None sir," he said. "They came in from the sea loaded aboard dinghies. One of them sneezed, of all things, alerting us. You said there might be trouble so we were already prepared. We put the crossbows to them, killing many. They turned tail before we could reload and finish them."

Garek turned on Drebin in a fury. "How dare you!" he spat. Drebin flinched at the rage in Garek's voice. "There are women on board. The king will hear of this, I promise you. Now move aside while you still can." 

Garek motioned for Kairn and Terell to pick Jack up, and strode directly at Drebin who quickly and unceremoniously scampered aside while waving his arms wildly for his men to let them pass. Garek and the others moved past Grelik, who kept the crossbow trained on Captain Drebin.

They joined the others behind Grelik and began moving away from Drebin and his men. It took a moment for Garek to realize that the men now surrounding him were not his sea dogs. It was the crew. Only a few had swords, the rest were armed with clubs, chains, and oars. He looked questioningly at Grelik as the young sea dog fell in beside him. "What are you doing, Grelik?" he asked.

"Sorry, Captain," Grelik replied as the group hurried toward the docks. "Had to leave the sea dogs behind in case they made another attempt on the ship. The crew insisted on coming with me to get you. Even the women wanted to come but I made them stay on board. I figured they would be safer there."

"You did the right thing," Garek said. "How did my wife and daughter take being made to stay aboard?"

"I had to invoke sea law to get them to stay. I'll be honest, Captain. No sane man ever gives orders to a witch of the covenant, and your wife and daughter forced me to do just that," he said. "If it's all the same to you, sir, the next time they go ashore, I will stay on board where sea law protects me."

"You are a wise man, Grelik," Garek said, then laughed softly at the worried look on the young man's face. "Fear not. They will calm down as soon as they know we are all safe."

"Just the same sir, I will walk soft around them for a while," Grelik said as he glanced back down the street to make sure that Drebin's men were not following them.

"And my son?" Garek asked.

"His wife has him down below deck. I figured you would want to keep him away from the fighting."

Garek nodded his thanks. Grelik had handled the whole situation well. Kairn was doing a fine job training him, and someday he would make an excellent lieutenant. "That was a dangerous game you played back there, Grelik, but well done," he said. Pride filled him at the bravery and loyalty of his crew. He was more than a little touched that the sailors would risk their lives to come to his aid.

Garek sighed in relief as they cleared the last buildings and the Arabella came into view. She wasn't the biggest ship in the king's fleet but she was as fast and hardy as any. She was long and sleek with three masts rising skyward. Her bowsprit extended forward majestically above the carved figure of Queen Arabella who had united the southern provinces 800 years ago. 




Outlander Ch. 02



Her sails were down and there were three lanterns casting a wan yellow light situated on the main deck, forecastle, and poop deck. The dim light was designed to allow the sea dogs to see well enough to fight on deck without killing their shipmates if attacked at night, but not hinder their ability to see approaching raiders in the darkness.

They quickly crossed the open area and made their way past the sentry guarding the gangplank. The sea dogs who waited on deck let out sighs of relief as the party made their way through the gangway and on to the main deck. The women burst out of a hatch that led below deck and hurried to embrace their loved ones. Betta, Ithos's wife, pulled her husband and son into a fierce embrace, and Ithos slipped one arm around her and the other around his son. His earlier anger was apparently forgotten.

Garek smiled as his wife Emma slipped into his arms. "I'm all right my love," he said as she squeezed him tightly. He ran his fingers through her long hair that was as much gray now as black, and smiled at his daughter Ava over his wife's shoulder. She was the image of her mother 25 years ago.

"Is it true this man is an outlander?" Ava asked curiously, her emerald green eyes looking over Jack who lay forgotten on the deck amidst the joy of their safe return. "He doesn't look like much," she said coolly after her father nodded.

"Well Ava," he said. "Let us hope, for all our sakes that he is more than he appears to be."

Garek and Ava's heads turned sharply when the hatchway that led below deck slammed open with a bang. A tall man with shoulders an wide as an axe handle spilled onto the deck. He was a big man, though lean, and his long dark hair swayed as his head swung searchingly. His dark child-like eyes found who he was looking for, and with a cry of delight ran toward Garek. Crewmembers scrambled out of the big man's path as he barreled through them.

Emma barely had time to remove herself from her husbands embrace before the man caught Garek up in a massive hug. Garek gasped as the man's well-muscled arms squeezed the air out of him.

The members of the crew looked away respectfully. They were familiar with this scene but no matter how many times they witnessed it, they always felt the heartbreak that hung heavy in the air. The man was Aiden, Garek's son. He had once been the most famous swordsman in the land. He had been hailed as a hero by the people of Aramoor for the battles he had fought against the Karokai. His skill with a blade had been legendary until in the confusion of battle a Karokai cudgel caved in the back of his head. Though a witch of the covenant had healed his physical injuries, his mind had been reduced to that of a child.

"Son," Garek said with a laugh, finally catching his breath. "I am happy to see you too, but if you want your surprise you will have to put me down." 

"Aiden honey, put your father down," Emma said. She tried to sound loving but couldn't keep a hint of sadness out of her voice.

As Aiden quickly put his father down and trembled with excitement, Garek saw Viviane, Aiden's wife, come onto the deck. She was tall for a woman and her lustrous golden hair hung in gentle waves, framing a face so delicate and beautiful that many men had lost their hearts with barely a glance. She met Garek's dark eyes with her brilliant blue. They shared a look of profound sadness that eschewed the need for words.

"Now, where did I put it?" Garek asked, returning his attention to his son. He patted his pockets as though he had forgotten where he placed the prize. Aiden practically quivered in anticipation. His eyes followed Garek's hands as he pretended to search his clothing for the trinket. "Here it is," he said and with a flourish produced a little carved wooden horse.

The little horse was carved of lime wood and small enough to fit in the palm of Garek's calloused hand. It had been painted black with white spots and had a tiny saddle made of leather. It had become Garek's habit to pick up some little trinket or toy each time he made port. The toys were one of the few things that brought Aiden happiness since his wounding at the hands of the Karokai.

Aiden's face lit up and he reverently took the little horse from his father's hand. He wandered over to a clear spot on the deck and sat down. He removed a leather pouch that fastened to his waist and dumped its contents on the deck. An assortment of figures, toys, and other oddments spilled onto the deck in front of him. He added the little horse to his collection and began to play.

Viviane smiled and moved gracefully to her husband's side and knelt beside him. He looked up at her beautiful face. "Pretty," he said. Since his injury, it was the only word he ever said. She smiled and arranged her gray dress around her as she sat. The simplicity of the dress somehow enhanced her beauty and elegance as she sat on the deck and watched her husband play.

Garek gave everyone a few more moments then began issuing orders. He commanded the crew to move the ship a mile off shore and make anchor until morning. If the Maelstrom Sea could be navigated at night, he would have ordered them to raise sails for the port city of Antyor immediately. As it was, they would have to wait for morning before setting sail.

He ordered Jack moved below deck and into one of the guest cabins, and for the sea dogs to keep watch in shifts through the night in case Drebin and the Kraken left port for another attempt at snatching the outlander.

Garek stood at the main deck rail, staring at the pale twin moons in the night sky as the crew cut the moors, and manned the oars. He listened to the sound of the oars dipping in and out of the still water. The Arabella slowly pulled away from the dock and turned out to sea. At that moment, it seemed peaceful but he knew that the dangers ahead would test his resolve like never before. He only hoped he and Jack Forester had the strength to see it through to the end.

**********

Drebin cursed as he stalked up the gangplank and onto the deck of the Kraken. Wounded and dead sea dogs littered the deck. The moans of the injured only fueled his anger. "Who the fuck sneezed?" he barked and looked from man to man as though he couldn't decide which of them should be the focus of his fury.

"Sir, it was Danner," one of the men spoke up.

"Where is he so I can kill him?" his head snapped in the direction of the man who spoke.

"He's already dead, sir," another man called out.

Rage contorted Drebin's face for a moment before he regained control of himself. "Very well," he said, his anger still burning but under control. He turned to his First Mate. "Mohanjo," he barked.

"Aye sir," Mohanjo answered. He stood a head taller than his captain did. And where Drebin's clothing was foppish and extravagant, his was simple leather and wool. He wore two short curved swords in scabbards strapped to his back so that his swords crossed and the hilts stood up above his shoulders. His hair was black and cropped close to his scalp. His eyes were cold and black, the eyes of a killer.

"Send someone to the covenant house to fetch a few witches; I need these men healed," he said. He would have to act quickly to salvage the situation, but if he was anything, it was cunning. "Take a few men back to the tavern. Kill Ulfes and have them dispose of the body. While you're there send a bird to the king. Inform his majesty that Captain Liaman murdered Master Ulfes and seized the outlander for reasons unknown. Add that we are in pursuit of the traitor in the name of his majesty's justice."

Mohanjo nodded. His dead eyes revealed nothing of his thoughts, but his hard thin lips turned up slightly at the corners. Soon he would be unleashed, and blood would run. He had almost defied the captain in the market when ordered to let Captain Liaman and his men pass. He wanted blood; he needed it. At least he could amuse himself with Ulfes for a few minutes. He laughed inwardly at the thought of the tavern keeper tied up in his own storeroom, awaiting rescue, unaware that death was coming for him. 

"Once that is finished," Drebin continued. "Round up as many swords for hire as you can find. I don't care if you have to roust every hostel, tavern, and inn in the village. I need men. Be back before dawn for we sail at first light."

Drebin turned and stared across the bay where the Arabella was currently pulling away from her mooring. The outlander was going to be his ticket to riches beyond his wildest dreams, and Liaman would not stand in his way. Tomorrow the chase would begin.



Outlander Ch. 03



Author's Note: I want to thank the guild for being such great friends and inspirations. I also want to thank my editor JillieB. You totally rock, girl.

**********

Jack was confused. He was in what appeared to be a classroom. He was sitting in a small desk with his legs crammed awkwardly under a tiny flat wooden desktop. It was attached to the chair by two aluminum tubes that were bolted to the side of the small chair. He hastily glanced around at the pastel green walls. Along the top, just below the ceiling, the letters of the alphabet ran around the entire room in large colorful letters. He saw a poster that read 'The mind is a terrible thing to waste.'

"Now remember class, you can divide by any number except zero," Mrs. Harmon, his 5th grade teacher said as she turned from the chalkboard.

'I'm dreaming,' Jack thought. He looked around and saw his ten-year-old self sitting in the desk next to him. He watched as his younger self turned toward the class room door when Mrs. Donaldson, the assistant principal, stuck her head in and asked Mrs. Harmon to step out into the hallway.

After a moment, Mrs. Harmon came back in but left the door open. "Class, we have a new student," she said as a young girl with blond pigtails stepped into the room clutching her book bag in front of her nervously. "Everyone, say hello to Barbara Edwards." 

Every young boy has a moment where he sees a beautiful girl and the realization hits him that girls have some fundamental power and attraction that he never knew existed until that moment. Older Jack could clearly see that spark of understanding written all over his younger self's face. 

"Hi," the girl said to young Jack as she moved past him to sit in an empty desk a few rows behind.

He was so awestruck when she spoke that it took him by surprise. By the time he finally got his mouth open to say hello, she had already passed him.

The classroom faded and Jack blinked. He was sitting on a bench in the school quad. The quad was an open grassy area between the Math and English buildings where students congregated at lunch and between classes to socialize. Trees spotted the quad sporadically so that students could lounge in their shade. It must have been lunchtime because there were students all over, gathered in the mysterious groups that young people divide themselves by.

Jack glanced around and saw seventeen-year-old Barbara huddled in a group with some other girls. They were all wearing their cheerleader uniforms, and were in the middle of an animated discussion. Barbara had pulled her hair into a topknot allowing her blond tresses to cascade down around her head past her shoulders. The sun light shone through her golden hair as if Apollo himself was acknowledging her beauty.

A little distance away, Jack saw his teenage self eyeing the girls with a terrified expression. He was wearing his football jersey over a white tee shirt. Older Jack realized that it must be game day. The team always wore their jerseys to school on the day of a game.

Teenage Jack started toward the pack of females and then seemed to lose his courage. He started to walk away then stopped and shook his head as though irritated with himself. He turned, gathered his courage, and approached Barbara.

"Excuse me, Barbara?" he interrupted. His voice almost cracked with nervousness.

"Yes?" she said as she turned to him, a mildly surprised look on her face.

"Could I talk to you for a second?" teenage Jack asked and promptly looked at his shoes.

"Sure," Barbara said and walked a few feet away from her friends.

Teenage Jack followed her but glanced back at Barbara's friends when he heard them laughing. They were watching him and when he looked at them, they put their heads together before breaking into a fresh wave of giggles. He turned back to Barbara who waited with a questioning look on her pretty face.

Suddenly Jack was no longer watching from the bench but was inside his teenage self. He could feel his heart thumping like it was desperately trying to escape the confines of his chest. He could feel beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead and on his palms as he clenched his fists nervously.

"I was wondering if you would like to go out with me tomorrow night?" he asked, the words spilling out of him in a rush as though he were afraid that if he didn't ask quickly he would lose his nerve.

"Oh," she said. "I'm sorry, I can't."

Jack's hopes crashed. "Oh, okay," he said. "That's cool." He turned away from her to go hide in the darkest place he could find.

"Wait," Barbara said, and he froze in mid turn. "I have to do this thing with my parents tomorrow night, but I would love to hang out with you tonight, after the game. If you want to, that is."

Joy exploded inside Jack's heart and it pounded even harder than before. The quad faded. Jack was staring down at Barbara. She gazed up at him with a slightly fearful expression. It was a year later, just after Barbara's eighteenth birthday. They were in Jack's room on his bed. They were both naked, and Jack was between her legs, his hard cock hovering rigidly near her pussy, straining against the condom that encased it. 

"Are you sure, baby?" he asked. "It's okay if you want to wait."

"No, I'm ready," she said. "Just go slow, okay?" Her pretty face wore an expression of determination tinged with trepidation.

"Okay," he said, and moving his hips, searched for her entrance. He was a little embarrassed when after a few clumsy pokes she had to reach down and guide him to the right spot.

Once she had him positioned at the opening of her pussy she withdrew her hand and nodded for him to go ahead. He pushed forward and she sucked in a breath as he sought to enter her. He felt resistance and pushed a little harder. The pressure built for a second and then Barbara cried out as he breached her hymen and the head of his cock slipped inside her pussy.

"Oh, stop! Stop!" she cried, and Jack froze only just inside her.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Give me a second," she said, as she fought against the pain of his intrusion. Her breathing slowly returned to normal. Jack's arms began to tire from holding himself above her as he waited for permission to continue. "Okay, go ahead, but go slow," she said when she was ready.

He pushed forward and slowly slid all the way into her. Her eyes locked with his and widened as he seated his cock fully inside her moist depths. A tear escaped the corner of her eye and rolled down the side of her face.

Barbara's face faded and Jack found himself sitting in the front pew of a church. It had a large domed ceiling that had panes of stained glass depicting various biblical figures embedded in its octagonal shape. Light streamed through the glass, casting a myriad of colors throughout the church that somehow combined to light the interior without any one-color dominating.

His mother and father were seated beside him. His father had an arm around his mother's shoulders as she dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. He glanced behind him and saw the rest of his family and friends seated in the pews behind. He looked across the aisle and saw Barbara's loved ones filling the pews on the other side of the church.

He turned his gaze to the altar where his nineteen-year-old self and Barbara stood with a priest between them. Younger Jack wore a black tuxedo and looked as happy as a man could. Barbara was stunning in her wedding dress. The dress was off the shoulder and fit her figure beautifully before spreading out around her in folds of brilliant white. The subtle beadwork on the bodice accented the beauty of the woman and the dress. She gazed at young Jack with adoration plain for all to see written on her face.

"If any here see reason that these two should not be joined speak now or forever hold your peace," The priest said to the room at large, then gave the guests a perfunctory glance.

Jack didn't know why, but he felt compelled to speak out against the union. He opened his mouth to speak and then hesitated. There was a reason he shouldn't get married, but the reason hovered elusively on the edge of his mind. Then he remembered. The image of Barbara fucking Roger Chapman crashed into him.

"Wait! Stop!" Jack screamed, but the church was fading away and no one seemed to hear him.

Pleasure coursed through Jack's body. His eyes snapped open. He was lying on his bed with Barbara straddling him. Her long hair was mussed and sweat had darkened her blonde locks to a light brown. His cock was buried deep in her sweet pussy and he moaned as she raised and lowered her hips in a steady rhythm.

Jack gazed at the face of the woman he loved. He took in every detail. Her eyes were closed in concentration, and she was crinkling her nose in that adorable way she always did when they were making love. There were tiny beads of sweat dotting the skin above her full lips.

Her hands were resting on his chest, supporting her weight as she rode him. Her breasts hung seductively and swayed with her motions. Jack loved the way her small pink nipples stood out in contrast to her pale skin. He raised his hands and cupped them, halting their swaying motion. They felt heavy and wonderful in his hands and Barbara moaned as he caressed her taut nipples with his thumbs.

Her breathing quickened and her eyes snapped open. She locked gazes with Jack and began slamming her hips down onto Jack's cock as fast as she could. Her motions became erratic and her pussy clenched his shaft with her silken walls.

"Oh baby," she cried. "Yes! Yes! Oh god. Oh god! Jack, I'm gonna come baby."

She cried out and threw her head back as her orgasm crashed through her. Jack could only watch her, mesmerized by the sensual beauty of her climax. She froze at the height of her pleasure and then collapsed onto his chest. Jack wrapped her in his arms as she lay on him, gasping for breath.

"Damn that was good," she panted. "I love you Jack."

"I love you too, honey," he breathed into her hair.

"In fact, I love you so much that I have a special surprise for you," she said seductively, and pushed his hands above his head. Her breasts hung just above his face and he couldn't resist the desire to suck one of her pink nipples into his mouth. He rolled his tongue over the taut bud as she leaned over him stretching his hands farther up the bed.

He felt her fumbling with something above him and then he heard a metallic click. She had secured his wrists with a pair of handcuffs that weaved through the brass bars of their headboard. He felt a rush of alarm, but quickly relaxed; Barbara would never hurt him.

"You're gonna love this, baby," she said and slowly lifted up off him. His hard cock gradually appeared and hit his stomach with a slap when it slipped from the heat of her wet pussy. She smiled at him seductively as she slid back down his body until her face hovered above his shaft. She never broke eye contact with him as she lowered her head and ran her tongue from the base of his cock to the head where it lay on his belly. His cock gave an involuntary twitch when her tongue caressed the underside of the engorged head

"Does that feel good?" she asked.

"Oh Barbara, that feels amazing," he gasped.

Her only response was to begin flicking her tongue rapidly up and down his shaft. Jack moaned in pleasure. It felt so good he could barely think. He jerked in surprise when he heard their master bathroom door open and a naked man walked out. Barbara didn't seem to notice and just kept licking his cock.

It was Roger Chapman. He stood there watching with his cock jutting before him like an angry sword. Jack was confused to the point where he couldn't speak. He finally found his voice when Roger started walking toward Barbara.

"What the fuck is going on?" he yelled, but neither Barbara nor Roger answered him. Barbara just kept licking his cock. Roger leered at Barbara's upturned ass then gave Jack a wink as he moved up behind her. Jack yanked on his handcuffs and pain shot through his wrists where the cold steel dug in. He gave up trying to free his hands and tried to kick his legs but no matter how hard he tried, they wouldn't move. He screamed in frustration.

"Don't," Jack pleaded, knowing what Roger was about to do. When Roger ignored him and grasped Barbara by the hips Jack turned his attention to his wife. "Barbara, tell him to stop, please," he begged. 

Barbara smiled. "Don't worry Jack," she said. "He doesn't mean anything to me. I only love you." She lifted Jack's cock off his stomach and slid her mouth halfway down his length. She sucked hard and then released his cock from her mouth with a plop. She looked over her shoulder and nodded at Roger before turning her gaze back to Jack. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes were half-lidded as Roger slid his cock deep into her pussy from behind. "Fuck, that's good," she moaned.

Jack tried to scream his anguish but his voice, like his legs, would no longer work. He tried to buck his hips to escape Barbara but she just grasped his cock with her hands and guided it back into her mouth. She moaned around Jack's engorged cock with each of Roger's hard thrusts.

'Stop! Please, stop!' Jack screamed in his mind, but his body betrayed him. His cock stayed hard despite his revulsion as Barbara slid her lips up and down his shaft. Tears leaked out of the corner of Jack's eyes as he turned his head to the wall, away from the sight of Roger drilling his wife from behind.

"You're really going to love this next part, baby" Barbara said after releasing his dick from her mouth. He glanced at her and she was holding a large kitchen knife in her hand. The blade gleamed as the light reflected off the surface of the mirrored steel.

'Yes, kill me,' Jack pleaded in his head, still unable to speak.

"Here it comes," Roger yelled and then thrust madly into Barbara. He froze and his face turned red, the veins of his neck bulging, as his pulsating member erupted deep inside her.

As Roger filled her pussy with cum Barbara raised the knife high and plunged it into Jack's chest. Searing pain coursed through him. Barbara turned the knife and cut downward. His breastbone parted like butter as she sliced him open.

Suddenly Jack's voice began to work again and he let out a howl of agony. The pain was so intense that he could form no coherent words. He screamed until his voice was a rasping whisper and his throat was bloody and raw. Barbara dug her hand into his gaping chest cavity and pulled his still beating heart out of his chest. His eyes bulged as he saw his heart being held by her claw-like fingers.

"Damn, Jack! You're a lucky man," Roger said with a jealous grin. "Can't you see how much she loves you?"

**********

Jack woke from the nightmare with a start. His heart hammered in his chest and his eyes darted around wildly. He didn't know where he was. The one thing he did know was that he was going to be sick. He rolled off the bed, looked desperately for somewhere to throw up, and saw an old wooden bucket sitting on the floor next to the bed.

He quickly dropped to the floor and held his head over the bucket. It smelled of stale urine. His stomach heaved and emptied its contents. The tangy aroma of vomit overcame the acrid stench of urine. He continued to heave long after there was nothing left for his stomach to disgorge. Finally, his gut settled and Jack rolled onto his back on the hard wooden floor.

The horror of the dream slowly faded and a feeling of calm washed over him. None of it was real. He almost laughed in relief. Barbara would laugh when he told her. Then he remembered the truth and had to scramble for the bucket as the anguish returned full force and turned his ailing stomach with a new wave of nausea.

Finally spent, he collapsed onto his side. He gasped for breath and tried to make sense of his surroundings. He was in a small room lit only by a dim light filtering in through a round hole a foot in diameter and situated about head height in the wall. The opening had a hinged door on it made of wood banded with strips of metal. The hinges squeaked as a gentle breeze moved it back and forth, and Jack could smell the salty tang of the sea in the air.

The walls, floors, and ceiling were fashioned from wooden planks turned grey with age. The room was sparsely furnished with a table, a chair, a chest, and the bed on which he'd slept. A knotted rope hung from the ceiling and Jack absently wondered what its purpose was. 

He climbed off the floor and felt his stomach rumble in protest. He felt queasy and thought his equilibrium must be off because it felt as if the room was subtly moving. He dismissed the moving sensation as an after effect of the previous night's drinking. 'Where the hell am I?' he wondered.

Suddenly his balance left him as the room swayed. He staggered into the table and would have fallen if the table had not been bolted to the floor. He grabbed a hold of the knotted rope and used it to regain his balance. Now he knew that what he was feeling wasn't a result of last night's drunkenness. He was on a boat! He blinked as the memory of last night's events crashed into him.

He remembered meeting some people in a strange bar and agreeing to join the crew of their boat. He struggled to remember their leader's name for a moment before recalling calling the man introducing himself as Garek. He also remembered the man's friend telling him, rather rudely, to call Garek Captain Liaman instead. 

"Oh God," he said aloud. "What have I got myself into?"

Jack started for the door. He needed to find Captain Liaman and get out of this mess before they got too far from shore. He closed the door behind him and found himself in a short hallway. There were a few doors on either side of the passageway but he figured they led to rooms much like the one he just left. There was a short stairway at the end of the hall with a door at the top. He figured that door was probably his best bet to find his way topside.

Jack was stunned when he stepped onto the deck of the Arabella. He walked into a storm of activity. Sailors ran about the deck urgently performing various tasks. Some climbed in the rope riggings that stretched from the ships railing skyward to the tops of the masts. He had known he was on a boat but didn't expect a vessel that looked as if it had sailed right out of a pirate movie!

Ithos strode by shouting orders. Jack recognized him from the night before and hurried up to him. "Excuse me," Jack said as he fell in beside the first mate.

"What?" Ithos barked at Jack. "Secure the yards, damn it!" he roared to a nearby sailor before turning his attention back to Jack. "Outlander, what can I do for you? But be quick, I'm a little busy."

"Where can I find the Captain?" Jack asked.

"At the helm, on the poop deck," Ithos said and started to turn back to his duties.

"I don't know what that is." Jack said quickly, before Ithos could move away.

Ithos glared at him out of his one eye and then pointed to the raised deck at the back of the ship. 

"Thank you," Jack said, but Ithos had already stomped off shouting commands at the scurrying sailors.

Jack made his way to the rear of the ship and mounted the stairs that led up onto the raised deck. His knees protested as he made the climb and he had to grab the railing to help himself up. He topped the stairs and gasped at the view before him. The captain stood there next to a sailor who was manning the wheel, but what stunned Jack was the view behind the ship.

He could see an island in the distance and it clearly was not Boston. There were no tall buildings of glass and steel, no harbor full of giant modern shipping vessels. Instead, he saw dozens of ships with wooden masts sticking up toward the sky. It was small in the distance but as far as he could see the town beyond the harbor mostly consisted of one or two storey wooden buildings. Around the island, the unbroken sea stretched as far as the eye could see.




Outlander Ch. 03



The disappearance of the eastern seaboard of the United States would normally be shock enough, but Jack's eyes were locked on the twin moons that were still visible in the morning light. They were dim as they set beyond the village, and were half again as large as the single moon of Jack's world. "Mother of God," Jack said in wonder. "Where am I?"

**********

Mohanjo watched the Arabella through his telescoping sight glass. The ship had come about and was moving away to the east. "They're not turning north," he said. 

"What?" Captain Drebin said snatching the looking glass away from Mohanjo's eye. He didn't see the look of loathing that his first officer gave him as he hastily peered at the escaping ship.

Drebin had feared this might be Garek's plan when he didn't try to slip the Arabella past them and northward during the night. He had sent three men on a small sloop out into the upper harbor with orders to uncover their lantern if Garek's ship tried to escape that way.

"They are going to sail through the Maelstroms," Mohanjo said calmly.

"I can see that, you idiot," Drebin snapped. "After them, quickly."

"We'll never catch them before they reach -"

"Damn it, I said after them! Sails and oars," Drebin shouted, spittle flying from his mouth. "Load the forward and side ballistae with grappling spears. Move, damn you!"

Mohanjo shrugged but hastily strode off shouting orders to the crew. Drebin watched as his well-trained men brought the resting Kraken to life. He knew that Liaman would have to save the strength of his oarsmen to escape the Maelstroms and that just made it possible to catch the smaller ship before it made its escape.

Unlike the smaller-keeled Arabella, the Kraken was too big and sat too deep in the water to escape the pull of the Maelstroms. To catch her he would have to be lucky, but fortune had a way of favoring the bold, and Drebin was feeling bold indeed.

**********

"I don't understand what's happening," Jack said to no one in particular.

"Make way," Ithos said loudly as he came up the stairs behind Jack. Jack limped out of his way and watched woodenly as Ithos raised a hand-held telescope to his eye and peered behind them. "The Kraken is giving chase," he said to Garek. "You should have killed Drebin when you had the chance."

"Perhaps," Garek replied. "But the day that captains in His Majesty's navy start killing each other will be a sad day indeed. Drebin may have no honor but I do."

"He may not give you a choice," Ithos said.

"Let us hope it doesn't come to that," Garek said. "When the King learns of his actions, Drebin will face His Majesty's justice."

Ithos grunted but said no more on the subject. He returned to studying the Kraken through the telescope. "Lord Aramon on the rock," Ithos cursed. "They are running sails and oars. They're gaining fast."

Garek looked ahead to the east and then back at the pursuing ship. "It's going to be close," he said.

Jack looked to the east as well. In the distance there appeared to be a blurring in the clear sky as though the horizon were obscured by mist. He felt an underlying tension hanging in the air, and was shocked that Garek and Ithos had been calmly talking of killing someone. What kind of people had he fallen in with? Jack had no control of the situation and was growing more nervous by the moment.

He gazed higher and was amazed to see a shimmering, transparent line arcing across the sky like a path through the air. He blinked but the line remained. It rose from the distant sea to his right and arched high above them only to disappear over the far horizon. It distorted the clouds above it, as if he were looking at something far away through a heat-induced mirage. The line seemed to call to Jack as though urging him to reach out and grasp it in his hand. 

Jack shook his head, breaking the hypnotic spell of the mysterious line. He was startled to see his hand outstretched toward it. He hastily withdrew his hand and turned to Garek and Ithos. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded incredulously.

"Jack," Garek began. "I realize that you are understandably confused."

"That's an understatement," Jack said angrily.

Ithos growled and Garek put a calming hand on his shoulder. "I promise that I will explain everything after we get through the Maelstroms ahead. Until then we must outrun the man who pursues us and wishes to take you captive."

"Take me captive?" Jack asked, surprised. "Why me? And what do you mean 'maelstroms ahead'?"

"The first answer is too long to explain right now and as for the Maelstroms, you will see shortly," he said. "Now Jack, when we are in the Maelstroms I will need all my concentration so if you wish to stay up here you will have to remain quiet."

"You promise to answer my questions after?" Jack asked.

"I do."

"Then I will stay here," Jack said.

"Very well. You will want to hang on tight," Garek said before moving over to a waist-high bulkhead that extended out several feet to the sides of the mount, which housed the ship's wheel. There were braided rope handholds along the top of the bulkhead. He grasped a pair of them in his hands and alternated between looking ahead and glancing back at the Kraken.

Ithos took position beside the captain, and Jack moved to the opposite side of the wheel. He grabbed the ropes as well and waited anxiously. Garek placed a hand on the shoulder of the sailor manning the helm. "Steady, Charuk," he said. "You will do fine." The young sailor nodded but Jack could see the nervousness on the man's face. That didn't do much to ease his mind about what lay ahead.

Jack looked back and was startled to see that the ship chasing them had halved the distance between them. The big ship looked ominous as it ploughed through the sea, splitting the water into a white frothy roil on either side of its hulking bow. Jack wondered if the men on shipping vessels of old felt as he did now when a pirate ship was chasing them down.

Jack fretted as he watched the Kraken draw closer by the minute. He was so focused on the other vessel that it took a while before he became aware of the rumbling sound that kept growing louder in the distance. The sound grew until it intruded upon Jack's study of the closing vessel. He turned, curious about the sound. He looked ahead and saw the mist that obscured the horizon getting closer. 

"What is that noise?" Jack asked.

"The first Maelstrom," Garek answered curtly never breaking from alternating his attention ahead and then behind at Drebin's ship.

"What have I missed?" a woman's voice asked. 

"Ava, daughter, don't you have sense enough to stay below where it's safer?" Garek asked. He sounded resigned, as if he already knew her answer

"Of course not, Father," she replied smoothly.

The woman's velvet voice washed over Jack. Her words, spoken in the same singsong lilt that his new companions had, sent a shiver through him. Somehow, he knew it was the voice of a beautiful woman, even before he turned to see her standing at the top of the stairway.

She looked small, almost tiny to Jack and she wore a cotton dress dyed a deep emerald green to match the green of her eyes. Her lustrous black hair was all one length and cascaded around her shoulders and over her full breasts. She was beautiful.

Her eyes met his and Jack felt his breath catch in his throat. He recognized the feeling that crashed through him. It was the same feeling he had the first time he saw Barbara. Having dreamed of it earlier, it was easy to remember. The thought of Barbara filled him with pain and disgust. He coldly turned away from the beautiful young woman.

Ava cut off the friendly smile she was about to give the Outlander and frowned instead when he turned away from her with a look of disgust. No man had ever had that reaction when looking at her before and she was stunned. Her surprise quickly turned to anger. Who did he think he was? Men far more attractive than he had tried to win her favor. Now this pudgy, plain man looked at her as if she were fish guts?

She swished her dress irritably and stalked over to the rope handholds next to Jack. Unfortunately, they were the only ones available. She cast a sidelong glance at the Outlander who appeared to be studiously ignoring her presence. She hid her annoyance with no little effort.

"They're going to overtake us, Captain," Ithos said watching the Kraken.

Garek nodded. "Damn it," he cursed.

"Shall we have the men break out the oars?" Ithos asked.

Garek thought for a moment. "No," he said. "We will need them in the Maelstroms, and if they are already tired we will only be sailing to our deaths."

"Do we fight then?"

"If we must, but let's make them force it." Garek answered. "Steady on, but signal the sea dogs to prepare to repel boarders."

"Aye Captain," Ithos said and pulled out two flags, one red and one green, from a wooden tube bolted to the end of the bulkhead. He waived them in a pattern toward the main deck.

Kairn, who watched from his station on the lower deck, waived his hand in acknowledgement and disappeared below deck. He reemerged with his twenty sea dogs in tow. They wore their swords on their hips and each brandished a wicked-looking crossbow. They moved with deadly purpose and manned the rails. If the Kraken's crew boarded them, the sea dogs were determined to make them pay a heavy price.

"If it comes to a fight, we have one ballista and they have three. They will probably have more men as well," Ithos said.

"I know, but surrender is unacceptable," Garek replied. "Drebin must kill us all anyway, lest word of his treachery reach the King."

Jack watched dispassionately as the Kraken closed the distance. Strangely, all the tension he felt earlier had disappeared. He should have been terrified. He had awakened to find himself in a reality too impossible to be believed and was now in the company of men who spoke of battle and death and yet he felt no panic. He thought about it for a moment and realized that Ava's arrival had reminded him of Barbara and her betrayal. Suddenly, he no longer cared if he lived or died.

**********

"We have them," Drebin said gleefully.

Mohanjo only grunted in response. He felt his heart quicken at the thought of the fight ahead. He smiled cruelly. He would wash his soul clean with the blood of the Arabella's crew. He need wait only a little longer. 

They were close enough now that Drebin could see the faces of Liaman and his companions. They huddled around the Arabella's helm looking worried. Drebin almost laughed with glee as adrenaline swept through his system.

He ordered their course altered slightly to move up to the port side of the fleeing ship, bringing his rear starboard ballista to bear. He saw Captain Liaman say something to his helmsman and the man began spinning the Arabella's wheel. The ship yawed hard away from the Kraken and Drebin smiled. Liaman was going to fight.

"Starboard ballista, fire!" he screamed.

**********

Garek watched silently as the Kraken began moving along side them. He had no choice but to fight now, and worry for those on board clawed at his gut. He took a deep breath and dispelled it, pushing the worry for his crew into the back of his mind. He would have to be focused to get them out of this alive.

"Hard to starboard, now," he ordered.

"Aye Captain," Charuk said then spun the wheel.

The Arabella groaned as her weight shifted. She cut hard through the water and began turning away from the Kraken. Garek knew that his only chance against the more heavily armed ship was to take advantage of the Arabella's tighter turning radius. If he could out-turn her, he could get on her tail and pound the bigger ship with his lone ballista. But first, they would have to survive one salvo from the Kraken. There was no way to avoid its firing arc but by turning his rear to the Kraken, he had presented a smaller target. With any luck, the shot would miss them.

"Get ready," Garek yelled just as the Kraken fired.

They could hear the thrum of the large weapon across the space that separated the two ships. A ten-foot long steel spear shot through the air with a chain trailing behind it to a large spool mounted on the Kraken's deck. The grappling spear crashed into the back of the Arabella. The ship shook and the sound of splintering wood split the air.

Jack staggered and grasped the rope handholds with one hand and dragged Ava to her feet with the other. She had fallen to her knees from the force of the impact. She nodded her thanks as she regained her hold on the bulkhead.

"It's a grappling spear, brace yourselves!" Garek yelled as the Kraken veered away drawing the chain connecting the two ships taut.

The spear had penetrated deep into the Arabella. When the chain grew taut, it released the inner catch that held four bars to the side of the spear. The spring-loaded bars sprang out and caught on one of the heavy support beams that held the ship together. The ships shuddered violently as the slack in the chain connecting them disappeared. Both ships came to a sudden halt as their combined tonnage fought against each other.

The Arabella lurched hard and Jack's hands ripped free from the ropes. He hit the deck with a thud and his breath exploded from his lungs. Gasping for air, he crawled to his knees. The sailor Charuk was lying unconscious in a crumpled heap beside him. Ithos was cursing vehemently but had managed to stay upright. Garek had taken control of the wheel. 

Surprisingly, Ava still clung to the rope handholds. She quickly released them and staggered to the unconscious sailor. She knelt by him and laid her hand on his chest. Jack started when he saw a tendril of light from the shimmering line he had seen in the sky arc out and flow into Ava. Her whole body seemed to glow as she knelt over Charuk. She seemed frozen that way for a moment and then the glow was gone.

"He will be all right," she said and climbed back to her feet. 

If the structures of the ships in the King's navy had not been magically hardened to withstand great stress, the Arabella would have been ripped apart by the incredible strain placed upon her. Instead, she only groaned in protest as she warred against the superior bulk of the Kraken.

"Help me, Outlander," Ava ordered and darted to the rail at the back of the ship. She leaned out, and looked at where the ship had been speared.

Jack followed and looked down as well. He could see the chain where it disappeared into the gaping hole about six feet below them. He was surprised to see that the chain was not very thick. The small chain was so taut that Jack could hear it humming from the incredible tension. 

"That's impossible," he said. "That chain can't hold ships this size."

"It has been strengthened by a witch of the covenant," Ava said. "It will hold. Now hold my feet and lower me down."

"What?" Jack asked, incredulous.

"I have to touch the chain," she yelled at him. "Grab my feet." Without waiting on him, she leaned over the rail and her feet came off the ground.

Jack lurched forward and grabbed her ankles. He clutched them tightly as she hung upside down behind the ship. Her dress fell over her head revealing her legs and undergarments to Jack. He hastily looked away from her shapely legs as she struggled to free her hands from her skirt. 

"Lower me down," she called up to him, finally freeing her hands.

Jack planted his feet and leaned his hips against the railing for support. He squeezed her ankles tightly and leaned over at the waist, lowering Ava down toward the straining chain.

"Lower," she called urgently.

He leaned over until he felt the strain in his lower back. Ava didn't weigh much but Jack wasn't in as good a shape as he used to be. He gritted his teeth and struggled to get her closer to the chain.

"There," she called up to him. "Now, don't move."

Ava reached out and grasped the chain in her small hand. She closed her eyes and opened herself to Lord Aramon's gift.

Jack gasped as a tendril of light flowed into Ava. He could see something flowing into her from the light that stretched into the sky to the shimmering line. Her body began to glow and Jack felt sparks like the gentle touch of a mild electric current where his hands grasped her ankles.

The power flowed into Ava from the leyline. Access to the leylines were Lord Aramon's last gift to mankind as he died on the rock for their salvation, and Ava sighed as she was filled with its glory. When she had drawn enough of the power to accomplish her task, she released her contact with the leyline.

Ava pushed her mind into the power-enhanced links of the chain. She delved deep into the cold steel. She could feel every subtle change of density in the metal, every detail of its makeup and quality. She found its strength and focused her power into turning that strength to weakness.

"Pull me up, quickly," she yelled urgently.

Jack began to haul her up, but had only raised her an arm's length when the chain snapped. A crack like a lightening strike split the air, and the freed Arabella surged forward. Jack, caught by surprise, tumbled over the railing. He grasped for the railing with one hand while desperately gripping Ava's ankle with the other. He caught the rail, but was almost jerked free when Ava's fall was stopped short by his grip. Agony shot through his shoulder but he managed to hold on.

Ava swung beneath him, and Jack bit back a scream as the pain in his shoulder threatened to overwhelm him. Jack knew he couldn't pull them both up, but maybe he could swing her into the gaping hole made by the spear. He tried to sway her away from the ship so he could swing her in, but felt his grip on the rail slipping.

Their combined weight was too much for his grasp. He knew they were going to fall. As his fingers lost their hold on the railing, they instinctively grasped at the empty air. He smiled wryly. He just didn't care. It was too bad about the girl though. She really was beautiful.

Suddenly Ithos was there. His hand shot forward and clutched Jack's forearm. Jack's hand instinctively clasped Ithos's forearm as well, creating a strong grasp. Ithos strained as he held Jack and Ava suspended above the choppy waters of the sea. He took a deep breath then slowly began pulling them up. His face turned red, except for the puckered white skin of his scar. The muscles in his neck bulged with strain. Spittle flew from his lips as he growled with effort.

Inch by inch Jack felt himself being raised until he was able to get his feet on the bottom of the balustrade. He released Ithos's arm and grabbed the top of the wooden railing. Ithos leaned over, grabbed Ava's other leg, and together they hauled her over. Jack fell over the railing and onto the deck where they all three lay gasping.

**********

Drebin cursed as he climbed to his feet. When the chain had snapped he'd been thrown to the deck. He cursed again when he saw that Mohanjo had stayed on his feet. He turned his gaze to the escaping Arabella. She had corrected her course and was heading back toward the Maelstroms at an oblique angle away from the Kraken.

"Shall we come about and resume pursuit?" Mahanjo asked.

"No. We've lost her," Drebin said woodenly. "By the time we turn around they will be too close to the Maelstroms." 

