An Unlikely Bride 10

"We simply cannot change our route on a whim, plans have been made and we are expected to--"

Thonvar's face glowed as red as his hair. "I do not care what plans an elf makes, especially not one so interested in throwing good days of travel away on foolish drinking and gossip."

"... Gossip?! I would never expect a backwater northern fool, especially one from the Reach, to understand the comings and goings of our very important work!" Elnaril hissed as his eyes went up and down the angry human. "Such nerve, a bastard such as yourself should be thanking us for elevating your position so much. You'll inherit a vital--"

"Inherit! Human never inherit!" the kobold shouted, his saggy little face pulled back in a hateful sneer. "Anza inherit, if lucky, never see crown go to human!"

"Quiet, Uzkrig, you forget your place," a seated Arbanuil warned before staring up at Thonvar. "You would do well to remember yours, we are not in your little rock hovel any longer. We are on the road. Men have disappeared on these roads."

"That a threat, you knife-eared son of a whore? I'll cut you down right here," replied the red-headed warrior, voice dripping with palpable hate. "As far as I'm concerned, my father's pact is with this elf here, you... Are the help."

That did it. Rising up with wide eyes the elf managed to stammer, "help? I will show you--" before an angry glare silenced him.

"Quiet! Shut up, both of you!" the lead elf yelled, his stupid fake smile shattered by ugly frustration. "We have made arrangements all along our route, and I assure you it is more than just 'gossip' as you so crudely grunted. We need supplies, parts, provisions; things we did not know we needed until you, in your wisdom, had so graciously informed us we were sorely lacking. We cannot move faster so we need resupply, and so we cannot change our route. Certainly not for some foolish Nordic superstition about ghosts, dreams, red eyes, and a perfectly natural meteorological event!"

Thonvar glared hard as the elf finished. "I knew it was a mistake to trust you enough to tell you."

"You had a nightmare, do not be foolish! This man will receive the care he needs when... Thonvar! Get back here this instant!"

He stormed toward the rear of the train red-faced and fuming, both kobold and man scrambled to get out of his way. It wasn't enough. It was never enough. Gods damned elves, those damned, thieving, treacherous, pale-skinned knife-ear...

An angry, pained roar escaped him as he grabbed a half-rotted branch as round as his thigh and turned it into toothpicks on the side of a tree.

Everyone watched him do it again and again and again, years of pain and fury and ridicule and confusion and awkwardness bubbled up as he hated his blunt tongue through his destruction. He wanted to march back, hold that damned elf's mouth open, and rip out that silver tongue and eat it in front of them both. In front of that oh-so-important father-in-law of his too, and then he'd take that little shit and throw him across the damned forest, maybe with another stick so far up his tight, scaly asshole that he'd remember he was a pair of damned boots waiting to happen and watch himself.

Another cry, melodious and fierce, echoed out as he snapped the last bit over his leg; the sound echoing off the trees up high carried the searing pain with it.

He panted hard and glared around.

"What are you all doing!? Get back to work! There's work to be done, you dumb kobolds fool around and play all damned day. Wasteful! You don't think! You! You there! Fix that damned wheel!"

The surprised creature stammered before fleeing out of sight.

"You two! Damned southerners! Damn you to the next world if you can't learn to care for a horse!"

"Thonvar."

He ignored it, glaring at the two cavalry men who reluctantly glanced down at the irritated hoof.

"Thonvar."

Scowling he whipped around and yelled, "what?!"

"Aye, I think he's mad 'bout somethin'," Corrick remarked with a blank expression.

Ruran chuckled mirthlessly. "Elves, eh?"

"You..." Thonvar caught himself and instead punched a wagon. "Damned knife-eared bastards, there's a man sick with a fever not of this world, one of the jarl's men scared out of his mind, and what do they concern themselves with? Precious wines, complaining of our 'northern swill' as they get drunk on it, talking down their noses to us. I've no love for this land, but--"

Corrick spoke over him, "lad, we get it, fuckin' hate elves meself. Stuck up pricks, whole lot of 'em, 'cept them svalmer ladies."

"I don't care, southlander, we're walking into a forest touched by evil. We remember that night, the laughter and the screams, the elves slept fine while we stood watch. That evil is not gone."

Putting a hand on the reachman's shoulder Ruran sighed and muttered, "aye, you're probably right, but if need be we'll light the forest again. You can't rightly walk on out into the woods alone."

"Aye! Tha's how we fuckin' do it, lad! Leaves the horsemen up there with their ponies an' we stay back 'ere with you and yours, then when tha' evil comes on up, I strip down to me bare arse an' ol' spellbones 'ere can make it glow. Run right through them woods I will, floppy prick shinin' like the moon."

Betrayed by his own head, Thonvar's anger was hard to hold onto as the image flashed in his mind. Finally he chuckled.

"Perhaps I have done all I can."

Patting his back Ruran encouraged the northerner to start walking. "Just focus on gettin' your pretty 'lil wife on through this an' we'll be on our way in no time. Elves? Fuck 'em, stingy pricks ain't payin' us again."

