The Thorian Sagas. 1. The Trader.

After an early breakfast the following morning in an almost empty taproom, they set out again with new horses and a clean carriage.

Those at the Inn had gone over the carriage while they’d slept; cleaning it thoroughly and re-greasing the hubs.

He got the innkeeper’s sons to carry their things down to the carriage as he led Erianne down the stairs, before lifting her easily onto the seat of the carriage to sit with him, and then joined her, before taking the reins from one of the sons, and passing something else back to him to thank him for his efforts.

The lad tried to refuse it, but Stoker wanted none of that, and persuaded him to take it.

The weather had moderated overnight, and the road from Coniston to Crogary-More and beyond, was better maintained than that one leading out of Dorian.

They would pause at Crogary-More, eat, change horses again, and would make it to Torver, the station just outside of the city of Weldon, by that evening.

Stoker knew that with an early start again from Torver, even before first light, they could pick up the tributes from that next city and might be able to make it as far as the central waystation between Weldon and Sinden, before they would have to rest.

There was no discussion about where Erianne would be riding. They had already agreed on that, the evening before. She would be riding up front with him, able to observe the road ahead; see the now open farmland, and she would be able to see for the first time, what went on outside of each of the cities in the rich interval lands.

Erianne asked her questions as they drove.

Sometimes, with her being so close to Stoker; holding onto him and with his dog in her lap she didn’t even need to ask but could just formulate her question. It always seemed to be answered from somewhere. She didn’t try to understand it; there was too much she didn’t know, so she just accepted it.

She remembered moving under that hide near the fire and joining Stoker earlier that morning, needing to be close to him in a way she did not understand, liking the feeling of touching him, having him touch and hold her, with his large hand upon her back or upon her middle, sometimes even without her tunic between them, and pulling her closer to him.

She liked his smell; musty… masculine… his welcoming warmth. She liked everything about him.

He had not objected or sent her back to her own resting place when she had crawled in with him, but had welcomed her.

He had even kissed her.

She had never been kissed before by anyone other than her mother, and it was a very different kind of kiss; containing both a promise… and something she didn’t fully understand that sent her head spinning, and that left her breathless in anticipation, and her heart thumping loudly.

Thumping, almost as strongly and as loudly as his!

She had so much to learn.

She liked the sudden flood of warmth washing over her body when he had done that, and when he had spoken to her, believing that she had been asleep as he had spoken.

She hadn’t been asleep.

Everything she had been led to believe about Thorians and how they forcefully subdued those under their control and mistreated them, had been lies. They were neither cruel nor inconsiderate, but were honest and did not hide the truth. He dealt with her with more kindness and consideration than ever she had enjoyed in her own city, other than from her mother.

She flashed back to a moment in the city, when he had looked pointedly at Councillor Robertshaw, and set her quaking in a panic, just before she’d fainted in terror.

She’d caught that fear, seeing the expression on the councillor’s pale face with her wide-open eyes.

Something had passed between them. Some thought?

Nothing had been spoken.

Then, there had been her mother.

Something similar had happened there, but much more gently, but he’d also spoken aloud to her. After that, she’d sensed that her mother was no longer so concerned for her, but seemed to be thankful; rejoicing... if Erianne had interpreted that look and her mother’s body-language correctly.

What had he conveyed to her mother at that time?

She would ask about those two events when she felt that the time was right.

She was learning all of the time, gradually storing up all of these sensations, interpreting what she saw.

Stoker’s dog was not just a dog, either. It seemed to be a part of him. There were times when they seemed able to converse with each other, sharing some thought as their eyes scanned the landscape, or as they had watched her resting, that previous night.

The only words spoken had been to her, but there were other conversations going on that she had sensed.

There were moments when she seemed to be caught up between the two of them, able to see brief flashes of their thoughts… thoughts she was not supposed to see.

It had something to do with the claw that Stoker had given her and that she held tightly with one hand, while her other was holding onto his belt, to stop being jounced off the seat beside him.

She put all of those thoughts aside and focused upon what she saw; the prosperity; the abundance; the husbandry. And all of it seemed to be under the control of, or with the blessing of the Thorians, who seemed to be everywhere, though not in large numbers.

They changed horses at Crogary-More, after a much faster pace than they had been able to set after leaving Dorian.