"What are your orders then, Captain?" Mohanjo asked, adding the honorific after a pause as though he was loathe to give Drebin the courtesy.

"Back to port, and take on supplies," Drebin said, looking at his first mate. "Liaman didn't have time to re-supply his ship. That means he will have to make port at Antyor before sailing on to Panaar to see the King. We will sail north around the Maelstroms and when Liaman sails for Panaar we will be waiting for him."

Mohanjo nodded and strode away to issue the necessary orders.




Outlander Ch. 03



Drebin returned his attention to his retreating adversary. "It's not over yet, Liaman. The Outlander will be my prize, not yours," he said quietly.

**********

"Is everyone all right?" Garek demanded from his place at the helm.

"Aye," Ithos said from where he knelt panting. 

"Thank Lord Aramon," Garek breathed a sigh of relief. He turned the wheel to point the Arabella back toward the Maelstroms.

Ithos climbed to his feet and stared back at the Kraken. "Looks like they're giving up," he said.

"Adept Ava and the Outlander saved the ship," the sailor Charuk said. He seemed to have recovered from hitting his head and sat nearby. He stared at Jack, a look of awe on his young face.

Jack struggled up to a sitting position. He clutched at his right shoulder with his other hand. It felt as if it were on fire. He also realized that he'd torn the skin off his palms when he'd been thrown free of the rope handholds. A trickle of blood ran down his cheek. When the chain had snapped, a fragment of steel had flown past his face, leaving a shallow gash.

Ava saw the look of pain and the blood on the Outlander's face. She began crawling toward him. "You're hurt," she said. "Let me heal you." She reached out as though to lay her hand on Jack's cheek.

The look of genuine compassion on Ava's beautiful face as she approached caused a lump to form in Jack's throat. Suddenly he was on the verge of tears. He didn't want compassion. He wasn't ready for it. He just wanted to be left alone. "Don't touch me," he said harshly and leaned away from her outstretched hand.

She pulled her hand back as though burned. "Fine," she said as her expression hardened. She climbed to her feet and stalked back to her place at the bulkhead.

Jack got up, his knees voiced their familiar complaint, and followed her. He winced when his raw palms touched the rope hand-holds, but gritted his teeth and refused to let go. He studiously ignored the woman beside him, and stared ahead as they approached the mist.

As they sailed eastward, the rumbling steadily grew to a roar. Jack wanted desperately to ask someone exactly what lay ahead, but had promised Garek he would be quiet so he remained silent. 

"Lower the sails," Garek yelled the order over the roar, and Ithos waved the flags again. Sailors scurried below and the sails were lowered and secured in a matter of moments. Now caught in the Maelstrom's pull, the Arabella continued to surge ahead. "Oarsmen, stand by."

Jack began to feel sprinkles of water hitting him and a moment later, they sailed into the mist. Jack realized immediately that it wasn't mist at all, but spray. The salty deluge bombarded him, and he fought to see ahead. His cheek burned as the airborne sea water bathed the bloody gash. The roaring reached a crescendo and then they were through the spray and into clear air.

Jacked blinked to clear his eyes of the oceans water then gasped. A giant whirlpool a thousand yards wide yawned before them. It swirled down, spiraling into a fathomless, mist-filled pit. Garek pointed the prow of the ship directly into the gaping maw. 

"Holy shit," Jack yelled, but the words were lost in the roar of the vortex.



Outlander Ch. 04



Jack felt his stomach lurch as the prow of the Arabella dipped into the edge of the gigantic whirlpool. He gripped the rope handholds hard with his raw hands, his mind not even registering the pain in the face of nature's titanic fury.

Suddenly Garek spun the wheel hard. The ship groaned as the rudder cut into the sea, redirecting the mass of the ship. The Arabella rotated and joined the current of the swirling maw. Jack spread his legs and braced himself against the inertial pull as the ship joined the torrential flow. The Maelstrom sucked them into its outer edge and hurled the ship around its axis.

The ship picked up speed at an alarming rate. The tall masts leaned into the vortex as the ship raced around the rim, accelerating faster by the second. The roar became deafening and Jack could barely hold on, as the inertial force pulled at him and the ship.

Garek stood solid at the helm, his hair whipping in the wind, and his face set in a visage of grim determination. To Jack he looked like a man facing the sea's fury and casting it back in brazen challenge. He looked like the ill-fated Captain Ahab cursing in defiance as he was dragged into the depths by the mythical white whale.

The Arabella flew around the vortex and Jack's heart hammered in his chest. He looked to his right, and found himself staring into the abyss. Despite his earlier acceptance of death, he discovered that he could still know fear. The maw yawned before him like the gaping entrance to a watery hell. It sucked at them like a thing alive, wishing nothing more than to devour them whole. He tore his gaze from the hideous depths, fighting the urge to scream in terror.

When the ship had completed one great circuit and sped toward the eastern edge of the whirlpool, Garek suddenly spun the wheel to port. The rudder cut hard into the sea and shot the Arabella away from the Maelstrom like an arrow released from a crossbow.

"Raise sails and man the oars," Garek cried, and Ithos waved the flags again.

Sailors who had been clinging to whatever they could sprang into action and hurried to haul up the sails. Almost immediately, oars extended out the side of the ship and began pulling through the water in rhythm with the drumbeat set by the oar-master.

"Permission to join them, Captain?" the sailor Charuk asked, as he eyed his shipmates scrambling to raise the sails. 

Garek eyed him for a second to convince himself that the young man was all right after his injury. It seemed that Ava had healed him well for the young man looked as if he had never fallen and hit his head. "Permission granted," he said, then smiled as the young sailor practically slid down the stairway in his haste to aid his comrades.

"Good lad," Ithos grunted, and Garek nodded before returning his attention to steering the ship.

Jack sighed in relief as the wind caught the sails. The southeasterly wind combined with the rowing of the oarsmen steadily distanced them from the Maelstrom. The roar was slowly fading behind them. The Arabella was also quickly losing speed, but the Captain didn't seem concerned so Jack allowed his muscles to relax. Unfortunately, his raw hands, still gripping the ropes, chose that moment to remind him of their existence.

Jack had no sooner loosened his grip on the ropes when the roar he'd thought they'd left behind returned. It seemed to be in front of them again. He stared ahead and saw another wall of spray. The sea became choppy as though two great opposing forces were pulling it in different directions. Then they were through the turbulence and picking up speed again.

"Lower the sail and stow the oars," Garek cried.

Just like that, the ordeal began again. Four more times the crew of the Arabella braved the fury of the giant Maelstroms. Each time the oarsmen grew wearier and the ship's struggle to break free of the whirlpools became more difficult. 

By the time Garek spun the wheel to fire them out of the final vortex, the crew had reached its limit. The oarsmen were spent and the wind in the sails alone was not enough to break them free of the Maelstrom's pull. Though they tried mightily, the oarsmen could no longer keep up with the beat of the oar-masters' drum.

The Arabella floundered and began to drift back into the sea's gaping maw. Garek opened his mouth to issue an order and then stopped. Without having to be told, the weary sailors and sea dogs who had been raising and lowering the sails were scrambling below deck to aid the exhausted oarsmen.

The rhythm of the oars picked back up and the Arabella slowly resumed course and painfully inched away from the swirling death behind. They struggled over the breakers that marked the edge of the last Maelstrom's pull then limped into the still sea beyond. All over the ship, men and women collapsed in exhaustion. At the helm, Garek let out a relieved breath and guided the ship as it sailed eastward, propelled by the gusting wind at their back.

Jack let go of the ropes, His hands were a bloody mess and stung like fire from the salt water they had all been repeatedly doused with. His clothes were soaked as well, and he noticed the chill of the wind for the first time.

He glanced at Ava and froze. Her dress was wet as well, and clung to every curve of her body. His eyes involuntarily lowered to her chest and his breath caught in his throat. The wet, emerald green material was practically see-through and had formed itself perfectly to the shape of her full round breasts. Her nipples were hard from the chill air and stood out against the silky cloth of her bodice.

Jack wrenched his gaze away from her breasts to her face. She was staring ahead at the horizon with her long black hair hanging wetly. A few strands were plastered to her cheek in a gentle curve that ended at the corner of her mouth. She was so beautiful that Jack couldn't tear his eyes away from her. 

He stood there transfixed until she turned her brilliant green eyes on him and gave him a curious look. Only then was he able to look away, hastily turning from her to look ahead. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her pull her dress away from her wet skin so it would not cling in so revealing a manner.

"Ithos, you have the helm. Drop anchor. I want to feed the crew and let them rest for a few hours," Garek said when they had put some distance between themselves and the last Maelstrom. "Outlander, you and Ava come with me."

Jack and Ava followed the Captain as he made his way down to the main deck. The weary sailors that had rushed below to help the oarsmen were returning to man their posts. Garek made a point of acknowledging each of them. "Fine job, men," he said to one group. "Well done lad," he said to Ithos's son Terrel. He laid his hand on Kairn's shoulder and nodded his thanks to him and the sea dogs as he passed.

He briefly embraced Emma who was moving among the men, attending to the few who had sustained minor injuries. "Are you all right, wife?" he asked, burying his nose in her hair.

"I'm fine, husband," she said hugging him back before returning to her task.

Jack was a little surprised to find that Garek's wife and daughter were on board. He watched as Garek's wife approached a nearby sailor who was clutching at his shoulder and grimacing in pain. She placed her hands on the sailor's injured shoulder. He saw her suddenly suffused with the same light that he had earlier seen with Ava. She held the sailor's shoulder for a moment before the light winked out. The sailor looked at her thankfully and began moving his arm around freely.

Jack was stunned. It appeared as though she had healed the man's injury with only her touch, and earlier Ava had done the same to the sailor Charuk. Ava had also caused the grappling chain to snap only by touching it. He was still reeling from the morning's events and he just couldn't process this new information right now. He pushed it out of his mind until he could find time to think about it. 

They made their way across the main deck, through a hatchway, and down to a lower deck where the oarsmen sprawled wearily over their oars. 

"Captain on deck!" one of the sailors shouted when he noticed Garek. The weary sailors began climbing to their feet.

"As you were, men," Garek said, waving his hands for the men to remain seated. He waited until the oarsmen had slumped back down before he spoke. "You men are of the finest quality. Need demanded that I put you in conditions that lesser men would have crumbled under, but I knew that you were equal to the task." He was turning as he spoke, making eye contact with each man. "You rose to the challenge; you proved me right. I am proud of all of you." The oarsmen's backs straightened and their eyes shone at the Captain's words.

Jack followed and watched as Garek moved among his men, patting shoulders and speaking a few words when he thought it necessary. He noticed the respect the bone-tired sailors showed their Captain and found himself liking the man despite the fact that Garek had somehow whisked him away from Boston, involved him in a sea battle, and almost killed him in a series of giant whirlpools.

Garek stopped at the last oarsman on the last row. The first thing Jack noticed about the man was that he was big. Most of the people Jack had seen on the ship were shorter and much thinner than he was. The second thing he noticed was the look of child-like innocence on the young man's face. 

The child-faced man looked up at Garek and smiled before pulling a small button of yellowed bone out of his pocket and showing it to the Captain. "Pretty," he said.

"Yes, it is," Garek said. He leaned over and kissed the young man on his sweaty forehead.

Jack looked questioningly at Ava.

"That's Aidan, my brother. He likes to row," she said in a carefully neutral tone. She seemed reluctant to say more so Jack let it go.

They followed Garek as he continued on to the galley where he spoke to Ithos's wife, Betta, who was in charge of the ship's kitchen. Garek assured her that her husband and son were fine then asked her to prepare a meal for the weary crew. They left the galley, made their way back topside, and entered a door that led to the rooms situated below the poop deck. 

Garek led them to the ship's wardroom, where he met with his officers when need demanded. The room was in shambles. Splintered wood lay everywhere and there was a gaping hole in the back wall where the Kraken's grappling spear had smashed through the ship's hull. Despite the damage, the wardroom's long table and several cabinets on the forward wall were still intact.

Garek surveyed the damage for a moment. After the men had rested he would have to see about getting that hole patched. He turned from studying the damage and took a seat at the table. He gestured for Jack to sit opposite him.

Jack sat and placed his bloody hands on the table in front of him.

"Your hands need healing, Outlander," Ava said and took a step toward Jack.

"I'm fine," Jack said leaning back in his chair. He quickly withdrew his hands and placed them on his lap. The very sight of Ava had put him in turmoil, and he was afraid of what her touch might do to him. He just wasn't ready or prepared to deal with how she made him feel.

Ava felt a flash of irritation at the Outlander's refusal of her aid. She sat next to her father and studied the Outlander where he sat across the table from her. The man was a complete mystery to her. He treated her with disdain but had been quick to help her when she had needed it. He didn't drop her into the sea to save himself. He had chosen instead to go in to the water with her. She didn't understand him at all. 

"Ask your questions, Jack," Garek said. "I will answer as best I can. Ava was educated at the covenant university and can probably answer any questions that I can't."

"All right," Jack said, taking a deep breath now that the time for answers had come. He decided to start with his simplest question. "Where am I?"

"Right now we are in the Maelstrom Sea, headed for the land of Aramoor." Garek said, knowing that his response, though accurate, was not exactly what Jack had wanted to know.

"I saw two moons in the sky. I'm not on Earth anymore, am I?" Jack asked. He felt nervous, as though he knew he wouldn't like the answer.

"No, you've crossed from your world to ours," Garek said. He watched Jack intently to see what his reaction would be. The Outlander looked like he had eaten a bitter bean.

"How?" he asked incredulously.

"You came through what we call a portal," Garek answered. "There are only two that connect to your world that we know of; the one you came through and one more in the village of Croatoan on the southern coast of Aramoor."

"A portal? When did I come through a portal?" Jack asked as he racked his brain trying to remember anything from the night before that might have been described as a portal. "All I remember is walking into that tavern where we met." 

"The door you used to enter the tavern was built over the portal. Ava can explain how the portals work better than I," Garek said and nodded to Ava to take up the explanation.

"The portals are in some ways still a mystery to us," Ava began. Her silky voice sent a shiver through Jack, but he ruthlessly forced the feelings that her voice evoked into the back of his mind. "We do not know their origins. What we do know is that no one from our side can go through unless led by a person that has come through from your side."

"Why?" Jack asked.

"We don't know why," Ava said. "Perhaps if we could study the portal from your world we could unravel some of its mysteries. But you are the first Outlander to come through in almost 200 years."

"Wait," Jack interrupted. "That doesn't make sense. I just opened that door and walked through. Are you telling me that in 200 years not a single person has opened that door? Someone would have opened it by accident by now."

"From what I was taught at university," Ava explained, "the portals are not always visible on your side. Only a person in great distress or great danger will see the portal and be able to pass through. Also, we don't know why, but once you have found the portal you will always be able to find it again."

It was a lot to take in, much less believe, but Jack couldn't argue with the fact that he had been in great distress when he had seen the door. "What happened to the last Outlander? The one who came before me?"

Ava glanced questioningly at her father.

"Tell him," Garek said. "He needs to know the truth."

Ava nodded and turned back to Jack. "The people of Croatoan killed him within a few hours of his arrival," she revealed.

"They killed him?" Jack asked, stunned. "Why?"

Ava looked at her father again.

"Tell him all of it," Garek said.

"All right," she took a breath then continued. "That answer will require some history first. Around a thousand years ago, a group of Outlanders came through the other portal, the one at Croatoan. The portal that you came through was undiscovered at that time."

The name of the village, Croatoan, seemed familiar to Jack but he couldn't immediately place it. It tugged at his memory but he let it go as Ava continued speaking.

"The Outlanders were under attack by savages in your world when they fled through the portal," Ava continued. "They were welcomed by our people and for a time all was well, but that soon changed. Among the 117 men, women, and children that came through the portal was a man named Ananias Dare. It was discovered that Ananias and almost all of his companions could access the leylines of power."

"What are leylines of power?" Jack interrupted.

"The leylines are how we access the power to perform magic," Ava explained.

"Is that the line I saw in the sky? The one that filled you with light?" Jack asked.

Garek and Ava shared a hasty glance at Jack's words and for a second he thought he saw fear on Ava's face before she smoothed her features.

"Yes," she said. "That was a leyline. Anyway, Ananias was so powerful that he became an Arch Mage, the likes of which had never been seen before. He called his followers the Roanoke Society and together they used their power to subjugate the land of Aramoor. They rained down fire and lightening on every army set against them. They defeated every mage that stood in their way until no one would oppose them. They killed tens of thousands of people before they were through."

"Wait," Jack interrupted. The mention of Roanoke had jolted his memory. "There was a colony in the late 1500s on my world that mysteriously disappeared. It was on Roanoke Island in North Carolina. When people came later, they found the entire colony gone without a trace. The only clue the colonists left behind was the word Croatoan carved into a post. It is a famous mystery where I come from."

"It sounds like these were the same people," Garek said.

Jack shook his head. "Can't be," he said. "That was about 500 years ago on my world and you said these Outlanders came here a thousand years ago."

Ava nodded in acknowledgment. "Time runs differently on this side of the portal, so they may very well be the same group that you speak of."

If they were the colonists of the lost Roanoke colony, Jack had just discovered the answer to a mystery that had defied American historians for centuries. He doubted anyone would believe such an impossible story if he ever got home to tell anyone, though. 

"Please continue," Jack said when he'd had a moment to wrap his mind around the ideal of time flowing differently in two different places.

"Very well," Ava said. "Once all opposition to his rule had been crushed, Ananias opened a school where all children in the land who could access leylines were brought to be educated. He made all of these children learn the Outlander language, and raised them to be loyal to him. When they were old enough, he released them upon the people of Aramoor. They spread throughout the land, opening schools where all children were made to learn this new language. They executed anyone who protested. Anyone caught speaking their native tongue was beaten within an inch of their lives. They effectively destroyed the native language of Aramoor in a single generation."

"And that is why we speak the same language," Jack said with sudden understanding. The horror of what had been done to these people made him ashamed to be speaking English.

"Yes," Ava confirmed. "If it hadn't been for Virginia Dare, Ananias's only daughter, we might have lost much more than just our language. Virginia had a nanny that practically raised her while her father was busy conquering Aramoor. This nanny was of our world. At great personal risk, she educated Virginia in the traditions of our people. Virginia Dare was only a child of two when she came here so she never knew her former home. Through the teachings of her nanny, whose name has been lost to history, Virginia grew to love her adopted home and when she learned that her father was planning on destroying our religion next, in favor of the religion of his homeland, she was horrified."

Jack gazed at Ava's face as she spoke. His eyes were drawn repeatedly to her soft, full lips and the way they moved as she formed her words. He caught himself and hastily looked at her eyes instead. They were the most captivating shade of green. Damn it! He tore his eyes from hers and stared at the table.

Ava had noticed the Outlander staring at her and noted that he clearly liked what he was seeing. Then his eyes had met hers and widened before his expression changed to anger. Now he was looking down at the table. Once again, his reactions stunned her, but she was even more stunned by the way her heart had picked up its pace slightly when their eyes had met. She fell silent for a second and then hastily resumed her tale.




Outlander Ch. 04



"Virginia had become a grown woman by then and a powerful sorceress in her own right. She fled her father's court and sought out every magic user that her father had not corrupted. She formed a covenant to fight against her father's tyranny and to preserve what was left of our traditions. Thus the order to which I and my mother belong was born."

While Ava was speaking, Garek got up and opened one of the wooden cabinets that stood against the front wall of the room. He poured an amber liquid from a decanter into a cup that he took from the cabinet. He set the drink by Ava who nodded thankfully. She took a sip then resumed.

"Ananias was furious at Virginia's betrayal and declared her to be a witch. The witches and warlocks of the covenant as they came to be called, never developed enough strength to confront Ananias directly, but worked in the shadows to hinder his reign of tyranny. Ananias became so fearful of covenant infiltrators that he wouldn't let any of his own magic users heal him when he became seriously ill. He died old and alone, surrounded by those that could have saved his life, but too distrustful to allow it."

She paused again and took another sip. A few drops of the amber liquid decorated her full lips and Jack's heart skipped a beat when she ran her tongue over them, to lick up the liquid.

"Upon Ananias's death," Ava continued, "Many begged Virginia Dare to take the throne but she refused. Instead a distant cousin of the King that Ananias had usurped and killed was found to assume power. The new King wasn't strong enough to hold the empire together and it soon broke apart. It wasn't until Queen Arabella reunited the southern provinces some 200 years later that Aramoor became whole again.

"The Outlander Ananias caused the deaths of over 100,000 people and changed us forever before he died. Is it no wonder why the people of Croatoan reacted as they did when another Outlander appeared? The common people fear the rise of another Ananias. They fear it so much that otherwise good people can be driven to murder."

"Is that why the man in the other ship wishes to capture me? To keep me from becoming a tyrant?" Jack asked. "Shit, I could've told him he was wasting his time. I can't even control my own life much less become an Arch Mage and control magic," he added with a hint of self-disgust. 

Ava opened her mouth to answer but Garek spoke before she could. "Perhaps," he responded with intentional vagueness. "But whatever Captain Drebin's reasons are for wanting to capture you, I assure you, they are not in your best interests. It's best you stay with us. We will keep you safe."

"If I am in danger, and if you are truly concerned with keeping me safe, why didn't you just send me back through the portal to my own world?" Jack asked. 

"Orders," Garek answered. "Those who have been tasked with guarding the portals have orders to take anyone who comes through to the King."

"And what does the King want with me?"

"The King will be very curious about you and the world from which you come. He will probably want to know all about you. Beyond that, who can say what a King will demand of any of us?"

Ava gave her father a sharp look. He had deftly steered around the truth without actually lying to the Outlander. He'd deliberately avoided telling Jack of the Karokai and the Seer's prophecy regarding him. 

"When can I go home?" Jack asked even as he wondered what he had to go home to. His parents had passed on, and things could never be the same again between him and Barbara; her betrayal had seen to that. The thought of Barbara twisted his guts and he grimaced before pushing the painful thoughts into the back of his mind. Garek and Ava both saw the look of pain cross the Outlander's face.

Garek almost asked if Jack was all right, but the Outlander nodded for him to continue so he let it pass. "It is up to the King to decide that," he said. "Perhaps when you have performed whatever tasks the King asks of you, you may be given the choice of whether or not to return to your world."

"Perhaps? May? It sounds as though I am a prisoner with no choice in the matter," Jack said sharply, anger creeping into his voice. He didn't like the thought of his choices being in someone else's hands.

Garek frowned. "Not at all," he said. "You are our guest, and under my protection. I only speak ambiguously because I am just a ship's Captain and I can't speak for His Majesty in matters such as these. I'm sure you understand."

"Yeah, I understand," Jack said sourly.

"Good," Garek said, choosing to ignore Jack's disgruntled tone. "Now, I suggest you go get something to eat with the rest of the crew. I need to talk to Ava for a moment and then we will join you."

Jack recognized the dismissal for what it was. He wasn't stupid and he knew that Garek hadn't told him everything. He'd seen the subtle looks Garek and Ava had exchanged, and that alone told him that Garek was holding something back. Jack decided to bide his time for now and process the information he'd just received. He rose and left them, knowing they would be discussing him behind his back.

Jack made his way back to the main deck and found that a long table had been set up. There were several large pots on the table and the aroma of food wafted on the sea air. Betta and a few other women were ladling soup out of the pots and into wooden bowls for the sailors who stood in a line along the ship's rail.

Jack considered eating with the others, but found he had no appetite. He wanted to be alone to think so he headed for the cabin that he had slept in the previous night. 

The sailors watched as the Outlander walked past them. Some stared at him in awe, some in fear, and some with hope. A few gazed at him with open hostility. Jack saw none of this as he walked by, lost in his own thoughts. 

**********

Garek waited a moment after Jack had closed the door behind him before turning to Ava. "You wish to ask me something?" he asked.

"Why didn't you tell him about the Karokai and the seer's prophecy?" she asked, regarding her father curiously.

"Two reasons," he answered. "One, the prophecy only says an Outlander will come. It did not say it would be the next Outlander that comes. He may not even be the one we are waiting for. And two, the man has been through enough for one morning, don't you think? Finding out that the fate of an entire world rests upon his shoulders may just push him over the edge."

"I see your point, father," she acknowledged. "But you heard what he said. He can actually see the leylines. Even our most powerful sorceresses can only feel them. He can actually see them. He must be the one." 

"I agree with you, daughter. And that," he said after a brief pause, "scares me down to my bones." 

"But why?" Ava asked. She had never heard her father admit to fear before and it rattled her.

"The man is broken inside. You can see it in his face if you look for it. He is wounded of soul just as the seer proclaimed he would be and that scares me. He has no love for Aramoor. He doesn't know us. So why should he care about our fates?"

"He will come to care for us father. He must," she said with a hint of desperation in her voice. She had been so focused on the prophecy that the possibility of the Outlander refusing to help them had not even occurred to her.

"Perhaps," Garek said. "But will just caring for us be enough?"

His question hung in the air. Neither had an answer so they sat quietly for a while, each occupied with their own worries.

**********

Author's note: If you have enjoyed my story (or not) please take the time to vote and leave a comment. We authors spend many hours crafting these stories in the hopes that you will tell us what you think of our efforts. Often we get only a handful of comments as reward for our efforts, so I want to thank you for reading and leaving a comment if you choose to do so. I also want to thank my editor JillyB and the guild for their support and friendship.



Outlander Ch. 05



"The Outlander is going to be the death of us all," Monch said as he glared around the men's berthing hold, daring anyone to contradict him. He was the ship's fisticuffs champion; barring the Captain's son, he was the biggest man on the Arabella. Most knew not to argue with Monch unless they wished for a beating. "Everyone knows that death and misery follow anyone who comes through one of the portals."

Several men were clustered around him and others lounged in bunks mounted on the ship's hull and stacked four high all the way around the hold. Monch sat in the open area in the center where the men diced, played cards, and amused themselves in other ways when not on duty. A few nodded their heads at Monch's words while others looked worried.

"You should stop spreading fear and trust the Captain's judgment," Charuk said from where he lounged on his bunk. A few of the men groaned, knowing that the young sailor was asking for trouble. "You forget that the Outlander helped save the ship from the Kraken." 

Monch turned his face to Charuk and lowered his bushy eyebrows in irritation. "That story again, Charuk? If I didn't know better I would say you crave the Outlander's cock in your ass," he taunted maliciously then grinned, showing yellowed teeth and the gap where his top front two used to be. The missing teeth, combined with his oft-broken nose, made him look menacing rather than buffoonish. A few of the men laughed nervously as Charuk's face reddened. 

In the week since the Outlander had come on board, Charuk had told the story at least a hundred times. He never tired of describing how Adept Ava and the Outlander had risked their lives to break the Kraken's grappling chain. The young sailor was in awe of the Outlander and defended him whenever anyone said anything critical of the man. Monch took every opportunity to goad the young sailor.

"That fat bag of piss has his own cabin and eats with the Captain and his officers as if he's better than us," Monch continued. "He hasn't done shit to earn special treatment except haul his bloated belly through the portal. The Captain should toss him overboard and be done."

"Lord Aramon on the rock! He saved the ship," Charuk screamed at Monch.

"My hairy cock, he saved the ship," Monch yelled back and clenched his large fists. "I say he just wanted a look at the Captain's daughter's juicy little cunt."

Charuk rolled out of his bunk and started toward Monch, his face ablaze with fury. "You vulgar dog," he snarled. Monch smiled cruelly and raised his fists as the young sailor approached. The other men scrambled out of the way.

"Officer on deck!" one of the men shouted when he saw Lieutenant Kairn standing in the doorway. The sailors hastily scrambled to their feet to stand at attention.

Kairn moved into the room followed by Grelik. He gripped his sword hilt as he slowly walked, purposely remaining silent, forcing the men to stay at attention. He gave Monch a hard stare before stopping in front of Charuk. "What is going on here, sailor?" he asked.

"Nothing, sir," Charuk said. "Just a sailor's fight," he added when Kairn raised his eyebrows.

"Just a sailor's fight," the sea dog said before he moved in front of Monch, who stood rigidly. "Is that your answer too?" 

"Yes, sir," Monch responded, staring ahead.

"I see," Kairn said. "Because it sounded to me like I heard someone insult Adept Ava's honor. It also sounded to me like only one man among you had the courage to defend it." He turned his head, meeting the eyes of each man until they looked down in shame.

"You men performed admirably in the Maelstroms so I am going to forget this little incident," Kairn continued. "But make no mistake, if I hear such words again I will personally see the villain that dares to utter them flogged." He leaned forward until his mouth was inches from Monch's ear. "I promise you that," he whispered before stepping back to ask loudly for all to hear, "do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," the sailors shouted as one.

"Very well then, carry on," Kairn said after giving Monch another hard look. He turned and left the berthing area with Grelik in tow .

The men stood still for a moment as the officer and his second's footsteps receded. When they were heard no more, Monch growled and slammed his fist into Charuk's face. The young sailor hit the floor with a thud.

**********

Jack wandered aimlessly around the deck of the Arabella, pulling the stout, brown wool cloak that someone had left outside his cabin door tightly around him. The hem of the cloak flapped against his legs, whipped by the chill wind that pushed the ship steadily eastward. 

His home in Boston was so far behind him now that it seemed lost in a fog. But while the details of his house, his job, and other possessions receded from memory, the vision of Barbara's betrayal remained as fresh as a new wound.

Everything was different now. The rock on which his whole world had been built, the core of his life, had been Barbara. She had been his lover and his friend. She had been his confidant and partner through everything life had thrown at them. She had been everything to him. Now he was adrift in a world he did not know, subject to the whim of those he did not trust, and despite what Barbara had done, he missed her terribly.

In the seven days since he had awakened aboard the Arabella, he had quickly learned the routine of life aboard the sailing vessel. Every other morning was bath day. Each sailor would haul a bucket of seawater up the side of the ship, and Ava or her mother would draw on the power of a leyline to transform it to fresh water with a touch. Then the men and women, separated by a sail fragment hung as a partition, would strip and bathe out of their buckets using soap that smelled of lye. When they were done bathing, any clothes they wanted to wash went into the same bucket.

Jack had felt extremely uncomfortable on the first morning that he joined the men bathing. The sailors laughed and hurled good-natured insults at each other. Jack remembered this kind of banter from his days as a member of his high school football and wrestling teams, but felt apart from these men and unable to join their comradely play. The sailors had a great laugh when Kairn announced that Jack's sword had no scabbard and pointed at Jack's circumcised penis. The sailors had fallen on the deck laughing, only to laugh even harder when Jack's face turned red with embarrassment. 

After sunset each night, Jack would make his way to the bow of the ship. He found it strange that with all the activity aboard there was seldom anyone there. He was thankful though because it gave him a chance to enjoy a moment's peace without having to stay in his room. He'd found the silence of the night disconcerting at first. He had lived his whole life in Boston and had gotten used to the sounds of the city always in the background. Now, the only sounds were the occasional sail flapping in the wind and the soft splashes the ship made as it parted the sea before it.

He'd been surprised when the Lady Viviane joined him on the first night, but as the days passed they fell into a pattern where she'd arrive at the bow shortly after he did. Jack had seen enough to know that she was the Captain's daughter. She seemed as sad as he was and Jack felt a strange kinship with her. They didn't speak, but shared the silence as if they were old friends. 

Together they would gaze at the twin moons as the bright orbs illuminated the darkness. Viviane would stand forlornly along the front rail, looking out at the sea ahead. In those moments when her back was turned, Jack would reach into his pants pocket and pull out the diamond earrings that he had bought for Barbara on their anniversary. He didn't know why he kept them, didn't know why he didn't throw them into the sea when they were just one more reminder of Barbara's betrayal. 

Occasionally Jack would glance up at the leyline that he could still see clearly despite the darkness of night. The leyline was always there and he was aware of its presence even when below deck and unable to see it. He was sure that even if he closed his eyes and spun until he didn't know what direction was what, he would still be able to point right at the leyline.

Jack still found it hard to believe in sorcery or magic. He had been raised in an Irish Catholic family and though he'd drifted from the church over the years he could still remember Father Michael saying in his grandfatherly voice, "Thou shall not suffer a witch to live." Although the very idea of magic made him feel uncomfortable, Jack could not deny the things he had witnessed since he'd entered this world. Magic was undeniably real, even if it bore little resemblance to the type of witchcraft that Father Michael had preached against in his youth.

Jack's primary problem at the moment was boredom. He had quickly realized that Garek's offer of a job had been a ruse to get him on board. The Arabella already had a cargo-master and the man wasn't surrendering his job anytime soon. Accustomed to decades of hard work and excellence, Jack found it difficult to accept that he had no useful skills aboard a sailing vessel. It only made him feel worse when he realized that no one seemed to expect him to do anything. 

With so much time on his hands, Jack had little to do but observe and think. He noticed that the Arabella bore a striking similarity to sailing ships from the 1800s on earth. The ships from that time on earth, however, bristled with cannons while the Arabella was armed only with a ballista. The ballista was nothing more than a giant wooden crossbow that hurled large spears at enemy vessels, and caused far less damage than cannon fire. He could only guess that this world's reliance on magic had retarded technological advancement in some areas.

Brooding was the other thing that he had plenty of time to do. Try though he might, he could not stop thinking about Barbara. His insides ached every time she intruded into his thoughts, strangely, the pain gave him comfort as well. It was his last link to the reality he had left behind. The pain of Barbara's betrayal felt like the only real thing left in his life.

The Captain's daughter was another thorn in his side. When he wasn't thinking of Barbara, his mind inexorably drifted to Ava. He found himself watching her as she went about her daily duties and would curse himself before tearing his gaze from her. Sometimes he would catch her looking at him with her striking green eyes as though he were some dangerous beast that could break free from its cage at any moment.

Jack sighed and forced himself to stop his current train of thought. If he continued brooding, he knew he would eventually drift into a deep depression. His stubborn pride, combined with the thought of an unknown person leaving gifts outside his door as if he were a child and unable to provide for himself, shook him from his lethargy. He couldn't deny that the wash bucket and cloak were sorely needed but there was no way he would continue to live off the charity of others. 

He had also noticed the resentful looks that some of the sailors gave him and could only assume it was because he wasn't pulling his weight. He decided that it was time he became useful. He would learn from the sailors, and if they wouldn't teach him then he would study them. One way or another he was through with doing nothing. 

He stopped his wandering when he came across three sailors on their hands and knees scrubbing the deck near the forecastle. He noticed an extra brush in one of the soap-filled buckets and figured helping them scrub the deck would be an easy way to start his quest.

"Do you mind?" he asked and nodded at the brush.

The sailors looked startled but didn't protest when Jack took the brush and knelt beside them on the deck. His knees protested but he ignored the pain and began scrubbing the deck in long strokes. His palms were almost healed now and barely hurt at all as he scrubbed. He lost himself in the rhythm of the work, eventually shedding his cloak as the physical activity warmed him. He was surprised when he heard the bell rung for the midday meal.

He tossed his brush into the bucket along with the other sailors and climbed awkwardly to his feet. Pain tore through his knees and he would have fallen if one of the other men hadn't steadied him. He nodded his thanks and limped after them to the line forming along the rail. 

After Jack got his ration, he decided not to join the officers in the wardroom as he had been doing. He was tired of them politely evading his questions. Today he would eat with the rest of the crew. He glanced around and saw Grelik nearby. He limped over and sat on the deck beside the young sea dog.

"Outlander," Grelik said in greeting as Jack sat beside him. "Not eating with the officers today?"

"Not today," Jack answered.

"Ah, you seek the company of honest men," Grelik said and then laughed.

Jack smiled and turned to his meal of fish soup and a hard biscuit. It was no wonder the people of this world were so thin Jack mused as he ate. He hadn't been able to eat his fill since he had been here. He didn't even want to think of what he'd be willing to do for a chocolate doughnut right now. He had already had to take his belt up a notch after a single week. At this rate, it wouldn't be long before he would need new clothes. How he would get them, he had no idea. 

"How long do you think it will take us to reach Antyor?" Jack asked, chewing on his biscuit. During one of his meals with the Captain and his officers, Jack had overheard Garek mention a planned stop at the port city to re-supply the ship.

Grelik looked up at the sails. "I would say about six weeks if the wind holds," he answered.

Jack glanced up as Aidan, guided by his wife Viviane, walked past them on the way to the wardroom to eat with the Captain and the officers. "Pretty, pretty, pretty," the big man repeated, staring at his plate of food and smiling happily.

"Yes, my Lord," Viviane replied patiently as she steered him toward the poop deck. 

Jack watched them as they made their way aft. He was aware of Viviane's striking beauty, but despite her similarity in hair and complexion to Barbara she didn't affect him the way Ava did. He forced himself to suppress that thought, turning his attention to Aiden instead. "What happened to the Captain's son?" he asked Grelik.

"Sad story, that. Sir Aiden was a hero once. So renowned that the old King bestowed a knighthood on him and honored him with his niece, the Lady Viviane, to wife. Damned Karokai," Grelik said the last word harshly, then spit on the deck.

"Karokai?" Jack asked. "What is that?"

The blood drained from Grelik's face. "I cannot speak of this," he said worriedly in a hushed tone.

"Why not?" Jack pressed.

"Please, Outlander," Grelik begged. "Do not ask this of me." When Jack had been passed out drunk that first night, the Captain had ordered the crew to not mention the Karokai to the Outlander. Grelik cursed himself for being a loud-mouthed fool.

The young sea dog looked so distressed that Jack dropped the matter. He sighed in frustration. Grelik had added another piece to the puzzle, but it only deepened the mystery rather than clarifying it. Jack returned to his food but it seemed to have lost what little flavor it had.

Jack saw Charuk sitting across the deck from him eating sullenly. A purplish bruise covered one whole side of his face and his eyes held the look of wounded pride. "What happened to Charuk?" he asked Grelik.

Grelik looked at Charuk then told Jack what he and Lieutenant Kairn had overheard in the berthing hold. The young sea dog latched on to this new subject, relieved to be talking of anything other than the Karokai. "My guess is that after we left, Monch gave your young friend that face decoration," he said in conclusion.

"So this Monch character beat up Charuk for defending me and Ava," Jack said quietly. All of the frustration, pain, and anger that Jack had felt since his anniversary coalesced into a cold fury that threatened to explode out of him now that it had found a convenient and acceptable target. Monch was a bully and Jack knew of only one way to deal with a bully. "Show me which one is Monch," he said icily as he scanned the sailors lounging around the deck eating.

"The big fellow over there," Grelik said, pointing at Monch with his wooden spoon. He failed to notice the coiled tension in Jack's voice. "Wait, what are you doing?" he asked when Jack climbed to his feet. Jack didn't respond. He just headed purposefully toward Monch. "Shit, I did it again." Grelik leapt to his feet and ran as fast as he could to fetch the officers.

Jack studied Monch as he approached. The big man was holding court, with several of the crew around him listening to every word he said. Everything about the man screamed bully to Jack, from his bulging arms to the stupid, arrogant look on his ugly face. Jack recognized that look. He had seen it before on the faces of the bullies he had gone to high school with. He planted his feet in front of Monch and looked down at the big man where he sat eating his soup.

"I hear you have a problem with me," Jack said coldly.

Monch looked up in surprise and conversations all around them died as the nearby sailors watched the big man expectantly. "Are you talking to me, Outlander?" Monch asked.

"I'm looking at you, aren't I?" Jack said, meeting the man's eyes.

For a moment, Monch seemed at a loss for anything to say until he saw the other sailors watching. "Move along, fat man," he said, his face hardening.

Jack's fury overwhelmed him. "Make me, you stupid fuck," he snarled and knocked Monch's soup bowl out of his hands. 

The soup splashed into the big man's lap and for a second, disbelief painted Monch's face. Then his visage contorted with anger and he heaved himself to his feet, coming nose to nose with Jack. His wooden soup bowl clanked loudly in the sudden silence as it bounced along the deck. "You're going to pay for that, you bastard," he spat.

A small voice in the back of Jack's mind was telling him that he was acting crazy, but he just didn't care. "Fuck you," he snarled and shoved Monch as hard as he could.

The big man staggered back and then came at Jack slowly. Jack had half-expected Monch to charge at him but instead the bully smiled his gap toothed smile and raised his meaty fists in a classic boxing stance. Jack did the same and they circled each other slowly. Sailors scrambled out of their way.

Jack's heart thumped in his chest as adrenaline coursed through him. He circled Monch, waiting for the other man to make a move. When it came, it was quick. Monch's left fist shot out in a jab toward Jack's face.

Jack's right hand slipped in front of his face, palm open to slap the jab away just as his father had taught him when he was a boy. Jack immediately snapped out a jab of his own and hit the big man square on the nose. Monch's head snapped back and his eyes began to water. Blood trickled out of one of his nostrils and into his mouth.

**********

Garek's head snapped up from his meal when Grelik burst into the wardroom. Ithos and Kairn were halfway out of their seats in alarm before they saw it was Grelik.

"Apologies, Captain," Grelik said breathlessly, "but you must come. It's the Outlander."

Garek stood, his face turning white as a sheet. "What happened?" he asked, dread in his voice. 

"Is he all right?" Ava asked, concerned.

"The Outlander is picking a fight with Monch," Grelik said in a rush as he led the Captain, Ava, and the officers to the door. "He's going to get hurt badly."

"Lady Viviane, please keep my son here. You know how he hates violence," Garek said to his daughter as he and the others followed Grelik out of the room. When in port, Captains often pitted their best men against each other in a battle of fisticuffs for wagers and sport. Monch had not lost one of these contests yet. Garek quickened his pace.




Outlander Ch. 05



They joined the circle of sailors surrounding the combatants just in time to see the Outlander and Monch circling each other.

"Shall I put a stop to this, Captain?" Kairn asked.

Garek glanced questioningly at Ithos as if to ask what his first officer thought.

