Lyer & Aluraios | Captured
Lyer groaned, turning his face away from the dim glow that permanated his closed eyelids. "'Rios, close the damn shutters." he murmured, his lips strangely dry and his tongue flicked out through pointed teeth to wet them. The sudden movements made a sharp pain crack through his head and he winced inwardly, moving more slowly to look in the other direction, only to be faced by the same muted light flickering against his eyelids.
He tossed his head restlessly, trying to gather up his thoughts; this obviously wasn't the Wooden Key, the bed was in the shadows there all day, and their room in Dak's Holm only had one window. He let out a low groan as the ache in his temples increased from thinking. He let his head drop between his chest feeling his hair brush his ears and coldness on his neck.
For a few moments he was pushed back to his younger years when he always wore his hair short before he was changed. But that was over 300 years ago, his mind whispered to him, why... He pushed the sudden confusion to one side, only to have the feeling of strangeness intensify as loud voices caught his hearing and he wondered at how he'd missed the raucous cheering and shouting that surrounded wherever he was. His thoughts climaxed as his mind stuggled and failed to fit the situation into a rational explanation.
Forcing his eyes open in a panic they adjusted immediately to the dim light, and he blessed the god for the few good things about his species. The light was being damped by thick canvas walls, rotten in parts, but weatherproof enough to form a shelter. Outside shadows passed between the tent wall and the firelight that danced over them, and it was a tent, Lyer realised, a sparse, bare tent with nothing except himself and an attempt at bedding for him, a pile of hay beneath him cushioned him slightly, pricking him with the rough stalks. That was another good thing about being a vampire, he thought dryly, his skin wasn't so easily damaged as a human's.
A twinge of pain came again, but this time he could pinpoint it, and turned his head to look at the long slim arrow protruding from his forearm. The red and blue fletching that trimmed the end trembled at his motion and more violently at the soft gasp he let out. The skin was already attempting to heal, but, Lyer noticed in a dull shock, the shaft was wooden, and as well as preventing healing, it would also be slowly poisoning him to death.
He reached over to pull the wood out, steeling himself for the pain, his instincts screaming at him that he had to give himself a chance for survival, but was pulled up short by manacles digging deeply into his wrists. Realisation dawned fully as his position became apparent. Chains from the strong metal ceiling poles held his arms slightly raised and up, away from his body, and his feet were held by deeply set spikes in the earth.
Stretching out his mage senses in a panic, his face was still set in his vampiric features and only pure willpower preventing him from following the killing instincts, running and destroying would only alert the camp The strong wards on the tent quickly became evident and he closed his eyes in defeat, his minor talents would never break through the obviously Mage-Lord set shields. If he ever got the chance to try breaking through them that was. His arm twinged again and he ignored it, suprised he'd lasted this long with the wood. How long had it been anyway? The question overrode the thoughts that darted around his brain like firebugs, burning with their unintelligible words. Memory returned.
Distant half-heard voices as if through a mist rang in his pain filled head from where it'd hit the ground. His arm aflame with pain from changing with one wing pierced by an enemy arrow, the muscles and bones twisted by the alien object. Then blurred faces staring down at him and his voice a distant whimper, "'Rios? Ekata?" and watching dispassionatly as he raised a hand to the blackness trying to reach fr the shadows, only to be knocked away with a harsh laugh.
"Hey, Se'rik, looks like we've caught ourselves a sunperson."
Sunperson? His scrambled thoughts tried to collect themselves in the present, But it was night... Glancing up at the chains he allowed himself a small tight smile grateful for their lack of knowledge about the hawken species, what would they assumed sunfolk could be held like human, and hold sunfolk wasn't nessaccarily strong enough to hold any vampire, especially one who could shapeshift. A glimmer of hope entered him, displacing other memories threatening to slip across his mind, but before he could summon the strength to pull the chains down, and probably the whole tent in the process, a small rational part of his mind noted wryly, seeing how securely they were fastened to the posts, a sound at the door disrupted his already scattered thoughts.