This settlement was larger than that of Coniston, and there were more Thorians that she saw, all of whom seemed to notice her, no matter where she was, but then she stood out.

They ate and drank, being waited upon by older women who looked more as she did, as the horses were changed, and the carriage wheels inspected and re-greased, before it was cleaned again.

Stoker had intended to make this his first stop on that previous day from what she’d heard, so they seemed to have lost about four hours or so because of that storm.

“Well, little one, we will make up for our lost time, tomorrow, if the weather holds off. We’ll make it to Torver next, before evening; stay there, and get an early start again in the morning.”

She liked it when he called her, ‘little one’. They were not just words; they conveyed so much more.

There was no question about their arrangements once they got to Torver, where they would stay the night.

Everything was waiting for them again, as though they had been expected.

She bathed as before, requesting that he help her, sensing the pleasure that that simple act seemed to give him, with her standing in the bath or sitting, guiding his hands over her body.

Afterward, she knelt naked in front of him as she asked him to dry her again and to brush out her hair as before.

He was slow and gentle in everything he did, letting his hand trace out her delicate ears and the outline of her eyebrows and then of her face, as she knelt before him, facing him this time, with her hands on his shoulders, letting him see all of her, knowing that it gave him pleasure from what she could sense going on at the edges of his mind as he slowly dried her, hesitating often, wanting to kiss what he was seeing.

There was so much more of her he wanted to touch and even to kiss or mouth at, but he knew that he must not do so. Madness lay there.

His intensity would scare her if he gave in to any of that, though he was allowed to dry her everywhere, and to see everything he so much wanted to see about her.

She did not pull away but insisted that he dry her properly as she continued to talk to him to try and take his mind off what he was doing for her, and what he was feeling for her that set her head spinning in turn

He should have thanked that councillor for this, rather than punishing her as he had.

This time, after they had eaten, and just before they retired, he did allow her to help him bathe.

His dog watched from beside the fire. He knew enough not to intrude into such a delicate operation with so much hanging in the balance.

Stoker could not fit into her bath. He let her undress him; she insisted on doing it for herself, stopping him from helping her. She took each piece of clothing off him in turn as he maneuvered under her direction so that she could undress him slowly as she asked about this or that scar, or just said nothing. As a final act, he transferred his necklace from his neck to hers. She encouraged him to kneel beside the bath on a towel, as she moved around him, scrubbing at his back and over his shoulders with soap, brush, and cloth, then got him to sit back, with her beside him, as she went over his front, from his face to his toes.

He had to close his eyes and accept it all, hoping he did not scare her with the changes in his body.

There were so many questions that she would not dare to ask.

She even did as he had done with her; touching at his face, feeling the stubble growing there.

It must grow very quickly.

She had seen him shave just that morning, spreading soap over his cheeks and neck, before wielding a naked blade down his face and neck, audibly cutting off those hairs, scraping at them; repeating it if needed.

She did not ask his permission, but told him to sit back in front of the fire, even as naked as he was, and did as he had done; spreading soap across his face and his neck, picking up his, ‘razor’, he called it, and began to shave him as she had seen him do.

It was a delicate operation to avoid drawing blood, and she had to be very careful, eventually finding the easiest way; straddling across his legs, pulling her tunic back from her knees to avoid tearing it, as he leaned back on his arms, letting her sweep that blade over his face and neck.

She could see into his mind, and could even more clearly see changes to his body. He so much wanted to bring his hands up to sit full upon her breasts to hold them gently, or to be pulling behind her to move her, to lift her upon....

A sudden, never-before-felt flush of warmth flashed over her.

She should not have got dressed so soon! Even the single tunic she had, covering her otherwise naked state; mostly covering it, though never completely at times like this, as she moved around to rinse off his razor, was much more than she should be wearing.

She knew how it was affecting him.

Other things could have been happening between them already, if she had not been wearing it.

That thought of not needing to dress around him, grew into her mind! There were many thoughts like that, and she was not sure where they came from, except she liked it when he bathed her and touched her. Neither of them should be clothed when she bathed him!

She should take her tunic off; undress completely.

Another voice told her not to; that it would be too dangerous, but it was not her voice, or Stoker’s. It was that of the dog.