Ithos shrugged. "Good opportunity to see what he's made of," he said.

"I agree," Garek said and then shook his head at Kairn. Kairn raised his eyebrows but made no protest.

"Father, are you sure this is wise?" Ava asked, staring at the Outlander with concern.

"We shall see," Garek answered glancing at his daughter curiously.

Suddenly the watching sailors shouted in surprise, and Ava sucked in a breath. 

"Aramon, son of God! The Outlander just bloodied Monch's nose," Kairn exclaimed. He sounded thrilled. Garek quickly turned his attention back to the fight.

Monch wiped his nose with the back of his fist and stared at his smeared blood. He returned his gaze to the Outlander who stood with his fists up, waiting. He was surprised by the Outlander's rudimentary fisticuff skills. It was time to see just how much he knew. He smiled and shuffled toward his opponent. He quickly closed the gap and threw three quick punches.

Jack tucked his chin and covered his face with his arms in time to absorb Monch's quick but heavy blows. He quickly threw a counter punch but the big man had already moved out of range.

Monch studied the Outlander's defense and moved back in. He threw two punches at the Outlander's face, and when Jack raised his arms to deflect the blows Monch hooked a punch under Jack's arms and into his stomach.

Jack's breath exploded from his lungs from the force of the impact. He fell forward, gasping in a futile attempt to draw air into his lungs. Agony exploded in his knees when they hit the hard, wooden deck. He could see Monch playing to the crowd as he labored to breathe. After what seemed an eternity, his lungs opened and sweet air rushed in, allowing him to climb painfully back to his feet.

Seeing him rise, Monch was ready for a new assault. This time the Outlander blocked the body shot, and Monch quickly diverted his attack back to the head, landing a glancing blow to the side of Jack's face.

Jack staggered, stumbled, and crashed to the deck on his side. Once again, Monch played to the onlookers as he waited for his opponent to recover. Jack realized that Monch was just playing with him. In a pure boxing match, the bigger man out-classed him. If he were to have any chance of winning, he would have to change tactics. "Come on, asshole," Jack taunted as he staggered back to his feet, attempting to goad Monch into a reckless charge. "You hit like a woman."

Monch only smiled at Jack's insult and continued to circle him menacingly.

"Why is the Outlander trying to make Monch angry when he's already losing?" Ava asked, worry evident in her voice.

"He is being smart," Kairn answered her, never taking his eyes off the combatants. "When you are losing an engagement, you must attempt to change the parameters of the conflict. The Outlander hopes to make Monch angry enough to make a mistake."

Jack wanted Monch to come at him, but when the other man finally charged, he was faster than Jack had anticipated. He tried to duck under Monch's furious onslaught of punches and tackle the bigger man around the legs, but one of Monch's meaty fists landed on the top of his head. A blinding light exploded behind Jack's eyes and he crashed face first onto the deck.

"Father, how long are you going to let this go on?" Ava demanded anxiously, but Garek said nothing.

Jack was confused and for a moment didn't know where he was. Then his wits returned and he crawled up onto his hands and knees. He knelt there panting for a second and then stood, his knees groaning in protest. 

Monch had been sure the fight was over and was already receiving congratulations from his cronies when the other sailors began cheering loudly. He turned around to see the Outlander stagger back to his feet. He was incredulous. Didn't the man know when to stay down? He was through playing. It was time to put the Outlander down for good.

Pain wracked Jack's entire body, but the agony only fueled his determination. He raised his fists and motioned Monch to engage him. When Monch got close enough, Jack swung as hard as he could at the big man's face. He put every ounce of desperate strength into the punch, but his right knee buckled, sending the punch wide. 

Jack never saw the fist that landed with explosive force on his face, nor did he remember falling. He was just suddenly on his back on the deck staring up at Monch. He could feel blood running out of his nose and tasted a hint of copper as some of it ran into his mouth. His only thought was he had to get up. He struggled to sit up but before he could, Monch grabbed him by his hair and yanked him into a sitting position.

"Do you yield?" Monch asked.

Jack only glowered at him.

Monch smashed his fist into Jack's face and Jack's left eye immediately began to swell shut. "Do you yield?" Monch asked again, his voice harsh.

"Fuck you," Jack snarled.

Monch slammed his fist into Jack's mouth. "Yield!" he demanded.

The blow had loosened Jack's teeth and split his lips. His mouth was rapidly filling with blood. Every part of Jack's body except his heart wanted him to quit, wanted him to do anything to escape the beating. He glared up at Monch's hateful face and refused to give the son of a bitch the satisfaction of making him quit. He said nothing.

Monch hit him again and Jack's arms dropped to his side. His eyes briefly rolled back in his head before he recovered enough to try to focus on his tormentor.

"Yield! Aramon curse you, yield!" Monch screamed, almost in desperation.

Jack turned his head as far as Monch's grip in his hair would allow and spit a mouthful of blood onto the deck. He looked back at Monch and tried to focus but his vision was blurry and there seemed to be two of Monch hovering over him. "No," he croaked and peeled his lips back in a rictus of a smile, showing his bloodstained teeth.

Monch didn't know what to do. The Outlander would not yield. He looked around helplessly as though looking for someone to tell him what to do.

"Father, enough," Ava said angrily. She had winced with every blow that Jack had taken, and now was beside herself with worry.

"I've seen all I need to see," Ithos said.

"Me too," Garek said. "Kairn, break it up."

"Aye Captain," Kairn said and strode into the circle that had formed around Jack and Monch. "Enough!" he yelled and the watching sailors and sea dogs hushed. "Monch, let him go." 

The big man sighed in relief and actually looked grateful as he released his grip on the Outlander's hair. Jack collapsed and the back of his head rebounded off the deck with an audible crack. He slipped into the blessed peace of unconsciousness. 

"I didn't start it, sir," Monch explained desperately to Kairn. He suddenly realized that he might be in a lot of trouble. Despite his constant belittling of the man, Monch knew how important the Outlander was.

"I know," Kairn said, regarding the big man distastefully as though he wished it were otherwise.

"What in Aramon's name is going on here?" They turned to find Garek's wife, Emma standing in the doorway leading to the Captain's Quarters. Every man present flinched at her tone, her husband included. Her eyes took in the situation as she strode purposely to the unconscious Outlander.

"Sorceress Emma, we have an injured man here," Kairn spluttered as he pointed at Jack.

"I can see that," she snapped. "I can't be out of sight for a moment without you men behaving like boys just off your mother's apron strings." She took a deep breath as though to calm herself. 

Garek nodded when his wife glanced at him. Her eyes said that he would be getting the rough side of her tongue when they were alone.

"Carry the Outlander to his quarters," Emma commanded. Grelik and Charuk quickly leapt to her command as she turned to her daughter. "Adept, come with me." 

"Yes, Sorceress," Ava said and darted to her mother's side. Normally she would have called the older woman mother but when Emma was angry, it was more prudent to addressl her by her formal rank.

Grelik and Charuk hoisted Jack up between them and headed for Jack's quarters, followed by the Covenant Witches.

"Ithos, see to things here," Garek said before trailing after his wife and daughter.

"I've never seen a man get knocked down so many times," Kairn said to Ithos as they watched the small procession of people carry Jack below deck.

"Is that how you saw it?" Ithos asked, turning to look at the young lieutenant.

Kairn looked confused. "How did you see it, sir?"

"You say that you've never seen a man get knocked down so many times, but I would say that I've never seen a man get up so many times," Ithos explained.

"I didn't think of it that way," Kairn admitted looking thoughtful.

"Tell me Kairn," Ithos continued. "Who do you think the victor was?"

Kairn took a minute to think through his answer. "I would say that they each won a victory," he said carefully.

Ithos nodded. "Explain."

"Well, obviously Monch won the physical fight, but the Outlander never yielded and in the end it was Monch that looked for help," Kairn said and looked at the older officer expectantly.

Ithos smiled. "You will make a fine officer yet, Lieutenant," he said and then chuckled at the grin that broke out on the young officer's face. "The Outlander looks weak, but the eyes can't see beneath the skin to the heart that beats within," he said more seriously. "Make no mistake, Kairn, the Outlander has tempered steel at his core and for good or bad he will soon be a man to be reckoned with."

**********

"Put him on the bed," Emma said as the sailors carried Jack into his room.

Jack moaned but did not wake as Grelik and Charuk laid him on the bunk.

"Now, leave us." She glanced at the two men as they made their way to the door. "Wait," she said when she saw Charuk's face. She moved to him and cupped his face in her hands. She closed her eyes and Charuk shivered as the bruise on his face faded. "There. Now go," she said, already turning back to the Outlander.

She studied Jack for a moment then turned to her daughter. "Heal him, Adept," she commanded.

"Yes, Sorceress," Ava said, already moving to Jack's bedside. 

After making sure Ava was focused on her task, Emma rounded on her husband. "What were you thinking?" she demanded. "You know how important he is."

"Peace, woman," Garek said. "I had my reasons."

"And what, pray tell, were those?" she asked coldly.

"The man has a hard road ahead of him," Garek explained patiently. "We won't be helping him if we coddle him as if he were in swaddling clothes. To survive, he must learn how to take care of himself. What do we do if he is too weak to face his destiny? I had to see for myself if the man has the strength to carry his burden."

She thought over her husband's words for a moment then her demeanor softened. "Just try not to get him killed before we reach the King," she said, and took his hand in hers to let him know that everything was all right. They smiled at each other and turned their attention back to Ava and the Outlander.

Ava appeared calm as she regarded the injured Outlander, but her thoughts were in turmoil. The Outlander's beating at the hands of Monch had distressed her greatly, and she was having trouble making sense of her feelings. She was angry at the Outlanders stupidity for picking a fight with such a dangerous man, but at the same time she was in awe of his strength of will. Her heart had gone out to him with each blow he'd taken, and she was irritated with herself for feeling this way when the Outlander made no effort to conceal his obvious disdain for her. Ava shook her head to clear her mind of the distracting thoughts and knelt next to the bed.

"Who's there?" the Outlander asked, stirring at last. He struggled to sit up. His swollen eye was closest to Ava so he turned his head and blinked blearily, trying to bring her into focus.

"It's Ava," she said gently. "Jack, please lie back and let me help you." It was the first time she had called him by his name. The sound of her voice seemed to soothe him and he relaxed back onto the bed.

She put one hand on the Outlander's forehead and took his hand with the other. He inhaled softly then sighed at the softness of her touch. She took a deep breath and opened herself to Aramon's gift. She let the power flow into her until she held as much as she could before releasing her connection to the leyline.

She pushed her mind into Jack's body. She delved deep, letting her consciousness flow through him, searching for his injuries. Her mind touched the scar on his cheek from the confrontation with the Kraken and a flash of irritation threatened her calm. He should have let her heal it and now it was too late. She continued on, cataloging his wounds.

When she was ready, she opened herself to his pain and gasped. She didn't feel his hurts as her own. She experienced them as though remembering injuries from long ago. Still, she was unprepared for the extent of his pain, particularly in his knees. She steadied herself and let the power of Aramon's gift flow over his injuries. Where she directed the power, wounds healed, cartilage knit, and bruises and swelling subsided. Her healing power washed him clean of all his hurts, and as the constant physical pain he had endured for so long left Jack, he sighed and slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep.

When she was done, Ava staggered to her feet and turned to Emma. "Oh Mother, how could he stand it? He has been in pain for so long," she cried. Tears spilled out of her eyes and she threw herself into her mother's arms.

Emma exchanged a startled look with her husband as she held her weeping daughter.

***********

Author's note: I want to thank all the readers who commented on the previous chapter. I appreciate it more than you know and look forward to hearing what you think of this chapter. As always, I want to thank the guild for their support and my editor JillyB. 



Outlander Ch. 06



Author's note: Some of you who have read Young Wolves may have noticed that there is a lot less sex in this story. Young Wolves was my first foray into erotic writing and I wrote it thinking that if I didn't put sex in every chapter readers would be dissatisfied. I have learned that isn't the case, so with Outlander I wanted to focus on plot and let the sex come when it served the story rather than manipulating the tale to include gratuitous sex. Rest assured, there will be sex when the time is right. As always I want to thank the guild for their support, and give a special thanks to my editor Jillieb.

****

Ava sat at her dressing table long after the sun had set, staring at her reflection in the mahogany-framed mirror as she pulled a polished-bone comb through her long, black tresses. The mirror, a gift from her father, was a luxury that few had aboard ship. The rhythm of combing always soothed her when she was troubled. 

The fault for her troubled thoughts could be laid directly at the feet of Jack Forrester. The man was insufferable. One moment he treated her as though she were some tavern slattern intent on stealing his virtue and the next moment she would catch him devouring her with his eyes. She considered herself good at reading people, but Jack's behavior left her at a loss, unable to grasp his motivations. 

Grelik's explanation of why Jack had started the fight with Monch left her more confused about the Outlander than ever. Her initial impression of the plain, plump man needed to be reevaluated. His defense of Charuk had been unexpected; surely he had known he would be seriously wounded for his efforts. This was the second time he had done something selfless. She couldn't decide if he was noble or just plain crazy. The man was a bull-headed fool, that's what he was. Ava gave the comb a tug for emphasis and winced as it caught in her hair.

She didn't even want to think about what had happened earlier when she had healed him, crying like a homesick girl newly arrived at the Covenant University. She tried to tell herself that she had just been surprised and overwhelmed by the amount of pain the Outlander had been silently enduring, but she had never been very good at lying to herself.

After he had passed out, her mother had ushered her father out of the room and bade her help undress the Outlander. She still fumed with embarrassment at the little gasp that escaped her when her mother had removed his strange undergarment revealing his manhood. Where her mother had been matter-of-fact as a Witch of the Covenant should, she had acted like an untrained girl and it galled her.

She had found the sight of his manhood interesting from a purely professional standpoint and for no other reason, she assured herself. She had undressed others before in her duties as a Witch of the Covenant, treating the sick and injured. The Outlander was different from the others in that his manhood had no foreskin. If she had glanced at it a few times as they worked it was just professional curiosity, that's all it was. Her mother had no call to raise her eyebrows at her in that disapproving manner. Regardless, she had turned scarlet and focused on getting the sheets out from under him and covering his nakedness as fast as she could.

The man robbed her of her good sense, rattled and confused her. Why did he affect her so? Was it his destiny that so befuddled her, or was it his dusky, bleak eyes that reflected loss? Was it that he had chosen to go into the sea with her rather than save himself? Or was it his gallant defense of a weaker shipmate and his foolish refusal to yield to the brutish Monch? The answers eluded her.

What had happened to him to make his eyes so sad? She slammed her comb onto the dresser in frustration. Why did she care? Why did her heart race whenever she caught him looking at her? Did he hate her, or desire her, or both? Did she desire him? She sucked in a breath at that last thought. Of course she didn't, she snorted dismissively. Where had that thought even come from? It seemed all she had were questions without answers.

A soft knock at her cabin door interrupted her thoughts. Terrell's impudent but charming grin greeted her when she opened the door. She had been expecting him to appear each night since they had passed the maelstroms, and now that he was here she steeled her resolve.

"Hey, beautiful," he said as he moved into the room. He scooped her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers.

Ava staggered a few steps back, but allowed Terrell's lips to remain pressed to hers for a moment before putting her hands on his chest and gently pushing him away. "Terrell, wait," she said.

He let her slip from his embrace and looked at her curiously.

Nervous, she clasped her hands at her waist. "I want to talk to you for a moment," she said, her demeanor serious.

"What is it, love?" he asked.

She took a breath. "We can't do this anymore," she said and moved a few steps away from him.

Terrell flashed his insolent smile. This was a game he knew well. He had charmed women out of their clothes in ports all across Aramoor and knew that women enjoyed the wicked surrender so much more after a half-hearted protest or two. "Ava," he said and took a confident step toward her. "You know I love you and would be lost without you." He took another step and reached out to take her in his arms.

"No," Ava said and retreated from him.

Terrell stood for a moment with his empty arms outstretched before dropping them to his sides. His face wore a look of disbelief, understanding now that this was more than just a game of cat and mouse. "Why are you doing this?" he asked, confused.

"It's complicated," she said.

"Tell me, damn it!" he said, his voice tinged with anger.

Ava's chin lifted at Terrell's harsh tone and her eyes flashed. "Don't raise your voice to me, Terrell," she said.

"I don't understand," he shot back, flustered. "I love you."

"No, you don't," she said and raised her hand to stop his protest. "You use those words to seduce, but you don't really mean them."

"But I do mean them! You don't know how I feel," he said.

"Prove you love me then," she challenged.

"How?" he asked.

"Go to my father now. Inform him that you intend to seek my hand in marriage," she said, watching his reaction closely.

He hesitated.

"That's what I thought," she said.

"Ava," he said in a tone that suggested she was being unreasonable.

"If you love me, why do you insist on keeping our relationship a secret? Why do you sneak into my room like a thief in the night?" she asked, driving her point home.

"Only to protect your virtue," he spluttered indignantly.

"Do you take me for a fool?" she demanded. "I know about the other women, Terrell, the ones you seduce with your pretty face and fancy words. Don't insult me further by denying it. If you truly loved me you would have stopped pursuing others. You would have spoken to my father and announced your intention to court me. But you didn't do either of those things, Terrell. I have gone along with this longer than I should have because since we were children our mothers have held out hope that we would marry someday."

"You brought me into your bed for our mothers' sake?" he asked. His expression of astonishment was easy for her to read.

"That's not what I meant. You are deliberately misunderstanding me," she said.

"Why then?" he demanded.

"I thought you were what I wanted," she answered. "You made me a woman, but as a woman I see now that I will never love you. To pretend otherwise would not be fair to you or me." 

Terrell opened and closed his mouth as though unable to find words. "You used me," he finally spluttered. 

"Terrell, it's not like that. I have always considered you a dear friend and I honestly hoped I would grow to love you," she said. "I'm sorry if you feel I used you. That was never my intent."

Terrell's handsome face contorted into a mask of rage. He clenched his fists and strode toward her. Ava retreated from him until her back met the wall of her quarters. She winced when Terrell's hands slammed into the wall on either side of her shoulders, caging her between them.

"I know what this is really about," he snarled, his breath washing over her. "I've seen the way you look at the Outlander."

"What? No. That's not it," she protested, disconcerted by his accurate echoing of her earlier thoughts.

"Shut up!" he snapped.

"Terrell, let me go," she pleaded and turned her head away from his angry gaze.

"You're nothing more than a common whore," he spat, his mouth close to her ear. His breath and words washed over her and the blood drained from her face. 

Terrell yelped in surprise, his feet leaving the floor as an unseen force hurled him away from her. He hit the deck hard, his breath exploding from his lungs. He tried to rise but something pinned him like a scuttle bug beneath a man's foot. He managed to turn his head enough to see Ava standing over him, her hand outstretched in the air before her, her green eyes blazing with fury. She lowered her hand slightly, and Terrell groaned as he was smashed harder into the deck.

"You go too far," she said, her voice as cold as an icy winter's night. "You, who have planted your seed in tavern wenches and lonely hearth maids from Panaar to Keldan, dare to call me a whore? Until this moment I have always thought highly of you despite your womanizing. It may be that my affection has led you to forget what I am. Perhaps that is my fault. But know this now and never forget it: I am a Witch of the Covenant and you will never manhandle or speak to me in such a manner again."

Terrell's face was turning a dark shade of purple. Ava raised her hand slightly, reducing the pressure on him enough for him to breathe. He sucked in a huge gulp of air. He was wracked by a fit of coughing as his lungs tried to suck as much air into them as they could. After a moment he got his breathing under control and tried to rise but Ava's power still held him down.

"Terrell," she said, her voice softening. "We have been friends our whole lives so I will forgive your hasty words. Please don't let this be the end of our friendship." She lowered her hand and released him completely from the wall of air she had created. 

Feeling the unseen force dissipate, Terrell slowly climbed to his feet, his wide-eyed gaze never leaving her. He stood erect, rigid, and glowered at the witch. She waited for him to speak, hoping that he would see the truth of her words, worried that she had lost her oldest friend.

"May I go, Adept?" he asked, unable to mask his bitterness.

Ava sighed. "Of course," she said sadly. 

Terrell bowed his head to her, turned, and left, shutting the door behind him. It closed with a finality that left Ava feeling despondent. She stared at the closed door for a moment before returning to her seat at the mahogany mirror. She picked up her comb and resumed pulling it through her hair.

* * * *

Jack opened his eyes and sat up. He glanced around his quarters then slumped back onto the bed. It was morning. He couldn't precisely define how he knew, but the feel of the air, the scent of the sea, the cries of circling gulls, and the warm light cascading through the porthole combined in a way that said morning to his senses.

He grimaced as he ran the confrontation with Monch through his head. "I sure showed him," he said aloud then laughed, mocking himself. He vaguely recalled being carried to his quarters after the disastrous episode. The last thing he remembered before he had slipped into unconsciousness was Ava's soothing voice and a tender look in her beautiful green eyes.

Jack's stomach growled suddenly. He had not finished his last meal and now he was ravenous. He fervently hoped he hadn't missed breakfast. Though he had lost some weight and seemed to not need as much food as he used to, a whole day without a full meal was pushing it.

He swung his legs off the side of the bed and sat up. Someone had undressed him after he had passed out. He flushed with embarrassment at the thought of Ava seeing him naked. "And the indignities just keep on coming," he said aloud.

His own clothes were nowhere in sight. A tattered brown coat hung on the back of the room's lone chair. A white cotton shirt and tan trousers that appear to have been made from sail cloth were folded on the seat. Parked beneath the chair was a pair of brown leather boots with the cuff turned down at the top.

He grimaced at the sight of the native clothing. He hated people giving him things that he hadn't earned, but had to admit that having an extra change of clothes was welcome. Wearing the same thing every day was getting old fast, not to mention the smell when you only got to bathe and wash clothes every other day.

Suddenly he remembered that Barbara's earrings were in his missing pair of pants. He started to panic and then saw them, along with his wallet, sitting on the table. He relaxed then felt annoyed at his reaction. The earrings were the last representation of a life where he had been happy and he was reluctant to let them go.

He grabbed the bundle and dressed, but not without a few problems. The shirt had three long tails with buttons and eyelets. It took him a few minutes to figure out that the shirt served as underwear as well. After a few moments of trial and error he figured out how it buttoned around his thighs and pulled up over his genitals to button at his stomach. 

The trousers were simple enough, though they laced at the sides rather than the front. He imagined it taking ten minutes to get his dick out every time he needed to take a piss. He found a pair of socks tucked in the boots made of some springy material that he didn't recognize. The boots fit well and were surprisingly comfortable. 

He finished lacing the second boot, stood up, then froze. Something felt different, out of place. It was not the new clothes. Something else had changed. He cast his gaze around his small cabin but could not pinpoint the cause of his unease. He strode to the porthole and squinted against the sunlight as he looked outside, but the limited view of the sea and the horizon provided no answer.

He turned from the porthole and paced restlessly around the small cabin, ignoring his empty stomach's protests. He couldn't shake the feeling that something had been altered, that something wasn't quite right. He halted suddenly as realization dawned. He should have been in agony, yet he felt no pain.

"She healed me," he said in wonder.

Several feelings washed through him in rapid succession. First, he felt jubilant but indignation followed. How dare she do this without permission? As he resumed pacing and became more aware of how easily his body moved, he felt thankful but just as quickly felt violated. Who did she think she was, mucking about in his body? He was elated that it was her touch that freed him from his pain, but guilt-ridden for thrilling at the thought of a woman's touch that wasn't Barbara's.

It was his empty belly that finally snapped him out of it. His stomach growled, reminding him that sustenance was priority number one. He grabbed the worn coat and put it on. The sleeves were turned up at the wrists and folded back over the forearms. It flared out at the bottom and had buttons and loops up the front. Jack doubted he would be able to fasten those unless he lost a little more weight. All he needed now was a powdered wig and one of those triangle-shaped hats and he would look like George Washington's poor step-brother. He chuckled at the absurdity.

He shot out of the room, faster than he had moved in years. A grin split his face as he ran up the short stairwell, and burst onto the main deck. With his pain gone, he felt euphoric, as if life was suddenly filled with possibilities. 

He was relieved to see that breakfast was still being served, and quickly joined the serving line. His good mood lasted until he heard the whispers of those near him in line. Apparently, his beating at the hands of Monch left quite an impression. The consensus appeared to be that Jack was not only a complete idiot, but couldn't fight worth a damn either.

After getting his food, which consisted of a bowl of something that looked like oatmeal and a hard biscuit, Jack looked around for a place away from the rest of the crew to eat. He pretended not to see Charuk waving for him to join him, and walked away from the group. He wanted to be alone to think while he ate. He sat and began eating, hardly tasting the food, his mind on other things.

It was evident to Jack that he would not be going home anytime soon. If he was going to be stuck here then he would have to learn to survive. This place had shown itself to be a world full of danger. He'd been kidnapped, thrust into a sea battle, nearly sucked into a series of giant whirlpools, and beaten within an inch of his life, all within the first week of coming here. He needed to take charge of his own life as best he could under the circumstances.

The hard truth was that he was helpless, subject to the charity and kindness of Captain Liaman and his crew. Any one of them could run him through with a sword and there was nothing he could do about it. That needed to change, so when Lieutenant Kairn and the sea dogs assembled for their daily practice session, Jack was determined to join them.

He stood nearby as the sea dogs began their sword drills. He caught Kairn's eye and with a nod at the rack that still held a few extra practice swords asked permission to join them. Kairn looked thoughtful for a moment and then nodded his assent. Jack picked up a wooden sword and joined the end of the line.

Over the next few hours Jack lost himself in the training. Sweat rolled off him in waves and his legs and arms trembled with strain as he moved from position to position, Kairn frequently correcting him, adjusting his stance or moving his grip. None of the sea dogs spoke to him, but they seemed to accept his presence.

When the sea dogs paired up to spar, Kairn took Jack as his sparring partner. "Defend yourself," he said and immediately launched an attack. His practice sword sailed at the Outlander's shoulder but was stopped by a parry. "Good," Kairn said, nodding. "Now, faster."

Jack found it difficult to block more than one or two of Kairn's strikes before one slipped through his guard and landed with a resounding smack. Every time a blow landed, Jack gritted his teeth and tried even harder to not let the next one through. He couldn't even think about mounting an attack of his own. It was all he could do to stave off Kairn's rapid assaults.

"Don't over-extend," Kairn said after Jack had reached out too far to block a swing aimed at his chest. Kairn had simply changed the swing mid-arc to hit Jack's exposed leg instead of his torso. Jack rubbed his thigh where the blow had landed. He grunted an acknowledgement and raised his practice sword to the ready position.

The air was filled with the sound of wood clacking together as the men traded blows, the members of the crew being careful to avoid the combatants as they went about their duties. 

Above them, standing at the rail of the poop deck, Garek and Ithos watched with interest as the Outlander strove to fend off Kairn's onslaught.

"He has a long way to go before he'll be any good in a fight," Ithos said after Kairn landed another underhanded swing on the Outlander's midsection.

"True," Garek said, "But it is good that he learn the way of the sword. I fear it is a skill he will be in sore need of."

"When do you plan on telling him the whole truth?" Ithos asked nonchalantly as though he didn't care one way or the other, but his sidelong glance at his Captain betrayed his interest.

Garek wrinkled his brow. "That is a question that weighs heavily on my mind."




Outlander Ch. 06



"He deserves to know. No man should face his fate ignorant," Ithos said.

Garek glanced at his old friend, surprised that his gruff first officer was arguing for the Outlander. He smiled. It seemed Jack's stubbornness had impressed Ithos more than he had let on. "I worry that if he knew the truth, he would run from us the first chance he gets."

"Maybe you underestimate him."

"Perhaps, but what would your reaction be if I told you it was your destiny to lead a people you don't know or care about to victory over a foe that has decimated every army sent before it?"

Ithos only grunted in response.

"No, it is too early for him to know the truth." Garek said. "He has to find something here that matters enough to him to fight for."

Ithos looked skeptical. "Any idea what that might be?" he asked.

"Only God knows," Garek answered, but his eyes flicked to his daughter as she moved around the main deck pretending she wasn't watching the sword practice.

"Sweet Aramon!" Ithos suddenly exclaimed, diverting Garek's attention back to the Outlander. Jack was climbing back to his feet after taking a blow to the ribs. "He never stops getting up," Ithos continued. "The man's got grit if nothing else, I tell you."

"That he does, my friend," Garek agreed. "That he does."

"Well, once we deliver him to the King he won't be our problem anymore," Ithos said.

"Do you think it's going to be that simple?" Garek asked.

Ithos grunted, but Garek wasn't sure whether he meant yes or no.

Jack was on the verge of collapsing from exhaustion. Sweat was running off him in rivulets and he could only breathe in short gasps when Kairn finally called a halt to the training session. Jack joined the others at the water barrel and drank deeply when it was his turn. Even tinged with the taste of wood and tar from the barrel, the water tasted as sweet as anything he had ever drunk.

Sorceress Emma moved among them as she did each day after they finished their training, inspecting them for injury, healing the arm of one, the broken finger of another. When she came to Jack, he made no protest as she took his face in her hands. He could see the tendril flow into her from the leyline, suffusing her with a golden glow. The pain in his bruised ribs lessened almost immediately, but didn't completely go away. She also didn't heal the blisters that throbbed on his palms after hours of gripping the hilt of the practice sword.

"Why doesn't she heal us completely?" Jack asked Kairn when the Covenant witch had left, rotating his arm and wincing from the bruises he had sustained.

"Your muscles need to be broken down to grow stronger," Kairn explained. "Your hands need to blister to form calluses. If she healed us completely we would not grow strong. To our bodies it would be as though we never even practiced."

"I see," Jack said.

Kairn laughed at the regret evident in Jack's voice. "Cheer up," he said and clapped Jack on the shoulder causing him to wince. "You did fine for your first time. Keep showing up and I'll make a swordsman out of you yet."

After Jack had moved away, Grelik moved up beside Kairn. "I'll wager five coppers he won't get out of bed tomorrow, much less show up for training," he said, gesturing toward Jack.

"I'll take that bet," Kairn said.

* * * * 

Later that evening Jack stood at the rail staring into the sky at the leyline. The sun was setting and the fading light lit the clouds in a myriad of orange and purple hues, but did nothing to hide the shimmering line that spanned the heavens. 

He glanced over when someone moved up to stand beside him. He was surprised to see it was the Captain's wife. 

"Sorceress," he said in greeting. It was what the crew called her, so Jack decided it was best to be prudent.

"Outlander," she replied.

"Please," he said. "My name is Jack."

"Very well, Jack," she said, "But only if you call me Emma. To tell you the truth, all that Sorceress nonsense gets tiresome after a while. Emma is the name my mother gave me, and I think it's a good one, don't you?" she smiled at Jack expectantly.

Jack laughed. It was his first real laugh in quite a while. "I do," he said. "Emma was my grandmother's name."

"Really," she said. "How extraordinary." 

"Well, she was an extraordinary lady, as are you, I suspect," he said grinning, put at ease by her easy manner.

"Flatterer," she laughed and cuffed him on the arm. He laughed with her and together they watched the sun set, neither speaking as the glowing orb slipped below the horizon.

Jack let the quiet stretch for a while before asking, "Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Hmmm?" she asked, then said "Oh, yes" as though just remembering. "Ava tells me that you can see the leylines?"

"Well, so far I've only seen the one," he said glancing up at the shimmering cord arcing across the night sky. "There are more?"

She nodded. "If you were to travel far enough around the world you will leave this one behind and discover the others. Is it beautiful?" she asked wistfully.

"You can't see it?" he asked, turning to look at her in surprise.

"Even the most powerful among us can only sense the leylines. You are the first person I have ever heard of that can actually see them," she said, regarding him seriously.

"What does that mean?" he asked.

"I believe it means that you have within you the latent ability to become a very powerful warlock, perhaps even an arch-mage."

"Me? A warlock? You can't be serious," Jack said, shocked.

"I am," she replied. "But you need to be taught to harness Lord Aramon's Gift, if you are to reach your full potential."

"What if I don't want to be a warlock or an arch-whatever?" Jack asked carefully.

"Why would you not want to be who you were meant to be?" Emma asked.

Jack thought for a moment and decided to deflect the question with one of his own. "What are the leylines, exactly?"

Emma recognized the evasion but let it pass for the moment. "The leylines are the power that holds creation together," she answered.

"How does that work?" Jack asked, confused.

Emma thought for a moment. "Imagine a wall made of wet rock. If you pour the mixture and let it harden, then hit it with a hammer, it will crumble. But if you lay down a lattice of steel rods and pour the mixture over it, then you can hit it with a battering ram and the wall will hold. Creation is the wet rock and the leylines are the steel lattice."

"That makes sense," he said. "But then why doesn't my world have leylines?"

"Your world simply lies in the space between the steel rods, but it benefits no less from the strength of the overall design," she answered.

Jack tried to picture the Earth as he knew it, with a network of unseen leylines supporting the planet in the vast emptiness of space. The mental image should have been alien, but somehow it made perfect sense. 

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the Lady Viviane, who led Aiden by the hand. Once again, Jack was struck by the contrast between the Lady Viviane's ethereal beauty and grace and Aiden's hulking form and child-like innocence.

"I am sorry to interrupt," Viviane said to Emma, "but I am about to put Aiden to bed and have brought him to say goodnight."

"That's quite all right, child," Emma said, smiling forlornly at her son.

"My Lord, give your mother a hug goodnight," Viviane said.

Aiden shambled to his mother, wrapped his large arms around her, and stooped to lay his head on her shoulder. He held her delicately as though afraid to hurt her with his considerable strength.

Emma embraced him and gently stroked the back of his head. "I love you, my son," she said. "Sleep well." There was the glint of moisture in her eyes when he released her.

"Goodnight, Aiden," Jack said politely.

Both Emma and Viviane looked shocked when Aiden stepped forward and embraced the Outlander. Jack, taken aback, hesitated then patted the big man on the back. Emma smiled gratefully at him. Jack acknowledged her thanks with a nod over Aiden's broad shoulder.

Aiden released him, stepped back, and looked at Jack with the seriousness of a child who has something important to say. "Pretty," he said and pointed at his wife who smiled sadly.

"Yes she is," Jack told him. "Very pretty."

"Come, my Lord," Viviane said, taking Aiden by the hand. "Goodnight," she said to both Emma and Jack, before leaving them to escort her husband to their cabin.

"Poor child," Emma said as they moved away, though Jack wasn't sure if she meant Aiden or Viviane.

"Why do you call it Lord Aramon's Gift?" he asked, returning to their earlier subject.

Emma turned her attention from her son and daughter and looked at Jack. "I am not much of a storyteller, but I can tell you the tale as it was recorded in the Tome of Aramon if you wish," she offered.

"Please," Jack said.

"Very well," she said. There was a short pause as she collected her thoughts. "Long ago, mankind had no access to the leylines or knowledge of their use. We were subservient to the Elvenestri who ruled us and kept us in a state akin to slavery."

"Wait," Jack interrupted. "Who were the Elvenestri?"

"The Elvenestri were the first of God's children, blessed above all others," she explained. "They were long-lived, elegant, and refined. Into their care were given God's second creation, man, as well as all the animals of the earth, sky, and sea. For thousands of years they cared and nurtured mankind as an older brother would care for a younger, but over time they began to view man as inferior and began to harness the power of his labor to make their own lives easier and richer.

"Mankind yearned to be free and tried to resist, but one of the gifts God gave to the Elvenestri was access to the power of the leylines. With that power they were able to crush any and all resistance. Man cried out to God for help so He sent his Son made flesh, Lord Aramon."

'God's Son made flesh?' Jack thought in shock. It had been many years since he'd set foot inside a church, but even he had no trouble recognizing that phrase.

Emma paused for breath, seemingly unaware of his surprise. "Lord Aramon spoke to the masses, but not of rebellion. He spoke of peace, and love, and forgiveness. He gathered multitudes as he traveled to the Elvenestri's capital city. When he arrived with throngs at his back to implore the Elvenestri to turn from the path they had chosen, to turn back to the purpose God had intended for them, He was seized by the Elite Guard, and his followers dispersed by the power of the leylines. Thousands died as the Elvenestri mages called down destruction on Lord Aramon's peaceful followers."

"What happened to Lord Aramon?" Jack asked, curious to see how much this world's history paralleled his own.

"He was brought before the ruling council and denounced as a heretic and servant of Karak."

"Who's Karak?" Jack asked.

"Karak is the evil that opposes God in all things," she said. "He is the father of wickedness and hate."

"I see," Jack said, his mind churning.

"A giant stone was brought to the central square," she continued, "and Lord Aramon was lashed to it. He was whipped and stoned, but would not renounce his claim to be the son of God. Each day when the sun was highest in the sky, the council came and gave him the chance to recant his heresy. For seven days this continued until Lord Aramon's mortal body was on the verge of death."

"Did no one help him?" Jack asked.

"None could," she answered. "Close to death, he gave the council a final warning, turn back now or a doom of fire and blood would befall them. The council laughed at his words and ordered one of his guards to disembowel him. Without hesitation, the guard took his sword and slit open Lord Aramon. As his life's blood washed over the rock he cried out to his heavenly father. He implored God to give his younger children the means to fight their oppression and called for him to curse the Elvenestri for their evil."

She paused for a moment, and Jack waited quietly for her to continue. "From that day forward mankind had access to the leylines, and the long lives of the Elvenestri were taken from them," she continued. "From that day until now, their lives are as short as ours. The war that followed lasted for a hundred years but eventually the Elvenestri were defeated and man became the dominant force in the world. That is why we call it Lord Aramon's Gift," she finished.

Jack was silent, thinking. "On my world my own religion has a story that is very similar," he finally said after a few moments. "There are a few differences but much of it is alike."

"And why wouldn't it be?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" Jack asked.

"God and Karak exist throughout all of creation. It only stands to reason that Lord Aramon also existed on all the worlds that had need of him."

Jack had to admit to himself that it did make a certain amount of sense, however implausible. If someone had told him two weeks ago that other worlds existed and were as close as a step through a doorway he would have said they needed to see a whole team of psychiatrists. Jack's ability to accept the implausible had grown a great deal since then.

"Now, Jack, why would you not want to learn to use the power of the leylines when it could possibly save your life and maybe even the lives of others?" Emma asked and held his gaze, silently demanding an answer.

Jack looked away. "Emma, this is a lot to take in," he said. "I need time to think it over."

Emma resisted the urge to tsk in irritation. All men were stubborn but the Outlander seemed to be exceptionally so. If she pushed him he would dig his heels in and resist as hard as he could. Why men couldn't see truths as plain as the eyes in their heads she would never know. She took the only option open to her at the moment. "Very well, Jack. Think it over, but don't take too long."



Outlander Ch. 07



When Jack woke the next morning, the leylines were the farthest thing from his mind. In fact, the only thing on his mind was the debilitating pain that suffused and stiffened every muscle in his body. He was so sore he could barely move. Through force of will he clawed his way out of bed, struggled into his clothes, and prepared to start the day. 

'One step at a time,' he thought to himself as he hobbled out of his quarters.

"Looks like you owe me five coppers," Kairn said when Jack limped up to join the sea dogs in their morning practice session.

"Shit," Grelik cursed.

"What's so funny?" Jack asked, overhearing Kairn's laughter at Grelik's distress.

"Oh, Grelik here wagered five coppers that you wouldn't even get out of bed this morning," Kairn explained, still smiling.

"Well, he came pretty damn close to winning that bet. I'm sore as hell," Jack said as he slowly flexed his shoulders, wincing.

"Are you going to make it?" Kairn asked, with amused concern.

"I'll do the best I can, no promises," Jack answered.

"That's all I can ask of any man," Kairn said in mock seriousness.

Jack took Kairn's good-natured banter for what it was and smiled. "Very funny," he said.

"Are you ready to begin?" Kairn asked.

Jack nodded. "As ready as I'll ever be."

It was a disaster. The blisters on his hands burst almost immediately. He struggled to keep his wooden sword up while his shoulders and forearms screamed in protest. Each new position set fire to his thighs and calves. Jack struggled with grim determination, gritting his teeth as he tried to force his tortured muscles through the sword forms.

The sparring portion of the training was an even bigger travesty. On the few times he managed to block one of Kairn's strikes, his blistered hands, already stinging from sweat, could not retain their grip on the practice sword.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Kairn said as Jack cursed, picking his sword up for the third time in as many minutes.

"This is fucking ridiculous," Jack cursed. "I can't even hold on to my God-damned sword. Fuck."

"Calm yourself, Outlander."

Everything Jack had endured over the last eight days suddenly boiled over. Barbara's betrayal, his feelings of helplessness, the dangers he had faced, and his worries about the uncertain future that lay ahead could no longer be contained. All his pent-up emotions exploded out of him in a tempest of anger. "Son of a fucking bitch! My fucking name is Jack. Jack, God damn it," he yelled. 

Sudden quiet descended all over the deck of the ship. The clacking of wooden swords halted as the sea dogs gaped at Jack's profanity. The crew paused in their duties at Jack's outburst and watched intently.

"Outlander, Outlander, Outlander," Jack parroted at them. "I don't even know what the fuck that means!" Jack flung his wooden sword away and it clattered across the deck. He stood there fuming, fists clenched, sucking in ragged breaths as though he had just ran a great distance.

"Jack," Kairn said carefully. "To lose one's temper when facing an opponent is to admit defeat."

"Who the fuck are you? Confucius?" Jack demanded. "Do you know this one? Confucius say wise man never play leapfrog with unicorn." 

Kairn stared at Jack, dumbstruck.

"Don't know that one?" Jack asked. His eyes were wide and had a glint of hysteria in them. Deep inside he knew he was being irrational but his anger had taken complete control.