Forcing his vampiric survival instincts back as they threatened to get out of control and finally managing to retract his fangs and let his face drop back to human resemblance, he closed his eyes, physically relaxing his body into a false sleep, grateful for his hard and long fought for control.
"The haircut don't improve the looks, still a pretty boy ain't he?" the gruff voice scraped across his ears, tinged with a rough mountain accent that he couldn't quite place, the language seeming stiffly unnatural in his mouth.
Haircut? Lyer thought frantically, the early feel of air on his neck suddenly mixing with how light his head felt. They cut my hair? Aluraios won't be happy...
The thought of his lover was a violent ice cold shove out of his hopeless spiral and into the focused and more rational attitude that was hidden behind his usually gentle and romantic personality. Aluraios... 'Rios... He thought, the golden eyes dancing on his eyelids in their many guises, their seductive glance, their annoyed fire, that loving gaze in the morning and night... He needed to get free, for all of them, Ydora who was like a daughter to them now, Ekata the potential flame-master who'd risked her status and life to follow them, to stop her kind, her lord, from breaking the laws they'd set down all those years ago, and Aluraios who he simply couldn't imagine life without. The rememberance of the grey feather tucked in the bottom of his pack where his partner wouldn't find it made tears attempt to form at the corner of his eyes, but he denied himself that relief, focusing back on the conversation in front of him.
"Maybe he needs a bit more off, eh?" A hand tugged at the now short locks, then trailed over his nose before moveing to stroke and pull the hand on his injured arm, causing an involantary wince to form on Lyer's face as he struggled to move the fingers which his torn muscles had rendered useless. "The nose'd mar pretty's beauty, or maybe a finger or two, hey? But, it looks like our little captive has awoken." His voice turned to a sneer as he kicked Lyer's thigh with a metal tipped boot.
Deciding that it was probably best to own up to being awake, the vampire let out a soft groan as he opened his eyes, the increasing pain of the skin trying to heal around the arrow and the new bruise not leaving much to pretend. He blinked open his eyes, calling up old memories to help him look like his eyes were still adjusting to the darkness while he looked over the two figures.
Both were dressed in dirt encrusted furs, the slightly taller one in the thick Upper Regis bear and snow-cat skins, and the smaller yet more muscular one in the thiner Lower Ariot fox intermingled with the deep thick wool and leather of their herd beasts. A black stubble beard was growing on the smaller man's chin, while the other had a long brown beard with what looked like old food and dirty bedding emeshed in it sweeping his bronze coloured chestplate. Both men wore rudimentry armour that looked beaten and at least third hand to Lyer's sharp eyes as he picked out dents and scratches among the beaten-in mismatched patches that were older than any soldier hoped to live.
The sashes over their shoulder were also different, both depicting a large hunting cat, but while one was emblazoned with a crude coarse woven black shape that looked more like a ground-hare to Lyer's artistic senses than a running feline, the other was in a much finer, almost a lady's weave of a proud cat sitting upright against the sun. It also looked like someone had used a lapcat for their model. He stored the knowledge away carefully, if he ever got out of here the fact that this army had no united symbol and was made up of many different tribes could be useful. He puzzled for a second over how anyone could get the mountain tribes to join together in anything other than the usual battles that occured between them, but dismissed the thought as the men stared down at him, obviously waiting for some reaction as one dug his boot into his side sharply.
Let's start with the obvious, Lyer thought, finding yet anothing thing to be grateful for, the fact that he'd been around a sunperson for the past eight years meant he could probably bluff his way through this interview with his captors. If, when, I get out of this I will spend a month in the first temple to the god I find, he vowed feverently, looking up through still blinking eyes.
"Where am I?" He pitched his voice to a disorientated tone, hoping that his non-existant acting talent could pull this off. If not, he gave himself an inward grin, Aluraios'll never let you hear the end of it. If not, Lyer, his mind added softly, you'll never see Aluraios again.
For a second pain touched him again, running from his arm to his heart in a double reminder of the sitation. Gambling had never been a pasttime of his, but when he looked up through geninue confusion he wished his first throw didn't have such high stakes.
© Clare Selley 2009
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