She detected more obvious changes in Stoker’s body in front of her as she did that, and saw many other visions climbing into her thoughts out of nowhere because of those changes… pleasurable visions of personal interactions between the two of them in ways she was not sure would be possible, considering what she could see of his body between them, but which seemed to evoke such pleasure for both of them as they writhed together in a strangely intimate way in front of the fire, joined together; so snugly joined, part of each other... touching everywhere, inseparable, kissing, and so much more.

She had never experienced such feelings before.

She held her curiosity and questions in check, feeling breathless at being allowed to do this for him, but wanting to know so much more about him; about his many scars upon his entire body, and about… other, strange things that she was seeing for the first time as they were.

They were difficult thoughts… and there were those other changes in his body that she needed to know about—breathtaking changes that had begun on his body as soon as she had touched him and let him see her naked body.

She liked what she was feeling.

She had seen pictures of men and these parts of theirs in books, but they had been nothing like what she was seeing here. They had been much too small and not at all realistic. Why did they choose to mislead like that? This, was what a true man looked like when his brain was in a feverish state; wanting her; and not that other, very tame, lifeless drawing. There was so much promise in this other, excited state, where emotions teetered on the edge of madness no matter which way you fell.

She dried him as slowly as he had dried her; reluctantly dressing him in his lighter tunic. She was careful of what, and how she touched him, always conscious of what she could see that could never be hidden by any tunic, and knowing what it meant.

After that, they laid together in front of the fire, with her head resting upon his arm, feeling him pulling her closer to him in the middle of her back, as he had done earlier that same day, sensing the confusion that ruled in his mind. In hers too. Liking it.

They did not need to talk, though she had many questions she needed to ask.

‘She knew too much about him already’.

He was her protector, and she was a ‘tribute’.

She sensed that thought more than any other occupying his mind as he repeated it over and over again.

‘Protector. Protector. Protector’.

She was safer than she had ever felt before, but there was another wonderfully violent conflict going on in both of their minds as his mind had opened up to her.

He had been helpless to stop it. Her naked body had done that to him, just as his, had done the same to her.

As they lay together in front of the fire after that, she reached up and touched his ears, moving along the edges of them. She liked the way he responded and became breathless. His ears were not the only things that responded to that. She felt other things changing between them. How strange!

“Stoker?”

“Yes, little one.” He almost whispered. He even had his eyes closed.

“Why did you deliberately strike terror into the hearts of those councillors? And of me, I might add, for a while. Your inherent nature is to be kind and gentle. I saw that about you almost immediately and so did my mother.

“I suspect you also have a keen sense of humor. You and your dog seem to share certain things, as though you were laughing together.”

He chuckled.

“You see too much. I do not usually interact in any way with tributes as you and I have done.”

“I am glad that we did. You had to come to my rescue. I was alone. I think that was why you looked at the councillor as severely as you did.”

“It was. She was testing me by sending only one tribute when there should always be at least two. You should not have been alone. But I am glad you were.”

“So am I. Now.”

“Also, it would not do for me to appear in any way, ‘gentle’ to them, or they would try to take advantage of me, so I always dress for trouble. The treaty says that no Thorian may enter any city of Women, dressed for war, except… at that time when he picks up tributes.

“I took advantage of that to remind them that we are always ready for treachery, violence, and war. We would not like them to become complacent about the consequences of forgetting that, as they have done from time to time in the past.”

She fell silent for a few moments.

“Stoker?

“Yes, little one.” Her heart thrilled to hear him call her that almost each time he addressed her.

“Last night. I dreamed that you kissed me.” She would not tell him, or ask about other thoughts she needed to know about.

He smiled. “Did you? Did I?”

“Yes, you did. You kissed me on my forehead. I wondered what it would be like to be kissed upon my lips, held close as we are doing now, and to be touched in other ways.”

He was touching her in other ways even now, below the edge of her tunic, and in a way that neither of them dared to acknowledge or think about.

She continued, before he had chance to recover from that.

“You said I could make my own decisions now.” She was already making several decisions about how this would go forward.

He saw where this would lead, but he was not going to fight it.

“I think I would like you to kiss me upon my lips, please, if that is allowed.”

His mind began to implode, but he obliged her as she turned her face up to his to be kissed properly, slowly, gently, as she had never been kissed before.

She moved his hand, bringing it up under her tunic, moving it up and out of their way, and placing his large hand, full upon her breast.

There could be no stopping now. This tribute, Erianne, knew too much about him for her own safety, and she was not going to back away.