"Jack, calm down," Kairn said, lowering his wooden sword and spreading his arms in a soothing manner.

"I am calm," Jack screamed, and even he knew how ludicrous that sounded. "Fuck this." He turned and tried to stomp away, but the best he could manage was a pain-filled shuffle. He slammed the hatchway door that led below deck.

Kairn stared helplessly at the door the Outlander had disappeared through. 

Grelik moved up beside him. "Who's Confucius?" 

****

Jack flung his cabin door shut so hard that it rattled on its hinges. He limped over to the chair and sat down only to get up again. He was so furious that he had to keep moving. He hobbled back and forth across the narrow room, the soreness in his legs only making him angrier.

Images flashed in his mind, escalating his rage: the Kraken pursuing them, the gaping maws of the maelstroms, Monch victorious, Barbara's lips dotted with Roger Chapman's cum. His fury boiled over, spilling out of him uncontrollably. An incoherent roar burst out of him like the eruption of a volcano, and he slammed his fist into the wall as hard as he could.

A white light flashed behind his eyes as agony detonated in his hand. He jerked back and tripped over the chair. He flailed at the table with his uninjured hand but couldn't stop his fall. He hit the floor with a thud, rolled onto his back, and lay there cradling his hand until the pain subsided to a dull throb.

The entire morning had been one fiasco after another, and suddenly he was overcome with the hilarity of it all. Manic laughter bubbled out of him. Barbara's earrings had been knocked from the table when he had fallen and they now lay on the ground beside him, spilled out of their little box as though reminding him of the way Barbara had cast out his love and devotion like yesterday's garbage. It made him laugh even harder.

He laughed so hard that tears welled in his eyes, and then, just like that, the tears were real. He suddenly missed his old life so badly it felt like there was a hole inside him.

He missed the routine and security of getting up and going to work. Barbara's salary provided all they had needed or wanted, but he had continued working because he enjoyed the feeling of accomplishment he got after a day's honest work.

He missed the little unimportant things too, like Barbara nagging him to come to bed when he stayed up past bedtime to play war games on his computer or read his military history books on the American Civil War or Napoleon's campaigns. He had wanted to join the military after graduation but Barbara had tearfully begged him not to. To make her happy he had not enlisted, though he still regretted not serving. The games and books were his way of living a path not chosen.

He missed Barbara most of all; her smile, the scent of her hair, the feel of her body in his arms. It was all gone now, and he wept for what was forever lost.

When his grief had run its course he climbed gingerly to his feet, cradling his injured hand. It was swollen to twice its normal size. The skin stretched taut and turned purple around his knuckles. He sat at the table and stared at the wall, seeing nothing. He felt numb and drained, as though he had no feelings left.

Jack had no idea how long he sat there, lost in the fog of his personal misery. Someone knocked vigorously on his door, waking him from his stupor. 

"Come in," he said, his voice wooden.

He didn't even glance up as the Captain entered.

"Are you alright?" Garek asked at the sight of Jack's swollen hand.

"I'm fine," Jack responded.

Garek knew better, but he let it pass. "I heard about what happened with Kairn, and thought we might talk."

"All right," Jack said noncommittally.

"Jack, I can't allow you to yell at one of my officers like that in front of the crew," Garek said.

Jack felt a flash of annoyance. Who was Garek to tell him what he could or could not do? "What're you gonna do about it?" he asked belligerently.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm not a member of your crew or a prisoner. I am a guest, remember," Jack emphasized the word guest sardonically. "I don't take orders from you."

"You're on my ship," Garek said, a hard edge to his voice.

"I don't remember coming aboard of my own free will," Jack retorted, matching the harshness of the Captain's voice.

"I asked you --"

"You mean you tricked me," Jack interrupted.

"I did what needed to be done for your own good."

"For my own good? Or yours?" Jack surged to his feet, confronting Garek across the table, demanding an answer.

Garek stared at him.

"That's right," Jack continued. "Old Jack isn't quite as stupid as you think."

"Who's been talking to you?" Garek asked, furious that his orders hadn't been followed.

"No one's been talking to me. But I hear a word here, a whisper there. I pieced together that you need my help for something important, something dangerous. I haven't figured out what yet, but it's just a matter of time. Why don't you just tell me and get it over with."

"Why should I tell you anything after the way you've behaved?" Garek demanded. His own anger was close to the surface now.

"And why do you think I'd ever help you?" Jack shot back, ignoring Garek's question. "You don't know me. You don't know anything about me." Jack's voice had risen to a shout.

"I know enough to know that this isn't like you. Why are you so angry?" Garek asked, striving to get his own rising temper under control. 

"I've lost everything. Do you understand that?" Jack shouted, his voice tinged with hysteria. "No, you don't, because you don't know loss like I do."

The blood drained from Garek's face and his mouth worked silently as though searching for words. "You think I don't know loss?" he finally asked, the words coming out sharp and cold.

"My eldest son Kron died choking on his own blood on a battlefield far from home with an arrow through his throat. And you think I don't know loss? My middle son Piet is gone as well, only he died with a sword through his chest. And you believe I don't know loss? You've met my youngest boy, Aiden. He has the mind of a child after his skull was bashed in. And you dare to presume I don't know loss?" Garek's voice had grown progressively louder with each sentence.

Jack was stunned. His own anger began to fade as the magnitude of Garek's tragedies sank in.

"I have lost more than you could imagine on the darkest day of your life," Garek bit out angrily before he fell silent with his fists clinched, breathing heavily.

"I am truly sorry for the death of your sons, but who's making presumptions now?" Jack asked, his tone returning to a normal level.

Garek hesitated a moment, mastering his anger with great effort. "You're right, of course. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make light of your pain."

"I didn't lose sons, but that doesn't change the fact that what I did lose changed me," Jack said. "I feel dead inside, and I'm not sure I can even care about anything again. This thing you need help with, it would be better for you to find someone else. If it's as important as I think it is, you need someone who's capable of caring enough to give it everything. I just don't have anything to give. I'm sorry."

"I know it feels that way now," Garek said. "I've been there. Give yourself some time and you may feel differently."

Jack looked skeptical, but nodded. "Are you going to tell me what it is you need me for?"

Garek was tempted to tell him the truth, but then reconsidered. The Outlander was barely holding it together as it was. To lay such a heavy burden on him now might push him completely over the edge. No, too much depended on him to risk it. He needed time to get over whatever it was that had broken him.

"Jack, I know you want to know everything at once, but please be patient," Garek said. "I will tell you everything before we reach Panaar and the King. I will promise you one thing. No one will force you to do anything you don't want to do. You will have a choice. For now, continue the sword training, get to know us, learn whatever you can about who we are as a people. Maybe you will find there is more to care about than you think."

Jack wasn't thrilled about being kept in the dark but a promise of information to come was better than nothing. Besides, it was all he was going to get for now so he nodded his acceptance.

"And Jack," Garek continued, "if you ever want to talk to someone, my door is always open to you." 

Jack stared at the Captain. He knew what Garek was offering him, but he wasn't ready to tell anyone about Barbara's betrayal. The wound was still too raw and personal. Jack's confidence in himself as a man had been shaken to his very core. A man whose woman needed to find fulfillment in another man's arms wasn't much of a man. He felt degraded and embarrassed. 

"I'm fine," Jack said, politely declining.

"Very well, I will send Ava to see to your hand," Garek said as he turned away. He opened the door then looked at Jack over his shoulder. "I trust you will be more discreet in the future if you have a disagreement with one of my officers?"

"I will," Jack said. "Wait, what about Monch?"

"What about him?" Garek asked.

"I'm not through with him yet," Jack said simply.

Garek smiled. "Monch isn't an officer," he said as he closed the door behind him. 

After Garek left, Jack sat back down. Garek's admission about the death of his sons had snapped Jack out of the selfish stupor he had imprisoned himself in. He had been so wrapped up in his own self-pity that he had forgotten that other people suffered through their own heartbreaks and misfortunes as well. 

Kairn was another problem. He had taken his frustrations out on the young officer, throwing a temper tantrum like a spoiled child. Jack felt foolish and was embarrassed by his outburst. He resolved to apologize to Kairn at the first opportunity.

This time, he rose and opened the door when he heard the knock. He stepped aside and let Ava enter. As she passed him her scent washed over him and his heart involuntarily skipped a beat. She smelled like flowers on a spring morning. 

"My father said you were in need of me," she said turning to face him, seemingly unaware of the affect she had on him.

Jack raised his injured hand in answer.

She gasped when she saw how swollen and discolored it was. "Oh, you stupid man, what have you done now?" she demanded, taking his hand into hers.

Her touch was soft, delicate, and Jack felt a shiver run through him at her touch. He looked away and tried to ignore the way she made his breath quicken. "Nothing intelligent, I assure you," he answered her.

She snorted at his answer. "I already knew that much," she said, examining his hand closely. 

As she studied his injured hand, his eyes were drawn back to her of their own accord. A lock of her raven-colored hair hung over her face, hiding one of her eyes from his gaze. Her lips were pursed and her brow furrowed either in concern or disapproval, he wasn't sure which.

'My God, she's beautiful,' he thought, then silently berated himself. 'The girl is half your age for Christ's sake.'

Jack saw the tendril of light from the leyline flow through the ceiling and into Ava, suffusing her with a gentle golden glow. His hand tingled where she touched it, and he could feel her power softly radiating from her as she delved into his swollen flesh.

"Your knuckles are shattered," she said.

"I figured."

"I need you to sit down before I heal you. I warn you, when the bones knit it's going to hurt."

"Perfect," he said and went to the chair.

Ava followed, but stopped when she saw the earrings where they lay forgotten on the floor. She picked them up. "These are beautiful. Are they yours?"

"Yes," Jack said, taking them from her hand.

"You wear earrings?" she asked, incredulous.

Jack snorted. "Not since Bon Jovi, Worcester Massachusetts, 1989," he said as he slipped them into his pocket.

"I have no idea what you just said," Ava replied.

Jack laughed at the serious look on her face.

"What's so funny?" she demanded.

"Nothing, I'm sorry," he choked out, but then laughed again when her serious look turned to one of consternation. He couldn't deny, though, that she was gorgeous when she was irritated; she was gorgeous any other time too, for that matter.

With no little effort he got his amusement under control and sat down. He held his hand out to her. She took it, still frowning at him, annoyed that she didn't understand what had so amused him.

"Just the hand," he said, remembering what Kairn had told him after yesterday's training. Ava began to glow with power as he elaborated. "Leave the rest. Oh, and leave the blisters on my palms too."

"All right," she said. "Now, hold still."

Jack's eyes bulged in his head and he sucked in a ragged breath. To think he'd thought the pain in his hand had been bad enough. This was worse. The agony that now radiated from his hand redefined his knowledge of pain. It felt as though his hand was being forced through a meat grinder as each bone shard was tortuously pulled back into its correct location. 

"Don't move, Jack," she said, though her concentration never wavered.

Jack gritted his teeth. He strove to keep his injured hand still but the pain was so intense that he had to move something. He slapped his other palm on the arm of the chair, hard, and curled his toes in his boots. Despite his best effort a groan escaped him.

"I know it hurts," she said soothingly. "Almost finished."

Time seemed to slow. Though it couldn't have been more than a minute, the healing seemed to last an eternity, and then the pain suddenly disappeared. Jack let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and slumped in the chair. He gasped and it was all he could do not to weep in relief.

"Jesus Christ, that hurt," he said, still breathing hard. He gingerly flexed his hand, noting that it had returned to its normal size and color. 

"Splintered bones usually do," she replied. "They have to be moved through flesh that is already injured before they can be knit."

"Thank you," he said, looking at his hand in wonder.

"You're welcome," she said, smiling. "Just try not to do anything else stupid for a while." 

"I'll try," he said, returning her smile. "But no promises."

"Men," she said in an exasperated tone as she moved to the door. She paused before leaving and looked back at Jack. "Tell me, if you don't wear earrings, why do you have them?"

"They were a gift," he said, the smile slipping from his face. "For my wife."

"Oh," she whispered. Her own smile faded as she closed the door behind her.

Jack sat alone in his room for a while after Ava left, trying to decide how best to go about apologizing to the young officer. He finally decided to just say he was sorry and hope for the best.

Jack found Kairn standing on the forecastle gazing ahead as the Arabella plowed through the choppy sea, rising and crashing back down as it crested each wave. 

"Kairn," Jack said as he came to a stop beside the young man. "I want to apologize to you. I acted like a fool. I'm sorry and it won't happen again."

"It's already forgotten," Kairn said and clapped Jack on the back in response to his apology.

"Would it be all right if I return to practice tomorrow?" Jack asked, relieved that Kairn hadn't held a grudge.

"Of course," Kairn said, and just like that everything seemed to return to normal.

Over the next few weeks, Jack's muscles slowly adjusted to the rigors of the sword training and the debilitating soreness faded. The blisters on his palms finally healed and he was able to wield his practice sword without pain.

He threw himself into the training with a dedication that Kairn had never seen before. He improved rapidly and in addition to blocking many more of his opponent's strikes, he was now able to launch strikes of his own rather than always defending. He still failed to penetrate any of his training partners' defenses though.

Another curious thing happened. As Jack trained with them, the other sea dogs began to open up to him. They teased him good-naturedly, and Jack found himself returning their barbs and enjoying their company immensely. He began to feel as though he belonged with them, and he had to admit that it felt good.

"Good job, Outlander," one of the sea dogs said to him as they finished their morning practice.




Outlander Ch. 07



Jack nodded to the man and fastened his practice sword to the storage rack.

"You're getting much better, Jack," Kairn said as he put his own sword next to Jack's.

"Maybe," Jack said. "But I can't land anything."

"Don't underestimate yourself. These men are veterans. They have been training for years," Kairn explained. "You have come much farther than you are aware of."

Jack grunted. He knew he still had a very long way to go before he had any chance of surviving a real sword fight. Any one of the sea dogs could gut him within minutes if the fight were for real. 

Later that afternoon, Jack stood at the railing watching the horizon with an occasional glance at the leyline. It did appear to be farther west than when he first saw it. 

"May I join you?" Emma asked as she moved up to stand beside him.

"I was wondering when you were going to show up," Jack said, smiling at the older woman.

"Then you already know what I am going to ask," she said returning his smile.

"I do," he said, glancing up at the leyline.

"And?"

"I honestly can't see myself wielding magic, but I will give it a try," he said. He had reasoned to himself that if he were stuck here he would need every advantage he could get. Realistically, it would be quite some time before he would be proficient enough with a sword to defend himself adequately. If he could wield the power of the leylines he would be much less vulnerable.

"Excellent," she beamed. "Are you ready for your first lesson?"

"What do I need to do?" he asked nervously.

"It is best in the beginning to close your eyes as you learn to access the leyline," she said.

"Why?" he asked.

"It keeps you from getting distracted, helps you focus," she explained. "Now close your eyes and reach for the leyline."

Jack took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The leyline was still visible to him, pulsing on the edge of his consciousness. He couldn't see it with his eyes but it was as visible to him as if he were looking right at it. He struggled to make sense of seeing it without seeing it but it was beyond his understanding.

"Concentrate, Jack," Emma coaxed.

Jack focused on the pulsing golden line and tentatively reached out for it.

"Reach with your mind, Jack," Emma said, "not your hand."

Jack's eyes popped open. His hand was stretched out before him. "Oh, sorry," he said sheepishly and snatched his hand back to his side.

"It's all right," she said, amused. "Try again."

He closed his eyes and refocused on the leyline. 'How do you reach with your mind?' he wondered. All he could think of doing was imagining his mind floating up out of his head toward the shimmering leyline.

"Reach for it, and when you feel it, open yourself to it," she said softly. "Let the power of Lord Aramon's gift flow into you."

Jack tried to concentrate on reaching for the leyline. He felt a little foolish as the minutes passed with him standing there with his eyes closed. He was about ready to give up when he suddenly felt it. It was as though his mind was touching the surface of some unknown thing. It felt soft and pliable yet beneath the surface he sensed a deluge of power that took his breath away and scared him to his core with its vastness and intensity.

"Yes," Emma said, seeing his reaction. "You feel it. Now, open yourself, let the power flow into you."

Jack took a deep breath to steady his nerves then tried to open himself. Nothing happened. He tried harder without success. He redoubled his effort and then lost the sensation of touching the leyline completely.

"I can't," Jack said, surprised to find that he was breathing heavily.

"I'm not surprised," Emma said matter-of-factly.

"Then I can't use the power after all," Jack said, sounding relieved.

"Oh, I am quite sure that you can and will," Emma answered. "No student ever succeeds on his first attempt. In your case, it's worse because you have no faith."

"What do you mean, I have no faith?"

"It's simple, really. You must believe that you are worthy of Lord Aramon's gift. You must know that when you open yourself to the leyline, you will be filled with its power. Your problem is that despite what you have seen, deep in your heart you still have doubts."

"I see," Jack said though he didn't, not really. 

"Don't worry," she said, laying a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "We will try again tomorrow."

The next morning, Garek called a meeting of the entire crew on the main deck to announce that supplies were running low. As they were still three weeks away from the port city of Antyor, they would need to start rationing their food. Each person would be given a small piece of pickled beef and two hardtack biscuits twice a day. The crew groaned at this news but seemed to take it as a matter of course.

As Jack ate he spotted Monch eating nearby. The big man was surrounded by his cronies as usual. Jack hated that Monch had beat him so easily and was determined to redeem himself. He swallowed the last of his pickled beef then approached his adversary, determination evident on his face.

"Ready for round two?" he asked.

The space around them quickly cleared as Monch rose to his feet. The fight was hard and fast, with both men standing their ground and swinging punches at the other's face. Both landed blows but it was Jack that was grudgingly forced back. He just couldn't match the bigger man's strength.

When it was over Jack was on the ground beaten and battered but he had still refused to yield. Ithos arrived on the scene and broke it up once it was clear that Jack couldn't continue.

Ava healed him of his minor injuries and Jack noticed that she seemed more matter-of-fact than usual in her demeanor. He wondered if something was bothering her, but didn't feel comfortable enough to ask her what it was.

The next day, he was convinced that something was wrong when he saw her with Terrell. They were in the midst of a quiet but obviously heated discussion on the forecastle. Concerned, he approached them. "Is everything all right?" he asked her.

"Mind your own business, Outlander," Terrell snapped and stalked away.

Jack watched him go, surprised. Ithos's son normally wore a ready smile and was quick to laugh or tell a story of a girl he knew in this port or that.

"When I need your help I'll ask for it," Ava said, giving Jack a disgusted look before gliding away as well, leaving Jack standing there feeling foolish.

That afternoon, he fought Monch again. This time, he tackled the bully to the ground and managed to pound on his head and face for a good minute before the big man threw him off. The onlookers cheered wildly when it looked as though Jack might win. In the end, the fight ended like the others, but this time Ava had to heal Monch while Emma healed Jack. He had managed to open up a huge cut over Monch's eye and loosen some of his teeth.

'He can hurt and bleed just like any man, and now he knows it and so do I,' Jack thought as he and Monch glared at each other over the women's shoulders. Jack resolved to fight him every day until he won. He didn't know exactly what he was trying to prove, but he wasn't going to quit, no matter what, until victory was his.

Jack still spent some time with Emma each night trying to learn to access the leyline. He failed every time. As soon as he would start to get frustrated Emma would call a halt to the lesson and remind him that he had to have faith.

Between training with the sea dogs, helping the crew with whatever chores he could, Emma's lessons, his daily beating at the hands of Monch, and his after dark vigil with Viviane, the next few weeks went by quickly.

By then, Jack had lost so much weight that he had to visit Ithos's wife, Betta, to get his clothes taken in. She was particularly interested in the quality of the fabric used to make the clothes Jack had worn here from his world. She made him sit there in his underwear for two hours while she cut and sewed his clothing, occasionally glancing at his exposed torso appreciatively and then laughing at Jack's blush and apparent discomfort.

He had been working and training hard and was beginning to fill out. Muscles that hadn't been seen since he was in high school were showing themselves again. He hadn't thought about it much, but Betta's teasing made him more aware of the physical changes in his body. He was in better shape than he had been in years and apparently others were noticing.

Others except Ava, that is. For weeks she had been avoiding him like he had the plague. He tried many times to find out what was wrong with her but she simply said 'nothing' and claimed having work to do elsewhere to get away from him. Her standoffishness bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

Jack shook his head, trying to dislodge Ava from his mind. Thoughts of her always left him disconcerted and he needed to think about something else right now. He planned to find Monch after Betta finished with his clothes. Everything he had tried so far had ended with him getting his ass handed to him. It was time to come up with a new fight strategy.

* * * *

Monch cracked opened the deck hatch that led up onto the main deck and peeked out. He scanned the deck intently. He didn't see the Outlander anywhere, but he could be behind the hatch where he couldn't be seen.

He briefly considered climbing back down the ladder and going back to the crew quarters where he wouldn't have to worry about the Outlander forcing him into another fight. But with only two small meals a day, the thought of missing one wasn't very appealing.

He was convinced that the Outlander was a demon sent by Karak to personally plague him. The man wouldn't leave him alone. No matter how many times he beat the Outlander down, he just came back for more the next day. The man wasn't human. He had to be a demon straight from the fires of Hadon.

His shipmates were already whispering that the Outlander's heart was made of iron, and that his will couldn't be broken by mere fists of flesh and bone. They used to hold Monch in awe and now they all fawned over the Outlander as though he were Lord Aramon reborn. Monch had won every fight, but afterward all he heard was the Outlander this and the Outlander that. The Outlander took everything and wouldn't yield.

It wasn't fair. He was the winner. He was the champion. Where was his praise? Where were his accolades?

They were only a week away from Antyor and Monch had already decided that he was through with the lot of them. When he got ashore he was going to slip away and find work on some other ship. He had valuable skills that a lot of captains would love to have at their service, and he wouldn't have to put up with some lunatic that didn't know when to give up. Maybe his new captain would recognize his value and invite him to eat at the officer's table.

Monch smiled at the thought of the officers on his new ship pouring him wine from the captain's own wineskin and asking him to regale them with his many adventures as a fisticuffs champion while he gorged himself on steak smothered in gravy made especially for him by an admiring crew.

He hastily peeked out once more before climbing onto the deck while the Outlander was not in sight. If he hurried, he could get his paltry meal and be back below deck before the Outlander saw him. His hopes were dashed though, when the Outlander emerged from the poop deck door holding a bundle of clothes.

Their eyes met and an unspoken understanding passed between them. The Outlander slowly laid the bundle on a nearby rope spindle. He never broke eye contact with Monch as he strode forward with violent intent.

Monch cursed in frustration and prepared, yet again, to pit his fists of bone and flesh against a heart made of iron.

* * * *

"There now, my lovelies. There's plenty for everyone," Cralto said to his pigeons as he moved among the cages, tossing handfuls of seed to the birds. The pigeons ignored him and squawked as they shoved and pecked each other in their haste to snatch up the feed.

Cralto had seen his seventieth year come and pass. He had a bulbous nose and a few wisps of white hair left on his liver-spotted head. His eyes were a brilliant blue and lit up merrily as he clucked and cooed at his feathered charges. 

He had been the King's Keeper of Birds for 52 years, and had served as page to the old Keeper before that. The other pages he had served with had moved on to other duties, but Cralto had grown to love the birds and the magnificent view this tower afforded of the capital city, Panaar. When the old Keeper of Birds had died, Cralto had taken over the job. 

He was only half-finished feeding the pigeons when one more sailed through the west-facing tower window. The bird's wings beat the air as it flared up and landed on one of the many perches. Cralto paused and eyed the new arrival. To most, the bird would have appeared normal, but not to Cralto's practiced eye. He noticed the weary slant to the bird's head, the few feathers slightly out of place. This pigeon had flown a great distance to safely deliver the message that was tied to its leg.

Cralto poured some seed into the little bowl that was attached to the perch where the new arrival sat. The weary pigeon immediately began snatching up seed as fast as it could. 

"What do we have here?" Cralto said as he carefully removed the tiny tube from the leg of the bird. He noted that the tube's cap was red, indicating an important message for the King. "Nimet!" he yelled. "Nimet, get in here. Damn it, where is that boy? Nimet!"

A tow-haired boy of perhaps fourteen stuck his head in the door. "You called, Keeper?" he asked. The boy, whose name was Tomas, had no idea who Nimet was. The other pages didn't know either. They assumed Nimet had been one of the Keeper's pages from long ago. Whenever the old man got excited or agitated all the pages became Nimet to him.

"Ah, there you are, my boy," Cralto said. "Deliver this to the throne room, and be quick about it."

"Yes, Keeper," Tomas said, accepting the message from the old man's hand.

Tomas was off almost before the message tube left the old man's fingers. He took the stairs two at a time as they wound down the inner wall of the tower, past the storage room where the bird seed was kept, past old Cralto's quarters and the rooms where the pages slept when on night duty.

He burst into the yard from the base of the tower and ran along the bailey that surrounded the palace grounds. As he approached the stables, he angled back toward the palace proper then cut through the practice field used by the King's Sentinels and the palace guard to hone their martial skills.

He entered the main palace complex through a side door used mostly by servants and workmen. He turned left even though it wasn't the shortest route to the throne room. Instead, he took a series of passages, stopping once to catch his breath along the way. As he sped through the kitchens, he hastily snatched a fresh from the oven honey cake from the platter the cook had set aside to cool. Juggling the piping hot pastry, he darted out the opposite end of the kitchen just ahead of the cook's attempt to catch him.

When he was sure he had left the portly woman and her shouted threats to strap his backside far behind, he ducked into an alcove to enjoy his plunder. Still licking honey from his fingers, he headed at last for the throne room.

There were three men standing near the large double doors that led into the throne room. Each wooden door was as wide as a wagon and as tall as three men standing on each other's shoulders. They were of one piece and gleamed with a rich mahogany color. Ornate carvings depicted a human army casting back the Elvenstri hoard across the expanse of both doors.

The two men who flanked the doors wore the maroon and blue leather armor of the King's Sentinels. The third man stood apart from them and wore a breastplate of overlapping steel disks that looked like snake scales. The scales had been polished until they showed silver and reflected the flames of the torches. His trousers, undershirt, cloak, and boots were black but the cuisses and half-greaves on his thighs and calves sparkled as silver as his breastplate. A bloody stone over a sword was embroidered on his sleeve, representing his order.

Tomas sensed the tension between the King's Sentinels and the other man as he approached. He knew him, of course. He was Galen Santigar, the Commander of the Swords of Aramon. He had recently taken over as the head of the King's personal bodyguards. Guarding the King had always been the job of the King's Sentinels but now they had been relegated to guarding the throne room door and patrolling the palace grounds with the regular palace guard. Rumor among the servants was that the Sentinels were not pleased with the new situation, not pleased at all.

The eyes of all three men shifted to Tomas as he approached. He could almost feel the intensity of their scrutiny. "I have a priority message to be delivered to the King's hand," Tomas said, eyeing the men warily.

"I'll take that," Galen said and snatched the tube from Tomas's hand before either of the other men had a chance to react.

"Hand it over, Santigar," the taller of the two Sentinels said. "You have no right to intercept the King's messages."

"I have every right. I am a Sword of Aramon and nothing is secret from Lord Aramon's light," he sneered and started to open the small tube.

Suddenly a man that Tomas had not seen approach seized Commander Galen from behind and put the edge of a dagger to his throat. The Commander froze with his finger on the cap of the tube.

"Break that seal and I'll cut your throat to the bone," the newcomer whispered into Galen's ear.

"Chael, release me," Galen spat out at the Captain of the King's Sentinels.

"Hand the message to Gorman first," Chael said and pressed the edge of the dagger into the soft flesh of Galen's throat. A drop of blood ran down the blade of the dagger and dripped onto Galen's breastplate.

Galen hastily held out the message and Gorman, the taller Sentinel, stepped forward and took it.

Chael released Galen and stepped back as the other man spun to face him, his hand half-drawing his sword before stopping.

Chael Dovangi, the Captain of the King's Sentinels, was young for the job, not yet thirty. He was medium of build and wore his chestnut hair pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck. He wore the same blue and maroon dyed leather armor that all the Sentinels wore.

He had already sheathed his dagger before Galen had finished turning. Chael's coal-black eyes glanced at Galen's half-drawn sword then back to his face. "Go ahead, snake belly," he said. "Free your blade and see what occurs." The words were spoken in a soft, deadly tone as his hand moved to rest on the hilt of the bastard sword belted at his hip.

The boy Tomas was frozen in place. His feet wouldn't move. The only things he could move were his eyes and they darted back and forth between the two men who faced each other only feet away. If they bared steel he might get hit in the close quarters of the hallway. He sent up a silent promise to Lord Aramon that if he got out of this he would never steal another honey cake again.

A bead of sweat formed on Galen's forehead as he stood motionless, sword still half-drawn. Seconds that felt like minutes stretched by as he weighed his chances. Then, having reached a decision, he slammed his sword back into its scabbard. "Another time, Dovangi," he said as he wiped a trickle of blood off his neck where Chael's dagger had sliced the skin.

"I look forward to it," Chael said.

"The Chancellor will hear of this," Galen spluttered.

"He's in there with the King," Chael said, nodding at the throne room doors. "I am going in there now to give the King his message. You're welcome to join me. You could tell your Chancellor that you cut yourself shaving. Personally, I think that snake belly armor looks better with your blood dripping on it."




Outlander Ch. 07



Galen glanced down at the rivulets of blood decorating his breastplate. "This isn't finished, Dovangi." He spun and stalked away toward his quarters, his black cloak sweeping the floor behind him.

Chael watched his figure recede down the hallway for a moment then turned his attention to the page that stood nearby as though afraid to move.

"What's your name, son?" he asked.

"Tomas, sir," the boy stammered.

"You did a good job delivering this," he said as he took the small tube from Gorman. "I'll take it from here."

"Yes, sir," Tomas said and suddenly his legs worked again. He darted back down the hallway the way he came. He couldn't wait to tell the other pages what he had seen. He ran hard all the way back to the tower, absentmindedly snatching another honey cake as he passed through the kitchen.

Chael watched the boy depart then turned to the large ornate doors. He nodded to his men and paused for a moment to marshal his thoughts. Ready, he took a deep breath, pushed the doors open before him, and entered the throne room.

****

Author's note: I want to thank everyone who commented and sent me feedback on the previous chapter. I usually send a personal thank you message to all my commenters but this time I was so engrossed in trying to get you this chapter faster than the last that I didn't this time. I also want to thank the guild for all their support and give a special thanks to my editor Jillieb.



Outlander Ch. 08



A hush fell across the supplicants in the throne room when the giant doors unexpectedly swung open and the Captain of the King's Sentinels entered the hall. Tradition dictated that the doors remain closed once petitioners had been admitted, and supplicants were allowed to leave only when the King had heard and judged every dispute and request brought before him. The practice discouraged the populace from wasting the King's time with frivolous and meritless matters, and interruptions were rare.

Chael marched purposefully; the soft thud of his boots on the polished marble tiles was the only sound in the sudden quiet. His black eyes habitually scanned the hall as he approached the throne. A cursory glance took in the familiar banners that covered the walls, each a symbol of a battle won by either Aramoor's Army or Navy dating back to the founding of the kingdom. Some were tattered and rotting with age, others were faded, while yet others were still vibrant.

A dozen massive crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling like giant glass birds frozen in flight. Thick marble pillars spaced in two even rows marched down the hall as though pointing the way to the gilded throne that sat on the raised platform at the far end of the room. Carvings of light green ivy with darker leaves spiraled up the pillars and stood out against the ivory marble background, their vivid colors a part of the marble itself. 

Jeweled sconces of silver and gold were mounted along the walls between the battle banners. They would not be lit until nightfall, for the sun's golden rays cascaded through the gigantic panes in the clear glass window that stretched almost the full breadth of the wall behind the throne, affording all a breathtaking view of the city and harbor below. The throne room had been designed to intimidate with its majesty.

Chael was not interested in the grandeur of the throne room, however. He focused on the people: the nobles in their finery, with the occasional dull gray, green, or brown wool of a commoner sprinkled among them. Only a handful of people stood below and to the right of the dais, waiting their turn to speak to the King. A much larger group, the supplicants whose requests had already been heard, stood to the left of the dais. His eyes methodically assessed them for threats before he went to stand before his King, directly in front of the throne. 

He noted with disgust that the four Swords of Aramon who kept the petitioners away from the King did not carry shields. How could they protect him if someone were to hurl a blade or fire an arrow? They made no effort to conceal their boredom with the proceedings and assumed various lazy poses as they stood on the steps of the dais. If Chael's men had been guarding the King, as was their right, they would have been alert and vigilant at the approach of an armed man, whether or not they knew him well.

Chael studied his monarch with concern. King Damroden, the second of the name, slouched on his throne and stared dully ahead as though unaware that Chael was even there. He was a boy of barely eighteen summers, with sandy-brown hair pressed to his head by a thin circlet of gold on his brow. He was thin, almost frail, and tended to be bookish where his father had been robust and strong. Old King Roaden had died mysteriously in his bed a few months ago, the cause unknown even to the Sorceress Amalee. The remotest parts of the kingdom were still unaware that a new King sat on the throne.

Behind the King stood Chancellor Titus Vallen of the Aramonic Priesthood. Well over six feet tall, the Chancellor had an air of superiority about him that grated on Chael's nerves. His hair was iron-grey and his thin face was dominated by a large hawkish nose, sunken cheeks, and piercing blue eyes. He wore his black priest's robes as though they were a sign of his right to command rather than as a symbol of servitude to Lord Aramon.

Until recently, the King of Aramoor had four advisors. Amalee, Sorceress of the First Rank, represented the Witches of the Covenant, but she had died after a fall down a stairway broke her neck a few weeks ago. Strangely, the King had not sent for a replacement. General Forsith, Supreme Commander of Aramoor's Armed forces, had been ordered to join the patrols along the northern border, while the Chamberlain, Lord Kardigan, had been thrown in the dungeon for treason when he had argued against replacing the Sentinels as the King's personal guard. Only the Aramonic Chancellor remained, along with the priesthood's military wing, the Swords of Aramon. 

"Your Majesty," Chael said before he knelt on one knee with his hand resting on the pommel of his bastard sword.

The King nodded his head absently and Chael rose to his feet.

"Why do you interrupt the King's business, Captain Dovangi?" Chancellor Vallen asked in an unctuous tone.

"An urgent message for the King has just arrived by bird," Chael said, eyeing the priest distastefully. He held up the small tube.

"Bring it forward," Vallen said to one of the Swords of Aramon.

Chael handed the message to the man and narrowed his eyes when the tube was given to the Chancellor rather than the King. King Damroden didn't seem to notice or care. Chael waited as Vallen broke the seal and unrolled the tiny parchment that he pulled from the small tube. His eyebrows rose as he read the message before turning to look at the King.

"It says that an Outlander has come through the portal on Franeer Island," he said and a gasp rippled through the room. Vallen waited for the excited whispering to subside before continuing. "It also says that Captain Garek Liaman murdered the watcher of the portal before he and his crew seized the Outlander for reasons unknown. William Drebin, Captain of the Kraken, is in pursuit and will send word when the traitors are dead and the Outlander is safely in his hands."

Chael gaped in disbelief. Captain Liaman was a man of honor, and the father of his friend, Aiden. He had lost two sons and had seen Aiden injured beyond repair in the fight against the Karokai. Chael refused to believe Garek Liaman had turned traitor. Captain Drebin, on the other hand, was rumored to have acquired his warship by smuggling and selling slaves to the barbaric tribes to the east before somehow securing a commission in the King's Navy. 

"Liaman?" the King asked, seeming to wake from his thoughts. "I know that name from somewhere," he said, as though struggling to remember.

"Of course you do, Sire," Chael said before Vallen could answer. "Captain Liaman was a friend of your father's, and his son Aiden is married to your cousin, Viviane." Chael was horrified by the King's behavior. He had always been sharp of mind but since taking the throne he appeared to have been reduced to a half-wit. 

"Yes," the King mumbled. "That must be it."

"Be that as it may," Vallen said with a sneer as he forced himself into the conversation, "these charges cannot be ignored." He held up the parchment for emphasis. "Liaman must have done this to prevent the fulfillment of the Seer's prophecy. I fear he has betrayed us all and is now in league with the Karokai."

Chael shook his head in denial as the Chancellor spoke. "There is no way that Garek Liaman would betray his King," Chael responded angrily after Vallen had finished his accusations. "There must be some other explanation."

"Perhaps you're right, Captain Dovangi," the Chancellor said in a conciliatory tone. "Perhaps it is all just a misunderstanding. Still, to be safe, I think we should send birds to every port and riders to every city and instruct the local authorities to arrest Captain Liaman and his companions on sight, for their own safety of course, and have them transported here so we can get to the truth of this matter."

"Arrested and clapped in irons?" Chael said in disbelief. "On the word of a man who's rumored to have been a smuggler and slaver? This is preposterous."

"Let us ask the King to decide, shall we?" Vallen said with a malevolent smile before he turned to the King. "Your Majesty, shall it be my way, or the Captain's?"

"Well," King Damroden said hesitantly, looking confused. He shook his head slightly as though trying to clear his thoughts and sat up a little straighter on the throne.

Vallen frowned then stared at the King intently. Chael almost missed the subtle, barely perceptible movement of the Chancellor's hand before the King seemed to lose interest and slump back down on the throne.

"Take care of it as you see fit, Chancellor," he said woodenly.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Vallen couldn't hide the gloating from his voice or his eyes as he looked at Chael triumphantly.

"But Sire!" Chael protested.

"Enough!" Vallen boomed and the gathered nobles and supplicants flinched. "The King has spoken. Continue to question His Majesty's wisdom and you will find the rest of the Sentinels expelled from the palace while you are escorted to the dungeons like the last man who argued against the King's commands. I'm sure that Chamberlain Kardigan would enjoy the company," he said with a snide smile. "Now don't you have a door to guard somewhere?"

Chael bit his tongue and fought the urge to rip his blade from its sheath as the assembled nobles tittered in laughter. He'd suspected Vallen had some unnatural hold on the King, and now he was sure. Vallen was using the power of the Leylines to rule in the King's name, and with Amalee dead there was no one in the palace who could stop him. No one except Chael, that is.

Keeping his expression neutral, Chael bowed to the King, turned on his heel, and headed out the way he had come in. Plans whirled in his head. He knew what had to be done, but who could he trust to help him? The Sentinels would rally to his side, but they were outnumbered ten to one by the Swords of Aramon. The priesthood's military had moved into the palace complex over the last few months one squad at a time, until you couldn't go anywhere without running into a few of them, clinking around in their snake belly armor, looking down their noses at everyone as though looking for some hidden offence. One thing was certain: he had to find a way to speak with Chamberlain Kardigan without the Chancellor's spies finding out.

* * * *

Jack strode toward Monch who waited tensely with a look of resignation on his brutish face. Both men raised their fists as Jack approached and planted his feet solidly in front of his hulking adversary. Neither man spoke; they were long past grandstanding and petty insults. Instead, they unleashed their fists upon each other in a hurricane of violence.

Work aboard the Arabella ceased as the crew gathered around the combatants. Charuk ran to fetch the Captain and the other officers. Garek had left standing orders to be notified whenever Jack and Monch fought to make sure things didn't get out of hand. In truth, Garek wanted to be present to ensure the Outlander wasn't killed, and to have his wife or daughter heal Jack if his injuries required their intervention.

Jack jerked his head to the side, narrowly avoiding Monch's meaty fist. He immediately threw a counterpunch and felt the impact through his arm as his fist landed solidly on Monch's jaw. Monch barely flinched before answering with a thunderous right hand that bounced off the side of Jack's head, forcing him to scramble backwards.

Garek, Ava, and the rest of the officers pushed their way through the crowd surrounding Jack and Monch. They watched as the two men exchanged blows, their fists flying at each other so fast they were a blur to the eye.

Monch assailed Jack with a flurry of punches. Jack blocked most of the blows with his arms but he was forced to retreat again. He desperately responded with punches of his own, but the big man shrugged them off and steadily advanced.

The crowd undulated around them as Monch drove Jack relentlessly across the deck of the ship. Ava gasped when Jack lurched to avoid a punch and stumbled over a rope coiled on the deck. He staggered into the forward mizzen-mast and barely avoided falling. Emma, who had just joined them, looked at her daughter sharply, noticing the concern she had for the Outlander.

Both men grunted and cursed as they fought. Blood flowed freely from a cut over Jack's eye, opened by Monch's callused knuckles. His face was covered in a grotesque sheet of crimson and he continuously wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand to try and keep the blood from blinding him.

Monch rushed Jack, swinging his fists as he came. Jack tried to duck under Monch's assault to tackle him around the legs, but Monch was ready. He flung Jack aside, using his own momentum against him. Jack hit the deck and rolled before coming to a stop against a crate. Monch didn't press the attack on his downed opponent but waited patiently for him to get up. The bully wanted to keep the fight standing where he had a serious advantage in reach and skill.

Discouragement and a sense of inevitable defeat began to seep into Jack as he wearily climbed to his feet. He felt an overwhelming desire to yield. All the pain could end with just that one little word. All he had to do was say it. He sighed and his head sagged despondently, fists falling to his side. Monch smiled, finally seeing defeat in the Outlander's posture.

Ava saw the defeat in Jack's stance as well. 'Yes, yield! Please end this,' she pleaded silently. She had winced with every blow he'd taken, and had fought the urge to run to him as he sustained each new injury. Her stomach was in knots watching him suffer. She just wanted his pain to end. She'd tried hard to not care for him, tried desperately to deny that she felt anything for him, but her heart cried out as he stood there finally pushed beyond his ability to endure, his face a mask of blood and agony.

"No," Jack said quietly, surprising everyone within earshot. Dignity was the only thing he had left and he would cling to it even if it killed him. His face hardened with resolve. He raised his head slowly and his eyes sought those of his opponent, meeting them with cold defiance. He shook his head from side to side. "No," he said again, louder, his voice as hard as steel. The triumphant smile slowly slipped from Monch's face.

For a moment, Ava thought Jack had yielded and relief washed through her. Just as her mind processed what she'd heard, Jack raised his fists and motioned for Monch to come on. She buried her face in her hands, unable to watch him take any more punishment. 

Monch stared at Jack in disbelief before advancing again, his face twisted in hatred. The Outlander stood before him, hair soaked with sweat and his face covered in a macabre mask of blood, mocking him with his refusal to admit defeat. Monch growled in frustration and prepared to engage the Outlander once more.

Jack's mind raced as Monch stalked toward him. He knew had to do something different but he'd tried everything he could think of and still the big man defeated him. Monch suddenly charged and in desperation, Jack swung his back leg in a round, sweeping arc in an attempt to kick the bully in the ribs. He was too slow though, and his shin landed squarely across Monch's upper thigh instead. 

Jack had thrown the frantic kick with all the strength he could muster. He'd felt the jolt through his leg as the hard bone of his shin slammed into the gnarled muscles of Monch's thigh. He knew instantly that he had missed his target and covered his head with his arms to try and block the blows he knew were coming.

He was surprised when no blows came. Instead, Monch grunted in pain and staggered back. The big man clutched at his thigh and stared at Jack in shock.

A gasp went through the crowd and Ava peeked between her fingers, expecting to see Jack on the ground. Instead, he was on his feet, defiantly facing his nemesis. She was surprised to see the uncertainty painted on Monch's face as he clutched at his leg. "What happened?" she asked the sailor next to her.

"The Outlander kicked his leg," the man cried excitedly.

'His leg?' she thought, incredulous.

Jack saw the surprised look of pain on Monch's face and hope surged through him like an ember bursting into flame. Maybe he had finally found the key to victory. Adrenaline surged as he rapidly pressed the attack. Monch straightened and got his fists up just as Jack engaged him. Jack threw a quick punch, and while Monch was distracted by his fist, quickly slammed his shin into the same spot on Monch's thigh.

The bully bellowed in agony and would have fallen if not for a nearby barrel. He caught himself and had to lean heavily on the barrel to keep his weight off his throbbing leg. The Outlander gave him no reprieve, forcing him to push away from the barrel to meet the next attack.

The crew roared their approval as Jack stalked the man that many of them had lived in fear of across the breadth of the ship. Ava finally allowed herself to hope, to believe in her heart that Jack could do it.

"Stop doing that," Monch cried desperately after another kick crashed into his leg with a loud smack and sent him staggering for balance. He tried to scramble away, to put distance between himself and the Outlander, but his tortured leg could barely hold his weight. He frantically swung his fists at the Outlander's face.

Jack shrugged off Monch's punches. Without both his legs working to help generate torque, the bully's fists had lost their fierce power. Jack countered with a jab that snapped Monch's head back then kicked the injured leg again. 

Monch bellowed in pain. He panicked and tried to run away, but his injured leg buckled then gave out completely, sending him crashing to the deck. He lurched back to his feet and limped around to face the advancing Outlander. Fear was etched on his face, and his eyes darted around desperately as though searching for a way out.

Jack feinted a kick at Monch's injured leg, and when the bully threw both hands down in an attempt to block, Jack reached deep inside for all the strength he had left and slammed his fist into Monch's exposed jaw. The big man's eyes rolled in his head and he collapsed backwards, crashing to the deck with a thud.

Silence descended over the deck. The crew gaped as though in shock. Jack panted heavily as he stood over his fallen opponent. Monch groaned and rolled over onto his stomach. He began slowly dragging himself on his belly away from Jack, moaning incoherently.

Jack wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand to clear them of blood then followed Monch. He reached down and grabbed a fistful of the bully's hair and yanked his head up.

"I yield! I yield!" Monch cried before Jack could say anything.

Jack wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel at this moment, but all he felt was relief. It was over. He let go of Monch's hair and turned to the onlookers. The silence was suddenly broken by a deafening cheer. The crew went wild, shouting and jumping, hugging each other joyously, sharing the jubilation that Jack was somehow denied.

Jack scanned the crowd. He saw Charuk waving his arms and yelling at the top of his lungs. Kairn and the sea dogs were clapping each other on their backs. Garek's face was unreadable but Ithos beamed at him proudly out of his one eye. He even saw Aiden sitting apart, playing with his trinkets as though nothing else around him mattered. Then his eyes met Ava's. Tears streaked down her cheeks and her lips quivered as she stared at him.

'Why is she crying?' he thought and took a step toward her. His legs buckled and he fell to his knees as the adrenaline drained out of his system. He struggled to stand up. He needed to find out if she was all right. Then suddenly she was there kneeling before him, the folds of her light blue dress gathered around her. 

Her green eyes drew him in, silencing the cheers and blinding him to the presence of the crew until she was all that he saw. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks as she gazed at him. "Please don't cry," he said and only stopped himself from brushing a lock of her raven hair away from her face when he realized his hand was covered with his blood.




Outlander Ch. 08



She smiled at his words and he had never seen anything more beautiful. His breath quickened as she raised her hands and wiped the blood from his face before tenderly cradling his head with both hands. He remained motionless as she healed him, closing the gash over his eye and soothing his bruised body. A thrill ran through him, but the power he felt at her touch had nothing to do with the leylines.

His eyes never left hers as the pain subsided. When the last of his aches had faded away, he let his eyes wander over her face, caressing the unblemished skin of her cheeks, the elegant shape of her nose. His eyes stopped on her lips. They were full, parted slightly, and glistened with the moisture of her tears. He imagined those lips pressed to his own and his breath caught in his throat. 

He tore his gaze from the temptation of her lips, fleeing the desire that suddenly flared to life. He sought refuge in her eyes, but what he saw reflected there only fanned the flames of need. There was an intense yearning in her emerald gaze, a conflagration that rivaled his own. Without conscious thought, he began to lean toward her, drawn as though caught in the pull of a maelstrom.

'What am I doing?' Jack stopped himself, confused. He tried to look away but her hands still cupped his face and pulled his gaze back to hers. His heart skipped a beat at the longing he saw there. 

Before he could do or say anything, she pressed her lips to his, and he forgot everything but her. He groaned with need and pulled her body to his, enfolding her in his arms as they both knelt on the ship's deck. He heard her sigh as their lips parted and her soft wet tongue slipped between his lips. He tasted the salt of her tears, felt the softness of her lips, and the silky heat of her tongue against his. He was painfully aware of the firmness of her breasts pushing into his chest as she passionately pressed herself to him. The heat of her body against his was more than he could stand. A moan escaped his lips as he surrendered to his desire.

Garek was aware of Ithos glancing at him as Jack and Ava kissed. The crew, caught up in the moment, roared their approval. Garek kept his face expressionless but his thoughts were roiling beneath the surface. He had suspected that the two were developing feelings for one another and if it were his choice, he would not choose Jack for Ava. The man was most likely doomed to die. The Seer's vision said nothing about his survival and he would, given the choice, save his daughter that pain. Still, if Jack found love with Ava perhaps he would accept his destiny and willingly join the fight against the Karokai. Garek immediately felt guilty at the thought of using his own daughter to influence the Outlander. He chose to ignore the impropriety of their very public kiss and remained silent. 

Jack was dizzy, intoxicated by the taste of Ava's lips, her scent, the sweetness of her breath, and the warmth of her body pressed against his. He was on the verge of mindlessly scooping her up and carrying her to his cabin when she suddenly gasped and ripped herself from his embrace. She scrambled to her feet and turned on him with a look of fury painted on her face. 

"You bastard," she spat and strode away through the cheering crowd. Her mother followed her as she headed below deck, leaving Jack on his knees, stunned.

Before he had time to process what had just happened with Ava, the crew rushed in upon him. He was pulled to his feet and swept into the celebration. His hand was shook and his back clapped more times than he could count. The female crewmembers hugged him and more than a few kissed him soundly, but his thoughts were consumed by a specific pair of soft lips, raven hair, and emerald green eyes. 

He never once thought of Barbara.

* * * *

Ava slammed the door to her room and stomped around the small cabin in a fury, oblivious to the blood that now stained her hands and her light blue dress. She turned when her mother calmly entered without knocking. "How dare he?" she screeched.

Emma arched her eyebrow and regarded her furious daughter. "How dare he what?"

"He kissed me. He has a wife waiting for him in his world, and he kissed me." Ava spluttered angrily.

Emma looked intently at her daughter for a moment before speaking. "First, you kissed him." She held up her hand to silence her daughter's protest and watched as Ava turned to continue pacing the room. "Yes, Ava, you were the one who kissed him. And second, if he had a wife, she's either dead or she has abandoned him."

"How do you know that?" Ava asked, turning to stare at her mother.

"Lord Aramon on the rock, girl," Emma exclaimed. "You will never attain the rank of Witch or Sorceress of the Third if you don't learn to use your brain. The man is heartbroken; any fool can see that. He's running from his pain, not trying to get back to it."

"Are you sure?" Ava asked. She was unaware of the hope in her voice.

"Of course I'm sure," Emma responded. She hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Are you in love with him, daughter?"

"Of course not," Ava said automatically in an indignant tone. Then she remembered how her stomach had fluttered uncontrollably and how her heart had thudded in her chest at the kiss she and Jack had shared. "I don't know," she said after a pause, doubt showing on her face. "I don't understand him at all."

"Men seldom make sense. But his heart is good, and that's what matters."

"But he does crazy things," Ava complained. 

"And also noble things," Emma countered patiently.

"Yes, but he's stubborn to the point of being stupid."

"Not stubborn, determined."

"But --" Ava paused, searching for an argument. "Most of the time he doesn't want anything to do with me," she said desperately, unaware that she was crying. 

"He's terrified of you, daughter," Emma said as she struggled to conceal her amusement.

"Terrified? But why?" Ava asked, genuinely perplexed.

"From the way he kissed you, the way he lost control, it's obvious that he desires you," Emma explained. "But his heart is broken and caring for you would only expose him to the possibility of more pain. He feels vulnerable and avoiding you is an attempt to protect himself."

"But I would never hurt him," Ava protested.

"So you do love him then?" Emma pressed.

Ava looked horrified and slowly sank down to the edge of her bed. "Oh God, what do I do now?"

Emma gazed at her daughter sadly. She knew how hard it would be for her only daughter to love such a man, a man chosen by fate. Fate made its choices with little regard for the wellbeing of a woman's heart. It was a bitter lesson that she herself had been forced to learn. She sighed before answering her daughter's question. 

"You must do as all women who love great men do." 

Ava looked up at her expectantly. 

"Endure."

* * * *

Mohanjo's eyes popped open, but he saw nothing in the darkness of his cabin. Years of training had given him the ability to wake whenever he chose, and tonight he had chosen to wake in the deepest part of the night, when Captain Drebin and almost everyone else aboard the Kraken would be in their bunks asleep. He smiled as the darkness embraced him and soothed his mind. It was in the dark and shadows that he and his brothers of the Vas Dathruun plied their trade.

He retrieved his dagger from beneath his pillow and silently rose from the bed. He carefully made his way across the small room to open his cabin door. The well-oiled hinges turned silently and he stuck his head out into the hallway, cocking his head one way and then the other, ears straining for any sound that might reveal that someone was close by.

Satisfied no one was about, he softly closed the door, locked it, and padded to the small desk bolted to the wall of his cabin. He felt around in the desk's drawer until he found the items he wanted. He struck the fire stick and lit a small candle. It provided just enough light to faintly illuminate the area around him, but no more. The wan light of the flickering candle cast the rest of the room into a dance of eerie, distorted shadows.

He placed the third item he had taken from the drawer on the desk in front of him. The small grey stone appeared to be a common rock, unworthy of interest to anyone who might snoop through his things. But the blood stone was anything but common. In the center of the stone was a drop of his master's blood, placed there by magic. Not the feeble magic of the Covenant or those fools of the Aramonic Priesthood, but the true sorcery of the Dark Lord Karak, given to his children, the Karokai.

He took up his dagger and pricked a finger. He squeezed around the cut until a drop of blood fell and seeped into the grey surface of the stone, like water being sucked into the sand of a desert. The red drop faded from sight, completely absorbed.

Mohanjo waited patiently for the magic to take effect, waited for his blood to join with the blood of his master. Suddenly the air above the blood stone began to shimmer, and the light of the small candle seemed to struggle as the darkness pressed in on it. The shadows of the room came alive and flowed into the space above the blood stone. The shadows swirled then coalesced into the shape of a man's torso. The figure was translucent, a shadow defined by the absence of light.

The specter wore a cowl pulled over its head and the malevolent shape of cruel lips was the only thing visible of the man's face. "You summoned me, Daro?" the apparition asked, its voice a sibilant whisper.

"Yes, Master," Mohanjo said. Inside, he thrilled at the sound of his true name being spoken by his Master.

"You have news?"

"Yes, Master. Captain Drebin plans to move his ship a few leagues south of Panaar while Captain Liaman is forced to dock at Antyor to re-supply his ship. When the Arabella sails for Panaar we will be waiting for them. Drebin plans to deliver the Outlander to the King, hoping for riches and glory. The man is a fool and thinks it's a good plan. But the Outlander will never get the chance to fulfill their prophecy. I will personally cut his heart out instead."

"No, Daro. I want him alive. You will capture him and any with him that you can and bring them to me," the figure hissed.

Mohanjo's breath caught in his throat. "Master, does that mean I can become my true self again and rejoin my brothers after I have delivered the Outlander and his friends to you?" he asked, unable to disguise the longing in his voice.

"Succeed, and you will rejoin the Vas Dathruun as you desire."

"Thank you, Master," Mohanjo said.

"Summon me again when the Outlander is in your possession," the figure hissed and seemed to come apart as the shadows snapped back into their natural positions.

Mohanjo felt elated as he placed the stone back in the drawer and blew out the candle. Soon he would reclaim his true face and move among his brothers using his true name. He was sick of being a spy. He despised the salty stink of the sea and longed to be on land where he belonged. He was weary of only killing at Drebin's order. When he was reunited with his brethren, he would slake his thirst for blood; he would kill until the need in him was satisfied, and bathe in the blood of his victims until he was washed clean of the stink of these people. 

He climbed back into bed and drifted off to dreams filled with blood and screams, a serene smile on his sleeping face.

*****

Author's note: As always I want to thank the guild for their support, CM for keeping me humble, And Jillieb for being the best editor a guy could ask for. Please take the time to vote and leave a comment. Thanks. 



Outlander Ch. 09



Author's note: What could I possibly say after a four year hiatus from writing? Many of you were quite angry with me and all I can say is I understand. I won't attempt to justify my absence except to say life doesn't always work out the way you want, but now I am at a place in my life where I am ready and willing to write again. I'm sorry it took me so long. I sincerely hope you enjoy the adventures ahead. Also, I want to thank my editor JilliB. She makes me seem so much better than I really am. 

********** 

Jack stood beside the base of the bowsprit on the forward deck of the Arabella, gazing eastward as the ship rode the gusting wind toward Antyor. Dolphins raced alongside the prow as it cut through the sea, skimming just below the surface. The graceful creatures would occasionally launch themselves into the air before diving back into the choppy water. 

At their present speed they were still hours away from making port, but Jack had rushed forward as soon as land had been sighted. He stared at the distant shoreline with a mixture of excitement and dread. He was anxious to place his feet upon dry ground again, but the unease of facing the unknown sat like a rock in his stomach. 

The continent stretched across the horizon as far as his eyes could see, a green and brown haze smashed between the light blue of the sky and the darker blue-green of the sea. It was a little anticlimactic. In his imagination, he had pictured a foreboding landscape that clearly advertised his doom for all to see. The shoreline ahead, however, guarded its secret well if it held any malevolence toward him. 

The minutes stretched and Jack found his thoughts drifting to Ava. In the weeks he had been aboard she had been on his mind often, but since the kiss, he had thought of little else. The memory of her lips pressed to his never failed to set his heart to thumping and his legs to trembling. Strangely, she behaved as though it had never happened and treated him with a detached aloofness that left him feeling embarrassed and bewildered. He didn't understand how she could kiss him like that then act as though she hadn't pressed her body to him wantonly, with a desire that had made his blood boil. He could only reason that she felt she'd made a mistake and didn't want to lead him on any more than she already had. 

The thought of his wife intruded suddenly, sucking him back into the chasm of heartache that had defined him since he had staggered drunkenly through the portal. For a moment he was wracked with guilt for kissing Ava, then was furious with himself for feeling that way. Why should he feel guilty for thinking about Ava? Or kissing her? Barbara had betrayed him. 

His guts wrenched as the image of Barbara grinding her hips on Roger Chapman flashed in his head. The memory of her face, contorted with pleasure, as she impaled herself on her lover was almost more than he could stand. Ruthlessly, he shoved the images into the back of his mind and fed his hurt into a simmering anger that boiled up in him and seethed just below the surface. 

He snorted angrily as his thoughts returned to Ava. She was too beautiful for him, just as Barbara had been. Beautiful women know how beautiful they are, and they know the power their beauty gives them over men. And as the old saying goes, power corrupts. Jack had believed that Barbara was the exception but had learned the hard way that she was just like all the rest. Even if Ava wanted me, she wouldn't be any different. If she wanted to ignore him and pretend that they had never kissed, that was fine by him. He would ignore her right back. It was better that way, safer. 

Jack glanced up as Terell passed by. Their eyes met and Terell's face flushed red with anger, his knuckles turned white from the grip he had on his sword. Jack quickly glanced away, allowing the young officer to return his attention to wherever he was going and avoiding the conflict that only needed a spark to ignite. 

Jack knew why the previously friendly young man had turned hostile. Terell wanted Ava and saw Jack as competition. Why wouldn't he, after that kiss? He wished there was some way to make Terell understand that his fears were groundless. Whatever strange forces had conspired to trick her into kissing him had clearly shifted their attention elsewhere. 

He was at a loss as to how to defuse Terell's anger. The dirty looks and thinly veiled hostility the young officer sent Jack's way irritated him, and under normal circumstances he would have confronted him. These weren't ordinary circumstances though. He somehow knew that if a fight broke out between them it would be with steel instead of fists. If he faced Terell with a sword, Jack was as good as dead and he knew it. With a sigh, he returned his gaze to the distant shore, putting off the problem of Terell for another time. 

********** 

Ava leaned against the bulkhead, gazing out the porthole in her room. She had swung the milky, iron-rimmed glass pane open and her hair swayed gently from the breeze that permeated the room with the smell of the sea. The cries of the gulls flying overhead had been growing louder, a sure sign they were fast approaching Antyor. 

She inhaled the crisp air and sighed. She had to decide what to do about Jack. She had finally admitted to herself that what she felt for him was more than she had ever felt for any other man. She wanted him, desired his touch on her skin, craved the feel of his lips against hers again and again. 

The memory of the kiss they had shared as they clung desperately to each other after Jack's fight with Monch never failed to send her pulse racing. Oh Jack, what have you done to me? That is how she thought of him now: Jack. She was unaware of exactly when he had stopped being the Outlander to her. 

She wanted so badly to go to him, to tell him how she felt, to tell him that she was his for the taking. She had almost given in to impulse many times in the days since they kissed but always hesitated. She feared that her heart would be broken beyond repair if she gave herself to him only to find that he still loved the woman he left behind. She wanted his love, but she wanted his feelings to be true and not some desperate attempt to escape the pain of losing his wife. 

Unsure of what to do, she had avoided Jack and had been disappointed that her avoidance didn't seem to bother him. She'd watched him when he wasn't aware though, desperately trying to glean some hint as to how he felt about her. She'd seen him train with the sea dogs and marveled at how he had transformed. Gone was the pudgy man who could barely walk without wincing in pain. In his place now stood a fit athlete whose muscles glistened with sweat on his shirtless torso as he swung his practice sword. 

She'd watched covertly as her mother tried to teach him to access the leylines each evening, and had sympathized as his failed attempts made him curse in frustration. She had observed him as he often stood alone brooding silently, and had fervently wished she knew what he thought about, or if he ever thought about her. 

She was a little jealous of the easy manner in which Jack and Viviane spoke to each other when she'd seen them quietly talking one night after she had come topside for some air. She was alarmed to find that the two of them met like this every night and seemed to have developed a friendship. She had never had cause to begrudge her sister her great beauty but found herself wishing that Viviane wasn't quite as attractive as she was. 

Ava tsked in irritation. The man was turning her into a rattlebrained fool. There was only one thing to do if she was to get past this paralyzing uncertainty. They would be in Antyor for several days to take on supplies and repair the damage the Arabella had sustained in the battle with the Kraken. Ava resolved to confess her feelings to Jack before they returned to sea. She would tell him that if he felt the same, she wanted to be his woman. 

Having decided on a course of action at last, she felt a little calmer. The calm lasted only a moment before she began contemplating what her reaction would be if Jack were to reject her. 

Oh Jack, what have you done to me? 

********** 

"Fishermen," Garek said as he moved up to stand next to Jack. 

"What?" Jack asked, startled. 

"Those are fishing boats," Garek nodded toward several smaller vessels anchored in the distance. 

"Oh," Jack said. "We're getting close to Antyor then?" 

"The city will be visible shortly," Garek answered. 

"How long will we be staying there?" 

"I figure we are ten or eleven days ahead of the Kraken if Drebin is still chasing us, and he probably is. We need to repair the damage from our last encounter, resupply, and take on cargo. I hate to take the extra time for cargo, and the extra weight will slow us a bit, but the crew still has to be paid and that means cargo is a necessary inconvenience. Besides, if we left port without cargo, it might raise suspicions in some quarters." He paused in thought for a moment. "Five or six days at most," he finally answered. 

"I am anxious to stand on dry land again," Jack said. 

"About that," Garek said. "Jack, I need assurances from you that you won't run away once we are in the city. I want to trust you, but I also have to obey my orders and present you to the King in Panaar." 

"I don't plan on running," Jack said. "Besides, where would I go?" 

"Perhaps to Croatoan and the portal there," Garek said flatly. 

"The thought had occurred to me," Jack admitted. "But I doubt I would make it. I don't know this land and you would be on my trail like a hound. I probably wouldn't last a week before you or someone else put an end to my escape. No, I will see how things play out with you. What do you need from me to ease your mind?" 

"Your word," Garek said. 

Jack almost laughed before he realized that Garek was serious. "You have it," he said solemnly. 

"Very well," Garek said. "Now, how are your lessons with my wife going?" 

"Terrible," Jack sighed. "She is sure that I can access the leyline, but I haven't been able to so much as touch it." 

"And the sword lessons?" 

"Better." A hint of a smile appeared on Jack's face. "I actually got my first touch against Grelik yesterday." 

"Good. Kairn said you were rapidly gaining in skill." 

"Thanks to Ava healing my knees," Jack explained. "I can do a lot of things now that I couldn't before." 

Garek frowned at the mention of his daughter and Jack mentally kicked himself. Since his and Ava's very public kiss he had been avoiding the subject of the Captain's daughter when in Garek's presence. To break the awkwardness, Jack decided to broach another matter he had been meaning to speak to the Captain about. "I have a few things I would like to sell in Antyor," he said. "Can you help me?" 

Garek looked interested. "What do you have?" 

Jack pulled the small earring box out of his pocket and handed it to the Captain. Garek opened the box and his eyebrows rose. "This also," Jack said, removing his wedding band and handing it to the other man as well. 

Garek inspected the gold, diamond-encrusted wedding band for a second then returned his attention to the earrings. "What are these stones?" he asked. 

"Diamonds," Jack said with a shrug. 

"Real diamonds?" Garek asked, surprised. 

Jack nodded. 

"On the ring as well?" 

"Yes," Jack answered. 

"Jack, are you sure you want to part with these?" 

"They meant something once," Jack said, "but they're worthless to me now. How much do you think I can get for them?" 

"Diamonds may sprout from the ground like corn where you are from, but here they are very rare and very valuable," Garek said. 

"How valuable?" 

"I'm not an expert, but I would say ten or fifteen thousand gold pieces by the King's weight, maybe more," Garek answered. 

"Will that be enough to buy some new clothes, a sword of my own, and maybe some of that leather armor the sea dogs wear?" 

"Jack, you could buy your own ship, hire a crew, and set sail with that kind of coin." Garek exclaimed. "The trick is finding a buyer discreetly. We don't want to set off a bidding war amongst the nobility. That would surely draw unwanted attention. I know a wealthy merchant in Antyor that deals in rarities. If he doesn't want them for himself, he will know if a discreet buyer can be found." He handed the wedding band and the earrings back to Jack. "We'll go see him together later today." 

"Thank you," Jack said as he placed the box of earrings back into his pocket. He rolled the wedding ring around in his hand thoughtfully for a moment, then slipped the band into his pocket instead of putting it back on his finger. 

"Once we are ashore, if anyone asks, you are a traveler from Acal out to see the world. That will explain your accent to anyone that gets curious," Garek said. 

"Where's Acal?" 

"It's a continent on the other side of Freneer Island where you came through the portal," Garek answered. "They don't sail far beyond their coast and only a few have ever returned to Aramoor on one of our trading vessels. The likelihood of you running into someone that has met an actual Acallian is remote." 

"Is there anything I should know about the Acallians, just in case?" Jack asked. 

"I doubt it. The Acallians are savages for the most part. They worship the land as their mother and eat their own dead to gain the wisdom of the departed." 

"They're cannibals?" Jack asked, his voice tinged with disgust. 

Garek nodded. "Most of the people in Aramoor don't know that so you won't have to look at any dead bodies as though they were dinner," Garek said, smiling at Jack's discomfort. 

When they reached the mouth of the port, Ithos began shouting commands. The anchor was dropped and the Arabella drifted to a stop. Several flags of various colors were run up to signal the harbormaster that they wanted entry to the port.  

"Well, Jack, what do you think?" Garek said, indicating the city of Antyor with a wave of his hand. 

Jack glanced at the Captain before turning his gaze forward to study the harbor and the city. Antyor was built on a gentle slope that spread the city before him in a panoramic view. The wealthier manors and temples were located in the heights of the city. He could see the sun sparkling off the slate roofs and white marble walls even at this distance. Halfway down the slope, the slate and marble gave way to stone then wooden structures. Near the base lay a maze of thatch-roofed shanties. The poorer district reminded him of a third world slum he had once seen on a TV documentary. Between the slum and the docks was what appeared to be the market and warehouse district, with large storehouses and smaller buildings that Jack thought were probably taverns and shops catering to the sailors from the ships that traded there. The lines separating the classes were so distinct they looked much like the layers of a cake. 

The port itself was huge, with at least a hundred ships of various sizes and configurations. Hulking cargo vessels, sleek warships, and the pleasure barges of the rich and privileged were all represented. A giant rock jutted out of the sea some two hundred feet and dominated the approach to the city. A fortress was built atop the promontory and Jack could see giant ballistae that protected the harbor. Hundreds of seals lounged on the lower slopes of the giant rock and their barks were a stark contrast to the cries of the gulls that filled the air. Their cacophony grated on Jack's ears. 

What most bothered Jack, however, was the stench. The only thing he could compare it to was a rancid sewer. Garbage floated everywhere and he could only assume from the smell that the citizenry dumped their feces in the harbor as well as their refuse. Jack glanced back at Garek who stared wistfully at the city as though unaware of the reek of fish and excrement. "I don't know what to say," Jack said in belated answer to the Captain's question. 

"I was born here. Antyor has often been called the Jewel of the West," Garek said proudly. "More cargo and goods are traded here than any other place in the world." 

Jewel of the West? Smells like the shit hole of the west to me, Jack thought. "Yeah, it's really something," he said aloud. "Why are we stopping?" he asked. 

"All commercial and military vessels are required to wait here. The harbormaster will send a pilot vessel along with a Skag - a port official," Garek added at Jack's puzzled look, "to assign us a berthing on the docks. The pilot vessel will guide us in." 

"How long do we have to wait?" Jack asked. 

"A couple of hours, usually. It changes with their work load." 

Jack nodded. Accidents were bound to happen in a harbor with this much traffic. It made sense to have a system in place to deal with it rather than have ships sailing where they pleased in such tight quarters. 

"Why are so many anchored out rather than at the docks?" Jack asked. He thought it odd that most of the ships actively plying the waters seemed to be ferrying supplies and crew members to and from the docks. 

"The Skag will determine if our needs require a dockside berthing or an anchorage. Also, a dock berthing commands a higher fee from the harbormaster, so some captains choose the latter regardless. Since we have to make repairs and will be taking on supplies and cargo, I am happy to pay more for a place on the docks." 

Jack nodded and returned his attention to the city. He sincerely hoped it smelled better on shore. 

"Now, if you will excuse me, I need to address the crew while we wait for the Skag." Garek strode away and Jack followed, curious to hear what the Captain had to say to the crew. 

Once the crew was assembled on the main deck, Garek climbed onto a crate. "Gather round, everyone," he called and waited while the sailors moved closer. "I want you all to know how proud I am of each and every one of you. This voyage has been trying for us all. You have endured an attack, the mailstroms, and food rationing. I know that you aren't expecting to be paid until we reach Panaar, but I have decided to give each of you a ten gold piece bonus now." He had to pause while the crew cheered raucously. "My friends, you have earned it and I want you all to have a good time while we are here." 

The crew cheered again and Ithos had to shout for quiet before Garek could continue. "Now, I think you all know how important this voyage has become since the Outlander came on board." 

Jack shuffled his feet uncomfortably as several crew members looked at him. 

"I have to ask you all not to mention that we have an Outlander on board," Garek said in a grave tone. "I think Jack has shown you all what he is made of. He has earned my respect." 

"And mine," Ithos announced. 

"Mine too," came Kairn's voice. A chorus of agreement followed from the crew. 

Jack felt his face redden and a lump formed in his throat. 

"Our battle with the Kraken has shown us that there are those that would harm him, and there are those who would harm all of us to get to him." Garek reached down and set his hand on Jack's shoulder. "He is one of us now, and we protect our own." 

The crew broke into another cheer for Jack. Not trusting himself to speak, he nodded his head gratefully at the men he was beginning to think of as friends. 

"Now fall in line for pay," Garek commanded. 

A short time later a small boat pulled alongside the Arabella and Charuk tossed a rope ladder over the side. Jack waited beside Garek and Ithos as the Skag climbed aboard. Jack stood quietly and watched with curiosity as the Captain spoke to the small, self-important man. Coins changed hands and a few moments later the anchor was hauled up, oars were manned, and they crept into the harbor proper, guided by the small pilot ship. 




Outlander Ch. 09



Jack was amazed at how complex an operation it was to bring a ship the size of the Arabella safely into port. Ithos stood next to Garek and waved the flags at each command the Captain gave. A watcher on the main deck shouted the commands below, which were in turn relayed to the oar master and then to the oarsmen. 

With the skill born of years of experience, Garek brought the ship in, following the pilot vessel through the maze of ships and boats cluttering the harbor. Soon the pilot vessel signaled that they had arrived and veered off. Garek ordered the oars reversed on one side, swinging the prow around before the crew dropped anchor some forty yards from the quayside. 

"Prepare to warp in," Ithos shouted, and the crew scurried into action. Two dinghies were lowered on the dock side of the ship. Stout ropes were unspooled from the fore and aft capstans and lowered into the dinghies. The small boats were then rowed to the dock where crewmen secured the ropes to the bollards before quickly rowing back to the ship. 

The dinghies were brought up and several long poles were inserted into the sockets on the capstans until they stuck out like spokes on a wagon wheel. The capstans were manned by the strongest men, including Aiden. The anchor was raised and with the command given, the men threw themselves against the bars. They grunted with effort and their muscles corded with strain as the capstans slowly turned, winding the ropes attached to the bollards back in like a giant thread on a spool. The slack pulled taut and the Arabella slowly moved sideways toward the dock. 

Within minutes, the Arabella eased up to the quayside as the sailors, sweating and gasping, ceased their struggle. The ship was made secure and a gangway lowered. Another port official and his assistant waited on the dock and were given permission to come aboard. Interested, Jack joined the Captain as he spoke to the official while the rest of the crew buzzed around excitedly, making final preparations for liberty. 

The port official's name was Tapic. A skinny man with a giant Adam's apple and a shock of white hair, he made a show of inspecting the cargo hold and the damage caused by the Kraken from inside the wardroom. He and the Captain haggled for a few moments on the value of the ship and its contents before a few coins exchanged hands. They waited while Tapic's assistant filled in the particulars on two copies of a document, which both men then signed. 

The document stipulated that the Antyor port authority would provide dock security while the Arabella's sea dogs had to maintain onboard security. The port authority would assume responsibility for 75 percent of any loss or damage caused by piracy, weather, fire, or any other unforeseen event that was not caused by the crew while the Arabella remained docked at her berth. Jack chuckled. Apparently the insurance racket was as prevalent on this world as it was on his own. 

After Tapic and his assistant departed, Ithos assembled a work party to begin repairs. A guard rotation was assigned for the ship, and the cargo officer left to secure a payload for the trip to Panaar. 

"Well, Jack. Are you ready to see the city?" Garek asked. 

"Ready as I'll ever be," Jack replied. 

Just then, Emma led a small procession past them. The Sorceress wore her finest blue wool dress. A circlet of silver sat on her brow, with a thumbnail-sized stone of blue glass that rested at the center of her forehead. Ava followed her in a green cotton dress that accentuated her curves in a way that heated Jack's blood. She wore a similar coronet on her head, except the glass gem on her forehead was a pale orange color. 

Viviane and Aiden followed behind them. Dressed in a simple but elegant dress of white silk, Viviane held her husband's hand as they walked past. The large man was dressed in black boots, black trousers, and a fine blue coat with silver piping on the lapels. 

Jack was free to watch Ava as she passed, as she was careful to avoid eye contact with him. Two sea dogs standing nearby with Kairn and Grelik broke off and fell in with them as they descended the gangway and strolled across the docks that led into the city. 

"What's with the stones on their foreheads?" Jack asked as he and Garek descended the gangway themselves. 

"It's called a diadem," Garek answered. "It signifies their formal rank within the Covenant; orange for an Adept and blue for a Sorceress of the second rank. Emma hates wearing it, says it gives her a headache, but they are reporting in at the Covenant chapter house here and are required to wear them." 

"I see," Jack said. He noticed Kairn and Grelik move up to flank them a discreet distance away. "Guards?" he asked, irritated that Garek didn't trust him to keep his word not to run away. 

Garek shook his head. "Protection," he said. "We should be all right but your safety is of the utmost importance. Now, let's go see about selling your diamonds." 

Mollified by the explanation, Jack turned his attention to the people that moved purposely along, leaving and entering the storefronts that faced the docks. It seemed all manner of fish, rope, sails, whale oil, and a myriad other things could be procured at the right price. Raucous music and shouts of merriment came from the many taverns interspersed among the storefronts. 

None of them noticed the hooded man that stepped out of a narrow alley to follow them down the street. The man moved quietly, blending in so well that no one gave him a second look. An additional ten men followed the first man at an even more discreet distance. 

********** 

Monch waited patiently until the officers and most of the crew had left the ship before gathering his meager belongings and stuffing them in his sea bag. He was afraid that if anyone found out he was abandoning his duties they might throw him in the brig. 

"Where are you going with that bag?" One of the sea dogs guarding the gangway asked as Monch came up to him. 

"Got things to sell and trade," Monch said. "If it's any of your business," he added. 

"Fine, but if anything turns up missing you'll answer to the Captain," the sea dog said coldly. 

"They're my things. You got no call to accuse me of thievery," Monch whined defensively and stomped down the gangway. He turned and scurried down the dock, feeling the eyes of the seadogs on his back. He didn't relax until he was sure he was far enough away that they could no longer see him. 

He headed south down the docks toward the Middens. The Middens were what the locals called the area of the city where it touched the most southern part of the harbor. The Middens were dangerous and dirty, known for murders, whores, cutpurses, and cutthroats. Monch knew of a tavern there, The Broken Pot, which no one from the Arabella was likely to visit. 

It was only a matter of time before the officers figured out he had deserted and he had no interest in being found. Taverns near the port were the most likely place they would look for him, and much as he wanted to avoid them, these taverns were also the most likely place to find a job on an outbound ship. He would have to risk it, and The Broken Pot offered him his best chance. 

Monch spit on the cobbled road as he thought of the Outlander, the cause of all his troubles. Monch had been a valued and respected member of the crew until that son of a whore came along. He was convinced the Outlander would be the doom of them all and he needed to get as far away from him as possible. Captain Liaman and the rest of the crew were enamored with the man but Monch was no fool. Jack Forester was a deadly poison and Monch intended to survive. 

When he reached The Broken Pot, he found a table in the corner, stowed his bag beneath his chair, then ordered a cup of ale from a serving wench that looked as though she may have been comely once, before hard living had taken its toll. If all went well, he would find a job and still have time to rent a room and a whore for the night. 

An hour later, a gruff man strode in and announced he needed three crewmen for a whaling expedition. Whaling was hard and dangerous work so Monch decided to pass. He settled in and ordered another drink. 

********** 

Jack's eyes darted everywhere as he, Garek, and the two sea dogs moved through the throngs of people crowding the market district. It wasn't all that much different from downtown Boston on a busy day. People bustled by on business of their own, never giving Jack a second glance. 

A commotion caught their attention and the crowd opened up as people scuttled out of the way of five men dressed in black but for silver scaled breastplates, cuisses, and half-greaves polished to a mirrored finish. Garek quickly steered Jack out of their path. The men strode by with hands on their sword hilts, their heads swiveling as their haughty gazes scanned the crowd as though looking for some wrongdoing. 

"Police?" Jack asked after the armed men had passed and the crowd had closed behind them. 

"Snake bellies," Kairn snapped then spat on the ground. 

"Those are Swords of Aramon," Garek explained, "Religious fanatics and best avoided." They moved on down the street. Twice more they had to move aside for small squads of the men clad in silver and black. 

Before long, they walked into an open square where a crowd had gathered. "They killed him," a woman wailed over and over from the center of the crowd. 

Garek led the way as they pushed through the onlookers. At the center, next to an overturned tomato stand, a woman knelt, weeping over the body of a man. A thick rivulet of blood seeped from beneath the man and ran into a bunch of tomatoes that had been knocked off of the stand. 

"What happened here?" Garek asked a man who stood nearby watching the scene. 

"Snake belly patrol came through," the bystander said angrily. "Barten threw a tomato at them. Snake bellies said he was a heretic and ran him through. Poor fool." 

Jack stared at the dead man, horrified that he had been killed for throwing a tomato. 

"What is the city watch doing while the Swords of Aramon kill citizens in the street?" Garek asked. 

"Not a damned thing," the man spat on the cobblestones. "Retreated right into the Governor's compound as the snake bellies moved in." 

"Come, Jack," Garek said. "There's nothing we can do here." He took Jack's arm and led him away. The men were quiet for several minutes as they absorbed the implications of what they'd seen. 

"Captain," Grelik finally broke their tense silence. "That's four snake belly patrols since we left the ship and they're killing citizens in the street. Something's very wrong here." 

"I know. Stay close and keep a sharp eye," Garek said. "Let's move." They turned at the next street and went up two blocks before stopping in front of a large warehouse that had a storefront built onto it. 

Jack couldn't read the sign over the storefront entrance. English was spoken in Aramoor but the written language was made up of lines and characters that made no sense to him. 

"Wait here and watch for trouble," Garek said to Kairn and Grelik. He motioned for Jack to follow and went inside. 

"Welcome to Farthen's." A short, stocky man with a crown of iron gray hair around the bald top of his head greeted them as he came from behind a long mahogany counter. "We are the finest clothier in Aramoor. My name is Mikel. What can I do for you today?" 

"We're here to see Farthen," Garek said. 

"Do you have an appointment?" Mikel asked. 

"Just tell him that Garek Liaman is here to see him." 

Mikel pursed his lips as though he wished to protest further but finally nodded. He disappeared through a door in the rear of the store, but not before whispering instructions to the two burly men who guarded the entrance to the warehouse. Garek ignored the suspicious looks the guards gave them as they crossed their arms and planted their feet as though daring anyone to pass. 

Jack followed Garek's example and pretended not to notice the hostile inspection. He used the time to examine the store. There were aisles flanked by wooden shelves stacked with folded trousers, shirts, and tunics. There were bins filled with socks and underclothes as well as a rack in the rear of the store from which hung coats of all sizes and colors. One wall had shoes and boots stacked so high that a wheeled ladder on rails was required to reach the higher shelves. The store's wares ranged in quality from simple canvas and wool to shirts of silk and coats brocaded with intricate designs. 

"Jack," Garek said quietly so the watching tuffs wouldn't hear. "I want you to let me do the talking with Farthen. You've told me the things you need and I will try to get you the best deal possible for your diamonds." 

"You don't think he'll buy the Acal cover story?" 

"He might, but Farthen is smart. The less he knows about you the better. We don't want him drawing dangerous conclusions." 

"I thought you trusted him?" Jack asked. 

"I do. I trust him to do what's best for him, and that may not be what's best for us," Garek explained. 

"Then why come to him?" 

"Farthen maintains the facade of a simple clothier but in fact has business interests in everything from weapons to lamp oil and everything in between. He will either have or be able to get everything you need very quickly," Garek explained. "Coupled with his passion for rarities, he is ideal for our purposes." 

"One-stop shopping," Jack mused. 

At that moment Mikel reappeared. "Farthen will see you now, gentlemen. Please follow me." 

********** 

Emma swished her skirt in irritation as their small party strode through the bustling streets that led toward the Covenant chapter house. They had not traveled far before a desperate citizen stopped them to ask for help. 

"Why haven't you gone to the Covenant chapter house for healing?" she asked a young woman with a rasping cough. 

"Begging your pardon, m'lady, but they don't heal the sick there anymore," the young woman said. 

"What?" Emma said, shocked. 

"The guards turn people away at the gate. They say the witches are too busy for the likes of us," the young woman added. 

Twice more along their journey, they were stopped by citizens who had loved ones who were desperately ill. By now, Emma's initial displeasure had turned into concern. "It's not like Biora to turn the needy away," she said to Ava as they wound their way through the crowded street. 

"I'm sure Grand Sorceress Biora must have a good reason," Ava replied. 

"I certainly hope so," Emma said, a worried frown on her face. 

When they arrived at the gates of the Covenant chapter house, Ava gasped in astonishment. "Aramon on the rock, look at them," she said. 

There were at least a hundred people crowded around the gate leading onto the grounds of the Covenant chapter house. Four armed guards kept the space immediately around the gate clear with shoves, shouts, and hands on sword hilts. The crowd cried piteously at the guards, begging for help for the sick and injured. 

Emma's brow furrowed in anger at the spectacle. "This could turn ugly at any moment," she said. 

A man leaning on a makeshift crutch at the back of the crowd turned at that moment and saw them standing there, with Emma's and Ava's diadems clearly marking them as Witches of the Covenant. "Witches!" he shouted and hobbled toward them. 

The crowd, hearing his cry, turned and surged toward them. They were surrounded within seconds. The two sea dogs tried in vain to keep the crowd back but were overwhelmed. One went down under the onslaught. 

Emma tried to shout for calm but she couldn't be heard over the clamor. 

"Please, Mistress, my boy." 

"Help me." 

"I'm sick, Sorceress." 

Hands reached for her, grasped at her, implored her. She lost sight of Ava, then heard Viviane scream. She felt a moment of panic then opened herself to Lord Aramon's Gift. The power flooded her and calmness returned. Time seemed to slow as she formed a wall of air around herself and pushed outward. As the desperate people were forced away from her, she saw that Ava had formed a similar wall around herself and Viviane. 

Then she saw Aiden weeping loudly while he shielded the fallen sea dog with his body. She quickly moved toward them, pushing the crowd away as she went. The other sea dog was there as well, helping Aiden pull the downed man into her circle of protection. 

When they were all back together, Viviane took her husband into her arms and comforted him until his wails tapered off to whimpers. Emma wanted to go to her son as well but had to deal with the matter at hand first. "Are you all right?" she asked the young sea dog who had been knocked to the ground. 

"I'm fine," he said. "Just got the wind knocked out of me." 

She looked at her daughter and received a nod that she was all right as well before turning to the crowd. "Good people," she shouted, using her power to amplify her voice. Silence fell except for the whimpers of the injured. "Good people, someone will be with you shortly to attend to your needs. Now, please let us pass." 

"Not a one of them inside will help us," someone shouted. A rumble of agreement came from the crowd. 

"Listen to me," Emma shouted and they grew quiet again. "I give you my word that someone will come to help you shortly. If those inside won't help you, we will return and help you ourselves, but right now we have urgent business inside, so please let us pass." 

The crowd parted for them and they made their way to the gate. Cries of "Oh, thank you, Sorceress" and "Bless you, Sorceress" followed them. 

"Sorceress," the gate guard nodded respectfully to her as he opened the gate to let them through. 

Once inside, Emma took a moment to hug her son until he was calm again before turning to their sea dog escort. "Please wait here with the gate guards until we are ready to return to the ship. Thank you, both of you. You did a good job getting us here safely." 

The Covenant chapter house and grounds were surrounded by a 15-foot stone wall separating the rolling greens, fountains, and landscaped gardens from the bustle of mud-filled streets. The Manse itself was several stories tall and made of alabaster stone, with stone columns rising to either side of the slate steps leading to an ornate set of mahogany double doors. 

Emma marched them up the cobbled walkway toward the house until she saw a group of young women lounging on wicker chairs and sipping tea in the shade of a large tree next to the house. She changed direction mid-stride, and stalked up to the lounging women. 

One of the young women, an acolyte by the yellow stone in her diadem, was the first to notice a Sorceress of the Second Rank approaching. She quickly lurched to her feet. "Sorceress," she said and dropped a quick curtsy. The three other acolytes and two Adepts quickly followed her example. 

The lone Sorceress of the Second Rank among them started to stand then caught herself as though just realizing she also wore a blue-stoned diadem and was of equal rank to the woman who had interrupted their lovely visit. She settled back into her chair but caught the Sorceress's eye, only then realizing that she knew her. 

"Weren't you one of my students when you were an acolyte?" Emma asked her. 

"Yes Sorcere- uh, Emma," she stammered. They were the same rank, damn it. "I'm Elva." 

"Ah yes, Elva. I remember now." 

Emma turned her attention back to the standing acolytes and Adepts. "As for you young ladies," she said. "I am going to teach you a less-" 

"But, Sorceress, we were just —" an acolyte interrupted. She saw Emma's eyes flash with anger then screamed as a switch made of air slashed across her ass cheeks. She jumped in the air then grabbed her behind with both hands, feeling the welts already beginning to rise. She rubbed her burning cheeks vigorously and fought back the tears that threatened to spill out of her eyes. 




Outlander Ch. 09



"Does anyone else wish to interrupt me when I am speaking?" Emma asked coldly. She waited a moment then continued. "As I was saying, I am going to teach you a lesson that I taught Sorceress Elva here when she was an acolyte. It is a lesson that I am sure she was about to teach you before I arrived." 

She looked pointedly at Elva who shifted in her chair, uncomfortable under Emma's gaze. "Do you mind, Sorceress Elva, if I go ahead and impart the lesson since I have already begun?" She looked at the younger woman expectantly. 

"No, I don't mind," Elva said reluctantly. 

"We are Witches of the Covenant," Emma said, switching her attention back to the acolytes and Adepts. "And part of the covenant that we made is that after our service to the Lord Aramon, above all other things we are servants of the people." She paused for a moment and made eye contact with each of them in turn before she continued. "The people are outside that gate right now in need of service. So get your asses out there and serve them." 

They started to move but Emma held up her hand and they froze. "Adept Ava," she said. 

"Yes, Sorceress?" 

"Take these girls outside the gate and supervise them. See that the job is done." 

"I will, Sorceress," Ava said. 

"You will obey Adept Ava as though her commands came directly from me," Emma continued. "And if I see any one of you lounging around while there is a single sick or injured person outside that gate, I will flay the hide off your skinny asses so you won't be able to sit for a fortnight. Do you understand me?" 

"Yes, Sorceress," they answered in unison, voices quivering. 

"Well, go," she snapped. 

They broke and ran. Emma nodded at Ava, who hid her smile as she turned and followed the fleeing women at a more dignified pace. 

"Elva," Emma turned to address the other Sorceress. "Allow me to introduce Viviane Liamon, Duchess of Caston. This is her husband, Sir Aiden Liamon, Duke of Caston. They require rest and refreshment." 

"Of course," Elva said in formal tones. "Won't you all please follow me to the parlor?" 

Elva led them through the mahogany doors and into a large room off the foyer filled with chairs and couches for lounging. It only took a few moments before Viviane and Aiden were comfortable and a servant had left to fetch refreshments. 

"Now, Elva," Emma said. "Take me to see Grand Sorceress Biora." 

"But Emma, Grand Sorceress Biora isn't High Priestess here anymore," Elva said. 

"What? Why not? What happened to her?" Emma asked. 

"She and almost all the senior witches were recalled to the Citadel a month ago," she answered. 

"Hmmm. Do you know why?" 

"None of us know. Biora called us all together read the missive from the Matriarch, resigned her position, appointed the new High Priestess, and within two days they all departed for the Citadel," Elva explained. 

Emma looked thoughtful for a moment. "Who is left here?" 

"The High Priestess and I are the only two senior witches," she said. "There are a few full witches here but all the rest are acolytes and Adepts." 

"I see," Emma pursed her lips in thought. She felt a little relieved that the disgraceful scene outside the gate was a symptom of no senior leadership rather than something more systemic. Still, gross negligence by a High Priestess who significantly outranked her was not something she could correct with intimidation the way she so easily cowed Elva. 

She began to have doubts about telling the High Priestess about the Outlander even though she was duty bound to do so and needed the High Priestess to send word of his arrival to the Matriarch at the Citadel. Still, she would do her duty as always and trust in Lord Aramon to sort it all out. 

"Who is the new High Priestess?" Emma asked. 

"Sarafella Vo'Tamarin," Elva answered. 

"Sarafella," Emma repeated. Sarafella was another former student of hers. Emma remembered the girl as being bright and driven but also more interested in the company of the young male acolytes than was healthy. In any case, it seemed as though the girl had done well for herself. 

Emma sighed. She had spent too much time away from the Citadel to know who the power players were anymore. She herself should have been a Grand Sorceress long ago, but had little love for the politics and the maneuvering for position that seemed to be required these days. She preferred the road and the sea, not to mention her husband's bed, every night. 

"Very well," Emma said, thoughts returning to the matter at hand. "Take me to her." 

********** 

Sarafella Vo'Tamarin, Grand Sorceress and High Priestess of the Antyor Covenant house cast an appraising eye on the man who stood before her. He stood well over six feet tall, with chest, arms, and legs corded with muscle. There were battle scars on his chest and back. She liked them but wondered why his master had allowed them to scar when they could have easily been healed. Clad only in a blindfold, boots, and a breechcloth, the man before her fidgeted nervously. 

"What is your name?" she asked the man as she reclined on her red silk divan. 

His head turned toward the sound of her voice. "Relion, m'lady," he answered. 

"Do you know where you are?" 

"No, m'lady. They blindfolded me the whole way here," he answered. 

Sarafella slowly rose from the divan and tiptoed gracefully to him and laid her hand on his bare chest. "Do you know who I am, Relion?" 

"No, m'lady." 

She slowly slid around him, dragging a fingernail across his scar-covered chest, touching the edge of his areola before trailing her fingers across his shoulder. The sight of his battle wounds and the heat of his skin excited her and she felt her sex moisten. Standing behind him, she looked him up and down before whispering into his ear, "Do you know why you are here?" 

"My master commanded I do whatever you required of me." His voice trembled slightly. 

Slavery was illegal in Aramoor but for those who fell on hard times or accrued debt that they could not repay, indentured servitude was tantamount to the same thing. The debts of hardy men were often purchased by the wealthy, who then turned their indentured servants over to a ludus to be trained as gladiators. For a woman of means with a need for discretion, the ludi were a wonderful source of pleasure. 

She glanced at the two young Adepts that had led the big man into her quarters. "Leave us," she commanded. They inclined their heads and quickly left the room. 

The Grand Sorceress made her way around the divan to the ornate, full-length mirror next to her bed. She stared at her reflection. Her golden hair was piled on top of her head with a few artful curls hanging beside her face. Not a touch of gray showed, though her fortieth name day was a month gone. A hint or two of a wrinkle could be seen at the corners of her mouth and eyes, yet she was as lovely as a woman ten years younger. She didn't wear her diadem; there was no point giving the man a hint of who she might be. But she missed its presence, the visual reminder of who she was and what she had accomplished. 

She picked up a black masquerade mask from the bedstand between the mirror and her bed and put it on. When she was sure the mask was secure, she looked at Relion's reflection in the mirror. 

"Remove your blindfold," she said, and watched as he raised a muscled arm and pulled the blindfold off. He blinked in the sudden light until his eyes adjusted. They widened at the sight of her standing there with her back to him, her yellow gossamer dress revealing the outline of her body. Their eyes met in the mirror. 

"Now, take off your breechcloth," she said huskily. 

She held her breath in anticipation as he untied the knot holding it together and dropped it to the floor. Sarafella exhaled audibly at the sight of his manhood hanging between his legs. His cock was thick and long, and she liked that he had no pubic hair. The gladiators shaved the hair from their heads and bodies to fight the spread of lice in the ludi. For her purposes, however, she liked the look of long cock without a large thatch of hair obstructing her view. 

She turned to face him, pulled her dress off her shoulders and let it fall to the ground to pool at her feet. She stepped out of the dress and then paused so he could see her body. She loved to watch a man's reaction to seeing her naked and she wasn't disappointed. His eyes widened when they lit upon her full breasts, and his cock twitched and rose until it jutted before him like a sword made of flesh. When he saw the golden curls above her pussy, he was unable to contain a groan of anticipation. 

She smiled and moved to the end of her bed. She sat down and leaned back, supporting herself with one arm while spreading her legs and presenting her wet pussy for him to see. She spread her lips apart with her fingers and laughed as his legs trembled. "Come," she said. "Pleasure me." 

She laughed again when, instead of taking the time to walk around her divan to get to her, he simply grabbed the end of it and shoved it out of his way. He fell to his knees between her legs, grabbed his cock, and aimed it at her pussy, but froze and looked at her questioningly when she held her hand up with the palm out. 

"No," she said, breathing heavily. "With your mouth." 

He nodded. "Yes, m'lady," he said, and bent to the task. 

She sucked her breath in sharply when with no preamble he covered her pussy with his mouth and shoved his tongue into her folds. "Fuck," she breathed out, then grabbed his head with both hands to urge him on. He licked and sucked on the lips of her pussy like a mad man, occasionally jabbing his tongue as far into her as he could. He licked her hard, but that was the way she liked it. 

When she was ready, she pulled his head up slightly to direct him to her clit. He attacked it with a vengeance and she howled in pleasure. "That's it. Right there. Right there! Don't stop. Here it comes. Oh, yes!" she cried out as her orgasm crashed over her. "Yes, yes, yes!" 

Finally she pushed his head away and her legs trembled from the aftershocks of her pleasure. 

"Now, fuck me, Relion," she commanded. "Fuck me hard." 

"Yes, m'lady," he said as he rose up to grab his cock and line it up with her sopping wet pussy. 

"Oh, fuck, yes," she cried as he rammed himself home with one great thrust. She threw her head back, arched her spine and grabbed at the bed as the head of his cock hit the bottom of her pussy. 

He gave her only a few seconds to adjust to his girth before he began thrusting in and out of her as fast as he could go. She put her hands on his chest to try to keep him from slamming into her too hard but he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. 

"Oh my God," she moaned, feeling his strength and loving it as he slammed into her over and over. It had been quite a while since a man fucked her like this and she wailed her approval. Her pussy muscles clutched and spasmed uncontrollably around his manhood as he drove her toward another orgasm. 

"Ahhh," she cried as her second orgasm crested. He relentlessly pounded her straight through her climax before tensing up and roaring so loudly that he startled her. She felt his cock expand and then a flood of hot cum gushed into her. "Yes, come," she cried to him. "Come for me, Relion." 

Relion held his breath as his cock convulsed, shooting his cum deep into her pussy. When he was spent, he took a deep breath and collapsed on top of her. "Was that what you wanted, m'lady?" he asked. 

"Oh yes," she said. "That was exactly what I wanted." His weight pressed on her but she liked the feel of a large man on her. She gently stroked his back and cooed to him until she felt his cock start to stir in her again. Oh yes, she was definitely going to give his master a little something extra for sending this treasure to her. 

She heaved and rolled him over onto his back, never allowing him to slip from her pussy. She rose up until he had almost slid out completely, before lowering herself back down. They both moaned. 

"Uh, excuse me," someone said from behind. Sarafella's head snapped around to find Vina, one of her two Adept handmaidens, standing there nervously wringing her hands. 

"What is it?" Sarafella asked, knowing Vina would not have interrupted her unless it was important. Vina started to respond but Sarafella stopped her. 

"Hold on," she said before getting up from her lover. His cock made a wet smack when it slipped out of her and fell against his belly. "I'll be back," she whispered, then stood heedless of her nudity and went to Vina. 

"What's happened?" she whispered so her lover could not hear. 

"The Duke and Duchess of Caston are in the parlor taking refreshment," she whispered back. "And there is a Sorceress Emma Liaman with them. She has turned the place upside down. She has acolytes and Adepts out front healing people and is demanding to see you." 

"Damn it," Sarafella said casting a forlorn glance at the man in her bed. "All right, take my guest here and keep him out of sight until I am done with this Sorceress. Have Chara escort the Sorceress to my study and let her know that I will be there shortly." 

She waited for Vina's nod before turning back to Relion. 

"Sorry for the interruption, but I'm afraid I have some business to attend to. Go with this young woman and she will give you a place to wait for me." 

"Yes, m'lady," he said and climbed off the bed. His cock swung as he retrieved his loincloth and she saw Vina staring at it. She couldn't blame her. It really was a nice cock. 

As soon as Vina led Relion out of her chambers, Sarafella threw off the mask and scrambled into her clothes. She donned her diadem with its grey stone, a reminder that she was a Grand Sorceress, then checked herself in the mirror one last time. 

As she left her room to head to her study, she wondered how quickly she could get rid of her visitors and return to Relion's fat cock.



Outlander Ch. 10



Author's note: Here we are with Chapter 10. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. If you can please take the time to vote after you have read it and leave a comment if the mood strikes you. Your votes and comments are my only reward for this endeavor and are much appreciated. As always, I want to thank my editor JilliB for her hard work.

**********

Jack was amazed at the variety of goods in the warehouse Mikel led them into. He saw lanterns, flowerpots, wool coats, shields, horse tack, and helms alongside clay jars, rag dolls, coffee pots, and rocking chairs. Row upon row of items were arranged by no method or system that Jack could discern.

Jack leaned closer to Garek so he wouldn't be overheard. "So how do you know this guy?" he asked as they trailed the clerk.

"We grew up together."

"So you're friends?" Jack asked, curious about Garek's warning that they may not be able to trust Farthen.

"We were the best of friends once, but things became strained when we got older." He looked pained at the revelation.

"Strained over what?"

"A woman, what else?" Garek answered. "I visit him from time to time, but I never know if he's going to be bitter or friendly."

Mikel led them down an aisle with swords, spears, and halberds on one side, and mittens and wool scarfs on the other. Jack was wondering exactly what kind of clientele this madhouse serviced when he felt a quivering tingle in his mind that seemed to pull at him. He shook his head to clear it as they left the sword aisle and crossed a small open space to an office built against the rear wall of the warehouse. What the hell was that?

Mikel opened the door and ushered them inside. A middle-aged man with close-cropped, iron-gray hair sat at a plain wooden desk scribbling furiously into a ledger. After a moment, he looked up and smiled.

"Garek," he said as he rose to his feet. "It's been a long time, my old friend." He strode around the desk and laughed as he and Garek embraced.

Looks like we got the friendly version this time, Jack thought with no little relief.

"Too long, you old scoundrel," Garek said as he clapped his friend on the back.

"Scoundrel? Me?" Farthen cried in mock affront. "I'm a legitimate businessman. And look at you, Captain of your own ship and quite the trader yourself. Though, from what I hear you trade in politics as much as goods these days."

Garek gave a snort. "Complying with the King's occasional request comes with accepting a commission in His Majesty's Navy. That doesn't make me a politician, Farthen," he pointed out.

"If you say so," Farthen said with a shrug. "Still, look how far we've come since we were children. You, me, and Magpie used to beg and steal in the Middens just to survive."

"We had no place to go but up," Garek said with a quick smile.

Jack was surprised. Garek was a man of stature, related to the King through his son's marriage to the King's niece. It was hard to imagine he came from such humble beginnings.

"How is Magpie these days, and why didn't she come with you to see me?" Farthen clutched at his chest as though wounded.

"Don't be so dramatic, you old loon," Garek grinned. "She had business at the Chapter house. You know how it is."

"I do," Farthen said. "She's all respectable now, a high-up Sorceress. But I remember when she was Magpie, twelve-year-old scourge of the Middens, picking pockets and fleecing fools just so we could eat. She was the best of us, you know. You and I would have starved or been thrown in prison if it wasn't for her."

Surely they aren't talking about Emma, Jack thought.

"Likely, you're right," Garek agreed. "But I wouldn't call her Magpie to her face if I were you. Not unless you want the sharp side of her tongue, or have you forgotten what that was like while you've been waxing all nostalgic?"

Surely not.

"Oh, I remember all right," Farthen said. "Still, you're the one she married so I'll defer to your judgment on the matter."

They are talking about Emma. Jack was so astonished at the thought of the matronly woman being a street urchin that he failed to sense the change in mood.

Both men were silent for a moment, then Garek reached out and set his hand on Farthen's shoulder. "Old friend," he said softly, "will you ever forgive me for being the one she chose?"

Farthen gave Garek a weary smile. "Oh, she was always going to choose you. I was just too young and foolish to realize it and later, I was too proud to let it go. There is nothing to forgive," he said. "In fact, it is I who need forgiveness from you both. Besides I have my Lerryn now and a finer wife I couldn't ask for. She's changed me, Garek. She's made me a better man."

"I can see that," Garek said. He had noticed how Farthen's face lit up when he said Lerryn's name. "She must be an extraordinary woman."

"She is," Farthen beamed proudly before his face turned somber again. "I heard about your sons," he said. "I don't have the words to tell you how sorry I am."

"Thank you," Garek said, his voice catching. "That means a lot."

"When you see Emma, will you tell her I'm...," Farthen hesitated, unsure of what to say.

"I will, old friend," Garek said, marveling at the changes in Farthen. His Lerryn must be a special woman indeed.

Farthen cleared his throat then straightened. "Enough of that," he said, his tone embarrassed. "I know you didn't come by to catch up on old times. What can I do for you and your silent friend here?" He gestured toward Jack.

"We need to procure some items quickly," Garek said assuming a business-like tone. He handed Farthen the list of items Jack needed. Farthen studied the list as Garek continued. "Also, we have some very valuable items we need to sell quickly and discreetly."

Farthen's head came up at that. "Stolen?" he asked.

"You know me better than that," Garek said flatly.

"Do you have these items with you?" Farthen asked, curiosity painted on his face.

At Garek's nod, Jack dug the earring box and ring out of his pocket. He was about to hand Farthen the earrings but hesitated. He turned his wedding ring over and over with his fingers, suddenly hit with the reality of letting it go. If he did this, he was acknowledging that his marriage to Barbara was truly over.

He took a deep breath and, ignoring the lump that formed in his throat, handed the ring to Farthen. The merchant briefly examined the ring and opened the box to reveal the earrings nestled inside. He gave Jack a curious look before turning to sit at his desk, where he rummaged through the desk drawer to retrieve a jeweler's loupe.

He held the small lens to his eye and peered at one of the earrings. He inhaled sharply and gave Jack a quick look before examining the other earring carefully. He gave Jack's wedding band the same scrutiny.

"Do you know what you have here?" Farthen asked Jack.

Jack nodded.

"These are the clearest, most perfectly-cut diamonds I have ever seen. Even masterwork is not this good."

Jack wasn't surprised. He doubted any artisan in Aramoor could match the precision of the lasers used to cut diamonds back on his world.

"How much do —," Garek started to ask.

"Hold on a moment," Farthen interrupted. He stared at Jack intently before asking, "Who are you?"

"He's —," Garek tried to speak.

"Faugh!" Farthen slammed his hand palm down onto his desk. "I'm talking to him," he said while pointing at Jack.

Jack shot Garek a nervous glance. "I'm just a traveler from Acal out to see the world," he said.

Farthen sat down, leaned back in his chair, and steepled his hands over his chest, deep in thought. After a moment, the merchant jerked his head up and eyed Garek. "Oh Garek, my old friend, you are a sly dog, aren't you?"

Garek stiffened. "What do you mean, Farthen?"

"I'll tell you," Farthen said. "You claim to be from Acal," his gaze shifted to Jack. "But I've met an Acallian, and you aren't one. Smart of you to choose that lie to cover your accent, though. Very few people would know the difference."

He paused to gather his thoughts. "If you are trying to pass him as Acallian, that means you most likely sailed here from Franeer Island."

He looked between Jack and Garek as though awaiting confirmation. When both men remained silent, he continued. "I have an agent on Franeer Island. He keeps me apprised of any business opportunities that may arise there. A few months ago, I got a bird from him. He claimed that two ships in the King's navy fought each other in the harbor and that the town itself was buzzing with rumors that an Outlander had come through the portal there.

"Now, being a reasonable man, I dismissed this Outlander business as foolishness. And yet, here you are with a long list of items," he said, waving the list Garek had given him. "A list of all the things a man would need to make his way if he were starting from nothing. Not to mention these amazing diamonds that are almost too perfect to be believed." He took a deep breath and then continued, "And the timing, the bird I received, the time it takes to sail here, it's perfect."

"Farthen—," Garek began before Farthen cut him off again.

"And you," he stabbed an accusing finger at Garek. "You knew someone might figure it out, so you came to me. You thought if the truth came to light, you could call on my friendship."

"Let me expl—,"

"You're the Outlander," Farthen practically shouted at Jack. He looked back at Garek. "And you're in more trouble than you can possibly imagine. Give me one good reason why I should help you?" he demanded.

Garek threw his arms up. "I will, if you will give me a chance to speak."

"Well, why should I?" Farthen demanded again.

Garek spread his hands palm out. "Because you are my friend," he said.

"Aramon on the rock, I knew it," Farthen said, shaking his fist at Garek. He strode around his office spouting expletives, completely ignoring the other two men as he yelled and stomped around the room.

Unnerved by the merchant's behavior, Jack caught Garek's eye and tilted his head at the exit questioningly. The Captain responded with a small shake of the head.

Before long, Farthen collapsed into his chair with a loud sigh before turning to regard Garek in exasperation. "Fine, I will help you. But let's just hope we don't need Magpie to get us out of this mess, or we will all three of us suffer the sharp side of her tongue."

"Thank you, Farthen," Garek said, relieved and a little amused by the antics of his old friend. "But, tell me. What did you mean when you said I'm in more trouble than I can imagine?"

"A lot has happened in the months you've been at sea," Farthen said. "Have you hear about King Roadan yet?"

Garek looked at Farthen sharply. "No. What about him?"

"I hate to be the one to tell you, but he died in his bed several months ago," Farthen said. His voice softened. "I know you were friends."

"Not just friends," Garek said after a shocked silence. "He was family." The Captain took a deep breath and blinked furiously as he fought back tears. Jack placed his hand on Garek's shoulder but kept silent.

With visible effort, Garek controlled his grief. His voice was almost steady when he raised his head to ask Farthen, "What happened to the King? He was robust. Did he fall ill?"

"No one really knows. At least, none of my contacts do."

"Damoden rules now?" Garek asked.

"He sits on the throne, but the rumors say he doesn't rule. It's whispered that he's just a puppet for Chancellor Titus Vallen of the Aramonic Priesthood."

"That's outrageous," Garek fumed. "What about the rest of the King's advisors?"

"The Sorceress Amalee is dead," Farthen said. "General Forsith was sent to the front, and Lord Kardigan was thrown in the dungeon for treason."

Garek stared at his friend in disbelief. "That leaves just Vallen," he said.

"And word is the young King has no mind of his own, and just decrees whatever the Priest wants him to."

"That doesn't sound like the Damoden I know," Garek said with a frown. "Something is very wrong. What of the King's Sentinels?"

"I don't know for sure," Farthen said. "It's all just talk on the trade routes, which isn't always accurate. However, I do know this: the Swords of Aramon have moved into Antyor in force."

"We saw their patrols on the way here," Garek said.

"It's a safe bet that word has reached the King's court of your presence," Farthen said to Jack. "If Vallen is in charge, you can guarantee that the Swords of Aramon have orders to find you. The priesthood will want to use you for their own purposes."

"And what purpose would that be?" Jack asked.

"We'll get into that later," Garek said, "but let's just say the Aramonic Priesthood and their thugs — the Swords of Aramon — are not our friends. It would be very bad if they got their hands on you."

"Well then, what do we do?" Jack asked.

Garek paused to think. "We sail for Panaar tomorrow," he said at last. "We need to be gone before the priests and snake bellies know we were here. If King Damoden is under duress, it is our duty to rescue him. That has to be our priority."

"You are going to need help if you're going to pull off a one-day turnaround," Farthen said.

"I surely will," Garek said. "Now, what can you offer for the Outlander's jewelry?"

Farthen seemed to be calculating in his head. "Twenty thousand gold pieces," he finally replied.

"That means you think you can sell them for forty," Garek replied, a hint of a smile returning to his face. "Make him a better offer."

"Wait," Jack said. "I'll take the twenty thousand, but only if you can get me all the things on my list, and give Garek whatever help he needs so we can sail tomorrow."

"Done," Farthen said. He laughed when he caught the look on Garek's face.

"Jack," the Captain turned to him in exasperation. "I could have gotten all that and at least five thousand more."

"Too late," Farthen laughed. "The deal is struck."

"Sorry," Jack said, feeling foolish.

"Come!" Farthen sprang from his chair. "We've much to do if you intend to sail tomorrow."

He led them back into the warehouse, where Mikel was waiting to measure Jack for the clothes and leather armor he had requested. The small man bustled around Jack while Farthen and Garek discussed the delivery of food to the ship for the journey to Panaar. Farthen assured the Captain that he could have the twenty thousand gold pieces delivered from the bank to the Arabella without unwanted notice.

As the other two men fleshed out their plans, Jack felt that quivering buzz in the back of his mind again. It was the same feeling he'd gotten just before they entered Farthen's office. He shook it off and listened intently as Farthen and Garek dispatched runners.

One runner was sent to Ithos, instructing him to recall the crew and make ready to sail on the morrow. A second runner was sent to the Covenant Chapter house to apprise Emma's party of the situation.

What is that? Jack felt it again, a quiver in his mind. It was faint, like a sound so quiet you weren't sure you heard it. A sound that seemed to come from... that way. Jack took an unconscious step toward the elusive sound and ignored Mikel when the clerk squawked in protest. He waved Mikel back as he took another step and felt it again.

Standing motionless, Jack cocked his head to the side, listening intently. He realized right then that the faint quiver came in time with the pulsing of the leyline. He had become so accustomed to the leyline's presence on the edge of his awareness that most of the time he forgot it was even there.

He held his breath and waited for it. Pulse, quiver, that way. He moved to the next aisle where several wooden barrels held a plethora of point-down swords. Many showed signs of rust on their cross guards. Most had leather peeling away from their hilts.

"Outlander," Farthen called, having noticed Jack perusing the swords in the barrels. "Those are junk. We'll find you something better."

"Call me Jack," he said quietly, never taking his eyes off the barrels as he waited for the next pulse of the leyline.

"What?" Farthen called.

"Call me Jack," he called back. He missed the acknowledging wave that Farthen gave him.

That one, Jack thought as the latest quiver brought him to a barrel filled with old rusty swords much like the barrels to either side. He dug through the barrel until he found a weapon that was different from the others.

Jack pulled the sword out of the barrel to examine it. The scabbard was earth-brown and rigid. The material was not leather; instead it appeared to be wood or a resin of some kind. The hilt was the same earth-brown shade though it had black leather straps wrapped around the grip.

The scabbard was attached to a belt designed to reassemble an interlocking pattern of leaves ranging in colors from the greens of spring to the russets of autumn. He raised the scabbard, gripped the hilt with his right hand, and slowly pulled the blade free.

To Jack's eyes, the steel pulsed faintly with the light of the leyline as he pulled the blade free of the scabbard. The metal showed not a hint of rust or wear, and was about the same length as the bastard sword he had been training with. The blade was different, though. Unlike his training sword, which was straight and had a double-edged blade, this one was curved and single-edged. It reminded Jack of the swords he had seen in old Samurai movies. The hilt was just long enough for him to take a comfortable two-handed grip.

"What about this one?" Jack asked as he stared at the pulsing blade.

"That's an Elvenestri sword that I got on an excavation," Farthen said from behind him. The merchant had approached when Jack had retrieved the sword from the barrel. "Thought I could make money selling Elvenestri artifacts, but it seems no one wants to buy the damned things. Lost a ton of money on the deal."

"I'll take it then," Jack said.

"Suit yourself," Farthen said with a shrug before turning back to Garek.

Just then, Mikel appeared beside Jack. "Please, sir," he said, his tone plaintive. "If I'm to find all the clothes and armor you need by tomorrow, I really need to get these measurements."

Jack nodded as he buckled the sword belt around his waist. He rested his hand on the hilt as Mikel resumed his fussing. The weight of the sword felt comforting, almost reassuring.

In a surprisingly short time, they were ready to return to the ship. Farthen assured them that Jack's items and the food they would need for the journey to Panaar would be delivered before midday on the morrow. The merchant escorted them back the way they had come, out of the warehouse and into the store.

Jack almost ran into the Captain when Garek suddenly stopped at the doorway that led into the store. He peered around the doorway and caught his breath at the sight of Kairn, Grelik, and Farthen's two guards kneeling on the floor. Four grim-faced men stood behind them, with a knife held to their prisoner's throats. Three more men stood on their left, and the other three on their right moved quickly to surround the new arrivals. Jack's hand instinctively moved to his sword hilt. He felt calmer when the sword pulsed with the rhythm of the leyline.

"Sorry, Captain," Grelik said, a purple bruise swelling on his temple. "Caught us by surprise."

Garek nodded in response before addressing their assailants. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.

A hooded man stepped out from behind the prisoners and approached Garek. "Captain Liaman of the Arabella," he said. "I am Lieutenant Lasko of the City Watch. The Governor would like to speak to you and your companions."

**********

Most agents of the Vas Dathruun sought promotion with a single-mindedness bordering on fanaticism. Rynech was no different. He didn't plan on spending the rest of his life as the leader of a Succubus unit.




Outlander Ch. 10



Rynech's unit consisted of himself and two female agents. His primary mission was to locate worthy targets, then get them alone with one of his girls so they could perform the succubus blood magic that would bind the target to the girl.

Once bound, the target was compelled to obey the agent in every way, provided the agent kept a fresh supply of the target's semen inside her. Succubus agents were well-trained in the art of sex. Rynech felt no sympathy for his targets, even if they essentially became puppets. After all, they got fantastic sex every few days... until they were no longer useful.

Girls with the magical talent and disposition to become succubi were rare, and Rynech knew better than to waste an agent on just anyone. Snaring a high-value target could lead to advancement. Choosing a target poorly, on the other hand, often led to a demotion, or worse.

He hated this assignment mostly because of the loss of his true form. The transformation itself was painful, but what he despised most was this weak and ugly human shell. He hated the pale skin of his human face. He missed his own red complexion in the mirror, and could not get used to having a smooth forehead where his lustrous black horns should be. Not being able to taste the air with his forked tongue, and having to walk around without the added balance that a tail provided was disconcerting to say the least.

The only thing that made this job bearable was the way human women seemed to find his adopted shape appealing. He rarely had trouble finding one willing to spread her legs. He'd learned that pussy felt just as good packaged in the white or dark skin of human women as it did in the red of a Karokai female.

Rynech liked to troll for potential targets in the taverns located in the Middens. It was a good place to find the occasional nobleman slumming or a politician looking for the embrace of a woman other than his wife's. Men like these were the type that his masters wanted control of, and when the targets were looking for mischief, his agents did their jobs so much more efficiently.

He liked to arrive early and get settled at a good table before the taverns got too busy. A carefully chosen table meant that he could easily scan the customers as they came in. He had picked the Broken Pot for tonight's hunt, but to his dismay, the best table for his purposes was already occupied by a rather large, stupid-looking gentleman with missing front teeth. With a shrug, he led his two agents, Urniri and Belynn, to the table next to the one occupied by the big oafish-looking man.

He sent Urniri to the bar for drinks and watched her appreciatively as she returned, drawing men's eyes like moths to a flame. Her long, curly red hair framed a lovely face made striking by the green of her eyes. Most men, however, were so mesmerized by her voluptuous breasts that her lovely countenance went mostly under-appreciated.

Belynn was equally beautiful, though she had shorter, dark hair and a lithe, athletic build that promised adventure in the bedroom. Rynech knew that if a man needed to be seduced, then Urniri or Belynn could get the job done.

Urniri bent over as she set their drinks on the table, and her round rear end caught the attention of the big oafish man at the next table. He stopped the incessant muttering that had steadily been irritating Rynech and gaped in silence at her lovely bottom before returning to his drink and his babbling. It seemed even Urniri's ample charms could only temporarily distract him.

"Aramon-damned Outlander," the oaf muttered, and Rynech froze.

It had been less than two weeks since Rynech had been instructed through the blood stone to keep an ear out for any talk of an Outlander. He hadn't even known what an Outlander was at the time. He'd been unaware that a human prophecy foretold of an Outlander helping them defeat Karak's children.

As luck would have it, the big man, whose name Rynech learned was Monch, was just dying to unload his grievances on a sympathetic ear. With the offer of a drink and a good look at Urniri's cleavage, Monch welcomed them to his table.

By the time Rynech ordered their third round of ale, Monch had regaled them with the fantastical tale of the evil Outlander and how he had poisoned the crew of the Arabella against the heroic Monch. In bitter tones, he described how the whole crew, who were once his admirers, had turned against him because only he could see the true malevolence that lurked beneath the skin of the fiendish Outlander.

Rynech was practically shivering with glee. Surely getting an agent close to the Outlander himself would be worthy of advancement. Monch had been practically drooling on Urniri all night. Rynech was about to give her the signal to proceed when Monch suddenly stiffened and hunkered down to hide his face.

"What is it?" Rynech asked and cast his eyes in the direction Monch had been looking.

"The lad that just came in," Monch said. "He's Sub-Lieutenant Terrell Andales. His father is the first officer on the Arabella. They'll have my innards if they find out I've deserted." He shrank even more as though he could hide behind his mug of ale.

Rynech almost giggled as he watched the young man stride up to the bar and order a drink. He could barely contain his excitement. Surely Karak was smiling upon him this day. An officer was a much better catch than Monch, and here was the son of the first officer to boot. His promotion was all but guaranteed.

"Don't worry, my friend," he said to Monch. "Urniri knows where you can hide until it's safe." He nodded to Urniri, who smirked in acknowledgment.

She slid out of her chair and put herself between Monch and his view of Terell. "You poor man," she cooed as she pulled him close so his head could rest on her breast. She kissed the top of his head. "I will take care of you. Come with me."

Rynech stifled his amusement at the lust and gratitude on Monch's face. Urniri led him out into the street while Terrel was busy downing shots at the bar, oblivious and uncaring as to what was going on behind him.

"He's yours," Rynech said to Belynn indicating the young officer. "Give us a thirty-minute head start, then bring him to us."

"Very well," Belynn said as she cast an appraising eye on her new target. "At least he's pretty."

"If you say so," Rynech replied before getting up to follow Urniri and Monch out into the street.

He followed them at a discreet distance. He watched with some pride as Urniri worked the big man like a professional. She walked near him, letting her hand brush his. Each subtle brush of her body against Monch's side was heightening his excitement, and when Urniri feigned a chill, the big man was all too happy to put his arm around her. Monch was practically in love by the time they traversed the three blocks to the house Rynech had rented.

He waited patiently across the street as Monch kissed and pawed at Urniri outside the door before she led him inside.

After a short wait, Rynech approached the door and quietly slipped inside. He moved silently down the hall toward Urniri's room. He paused when he heard her giggle, then crept up to her partially open door. He peeked inside just in time to see her ease the big man onto the floor, where the lout promptly started snoring.

Urniri quickly closed the hidden compartment on her ring before wiping any remaining dream powder off her finger on Monch's shirt. Amazing stuff, that dream powder. Once inhaled or tasted, the powder rendered its victim instantly unconscious for up to half an hour.

Rynech strode into the room. "Good work," he said.

"Do you really want to waste me on this?" she asked and gestured at Monch's comatose figure with disgust.

"Not if Belynn brings the officer," he answered. "Now help me get this heavy bastard tied up. We don't have much time."

"What are we going to do with him?" Urniri asked.

Rynech smirked. "No use wasting a chicken or a rat when we have all the blood we'll need for the magic right here."

**********

The High Priestess's study seemed quite wondrous to Emma. Rosewood bookshelves carved with intricate thorns and vines lined two whole walls from floor to ceiling. The sculptural details were almost as impressive as the wealth of knowledge contained in the tomes that lined the shelves. In fact, she couldn't recall the last time she'd seen so many books in one place since she quit teaching at the Covenant University.

Even more striking than the books was the life-sized portrait of Virginia Dare that dominated the room from its vantage point above the fireplace. As Emma stood before the portrait in reverence of the great lady, it seemed as though the warmth she felt from the small fire was a blessing washing over her from the founder of the Order herself.

"May God bless you, great lady," Emma whispered. "And may you rest eternally at peace in the arms of Lord Aramon." She made the sign of the rock over her heart.

Outwardly, Emma appeared calm as she waited for the High Priestess to appear, but inside she was very troubled. She strongly disagreed with the way the Covenant house appeared to be run, but lacked the authority to do anything more than what she already had. What's more, the Grand Sorceress could make life very difficult for Emma if she took offense to her meddling.

She would have to tread very carefully. She decided to make her report as duty demanded then excuse herself as quickly as possible. The faster she could get out of here and back to the Arabella the better.

Emma turned from the portrait when Sarafella swept into the room. Behind the Grand Sorceress came the same Adept who had led Emma to the study. The younger woman bore a delicate tea set on a heavy silver platter. Steam and the aroma of freshly brewed tea wafted from the porcelain teapot.

"Grand Sorceress," Emma said before she dropped a curtsy.

"Emma." Sarafella's tone was all business. "It has been a long time. Please sit and share some tea." She gestured toward two floral, cushioned chairs positioned on either side of the small tea table on which the Adept had set the platter.

"Thank you, Grand Sorceress." Emma took the closest chair while Sarafella took the other. It was not lost on Emma that Sarafella did not give her permission to use her first name as custom dictated for witches of their rank in an informal setting.

Neither woman spoke as the Adept set out two cups and carefully poured the hot liquid. Emma sipped the tea and nodded her thanks to the young Adept as the girl stepped back from the table.

"Thank you, Chara," Sarafella said in dismissal. The Adept quickly moved some distance away and stood attentively, ready to refill the their cups as needed.

"I hear there was some excitement at the gate," Sarafella said, eyeing Emma over her cup as she sipped her tea.

"Nothing too serious, Grand Sorceress," Emma answered carefully before sipping her own tea.

"Still, I thank you for your assistance in the matter," Sarafella said with false gratitude. "You know how these young girls can get distracted from their duties."

"You're welcome, Grand Sorceress," Emma said.

Sarafella gave her a cool smile. "Still, I find that whenever someone visits a new place, they should take a little time to see how things are done before taking actions that may upset plans that are in motion."

The words were delivered in polite tones, but Emma clearly heard Sarafella's veiled threat. I don't like you coming in here and throwing your weight around. If you do it again, there will be consequences.

"I understand, Grand Sorceress," Emma said humbly, her head bowed.

"You may call me Sarafella." Having made her point, the Grand Sorceress's tone became more friendly.

"Thank you, Sarafella," Emma said.

"So, tell me. What brings you here, Emma?" she asked.

Emma took a deep breath before speaking. "An Outlander came through the portal on Franeer Island. We have him aboard my husband's ship. I formally request that you send a bird to the Matriarch to inform her that we are in route to Panaar to deliver the Outlander to the King."

Sarafella sat frozen, her teacup raised halfway to her lips. "Is this a jest?" she finally asked.

"It is no jest," Emma said simply.

Sarafella sat stunned. Her mind spun with the possibilities. The long-awaited Outlander was destined to do great things, to be at the center of momentous events. If she attached herself to him in some way, as an advisor perhaps or even as a lover, she could gain immense stature. Thoughts of grandeur whirled in her mind until she noticed that she still held her teacup and hastily set it down.

"Chara," Sarafella called to the attending Adept. "Have a bird sent to the Citadel to inform the Matriarch that the Outlander of prophecy has arrived. Tell her that I will personally deliver him to the King in Panaar."

Emma was startled. "You will be coming with us?" she asked as the Adept hurried out.

"Yes. I and my handmaidens, Chara and Vina." Sarafella said. "You will return to your ship and make preparations for our arrival."

"But what of the Chapter house?" Emma protested. The thought of sharing the ship's small confines with a witch who outranked her was unwelcome.

"Sorceress Elva will see to the Chapter house while I am gone. Now —"

She fell silent as her other handmaiden scurried into the study followed closely by Ava, her two sea dog escorts, and a skinny man with a blue, conical-shaped hat on his head.

"I'm very sorry," the handmaiden said. "They claim it's important."

"It's all right, Vina," Sarafella said. She gestured the young woman aside and focused on Ava. "What is it?"

Ava dropped a quick curtsy to the Grand Sorceress then turned to her mother. "This man has an urgent message from Father and someone named Farthen," she said.

Emma's eyes widened in surprise at the mention of her old friend. She hadn't seen nor spoken to him since she had chosen Garek despite Farthen's confession of love all those years ago. She hadn't known that Garek still visited him whenever they were in Antyor.

"Go ahead," she said with a slight tremor in her voice.

The skinny man shuffled forward, snatched his ridiculous blue hat off his head, and gave an awkward bow. "I was told to tell you that Kron and Piet live on in our hearts so you would know the message came from your husband," he said.

Emma's heart skipped the way it always did at the mention of her dead sons. "Yes, yes," she said, and nodded for him to continue.

"Package compromised. Snake belly threat. Depart tomorrow. Return to the ship." Then after a pause he added, "That was it."

Everyone was silent for a moment until Emma said, "Thank you, good man." She reached for her coin purse.

The messenger held up his hand to stop her. "No need, Sorceress. Farthen sends his regards." With a respectful nod at the Grand Sorceress, the messenger turned and left.

"This changes things," Sarafella said. "We can't allow the Outlander to fall into the hands of the Aramonic Priesthood."

"What are you going to do?" Emma asked.

"Defend him at all costs, of course," she said, then turned to Vina. "Summon everyone to the courtyard. We're going to the docks."

As her handmaiden scurried out of the room, Sarafella quivered in her seat, barely able to contain her excitement. What an eventful day this had turned out to be. There was so much that had to be done to prepare for her departure tomorrow.

Her musings soon returned to her other guest who remained hidden away, and she felt a pang of regret. Her sex moistened at the memory of Relion's tongue on her clit, of his cock slipping into her pussy.

Regretfully, she banished him from her mind. News of the Outlander had ended any chance of an evening of pleasure. She wondered if the Outlander would be pleasing to the eye and if he would be a good lover. She so looked forward to finding out.

**********

Jack stared at the Governor's back with no little trepidation.

After confiscating their weapons, their captors had led them covertly through the back alleys and byways of the city until they reached a side gate that opened to a courtyard filled with men of the City Watch. A short walk through the Governor's castle had taken them to an audience chamber.

They'd been standing in the chamber for some time, while their host paid them no mind. Jack was feeling disconcerted at being ignored. He glanced questioningly at Garek, but the Captain only shrugged.

Kairn and Grelik remained in the hallway outside with the rest of their escort. Only Lieutenant Lasko stood in the chamber with them. He stayed a few paces behind Jack and Garek, with his hand resting on his sword hilt.

Duke Darst Atanris, Governor of Antyor, stood with his hands clasped behind his back as he looked out over the city through the lone window. He was a shade under six feet tall, with close-cropped black hair except for a hint of iron-gray at the temples. He wasn't dressed in finery but wore a brown, wool-blended shirt and breeches designed for practicality over court fashion. Jack got the distinct impression that the bastard sword the Governor wore on his hip was not there just for show, and that the Governor knew how to use it well.

"What am I to do?" the Governor said suddenly. He turned and looked at them.

Jack didn't know what to say so he followed Garek's example and remained silent.

"That is the question that plagues me," he said. "What do I do in the predicament I find myself in?" He pointed at a small table on which lay two small parchments. Both documents were still curled in the shape of the message tubes that the birds had carried them in. "I have two conflicting messages about you from Panaar."

Jack glanced nervously at the small parchments, keenly aware that his fate may hinge on what was written upon them. He had the urge to snatch them up and read them, but it would have been a futile exercise. This world's written language was still indecipherable to him. What do they say? Damn it!

"The first one," the Governor said as though he had heard Jack's thoughts, "is from the King. It says that you, Garek Liaman, are a traitor. You are accused of murdering the gatekeeper and kidnapping the Outlander. It says you are in league with the Karokai and are to be apprehended and turned over to the Swords of Aramon and their Aramonic priest masters."

"And the second?" Garek asked, finally speaking.

"The second is from Chael Dovangi, the Captain of the King's Sentinels."

"What does it say?" Jack asked, unable to contain himself.

The Governor looked startled when Jack spoke and eyed him with an expression that Jack couldn't read. "It says," he answered, "that Chancellor Vallen is using his powers to control the King's mind. Dovangi claims that the King's Sentinels have been replaced and can no longer protect the King. He says that the Aramonic Priests are orchestrating a coup and that our new King is nothing but a figurehead."

"I don't know what's happening in the Capital, but that matches what we have heard from Farthen," Garek said. "And I give you my word, I am no traitor." He delivered that last statement as though daring anyone to dispute him.

"I know who you are Garek Liaman, and I know that King Roadan trusted you," the Governor said as he stared into the distance. "I fought with your sons at Danaab. My own son is buried with yours near there. I know what you've sacrificed in the fight against the Karokai."

The Governor finally turned to face Garek. "I don't believe for a second that you would betray us to the bastards that killed our sons." The two men exchanged a look that only men who have borne such a loss would understand.

"Will you help us then?" Garek asked.

The Governor regarded Garek with an unreadable expression. "There are three thousand Swords of Aramon camped just east of the city," he said. "I have around three hundred City Watchmen to oppose them, but the Watch are peacekeepers, not soldiers."




Outlander Ch. 10



The Governor began to pace as he spoke. "I will start moving the Watch to the docks in plain clothes to avoid raising suspicions. If the Aramonic commander gets even a hint of your presence, they will descend on the docks like a sledgehammer, and we won't be able to hold them off long."

"We plan to set sail by midday tomorrow," Garek said.

"Good, good," the Governor's relief was obvious when he turned to look at them. "Lieutenant Lasko, return these men their weapons."

"Thank you, Governor," Garek said. "We will await your men at the docks." He motioned Jack to follow and turned for the door.

"Wait," the Governor said and strode over to Jack. "You're him? The Outlander?" He already knew, but it was as if he needed confirmation from the Outlander himself.

Jack nodded, unsure what to say. He almost flinched when the Governor suddenly dropped to a knee before him.

"Outlander," the Governor began. "I have prayed to God and Lord Aramon to send you every night since the death of my son. And now my prayers have been answered."

Tears spilled out of his eyes, but his voice didn't waver as he continued speaking. "Know this, Outlander. My sword is yours. I swear it by the blood of my fallen son. I swear it before God and Lord Aramon that when the time comes, I will follow you into hell itself. I will give you my last measure. I will have my vengeance. I will have justice." His voice had risen to a crescendo and his eyes looked to Jack for assurance.

Jack was overwhelmed by the Governor's declaration but knew he had to say something. He placed his hand on the shoulder of the man who still knelt before him and said the only thing he could to offer comfort.

"Justice will be yours," he said solemnly. Jack felt a lump form in his throat at the look of gratitude and devotion on the Governor's face. "Now, stand. We have much to do."

Garek's heart leaped at this small glimpse into the kind of leader Jack could be. A great sense of relief washed over him, and for the first time, he found himself believing that Jack truly was the Outlander of prophecy.

Jack turned to Garek just then, and the Captain felt the command in the Outlander's gaze. At that moment, he too silently pledged his fealty to the Outlander and surrendered his will to the call of destiny. For the prophecy was clear on this point: all would bow before the Outlander or be as wheat to the scythe.

Jack took his weapon when Lasko proffered it. He swung the belt around his waist and caught the opposite end with his hand. "I think it's time I knew the complete truth, Garek," he said.

"Very well, my lord," Garek said, "but can we wait until we get back to the ship? A proper explanation will take awhile."

Jack nodded as he secured the buckle of his sword belt. He set his hand on the pommel and felt the calming pulse of the leyline that seemed to live within the sword. He turned to Kairn and Grelik, who had just joined them after reclaiming their weapons. "We are headed back to the ship," he said. "Keep an eye out for snake bellies."

"Yes, Outlander," they said in unison.

No one, not even Jack, seemed to notice that he was the one giving the orders now.



Outlander Ch. 11



"Another." Terell waved his cup at the barkeep. The light of the lanterns danced in the amber stream of liquid as it flowed from the decanter into his cup.

"There you go," the barkeep said. He waited while Terell fumbled for a copper coin to place on the bar.

As the barkeep walked away, Terell stared at the two drinks in front of him until they merged into one and decided he was drunk. Not only was he drunk but he was also tired. He was tired of being angry. He had tried being angry at Ava, but that didn't last. It was hard to stay angry at someone just for being right. He didn't love her and never had, at least not in a romantic way. He cared about her, and she was beautiful, but she was far too serious-minded for him.

It was their parents' expectations as well as the convenience of proximity that had pushed them together in the first place. Both had felt an obligation to give a relationship a try. If he was honest with himself — and after five drinks he was — the half dozen or so times they had slept together he hadn't felt any more for her than he had felt for the other girls he had bedded.

No, anger wasn't what he felt when he thought of Ava. It was embarrassment. He was ashamed and deeply mortified by how he had behaved when Ava had ended their dalliance. He badly wanted to find a way to undo his irrational actions, to take things back to the way they were when he and Ava had been just friends.

When being mad at Ava failed, he had focused his anger on the Outlander instead. Blaming Jack worked for a little while. It was the Outlander's fault that Ava's affections had waned. It was clear to Terell that Jack had replaced him as the object of Ava's desire. However, not being stupid forced Terell to face the absurdity of being angry at losing the romantic regard of a woman he had no romantic interest in. It was also very hard to hate the Outlander when Jack insisted on behaving like a man worthy of respect.

In the end, the only person Terell was mad at was himself. In fact, he had been furious at himself when he stalked around the ship pretending to be mad at everyone else. He had snapped at crewmen, avoided his mother and father, and had done anything he could to avoid facing the fact that he was acting like a complete ass. The whole thing was exhausting.

He was by nature a light-hearted, carefree lover of life, and with the clarity that comes with inebriation, he resolved that starting now he was letting all the anger and bad feelings go. He would apologize to Ava and hope for the best. He would stop strutting around the Outlander like a man looking for a fight and start behaving like the man he had always been, a man who lived for the joys life had to offer.

Having made the decision, Terell suddenly felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He sighed with relief and took a large gulp from his cup of ale. All he needed now was a comely young woman to celebrate his return to his festive ways.

As if on cue, a young woman stepped up to the bar on his right and waved for the bartender. "Ale," she said when he approached.

Terell eyed the girl and was impressed with what he saw. Her hair was almost as short as a man's but maintained a femininity that surprised him. Her dark, almost ink-black hair hugged her neck close but expanded into softly-curled bangs that framed dark, sculpted eyebrows and eyes of sapphire blue.

He didn't think she was a whore looking for a client. Her blue dress was cut just low enough to show a hint of the tops of her breasts, but it was by no means indecent. Her lips were full and red, but they weren't painted. Also, her cheeks weren't rouged in the way whores were wont to do. As he swept another admiring glance over her bodice, he figured she was there with her husband or lover. He was surprised when she stayed at the bar and sipped her ale rather than returning to a table.

"You're pretty," he slurred and gave her his most winning smile.

The young woman seemed to notice him for the first time when he spoke. She looked him up and down. "So are you," she said, arching a delicate eyebrow at him.

"I'm Terell." He gestured at his own chest, sloshing a bit of ale out of his cup.

"Belynn," she said and smiled at him.

"Where's your man?" Terell, unwilling to believe such a woman was alone, kept waiting for her companion to appear.

"At sea for another month," she said and leaned toward him slightly. She brushed her bangs out of her eyes then casually moved her hand down past her breasts to her lap. His eyes followed the motion down her lithe body and its unspoken promise of pleasure.

He cleared his throat and dragged his eyes back to her face. "The nights must get lonely," he said.

Her mouth turned down in a pout, and her eyes took a forlorn cast. "Oh, they do."

He took another drink of ale and summoned all his drunken charm. "You don't want to be alone tonight, do you?" he asked in what he was sure was his most seductive tone.

"I really don't," she breathed and licked her full lips. His manhood twitched in his breeches.

"Upstairs?" he asked, nodding toward the staircase. He frowned in disappointment when she shook her head.

"My house." She giggled when his smile quickly returned.

"How far is it?" He reached for her, but she slid away and headed for the door.

She looked over her shoulder at him. "Come," she said. "It's not far."

He stumbled in his haste to follow, and his mouth watered at the sight of her swaying bottom as she sashayed out of the tavern. Once outside, he reached for her again, but she giggled and pulled out of his reach. He laughed and pursued her down the dark street lit only by a torch on each street corner. This was a game he knew well.

He quickly caught up to her, grabbed her by the arm, spun her around and pulled her to him. Her body melded to his as though she was designed to fit him alone. She snaked her arms around him and slid her hand up to grab a fist full of his hair. She pulled his head back, denying him when he tried to kiss her. Instead, she ran her tongue from the base of his neck up his throat and over his chin, finally allowing his head to come down until their mouths met.

Terell moaned as her tongue slipped into his mouth. She tasted amazing, like morning dew tinged slightly with the sharp taste of ale. Her silky tongue explored his mouth, causing his heart to quicken and his manhood to lengthen against his leg. He went to press his hardness against her, but she spun out of his arms.

"Do you want me?" She had a playful look on her face as she backed away from him. She ran her hands down her sides and over her hips while she pushed her chest out.

"You know I do," he breathed, his voice laden with desire.

"Then come and get me," she giggled before she turned and ran.

He laughed and staggered after her. He finally caught her when she stopped in front of a medium-sized house. She slipped back into his arms and kissed him with a passion that made his legs tremble.

She broke free of the fiery kiss to look at him. "Are you ready for me, lover?"

"Oh yes," Terell sighed as he looked into her eyes.

She took his hand and led him into the house. Once inside, she pulled him across the living space to the hallway that led to her bedroom. She released him but maintained eye contact as she slowly backed down the hallway, unbuttoning the top button of her dress as she went. He smiled hungrily and followed when she disappeared into the bedroom.

Belynn was already seated at the end of the bed when Terell entered the room. The bedposts were oak pillars that rose five feet from each corner of the bed to support a black lace canopy. She reclined on the bedcovers, propped up by her arms, and smiled invitingly at him. When he strode to her, she rose to her feet, and they collided into an embrace, arms caressing, tongues dancing.

Behind Terell's back, Belynn popped open the hidden compartment on her ring and rubbed her finger in the dream powder concealed within. She pulled her mouth off of Terell's and raised her powder-coated finger to his mouth. He sucked on it eagerly and rolled his tongue around the digit.

With a quick twist, Belynn turned him so that his back was to the bed. When she suddenly pulled away from him, Terell looked at her, confused, as the passion melted off her face and gave way to a look of blank indifference. The room began to rotate faster than a normal drunken spin, and his legs suddenly felt like they couldn't support his weight. His left leg buckled, but he righted himself with great effort.

"What's happening?" he asked. She didn't answer him, only tilted her head to the side and watched him with flat, dead eyes. A dull heaviness descended on him, and as the blackness closed in, she gave him a little shove. He fell back onto the bed and surrendered to the darkness.

**********

Connil Argan had been a good man, once. 

He had started out like most young men who had been tested and found able to access the leylines. He'd been given a choice between the Aramonic Priesthood and the Covenant. Unlike the others, however, Connil had no trouble at all coming to a decision. He was a devout boy, he attended church regularly, and he genuinely cared for the salvation of others. Choosing the Priesthood over the Covenant had been an easy and obvious decision. 

Of course his choice had nothing to do with the rumor that most Warlocks of the Covenant died on the front lines fighting the Karokai. The fact that the Aramonic Priests remained safely under the protection of the Swords of Aramon at Caer Denwyn, the Priesthood's fortress, had not factored into his decision at all.

Caer Denwyn had been built in antiquity by Enec Orodu, the first priest of Aramon. It was said that he had wiped the blood from Lord Aramon's face and had given Him water as He lay chained to the rock. Years later, Enec received a vision from God giving him the sacred tenets on which he had established the order. 

Enec built an outpost on the banks of the mighty Denwyn River and named it Caer Denwyn. As the years passed and the priesthood grew in number and stature, that outpost was repeatedly expanded and fortified. The city that grew around it adopted the name. Caer Denwyn became a city for the devout, a haven for those who wished to live a life of purity, basking in Lord Aramon's light.

It was at Caer Denwyn that Connil learned the true meaning of devotion. He embraced the Priesthood's tenets with all his being and glowed in the knowledge that everlasting salvation would be his. He devoted himself to mastering everything he was taught. He learned and innovated on the methods for using Lord Aramon's Gift. He served with distinction in every office assigned to him by his superiors until that fateful day came when he received a most wondrous offer.

A message had arrived, promoting him to Bishop and inviting him to serve as the Aide to Chancellor Titus Vallen, the leader of the Conclave. The Conclave consisted of the Chancellor and the twelve Cardinals that governed the Priesthood and the Swords of Aramon. As the Chancellor's Aide, Connil would be privy to events and decisions at the highest level. Surely, he was being groomed for greater service, perhaps as a member of the Conclave one day.

Serving as the Aide to the leader of the Conclave did not bring Connil closer to God as he had hoped. To his horror and disgust, he instead found a den of wickedness. It was not the tangible evil of the Karokai that infested the Conclave, but the more insidious malignancy of lust, greed, and corruption.

The Cardinals indulged in every immoral carnal desire known to man. They held secret orgies of the flesh in blatant violation of the Priesthood's tenets. They extorted brothels, gambling establishments, and legitimate businesses alike for protection money. The Swords of Aramon enforced the Conclave's demands without mercy. Any who opposed them was either excoriated as a heretic or was secretly assassinated.

Connil had been outraged when he came to understand the full extent of the Conclave's perversion. Armed with righteousness indignation, he had threatened to expose the Conclave's wickedness to the entire body of the Priesthood. The Chancellor had merely laughed at his threats. 

"Go ahead and try," the Chancellor had said. "You will be dead by the end of the day. A regretful suicide, of course. A letter will be found detailing your involvement in all kinds of wickedness. Poor fellow, you just couldn't live with the guilt." Vallen had smirked at Connil's shocked silence. "And lest you think your own life means nothing, I believe your parents still live in Murkenshire, together with your younger sister and her children."

"H-how do you know that?" Connil had stammered.

"Fool! Did you think we would offer you this position without knowing everything about you?" The Chancellor made no effort to hide his mockery. "It would be a shame if your relatives had to pay for your loose tongue, your niece and nephew especially. Still, if you feel you must, then by all means, go now. Go and tell the Priesthood. Tell them all and suffer my wrath." 

Connil remained standing before the Chancellor, shaken by fear and immobilized by indecision. The Chancellor gave another mocking laugh. "That's what I thought. Perhaps now you will see the wisdom in keeping your mouth shut and doing as you are told. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes, Chancellor," Connil had said, head bowed.

From that time on, without question, Connil did what he was told. At the Chancellor's behest, he ordered raids on businesses that refused to pay. He signed the death warrants of men whose only crime was that of resisting the demands of the Chancellor or the Cardinals. He ordered atrocities in the name of rooting out heretics, but it was all to increase the Conclave's power or to get some local lord to fall in line by killing some of his peasants.

Chancellor Vallen took great pleasure in forcing Connil to attend the frequent orgies held at various locales for the members of the Conclave and their aides. Thou shalt not lie with a woman was the last tenet that Connil had not broken. Connil clung to the idea that if he could just hold on to that one final tenet, then perhaps he could still be forgiven. Perhaps he could somehow find redemption.

He couldn't stop his body's reaction to what happened at these gatherings, though. He stood to the side, but he couldn't ignore the moans of pleasure, the scent of sex that permeated the air, the sight of beautiful women fulfilling every licentious desire of the men in attendance. He slipped deeper into a self-loathing depression until he no longer cared enough to resist. He was already damned, had already committed more atrocities than he could remember. What was one more broken tenet? 

The whore who broke his resolve sat alone on the sofa, surrounded by couples lost in the throes of passion, fucking and sucking with hedonistic glee. She reclined in a languid pose with her legs spread wide. The fingers of her right hand gently stroked her wet slit. He could see the light glisten in the moisture coating her fingers as they slipped between her enflamed nether lips, probing and teasing the pink flesh. 

Her other hand cupped her left breast and alternated between pinching her distended nipple and squeezing the supple mound. Her hair was a rich, chestnut color and was swept all to one side and pulled over her shoulder so that the strands ended on the swell of her right breast, just touching the areola. A large yellow flower was tucked behind her ear, giving her lovely face the illusion of innocence. There was, however, nothing innocent about the smile she gave him when his eyes met hers. The wanton invitation in her dark brown eyes finally pushed him over the edge, and Connil surrendered to his lust.

He approached her, discarding his robes as he went. He was of average height, and the farming muscles of his youth had long faded thanks to the sedentary life of a priest, but he still had a full head of brown hair and hadn't grown corpulent as many priests had. She seemed pleased enough at his appearance and licked her lips when the last of his garments hit the floor to reveal his manhood jutting before him. When he was close enough, she grabbed him by his cock and pulled him on top of her. She guided him straight to her carnal entrance. 

Poised on the edge of surrender, Connil hesitated and looked over at the Chancellor. Vallen sat in a velvet recliner with a whore on each side of his cock running her lips up and down his shaft. He leered knowingly at Connil, his final victory at hand.

Ashamed, Connil turned his eyes back to the whore who gazed up at him questioningly. He answered her by sinking his cock into her as far as it would go. He was unprepared for the luxurious, molten heat of her silky sheath. She squeezed him with her pussy, and the pleasure was too much for the inexperienced Connil. Just seconds after entering her, his cock spasmed and shot a massive jet of cum. He groaned in release as his pent-up desire ejected spurt after spurt into the carnal furnace that was her pussy. 

As his orgasm waned, Connil was immediately overwhelmed by a wave of guilt. Unable to contain his despair, he wept. Over the whore's laughter, he could hear the Chancellor's mocking laugh as well.

When he finally regained his composure, he realized that his cock was still encased in the whore's twat and still as hard as steel. He withdrew his cock halfway then slammed it back into her. He did it again. And again. He fucked her hard. He tried to fuck the guilt away, and by the time he came for the second time she wasn't laughing anymore.

He flipped her over and took her ass, rough and hard, ramming her mercilessly. When he came for the third time, filling her bowels with his seed, it was she who was crying while he laughed the manic laugh of a man with nothing left to lose.

When the Chancellor traveled west to the Capital several years later, Connil went with him. As King Roadan's Advisor, Vallen's ambition grew until it consumed him like a thing alive. He saw a chance to be the ultimate power in Aramoor and naturally turned to his long-suffering aide to help him carry out his plan.

Vallen first tried to control the King's mind, but this proved impossible. The King's will was too strong, and he couldn't be manipulated without destroying his identity. The minds of the young were much more malleable, easier to confound and manipulate with the power. Vallen turned his attention to the King's young son, Damoden, and plotted to remove King Roadan.

At considerable cost, Connil procured a rare, almost unheard of poison from the medicine man of the Nordg barbarian tribe. The barbarian tribes lived in the wastes east of the kingdom's border, and while trade with such heathens carried some risk, the tribes did offer a number of truly unique items. The poison was called the Nectar of Silence, and once consumed, lay dormant until the victim slept, never to wake again. The poison's most valuable property, however, was in the way it left no trace after death. Even a witch imbued with her powers would fail to find evidence of it.

After the King was found dead, Damoden was crowned and assumed the throne. Unaware of the danger and lacking the knowledge of how to defend his mind, the new King quickly fell under Vallen's unnatural influence.

Undeterred by her failure to discern the cause of the King's death, the Sorceress Amalee continued to seek answers to the riddle of the king's demise. When her research turned to poisons, Vallen felt threatened enough to take action. A cudgel to the back of the Sorceress' head, followed by a nasty tumble down the stairs relieved Vallen of the problem.

After Amalee's death, Vallen proceeded to eliminate all influences other than his own. General Forsith had spent the most time with Damoden prior to his father's death. He had trained the boy in swordplay and in the strategies of war. He would likely be the first to notice any change in Damoden's behavior. 




Outlander Ch. 11



Before any suspicions arose, Vallen convinced the beguiled King to order Forsith to the northern front to assume command of the armies defending the border. It was an unusual order, but it was plausible that a fearful young ruler would turn to his most trusted general and childhood teacher to protect him from the Karokai.

With the General out of the way, Vallen's next move was to get his own men around the King in place of the Sentinels. The King's Sentinels, especially Captain Chael Dovangi, were said to be incorruptible. Vallen knew it would be foolish to try, and as it turned out, a simple decree was all that was needed to replace the Sentinels with the Swords of Aramon. The King's Chamberlain, Lord Kardigan, raised such an outcry at this decree that it gave Vallen the opportunity to remove him and the Sentinels in one fell swoop. 

In a matter of months, Vallen had manipulated and murdered his way to become the power behind the throne of Aramoor. Now his attention turned to the final disposal of those who were foolish enough or strong enough to mount a resistance.

"Are you sure this is wise?" Connil asked as he fingered the edge of the paper that was Lord Kardigan's death warrant. He and the Chancellor were seated at a table in the Chancellor's study, where they met daily to advance Vallen's power plays. 

Connil knew that throwing Lord Kardigan in the dungeon was one thing, but a public execution by hanging was something else entirely. He raised his gaze to look at the Chancellor. "You can't expect Captain Dovangi and his confederates to stand idly by."

"On the contrary, I fully expect Dovangi to attempt a rescue." The Chancellor smiled at Connil's look of surprise. "I want him to publicly show his treachery so we can remove him once and for all."

Connil frowned. "Why the elaborate plan? Why not just have the King proclaim him a traitor the way you did the Chamberlain?"

Vallen gave Connil a look of contempt. "You have a commoner's grasp of politics, Connil. I fear you will never become a Cardinal and join the Conclave." He shook his head as though disappointed.

Connil shrugged off the insult. The Chancellor loved to show off his brilliance at political machinations and could not resist any opportunity to explain his strategy. Connil hid his smile when, as if on cue, the Chancellor cleared his throat to continue. 

"The court nobles will accept Lord Kardigan's execution because he isn't truly one of them," the Chancellor said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "He's just a trumped-up commoner raised to prominence by the old King because they fought battles together in their youth. The nobility never fully accepted him.

"Captain Dovangi, on the other hand, is the third son of Count Archibald Dovangi, Lord of the Eastern Dells. We will need the rest of the nobility to support us if we make an enemy of such a powerful man. Captain Dovangi must first be proved a traitor in their eyes or we face open rebellion."

Connil wondered if Vallen did anything other than plot. It seemed as though the Chancellor always knew what everyone would do before they did it. Connil begrudgingly respected the man's thoroughness if nothing else.

With the question answered, Connil shuffled through the remaining death warrants. One was for a farmer who had smashed his neighbor's head in with a rock because the neighbor's goats kept escaping their pen and eating the flowers in the garden of the farmer's wife. Connil signed the warrant without hesitation; the fate of a murderous farmer was of no consequence. 

The next warrant, however, gave him pause.

"Are we really going to hang a fourteen-year-old boy for stealing pastries?" he scanned the warrant for the boy's name. "Tomas Nald, a message boy for the King's Keeper of Birds."

"He assaulted one of the Swords," Vallen said, using the shorter term for the Swords of Aramon.

"He stomped on the man's toe whilst trying to get away," Connil said, exasperated by the silliness of it.

"These people must be taught a lesson!" Vallen raised his voice and pounded his fist on the table. "Any assault on one of us will be punished most severely." Spittle flew from his mouth. "I grow tired of your opposition to every decision I make. Have you forgotten that your family's welfare hinges upon your cooperation?"

At Vallen's open threat, Connil's deep-seated bitterness boiled and rose to the surface. "Even after all these years, you still throw that in my face." His next words came recklessly in his anger. "Why me, Chancellor? Of all the Priests you could have chosen to be your Aide, why did you choose me? I was a true believer. Surely you could have found someone base and despicable like yourself."

Vallen laughed the full-throated laugh of true mirth. "You still don't understand, do you? There were plenty of corrupt Priests I could have chosen, but I wanted to take something pure and taint it. I wanted to take your beautiful faith and destroy it. I wanted to take your salvation and corrupt you into damnation." The Chancellor gave him a gloating smirk. "That is true power, Connil. That is why I chose you."

Vallen's words slapped Connil in the face like a physical blow. The Chancellor had used him like a plaything, had ruined his life for no other reason than a sick, depraved desire to prove he had the power to corrupt anyone, even a devout priest. 

A knock sounded at the door, interrupting his stunned silence. "Come," Connil called, his voice unsteady.

A clerk opened the door and came in. "D-dispatches, Bishop," he stammered, sensing the tension between the two men. The clerk quickly shoved the small stack of parchments into Connil's outstretched hand and beat a hasty retreat out of the room.

"Anything of import?" Vallen asked, indicating the dispatches and allowing the subject to change.

Connil shook himself and flipped through the various pages and envelopes. "Standard reports," he said as he continued to skim through them. 

He hesitated when he came across a tattered parchment folded in half, addressed to him and sealed with the unbroken wax seal of the Murkenshire Magistrate. It was odd that his father's seal wasn't on the letter, but it had been so long since he had news of his home and family that he put it out of his mind. He quickly slid the parchment into the stack of dispatches before the Chancellor could see it.

"You will let me know if anything needs my attention," Vallen said. "Now, if there is nothing else, I have other matters to attend to."

Connil gathered up his notes and dispatches then left the Chancellor to his business. Once in the hallway, he hurried to his quarters, scurrying along at an almost undignified pace. He was eager to hear how his mother and father were doing. Had his little sister and her husband added one more child to their brood? He wasn't sure the old farmhouse could house more additions to the family without forcing his parents to move out to the shed. He chuckled at the thought.

Once in his room, he lit his desk candle with a flick of the power and sat down to read. He broke the seal with trembling fingers, surprised that he still found joy in hearing of their mundane lives. He frowned when he saw how short the scrawled note was. His joy turned to ashes in his mouth as he read.

Bishop Connil Argan,

The Office of the Magistrate of Murkenshire District regrets to inform you that a fire consumed your family's farmhouse on the third night after spring planting day. There were no survivors. 

An investigation conducted by the constable has determined that the fire was most likely an accident. 

In recognition of your status as the sole surviving heir of Abel Argan, this office will be transferring ownership of his properties and moneys to you. Final disposition of the estate will be decided upon once you contact this office. You have our deepest condolences.

Harven Kanter, Magistrate

The letter fell from Connil's numb fingers and slid off the desk onto the floor. He stared blankly at the flickering candle flame as the words no survivors sank in. 

First one tear then another spilled out of his eyes and slid down his cheeks. His family was gone. His father, whose stern but loving hands had taught a young Connil right from wrong; his mother, who had been so proud of her son the Priest; his sister, who had worn her cornsilk hair in pigtails when he'd left, and had grown into a lovely young woman with a fine husband who loved her; his nieces and nephews who would never grow up to have children of their own. They were all gone, consumed by unforgiving flames. The floodgates opened, and he wept.

A sudden thought turned his grief to horror. Now that his family was with Lord Aramon, would they know of the things he had done? Would they learn of the lives he had destroyed, the men he had ordered killed, all in the name of keeping them safe? When he faced judgment, would his family stand behind Lord Aramon and cast looks of aspersion on him? The thought was unbearable, and he wailed in ignominious agony.

With a sudden clarity, he saw the irony of the situation. He had damned his own soul to save them from death only to have them die anyway. Not by some nefarious means, but by an accidental fire. His wails turned to deranged laughter, and crazed guffaws came from him until his stomach muscles hurt. "It was all for nothing," he choked out between peels of manic hilarity.

On the heels of that thought came another realization. With the death of his family, Chancellor Vallen's hold on him was gone. He never had to obey Vallen again. His mind whirled, and it felt as if a great, suffocating weight had been lifted from him. He felt light as air, as if suddenly released from a vise that had been constricting his chest for a decade. He was finally free. A great sense of relief washed over him, only to be overpowered by a crushing guilt for feeling deliverance at his family's death. His emotions swung between grief, amusement, anger, and guilt until he finally collapsed onto his bed in exhaustion. 

As he lay on his cot, drained and on the edge of sleep, he tried to pray for the first time in years. He prayed for Lord Aramon to shelter the souls of his family. He prayed that the Lord would protect them from the shame he had brought upon them, for the mockery he had made of his priestly vows. 

He knew better than to pray for himself. It would be a futile exercise. There could be no forgiveness or redemption, not for the likes of him. It was far too late for that. 

Connil Argan may have been a good man once, but that man was long gone.

When he finally drifted into a restless slumber, Connil dreamed of the day he would kill Chancellor Titus Vallen. 

**********

Terell tried to open his eyes, but his lids, heavy as lead, had ideas of their own and settled back down. A moment later, he tried again with more success. A black, gossamer cloud floated in front of him like a curtain of ebony smoke. He blinked and tried to force his eyes to focus on the floating darkness. 

He reached out for the ethereal black veil, curious as to what it was and why it was blocking his path. He frowned when his hand halted with a metallic clank after having moved only a few inches. He lolled his head to the side and peered at the iron manacle around his wrist. A wave of dizziness threatened to empty his stomach as his brain reoriented itself. He wasn't upright; instead, he lay on his back on a large four-poster bed. The dark cloud above him was a canopy of black lace supported by the tall, oak bedposts.

The black, iron links of the chain that ran from the manacle glistened as though recently oiled. Terell's gaze followed the links to a rusty, iron ring fixed to the bedpost. He didn't understand why someone would oil the chain and not the ring. That was just complacency. He would find the sailor responsible and give him a good dressing-down.

He tried to sit up only to fail. He turned his head and saw that his other wrist was likewise bound to another post, holding him down. Something wasn't right here. He shook his head and fought to clear his mind, to pierce the fog that dulled his cognizance. Slowly, ever so slowly, the understanding that being bound was not a good thing clawed its way into his consciousness. A knot of alarm formed in his gut then shot along his nerves, gaining force until it reached his brain as full-blown panic. He convulsed, thrashed, kicked out in fear only to cry out in pain as shackles cut into his flesh and bruised the bones of his ankles. He raised his head and looked down at his throbbing ankles and gasped when he saw that someone had removed all his clothes before chaining each of his limbs to a bed post.

"Don't struggle. You'll only hurt yourself," Belynn said.

Terell flinched at the sight of her standing at the end of the bed. It was as if she had appeared between one blink of his eyes and the next. She stood there, her blue dress complementing her sapphire eyes as she gazed at his nakedness with cold indifference. One hand absently fingered the top, unfastened button of her dress.

"Belynn!" Her name suddenly came to him. "Help me," his voice was frantic.

She tilted her head slightly. There was something chilling about the gesture, something that reminded Terell of the way a serpent held itself poised to strike, confident that its prey was incapable of escape. With horrible certainty, he realized she was his captor and not his rescuer.

"You drugged me," he said as the memory of their encounter returned.

"I did."

"Why?"

"Because I was told to," she answered, her tone matter-of-fact.

"You don't have to do this, Belynn. I think we both really felt something for each other. We could run away together, start a new life," he cajoled.

She laughed. "You gonna make me your lady? Take me away from this horrible life? Love me and father children upon me?" Her voice was tinged with bitterness. "I think not."

"Fuck!" He yelled in frustration. "Let me go, you bitch!" He jerked his arms taut against the chains and thrust his torso toward her as far as his restraints would allow.

Someone snorted derisively, and Terell suddenly became aware of others in the room. A man stood near the bed on Terell's left. He wore a look of mild amusement on his face. His intense, brown eyes were merry, and the corners of his mouth were turned up slightly. His hair was the shade of sand, and his clothes were the common, brown tunic and trousers worn by the masses. Unlike the typical commoner, however, the man clothes were clean and neat, as though they'd been chosen for show rather than utility.

Next to the man, in a sturdy-looking chair of weathered wood banded with iron, sat Monch. Terell's eyes widened in recognition. Monch was bare from the waist up. A mat of coarse brown hair covered his chest and bulging abdomen. His arms and legs were securely bound to the chair with ropes of hemp. A woman's scarf was tied around his head and wedged in his mouth, forcing his jaws open to display the gap where his front teeth used to be. Monch didn't try to speak through the gag, just stared at Terell with helpless eyes.

"Who the fuck are you?" Terell demanded of the smiling man. His fear had given way to reckless anger.

The man ignored him and instead shifted his gaze across the bed. "Urniri, get the lust powder."

Terell followed the man's gaze, rolling his head to the right to take in the visage of the voluptuous red-haired girl. She stared down at him with green eyes that gleamed with a cruelty that seemed out of place on her lovely face.

"Ah, Rynech," she whined as she reached out and grabbed Terell's flaccid cock in a rough grip. She grinned as Terell hissed in discomfort. "Are you sure he'll need it?"

"Just do it," Rynech snapped, irritated by her failure to instantly obey.

Urniri waited three heartbeats then gave Terell's cock a cruel twist before she flung it against his leg, allowing him to gasp in relief. She turned and sauntered to a mahogany escritoire butted up against the wall. She opened a drawer and removed a small porcelain container and a tiny silver spoon before returning to Terell's side.

"For God's sake, cover me with something," Terell barked to anyone who would listen.

"I'm afraid not," Rynech said and nodded at Belynn.

Belynn inhaled slowly then exhaled. "All right then." She unfastened two more buttons on her dress then pulled the blue material off her shoulders, allowing the dress to slide to the floor. The fabric pooled around her feet, the folds of blue giving her the appearance of a goddess rising from cerulean waves.

Terell gaped at her nudity. Her breasts weren't large or small but perfectly proportioned to her lithe body. The soft flesh stood out proudly before her as though defying the existence of gravity. Her nipples were puffy and a rose pink color that begged to be suckled. Her flat stomach and taut belly button paved the way to a silky patch of black curls. The gentle, ebony swirls drew his gaze, hinting at the treasure hidden below. Normally, the sight of such sensual beauty would have thrilled him, but now, here, arousal was the farthest thing from his mind.

"W-w-what are you doing?" Terell could not look away from Belynn's exquisite form.

"She's going to fuck you, stupid," Urniri said, a manic gleam of anticipation in her eyes.

"You people are crazy," Terell yelled. "I demand you release me and my shipmate at once—"

Rynech leaped forward and grabbed Terell by the chin with one hand and the top of his head with the other. He nodded at Urniri, who scooped some of the lust powder out of the porcelain jar with the tiny spoon. She quickly positioned the powder-filled spoon just below Terell's nose, hovering near his nostrils.

"Snort it," Rynech ordered.

"Fuck you!" Terell struggled to turn his head away from the drug, but Rynech's grip on his head was like iron.

Urniri placed her other hand over Terell's mouth to keep him from breathing through it. He held his breath as long as he could but eventually sucked in much-needed air through his nose, inhaling the lust powder with it. Rynech released him immediately.

The powder burned like fire deep in his nasal cavities. Terell shook his head and fought the sensation to sneeze. He let out a breath when the burning finally eased. "What did you give me?"

"You'll see." Urniri laughed as she walked over to Belynn and unceremoniously thrust her hand between Belynn's legs. "Dry, Belynn?" she scoffed as she stepped away from the other woman. "Someone doesn't enjoy her work. I'm wet. Maybe I should take him."

"He's mine," Belynn hissed at the other woman and glared at her. "I caught him."

"Fine." Urniri shrugged, held a scoopful of the lust powder up to Belynn's nose then eyed her with a smirk. Without breaking eye contact, Belynn snorted the drug deep into her sinuses.

"This is a madhouse. You people are truly insane," Terell cried. Without warning, a warm sensation swept through him as the drug began to take effect. His heart started to race, his legs began to tremble, and his cock stiffened until it was as hard as it had ever been.

Belynn watched as Terell's manhood grew rigid and waited for the drug to hit her as well. After a moment, she felt the rush of the intoxicant wash over her. Her sex tingled as it grew moist and before long, she was swollen and dripping wet. 

Her drug-induced arousal did nothing to calm her nerves. Belynn had trained for this for years, had studied with the masters of her craft until she could perform the techniques flawlessly. She had strengthened the muscles of her pussy until she could milk the cum out of any man alive. She had practiced hundreds of times with artificial cocks of all sizes. She was ready, but this was her first real man and beneath her calm exterior, she was terrified.




Outlander Ch. 11



Terell could only see a goddess of passion. He was mistaken when he'd thought her serpentine earlier. She was feline, if anything, in her grace as she stepped out of the pooled blue dress and crawled onto the bed. He knew intellectually that his desire for her was fueled by the drug but that thought was immaterial. He wanted, no, needed to be inside her so badly that he pulled on the manacles binding his wrists and arched his hips toward her, straining irrationally to get his cock closer to her.

Belynn, too, felt the almost overwhelming desire to impale herself on him, but she had used the drug in training many times and had a greater understanding of its effects. She looked calm and controlled as she moved to straddle him. Her soft hand reached down and took hold of his swollen member. She was mildly surprised at the heat of it and the way it throbbed in time to the thuds of his heart.

She placed his engorged head at her entrance and her enflamed labia nestled around it in a welcoming embrace. She slowly lowered herself inch by inch until he was fully seated inside her. "Karak," she breathed, unaware that the sensation had elicited a verbal response.

She looked down at Terell's face and was shocked to see the wonder in his eyes. He looked like a man glimpsing nirvana after a lifetime of suffering. She hastily looked away and focused on the headboard. It would be foolish to focus on how beautiful this man was and how he felt so much better than the artificial cocks used in training. She had a job to do.

She hadn't moved since sheathing him and he wriggled beneath her, his impatience palpable. Her training kicked in and she began the technique known as Petal on the Wind. Terell gasped as she quickly fell into the sensuous thrusts and rhythmic squeezes prescribed by this basic technique.

Terell was in awe of her. The way she bit her lip in concentration as she rode him, the way her breasts with their puffy nipples swayed, and the way her pussy grasped and fluttered on his cock as she moved was unlike anything he had ever felt before. He wanted so badly to caress her, to pull her close and kiss her until she felt the same wonder that he felt.

Belynn relaxed into the rhythm of the form and didn't realize she was letting out small gasps of pleasure. So engrossed was she in the wash of sensation that she had failed to notice that Urniri and Rynech had begun the chant in old Karokai, the chant of the succubus. When their voices finally broke through the haze of pleasure, she realized the ritual had begun. She switched forms mid-stroke to the more complex Lily on the Pond.

"Oh, God." Terell moaned when Belynn suddenly altered her rhythm. She was grinding and squeezing his cock in ways he had never experienced. Her pussy seemed to grow hotter and wetter. The intense pleasure, along with the gentle sighs emitted by this most beautiful woman, completely distracted him from the guttural chanting of his captors.

He didn't notice when the room's shadows lengthened, when the light grew dim as though unable to hold the darkness at bay. He failed to see Rynech push the chair that held Monch against the bed, or the panic in the sailor's eyes as Rynech pulled a knife with a serrated blade from its sheath. 

Belynn's years of training allowed her to see the subtle hints that Terell was nearing his finish. The change in the timber of his moans, the urgency of his hips as he attempted to thrust up at her, the widening of his eyes, and the flutter of the veins in his neck told her that it was time. She changed forms once again to Thorn of the Rose, the technique designed to elicit the most powerful of eruptions from her target.

Terell was mindless with pleasure. A deep-seated pressure built, pulsed, and yearned to escape from him. When Belynn changed her movements yet again, it became a pleasure that could not be contained, a pressure that could not be denied. It crested from within, and he came with such force that his vision darkened around the edges. "Oh, Belynn," he cried out as his semen erupted into her, his cock pulsing, filling her molten pussy. His legs trembled and jerked from the intensity of his release.

"Oh, I can feel it." Belynn moaned as his warm cum gushed into her, filling her with a pleasurable sensation that her instructors hadn't prepared her for. She suddenly remembered her duty and looked over at Rynech to find him standing behind Monch, still chanting. "Now!"

Rynech pulled Monch's head up by the hair and dragged the serrated blade across his throat. Monch's eyes widened in pain then panic as a hot spray of blood showered down on Terell and Belynn. His fingers scrabbled on the arms of the chair and his feet kicked in futility against his restraints as his life's blood pulsed out of the gaping wound. His eyes darted around looking for help that would never come then slowly closed.

Terell, still in the throes of his orgasm, flinched when Monch's blood sprayed them, covering them in crimson droplets like some kind of macabre rain. He recoiled in horror, but he couldn't stop the biological imperative that was his orgasm.

Then the blood magic took hold and Terell knew pain like he never imagined. The blood was lava. It was fire. It was acid. It burned him, seared him and Belynn both. He joined her in a scream that tore his throat raw. All the while, his cock continued to deposit his seed deep within her.

The looming shadows around the room seemed to coalesce until it completely swallowed all light. Rynech and Urniri's chanting reached a crescendo until the darkness seemed to explode and the light returned.

The pain evaporated as the darkness receded, and Belynn collapsed on Terell's chest. He felt something like a net settle on his mind and he knew that he belonged to the woman who lay panting above him. He cooed to her reassuringly as she rested her head on his shoulder.

"You are mine," she whispered to him.

He wanted to touch her. "Release me," he begged Rynech and rattled a manacle at him.

Rynech laughed and complied. As soon as Terell's hand was free, he began gently stroking Belynn's hair. She murmured at his touch then pushed herself back up. Only then did Terell realize that whatever magic they had performed had absorbed all the blood. Everything – the bed, the room, their skin – was completely devoid of blood. Monch's corpse looked like a dried-up husk, his face frozen in a rictus of horror. 

He was also keenly aware that his cock was still deep inside Belynn. He knew he should be horrified at what had happened to Monch but the only thing that mattered was the soft, feminine warmth of Belynn's body and the heavenly flesh of her pussy wrapped around his cock, still hard from the lust powder. He suddenly thrust up with his hips, and she yelped in surprise.

Rynech laughed. "Get off of him, Belynn. I have questions for him, and we have to figure out how to get you accepted by his friends and family."

Belynn rose up until Terell's manhood slipped from her, and if she regretted the loss, it didn't show on her face. She stepped back into her dress as Rynech freed Terell from the remaining manacles then pointed him to his clothes piled neatly in the corner.

Terell wanted to wrap his hands around Rynech's throat and choke the life out of him, to dig his fingers into the soft flesh until the villain's windpipe collapsed, but he knew Belynn wouldn't want that. He looked at her and she nodded at his clothes.

Rynech waited until Terell was dressed before speaking again. "Now, tell me everything there is to know about you, your father, your captain, and the Outlander."

Terell didn't want to answer, didn't want to betray his friends or the Outlander. He knew from the dark magic he had witnessed that Belynn, Rynech, and Urniri were servants of Karak. He shook his head in defiance. He wouldn't tell them anything. Aramon help him, he wouldn't. 

"Tell him," Belynn commanded.

He opened his mouth to tell them both to go to hell and was shocked by the words that came from his lips. "We were docked at Franeer Island..."

**********

Author's note: Please take the time to vote and leave a comment. Your votes and comments are my only reward for this endeavor and are greatly appreciated. I also want to thank my editor JilliB. I'm not sure what I would do without her.



Outlander Ch. 12



"Status?" Garek asked Ithos as he strode onto the deck of the Arabella. Jack, Kairn, and Grelik hurried across the gangplank behind him. The two sea dogs nodded to the Captain before taking their leave.

"Go now, lad. And hurry back," Ithos said to Charuk. The young man took off like a shot across the gangplank and quickly disappeared into the city. Ithos turned to Garek with a scowl on his face. "Repairs are underway, Captain. I have runners scouring the city, trying to get the rest of the crew back on board."

"Excellent. Have my wife and the others returned yet?" A hint of concern wormed its way into the Captain's voice.

"Not yet," Ithos said. "And might I ask what in the bloody hell is going on? Here I was thinking we had a week or more in port, and now all hell has broken loose. I don't see how in the name of all that is holy you expect me to get the ship fixed in a day." If anything, the scowl on Ithos' face deepened further. "Even if I have the crew work through the night, the damage caused by that dog's knob-licking Drebin and his damnable black ship can't be fully repaired."

"Peace, my friend," Garek said. "Just do the best you can. We sail tomorrow whatever shape we're in. It seems we are wanted men." Garek filled Ithos in on everything they had learned from Farthen and the Governor.

"Karak's hairy ballsack," Ithos cursed. "We have really stepped in it this time. Aramon-damned snake bellies. Ain't good for a plowing thing other than causing misery." The first mate spat a gob of spit over the rail. 

Movement in the square in front of the Arabella's berth caught his eye. The promised men of the City Watch were beginning to trickle in. He turned to Garek. "Half the crew is still unaccounted for, including my son."

Garek started to respond, but Jack spoke first. "We won't leave without him," he said firmly.

Ithos gave Jack an intent stare with his one piercing blue eye, noting the Elvenestri sword that now hung at his side. There was something different about the Outlander, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He gave an abrupt nod of acknowledgment at Jack's reassurance before his attention shifted over Jack's shoulder to the pier behind him. "Here comes your wife," he said to Garek.

Garek and Jack both turned in time to see Emma, Ava, and several others striding across the dock. A small cluster of women, perhaps six or seven in number, trailed along behind them. Their silk, floral-colored dresses looked out of place on the rough docks, like swans floating on the surface of a murky swamp.

Emma stopped just short of the gangplank and rounded on the women. "Spread out. Try to blend in." Her tone made it clear she was irritated by their presence. The young women awkwardly fanned out around the square.

She turned away from them and led her small procession across the gangplank onto the ship. The frown on her face softened to a gentle smile when she saw her husband. She was just about to greet him when Aiden rushed past her to scoop his father into a massive hug. 

"Alright, alright." Garek laughed and returned his son's embrace, his feet dangling six inches above the deck. "I love you too, son."

Aiden spun Garek in a full circle before depositing him back onto the deck. Garek staggered a step before he regained his footing. Aiden stared at his father expectantly, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet like a child expecting a treat.

Garek didn't disappoint. With a small smile on his face, he produced a pewter figurine from his pocket. It was a tiny knight brandishing a sword and shield, painted with enamel to resemble a knight of the King's army. Aiden sucked in a breath and took the small figure reverently from his father. He took a few steps away and sat cross-legged on the deck. They all watched as Aiden produced the leather pouch that held his small collection of toys and began to play.

Jack fought the lump that formed in his throat and blinked away the sudden tears that threatened. The tragedies that have befallen the Liamans would have broken the spirit of most families. Jack didn't know how Garek and Emma found the strength to carry on after the death of their two sons, not when they were reminded of their loss every time they saw Aiden and how his injuries had reduced his mind to that of a child. Ava had not only lost her brothers but also had to bear witness to the suffering of her parents. Viviane, a vibrant young woman who should be enjoying the love of a virile young husband, had instead been forced by fate into an almost unthinkable circumstance.

"What is that all about?" Garek's question to Emma pulled Jack back from his thoughts. He followed Garek's gaze to the young women on the docks trying with little success to blend in with the usual port crowd.

Emma harrumphed. "Protection, if you can believe it. Though how one Witch, a few Adepts, and some Acolytes are supposed to stop fully-trained Aramonic priests is beyond me."

"What?" Garek asked.

"Oh, it gets better," Emma continued. "The rest of them will be here in the morning, including a Grand Sorceress who is determined to make my life as difficult as she possibly can."

"Wait, slow down, and tell me what you're talking about," Garek said.

Emma took a deep breath and visibly calmed herself. She explained the events that had transpired at the Covenant Chapter house, ending her tale with the news that the Grand Sorceresses intended to accompany them to Panaar.

"It'll be all right," Garek reassured his wife as he pulled her into an embrace.

"I know." Emma heaved a sigh and laid her head on Garek's chest. "I just don't like some other woman coming on my ship and ordering my people about." 

"Your ship?" He chuckled and gave her a squeeze before gently pushing her to an arm's length so he could look at her face. His mood turned serious, and he motioned Ava and Viviane to step closer. 

"I have some bad news." Garek's expression darkened. "King Roadan is dead."

Viviane gasped. "Uncle Ro is dead?" She clutched her chest and began to cry. Ava managed to overcome her own shock to take the grieving woman into her arms.

"What happened?" Emma asked, her own grief evident in her unsteady voice. King Roadan had been a benefactor and friend. They loved him like family, and his death was one more loss after so many that had come before.

"All I know is he died in his sleep. We will find out more when we get to the capital."

"Yes, we will," Emma said, a determined look on her face. "I will confer with Amalee—"

"My love," Garek interrupted. "Amalee is dead as well."

Emma gasped. "My God, has the world gone mad?"

"There's more," Garek said. "Damoden may be in trouble. I'll explain everything," he added quickly when it looked like Emma was about to interrupt. "But we should all move to our quarters first." The deck of the ship was not the place for them to grieve. 

Garek waited until the women had urged Aiden to get up and head below deck before turning to Jack. "I know I promised to expl—"

"No, my friend," Jack interrupted. "Go be with your family. They need you right now. There'll be time for the other stuff later."

Garek clasped Jack's arm and conveyed his thanks with a look before following his family below deck.

Left to himself, Jack looked up and saw that the smaller of the two moons was already visible in the failing light. He turned the other way and looked west, out to sea. The sun, so much like his own in size and color, was dipping below the horizon. It was curious how the sun rose in the east and set in the west the way it did in his own world. He wondered if the similarity was a coincidence or all part of God's cosmic plan.

"Quite a sight, isn't it?" Ithos asked. He had moved up to stand beside Jack, joining him as he admired the sunset. 

"It is." There was no denying the beauty of the waning light as it reflected off the sea in hues of orange and red.

"That sword looks good on you," Ithos said. "Don't see many Elvenestri blades anymore, but it's almost like it belongs to you."

Jack set his hand on the pommel and felt the reassuring thrum of the leyline. He too felt that the sword belonged to him and was eager to talk to Emma about the sword's strange connection to the power of the leylines. Until that opportunity arrived, however, other things needed his attention. 

"Is there anything I can do to help with the repairs?" he asked the First Mate.

Ithos grunted and motioned Jack to follow him. Together, they crossed the gangplank onto the dock then walked along the pier that ran parallel to the ship. A wooden contraption had been hastily erected. It was bolted down to the pier and extended out behind the ship to function as a scaffold that hovered just below the damaged area of the hull. Men could stand on the platform and work without having to hang off the back of the vessel.

"We're at a standstill," Ithos explained the lack of workmen. "As you can see, we've removed all the damaged planks." He motioned towards the neat rectangular hole where a jagged, splintered maw had been. "This area is concave and our oak planks," he gestured to the neatly stacked planks sitting on the pier, "are straight and stiff. Normally, we would steam the planks until they were pliable enough to bend, but that takes time that we no longer have. I was going to ask Emma if she or Ava could help, but..." he shrugged.

"What about one of them?" Jack asked and nodded toward the Covenant witches meandering around the dock.

"Worth a try," Ithos agreed. The two men walked back up the pier to the dockside. They approached two young women who were quietly conversing beneath a newly-lit street lamp. 

"Excuse me," Ithos said politely. "Might we have a word?"

The two women turned, and Jack saw that the pair was actually a woman in her mid-twenties and a girl who may have been all of sixteen or seventeen. 

"Yes?" the older woman asked. The purple diadem that lay on her forehead was held in place by a silver chain woven through her wavy, dark brown hair. The purple stone signified her rank as a full Witch. She was quite tall for a woman and stood eye-to-eye with Jack and Ithos. Her dress was purple as well and loose-fitting at the bodice. The design covered her demurely all the way up to her neck. She seemed mildly annoyed at having been disturbed.

Jack looked at Ithos and shrugged before speaking. "We're performing some repairs and wondered if one of you would be willing to help us mold some wooden planks so they can fit—"

"We're quite busy," she interrupted, already turning away.

The younger girl shot them a quick look before stopping the older woman. "Rhean, I could help them if—" 

"Quiet, Bethany," Rhean snapped. The younger girl flushed at the reprimand. "We've been tasked to protect the Outlander, not to perform common labor for men too lazy to do their own work." Her tone allowed no room for argument.

Ithos and Jack glanced at each other and raised their eyebrows at her abrupt demeanor. 

"You hear that, Outlander?" Ithos smirked. "She's too busy protecting you to give aid when you ask for it. Maybe you should stop being so lazy."

"I guess so." Jack shrugged and turned to leave.

"Wait! You're the Outlander?" Rhean blurted.

"I am." Jack glanced back at her. "Thank you for your time."

"Hold on," she spluttered. "I would be glad to help you in any way I can."

Jack turned back to the two women. Rhean was flustered, her face red with mortification. Bethany looked like she was trying to hide her amusement. She was a head shorter than Rhean and her hair a lighter shade of brown. It was parted in the middle and pulled into two loose braids that hung over her shoulders and rested on her collarbones. A few strands escaped the braids and framed her pretty face as they fell half a hand below her jawline. Her blue eyes sparkled at the other woman's plight. 

"In that case, you can help me by letting me borrow Acolyte Bethany for a little while." Jack winked at Bethany so that Rhean couldn't see. The young girl's lips turned up in a smile, and a blush turned her cheeks a rosy pink.

"But I can—"

"No, please, don't trouble yourself," Jack cut her off. "Acolyte Bethany will do nicely, and I will be sure to let Sorceress Emma know how helpful you were." Jack put his hand on Bethany's elbow and guided her away. Ithos followed them, leaving Rhean standing there with a horrified look on her face.

Bethany couldn't suppress a giggle as the three of them walked down the pier. "I hope she doesn't get into too much trouble. She's my big sister, after all," she said.

"Oh, I really wasn't planning to say anything to the Sorceress," Jack smiled at Bethany's relieved expression. "Your sister is safe."

"Outlander, you have a devious streak." Ithos laughed. "Remind me never to cross you."

The three of them laughed as they walked towards the back of the ship. Night had fallen by then, so Ithos called for torches to be set up around the work area. It wasn't ideal to work by flickering torch light, and normally they would have waited for daylight, but they had little choice given their plans to set sail in the morning.

Jack and Bethany climbed onto the scaffolding and waited while Ithos assigned a sailor to pass planks up to Jack as he called for them.

"No need for nails," Bethany said when Ithos tried to hand them a hammer and a canvas bag of nails. "I will fuse the wood together. Trust me, it'll be much stronger than if we use nails," she added at Ithos' doubtful look.

"Seems like she knows what she's about," Jack said. He didn't see the way she beamed at him when he supported her.

Ithos shrugged and motioned the sailor to hand a plank up to Jack. Jack hefted it into place in the lower corner of the opening in the damaged hull. 

Bethany moved past him, brushing against his back on the narrow scaffold. She placed her hands against the wood and opened herself to Lord Aramon's Gift. Jack watched the ethereal power flow into her and suffuse her with light. 

He observed closely as the tendrils of power flowed out of her and into the wood. The wood of the plank and the hull of the ship seemed to ripple and lose their solidity before the edges coalesced into a sturdy joint.

She moved a foot to the left and once more sent her power into the wood. Jack tried but eventually had to give up trying to understand the flows that she weaved to bend the plank so it would match the shape of the hull. 

Jack had very little to do other than fit each new plank for its initial joining. After that, he just stood back and watched Bethany work. Ithos only stayed long enough to watch Bethany attach the second plank before leaving them to it. As the night wore on, they worked their way up until the hole was more than half-filled. Jack continued to periodically compliment Bethany on her skill, and if she went out of her way to brush against him as they worked, he didn't notice.

Both moons were high in the sky when Ithos's wife, Betta, and one of her helpers brought hot tea and sandwiches for them. Their arrival could not have been better timed. Bethany had a sheen of sweat on her forehead, and her breath was becoming more labored. She clearly needed a break. Using the power was apparently more taxing than Jack had thought.

"Any word on Terell yet?" Jack asked Betta.

"Not yet," she said with a quick shake of the head. "I'm sure he'll be along shortly." 

Jack could hear the concern in her voice despite her optimistic words. "Of course he will," he reassured her.

She smiled her thanks. "When you're done with your tea, you can leave your cups on this." She set a platter on a crate next to the stack of planks. "I'll send someone along to pick it up later." With a final nod, she and her helper left them to their meal.

Jack and Bethany sat side by side on the scaffold, their feet hanging over the water as they sipped tea and munched on their sandwiches. Jack listened as Bethany talked about her life. She and her sister had grown up in the Eastern Dells, the only daughters of spice merchants. Their mother and father had been so proud when both their daughters were found to have the gift. Bethany had not been thrilled when she'd been sent to Antyor for training instead of the Citadel. Apparently having her big sister in charge of her wasn't ideal. She felt that Rhean was much harder on her than the other Acolytes and railed at the unfairness of it all. Jack smiled as the girl prattled on, amused at the exuberance of teenagers; he could only vaguely recall being one. 

Jack yawned. It was getting late and if he didn't get moving he was liable to fall asleep right where he sat. Bethany, with the limitless energy of the young, didn't seem sleepy at all. The same couldn't be said of the sailor that had been handing them the planks. After finishing his sandwich, the young man had curled up on the pier and fallen asleep. Jack nudged Bethany with his elbow and pointed at the snoring sailor.

"Shall we wake him?" she giggled.

"No, let him sleep," Jack said. "I think I can get the planks up here by myself." Jack took their teacups with him as he descended to the pier and set them on the platter Emma had left. He hefted a plank and slid it onto the scaffold by Bethany's feet. He climbed back up beside her and picked up the plank. "See?" he said. "Easy."

Bethany laughed and set her hand on Jack's forearm, but his attention had already turned back to the task. He fit the board into place and nodded to her that he was ready. Her gaze lingered for a moment on the muscles in his forearms and the way the moonlight played on them as he held the board up. She quickly moved to the task before Jack could notice her scrutiny.

Once again he watched her as, suffused with power, she manipulated the flows of magic into the wood. He could see the wood change, see the plank surrender to her will, but he couldn't understand how she knew what to do to make the wood behave the way she wanted. 

Curiosity finally got the better of him. "How do you do that?"

"What do you mean?" she asked absently without losing her focus on what she was doing.

"I mean, I can see the flows, but how do you know that moving them like that will make the wood adhere?"

She paused, her figure still glowing with Lord Aramon's gift, and looked at him. "You can see the flows?"

"I can."

"I didn't know you could wield," she said, giving him an appraising look

"I can't yet," he said. As she resumed working on the plank, he explained how Emma believed he could and how he had been unsuccessful so far in his efforts.

"You have to have faith," she said.

Jack laughed. "That's exactly what Emma told me."

"You should listen to the Sorceress," Bethany admonished him, her smile taking any bite out of the words. "To answer your question," she continued, "I visualize what I want the wood to do, then I just feel what I need to do as I move the flows of power into the wood. I don't know any other way to explain it. I just know when it's right." She reached the end of the plank and turned to face him.

Jack looked perplexed. "I guess it's just one of those things you have to feel for yourself before it makes sense."

Bethany bit her lip and hesitated a moment. "There's a way you can feel what I am doing as I wield," she said slowly, her tone almost shy. 

"Really? How?"

"I could link with you," she blurted out. "Then you can feel what it is like to wield yourself. It may help you find a way to wield alone."

Jack thought a moment. Maybe feeling how someone else handled the power would lead to a breakthrough. He wondered why Emma hadn't thought of it. "Will it hurt?" he asked.

"No, silly," she laughed.

"All right then. Let's give it a try."

She held her hand out toward him. "It helps if we hold hands while I establish the link." He clasped her hand as she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and slowly exhaled.




Outlander Ch. 12



Jack could see the lines of power as they flowed into him. He felt a warm rush over his body, and she was suddenly there in his head. In an instant, he knew why Emma had never offered to link with him. He could sense everything she was feeling and knew that she could feel his emotions as well. It was an intimate connection, something you might share with a lover, but only if you had nothing to hide.

He could feel that she was slightly ashamed for leading him into this, but she had wanted him to know how she felt about him. He realized then that she had developed a crush on him. He had listened to her, praised her, supported her, and now she believed that she might be in love with him.

"I'm not a child," she said defiantly, having felt his initial reaction to the revelation.

"No, you're not," he said with care. "But you're young – too young for me and I'm..."

"Broken," she finished for him. She could feel his pain through their link. "Your heart is broken." Tears spilled out of her eyes.

He used his free hand to gently wipe her tears from her cheeks. "Bethany, you are a beautiful girl. Trust me when I say that a fine, young man will come along one day, and he will love you so much that you won't even remember me. I'm not for you, Bethany. You can see that, can't you?"

"No, no," she shook her head in denial. "I can save you. Just let me love you and I can heal your pain. I can make your heart whole again." She sobbed and Jack couldn't tell if it was from his heartache or hers.

He shook his head and looked away, unable to reject her while her pleading eyes looked into his. "You can't," he said softly and gave her a sad smile. "I'm not sure anyone can." 

He suddenly thought of Ava and all the turmoil and confusion she stirred in him.

Bethany's eyes widened. "You think she can," she accused. She recoiled from him and dropped his hand. A thin line of light continued to link them despite the loss of a physical connection.

Jack was overwhelmed by his thoughts and feelings about Ava. He remembered the rush he'd felt when she'd kissed him and the hollow feeling he was left with when she pulled away. He could remember how she smelled, the sound of her voice, the way he felt when she said his name, the fear that if he gave himself to her, she could destroy whatever was left of him. The tangled rush of memory and emotions came to the surface in an instant as though pulled from him against his will. "Stop it, Bethany," he commanded. "Let me go!"

He staggered when she broke the link and only a quick grab at the scaffolding kept him from tumbling into the water below. The line of power that had connected them faded into the darkness.

"I'm sorry," she said as she backed away. "I'm so sorry." 

She turned to flee and froze. Ava stood on the pier a few feet away regarding them silently in the flickering light of the torches. Even in the dim light, Jack could see her eyes were red and puffy, a sign of the grief she and her family were enduring. Bethany sucked in a shocked breath and gave Ava a horrified look before she ran down the pier in tears.

Jack watched her go and sighed. He felt bad about hurting her feelings, but he was certain she would recover and some day find a young man worthy of her. She was a remarkable young woman and he wished he'd had the chance to tell her that before things went bad.

Jack turned to Ava and found her standing alone, waiting for him to acknowledge her presence. After his feelings for her had been so abruptly dragged to the surface, the sight of her looking forlorn and lost made him long to go to her, to comfort her. He took a fortifying breath and fought the urge. She would only hurt him in the end just like Barbara had. 

"How much of that did you see?" he asked sharply, hoping she hadn't realized that Bethany had been talking about her. 

Ava had seen enough. She had seen the Acolyte offer herself to Jack only to be turned away. She'd felt a momentary pang of jealousy when she'd realized that the girl had linked to Jack – something she knew he would never have allowed had he known what it entailed. The idea of a woman other than herself sharing such a personal connection with him was intolerable. She'd been pleased when Jack had turned down the Acolyte's affections. 

She frowned. Now he was barking at her again. The man frustrated her to no end, not only in the way his treatment of her changed moment to moment, but in the way her own emotions became less than reliable when she was in his presence. 

She chose to ignore his question and the sharpness of his tone. "Jack, can we talk?" she asked.

He nodded but looked wary. Ava saw how quickly he moved to the other end of the scaffold when she climbed onto it. She wondered if he would step back and fall right into the harbor if she moved too quickly towards him.

A tense silence fell between them and Ava sighed. She was still reeling from the news of King Roadan's death. She had loved the King like an uncle, and her grief was still raw. Then there was the possibility that King Damoden would be in need of rescue. Despite all the news that her father had shared, Ava had promised herself she would tell Jack how she felt about him before they left Antyor. With their departure set for tomorrow, now seemed the best time.

"Look, things have been complicated between us ever since you came on board." She paused as though searching for the right words. "Then we kissed, and I slapped you, but that was only because you said you had a wife," she said all in a rush. "Then my mother said maybe that part of your life was over..." she trailed off but continued after an awkward pause. "I tried to talk to you after that, but you wouldn't even look at me. The way you avoided me, it was like you hated me. But sometimes I would catch you looking at me. I don't know what all of this means, but I guess what I really want to know is," she took a breath and steeled her resolve, "do you want me?"

He flinched at her question. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Because, I really want you to want me," she said and knew instantly it was a mistake.

The blood drained from his face and he grimaced in anger. "You want me to want you?" he repeated, incredulous. "Why? So you can take whatever's left of me and then betray me?" Bitterness dripped from his voice like venom.

"Is that what she did to you?" she asked softly, her voice filled with compassion.

He gaped at her, his anger deserting him as quickly as it had risen. "Just go, Ava," he said wearily and turned away from her to face the sea. "Go, and leave me alone."

"No, Jack. I—"

"I said, leave me be, woman," he snarled over his shoulder at her.

She regarded him coolly. "I'm not her, Jack. And I'm not that Acolyte either. You can't run me off with a sharp word."

He rounded on her. "What do you want from me?"

"I want to know why!" she snapped at him, her temper flaring. 

"Why what?"

"I want to know why it's you I dream of at night when I've been pursued by men far younger, richer, and better looking than you. I want to know why when you turn away from me, I want to follow you and beg for your attention. Why do I want to be your woman when you are the most pig-headed, stubborn man I have ever come across?" She threw her hands up in frustration. "I'm in love with you Jack, but you've made it abundantly clear that you don't want me, and I want to know why." Her eyes filled, and tears spilled out to stream down her face, her anger replaced with vulnerability. "Why don't you want me?"

"You think I don't want you?" he whispered. "Ava, I loved my wife. I loved her completely, and she wrecked me. She ripped my heart out, hurt me so bad that I didn't care if I lived or died. Then I met you, and against my will," he paused, "against all reason I found myself caring for you. I get up every day, and the only thing that keeps me going is that I might catch a glimpse of you or hear your voice." He snorted in self-disgust. "I want you, Ava. I want you so badly I'm going out of my mind, and that's why I can't give in and let myself love you."

"I – I don't understand," she said.

"You're just like Barbara, more beautiful than a man like me could possibly deserve. Sooner or later, a better man will come along, and you'll realize that I'm not what you want."

"No, I wouldn–" she tried to deny his words.

"No, don't you get it? If I love you, I'll love you with everything I am. If you betrayed me..." He shook his head. "No, no, I can't go through that again. I won't."

"Oh, Jack," she whispered and tried to embrace him.

He grasped the rail of the scaffold and shrank back from her, his other arm raised with his palm out as though trying to ward off a physical blow. "Please," he said in a last effort to keep her at bay.

Ava refused to be denied. She grabbed his outstretched hand in both of hers and brought it to her lips. She kissed his rough palm for a long heartbeat before pushing his hand aside and stepping right up to him.

His arms, seemingly with a mind of their own, engulfed her and pulled her body to his. The muscles of his arms and chest were corded with tension, yet he held her inside that tempest with a gentle tenderness. It was as though she were safe in the eye of a hurricane even as a storm raged all around her.

She waited until he met her eyes with his own haunted gaze then reached up to cup his face with both hands. "I'll never betray you," she whispered the promise. Her hands slid down to his shoulders as she stood on tiptoes to brush her lips against his. 

Jack groaned and surrendered to her kiss. Her lips, though soft and pliant, were searching, probing for acceptance. His muscles relaxed, and all tension drained away as he kissed her back tentatively, soft and unsure. 

She could taste tears on their lips, and she wasn't sure if they were his or hers. Her tongue licked softly along the crevice where his lips met. His lips opened slightly in response, and his own tongue caressed hers before pushing into her mouth. Emboldened by his response, she sucked lightly on his tongue before rolling her own around his as he explored her mouth. His soft moans made her smile as she explored his mouth in return.

Ava could feel her heart racing. She luxuriated in the feel of his strong arms as they moved up and down her back, the movements urgent and sensual. His right hand drifted lower, fingers splayed, to caress the lowest part of her back while his left hand moved up her side to lightly brush the side of her breast. She sucked in a breath at the feathery touch, and her nipples hardened. She pushed herself against him, pressing her breasts against his chest, wanting him to feel her taut nipples and know how much she wanted him. 

Jack groaned and slid his hand down the outside of her leg to grab her behind the knee. He pulled her leg up along his thigh as far as her dress would permit and tilted his hips against her. She gasped as she felt his manhood, hard and demanding, pressing into her through his breeches. Her sex moistened in response to his cock grinding into her.

She wanted him. She wanted him so badly that her legs trembled at the thought of him inside her, making her his with every thrust. She broke their kiss and caught her breath. "Take me to bed, Jack," she whispered as she slowly backed away.

Jack's own breathing was labored as he took a step forward only to stop with a frown. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

She stopped backing away when he didn't follow. "I want to be yours, more than anything in this life," she assured him.

"I'm old enough to be your father," he protested.

She stepped towards him and molded their bodies together as she placed her cheek against his. "Then I bet there's a lot you can teach me," she said softly into his ear. His manhood throbbed against her and she slid her hand over it, only to stare incredulously when he pulled away.

"Wait," he said. "If you truly want to be with me then we have to do this right."

Ava was trying to be patient, but this was becoming annoying. "Jack, I'm pretty sure we were doing it right."

He snorted. "Not what I meant, smart-ass."

She laughed. "Then what do you mean?"

"If I understand your customs correctly, a man who respects the lady he wishes to court must first seek the blessing of her father."

"Who told you that?" she asked, slightly peeved yet flattered by his regard for her.

"I learn things listening to the sailors talk," he said as he pulled her back into his embrace. "Besides, it's been a really long day for both of us, and we still have to finish fixing this damned hole." He looked up at the damaged hull. It would take another six or seven planks to complete the repairs.

"Oh, all right," she said with a pout. The disappointment of having to wait to make love with him warred with the contentment of finally being in his arms. She sighed and laid her head on his chest.

They stood with their arms wrapped around each other in silence. Jack held her tenderly, waiting until their ardor cooled and their breathing returned to normal before pulling away from her reluctantly. 

"We better get this done if we want to get any sleep tonight." He checked the location of the moons and calculated it would be sunup in about four hours. He was starting to feel washed out from the lack of sleep.

He stepped down to the pier to get a plank just as one of Betta's helpers arrived to get the tea tray. 

"Outlander," the man acknowledged Jack in a jarring voice that echoed against the hull. It was the kind of loud voice that some people were born with, which made them incapable of quiet conversation no matter how hard they tried.

The sailor that had been sleeping next to the stacked planks jerked awake at the sound of the other man's voice. He sat up and looked blearily around. "Sorry, Outlander." He scrambled to his feet. "Must have dozed off." 

"Don't worry about it," Jack said. He was glad the sailor had slept through him and Ava kissing. They'd been so caught up in one another that they'd forgotten about him.

The loud-voiced sailor collected the tray and empty teacups and had the good graces to look abashed as he made his way back up the pier.

Jack climbed back onto the scaffold and motioned for the remaining sailor to hand him a plank. If the sailor noticed that Ava had replaced Bethany, he kept it to himself.

Together, the three of them fell into a rhythm and finished sealing the hole in less than two hours. Ava seemed to manipulate the wood even more efficiently than Bethany had. Though he watched carefully as she wielded the flows, he couldn't tell if it was affinity or experience that made Ava's work more efficient.

"Good work. Go, and get some sleep." Jack thanked the sailor when they were done. The other man gave a weary salute before walking away to seek his bed. 

Jack turned to Ava. "Can I walk you to your room?"

"Of course," she smiled.

Jack was keenly aware of Ava as they walked side by side down the pier. His hand brushed softly against hers, and he had to resist the urge to openly hold her hand. Only a few sailors were up at this hour, and the sea dogs on guard paid them no mind as they walked up the gangplank. Jack was astonished that his feelings for the beautiful witch at his side were not instantly obvious to all who saw them. 

When they reached the door to her cabin, she turned to face him and looked at him expectantly. 

Jack shuffled his feet. It was torture to have to walk away from her when it was clear that she wanted him to stay. "Well, goodnight," he blurted at last and turned away before he lost his resolve.

"Wait, Jack." Ava grabbed his hand and pulled him into her arms. What little was left of Jack's self-control dissolved and his mouth sought hers. She responded to the passion and urgency in his kiss with equal fire. 

Ava gasped when Jack pushed her back until she was trapped between him and the wall behind her. She shuddered as the length of his body molded to her. She could feel the strength of his desire in every muscle that trembled against her.

Jack was in turmoil. It was almost morning, and he was bone weary, but the feel of Ava's body yielding to his fueled him with a fire he hadn't felt since he was young. Her soft, willing lips on his, her silken tongue teasing him, her breasts pressing into his chest had his manhood hard and straining against his breeches. He pressed his cock against her through their clothes and she responded by moaning and caressing his calf with her own.

With great effort, she pulled her lips away from his. "Jack," she breathed.

His mouth, newly freed from her kiss, found her neck.

"Oh," she trembled as he licked and nibbled at the sensitive skin. "That feels so good." Ava felt like she was melting into a puddle of pure need. Her pussy throbbed for him, demanding and desperate. "Jack," she pleaded, "either take me to bed or stop. You can't keep doing this to me."

Jack didn't want to stop. Ava tasted like heaven to him. He'd been drowning, and she was air. She felt like Christmas morning to him and the first day of spring rolled into one. She was a cool salve and a fiery passion that somehow worked together to flood his senses with a desire for her that he couldn't define, couldn't quantify. 

It would be so easy to take her now, make love to her until the sun came up. He fought the temptation and just barely stopped himself from acting on it. He wouldn't take her like a thief. He would show her and her father the courtesy they deserved according to their customs. 

Jack sighed. Being honorable sucked. He took a small step backwards to create some space between them and held her back when she would have stepped forward. He gave her a gentle, lingering kiss to reassure her, but it was a chaste kiss that was meant to allow their passion to subside. 

"Sorry," he said at last, still working to get his breathing under control.

Ava was disappointed. Her body cried out to be taken and she craved Jack with a need that was almost painful. But as her passion subsided, she had to admit that she was thrilled Jack cared enough to want to speak to her father first to initiate an official courtship. It was a courtesy that Terell had never bothered with. 

"When do you plan to speak to my father?" she asked.

"As soon as I can," he said. He touched his forehead to hers.

"Make it soon." She brushed her lips against his.

"What do you think he'll say?" 

"It doesn't matter," she said with a smile. "I mean to have you." She kissed him a little more forcefully to make her point.

He took another quick step back from her but couldn't look away from her beautiful green eyes. "My God, woman, you make it hard to leave."

Then don't. Ava just stopped herself from saying the words. "I'll still be here tomorrow," she said instead.

He nodded and moved a little farther away. "Good night," he said again.

"I think it's almost morning."

"Yeah, I gotta get a few hours of sleep, or I'll be completely worthless tomorrow," he laughed and backed down the hallway.

"Good night, Jack," she said. She gave him one last look, then opened the door and slipped into her room.

Ava closed the door then leaned her back against it. She let out a deep breath. She felt like screaming, dancing, crying, and laughing all at the same time. She was in love, and her man loved her in return.

Jack turned away when her door closed with a soft click. He made his way down the hall, feeling light, like he was walking on a cloud of air. He was in a daze fueled in equal parts by euphoria and exhaustion.

Tonight's events had taken him completely by surprise. He still wasn't sure exactly how this had happened. He'd tried so hard, but somehow Ava had breached every defense he had thrown up, smashed every barrier between her and his heart. In the months since he had boarded the Arabella, he'd seen her strength of character, delighted in her intelligence, and admired her grace under pressure. The palpable physical attraction he felt for her only grew when he tried to keep his distance. 




Outlander Ch. 12



He had thought he would never love again after Barbara's betrayal. And while it was a mystery to him that he could love Ava at all, he couldn't deny that what he felt for the fiery Adept half his age was every bit as strong as anything he had ever felt for his wife.

Once in his room, Jack collapsed on his bed, his lack of rest finally getting the best of him. As he lay on his back, he pondered how best to tell Garek of his desire to court his daughter. To say he was apprehensive about the Captain's reaction would be an understatement.

If I had a daughter, I wouldn't want a man like me for her either, Jack thought. But he had promised Ava. He'd known that his promise had meant something from the way her gaze had softened when he'd insisted on honoring her people's customs. And she loved him. Surely that would mean something to the Captain. The thought of Ava's eyes shining with her love for him, of the way her sensuous body responded to his, filled him with an excited eagerness that overruled any uncertainty. 

For months, he'd been existing in a stupor like a man sleep-walking through the motions of life. Now, he felt something that he hadn't truly felt since the day he had discovered Barbara's treachery. Despite his weariness, the realization made him smile. 

"I feel alive," he murmured just before sleep claimed him. 

***********

Author's note: Hey everyone, thanks for reading. My only reward for this endeavor is your votes and comments so please take a quick second to vote and if the mood strikes, leave a comment! I also want to thank my editor, JillieB for being awesome as usual.