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Despite his outburst, the kobolds that had flocked to him remained there and attracted the kitchen and laundry wagons to set up just opposite of them when they did finally stop. They were well past the camp where the guards were by that point, the surviving one had completely shut down and refused to speak to anyone. He ate, sat in silence, and when he was told to sleep he just curled up next to the wagon and shuddered.

Drond watched him. Thonvar liked how the kobold was straightforward and reliable, if a bit excitable, Anza seemed to enjoy his company. Khezde and Kix attended to the sick guard, soon joined by another female by the name of Yaza who prayed over him, and then yet another, Toba, who sponged his body with cold water. As night fell the woods was eerily silent, only the uncaring pines whistling in the eastern wind dared to break the tension. They did not help. Foolish kobolds up front were forced to make a ring around the fine carriage the elves hid in, the cavalry men that were well-paid remained there and stood watch with torches.

Thonvar's group had made a defensible fort out of their wagons, the animals tied together behind the highest ones, and the mercenaries who walked milled around under soft glow of magical light made possible by the group's only spellsword. Potions mixed by Khezde had given him revitalized mana several times, for a brief moment his eyes glowed white and blue as the concoction took effect, he was confident he could keep going if she had more. Thonvar knew the alchemist had shelves of potions ready to go in that little cart, he might even have been able to find something for himself.

Anza tended to him though, watching over scared little Runa in the process. Their sebeka servants huddled with the other kobolds not doing anything else, but soon Zan and Agziqoh stepped out to help keep an eye out. They seemed like a good pair to have on hand, the huntress made a point to strut around as close to the dark as possible to tempt conflict.

She reminded him of the tribesfolk out in the steppes, they would have loved the danger and sang taunts at the forest demons.

"Thonvar!" Anza whispered. "Look."

He saw it.

Eyes, this time green.

They gazed at him and blinked slowly, oh ever so slowly, almost like a sultry courtesan charming a wealthy merchant from afar before she lured him further in. They weren't so evil, but maybe they weren't good, he couldn't tell from where he was.

"Stay."

"No! Thonvar!" she hissed, but it was too late.

He crawled out and drew his sword to clutch it with both hands, he would be ready for this thing that lurked just beyond their camp's artificial glow. Truthfully he was scared, terrified out of his mind, but his blood boiled hot with the frustration and rage of his people's line back to the beginning. They hated to be afraid, they made their pact with their draconic lord and protector because it was he who could touch the sky of Fear. People of the Reach, of all the North, they dealt with the unknown head-on when it left them no other choice.

Southerners and elves ran. Northmen rallied to the shield wall, to the saddle, to their banners, flags, and emblems... Northmen rallied to each other.

Yet sometimes a lone soul must be brave and serve as sacrifice so all may live. Noble blood coursed through the bastard's veins, he stepped into the dark.

-------------------------------------------------

He had walked for... A ways. Those eyes blinking slowly, luring him closer, no longer striking unease and fear into him like they once did. No, the eyes were calling him to a place. As he went deeper into the wood he saw flashes of ethereal horror, whispers of malice as demons and their minions gnashed their teeth and flicked forked tongues at him. Their hands pawed at him, but just out of reach, just out of grasp. At first it terrified him, he wanted to run, but the eyes made him understand. Understanding was the wrong word, what it made in him was different. Understanding was so hard, it came with wisdom and wisdom was slow to come for the hot-blooded like him.

This gave him a knowing of the things, of the realm he was in, it existed in the world that he came from and yet another bled in to just barely kiss the surface. That kiss came with poison, dripping unfathomable evil inside his world, corrupting the forest, surrounding him in choking black nothing lit only by... Only by the green of those eyes. Cast on him, on his body, his very soul. They looked at him to show him and to preserve him, such effort was only done for a worthy cause.

A secret.

Whispered to people like him.

What was he? He couldn't answer that question, it didn't matter anyway. All that mattered was the secret the being had to show him, and the darkness wanted to know too. So close, yet...

"... Step away, Thonvar, son of Kargruuf.

We know who you are.

Yes, I'm in your head.

Think about it, just a stumble, we promise we'll catch you.

So strong... Mwah, such a fine piece of human, aren't you?

"... we can please you ..."

"... better than the kobold ..."

You like her, don't you? You like her too much, it's unnatural... So sad to see.

"... we wouldn't be natural either, but at least it would be fun... ...no pain from us, not unless you wanted it ..."

Do you want it?

"... oh you do... the suffering! Ahahahaha! ...mmmhh it makes you feel grounded, you feel dirty, you are dirty ..."

"... punish the dirty boy we will! Hehehe! ..."

"... just fall to your knees, reachman... ...you'll never want to get up again, you can put your seed in us ..."

"... we want it bad, sweet Thonvar ..."

"... fill us up ..."

...

"All of us."

Eyes. Many, many eyes. Gazing down at him, boring through him, he struggled to focus on the green. Just the green. His body grew tense and hot, his throat burned for air and the sword weighed a thousand pounds in his hands, but he fought to keep walking and walking... Just a bit further. Almost there.

A hand lashed out, his shirt was sliced and his skin burned from the raking claws.

Then another.

Another.

They kept coming and slicing at him, tugging at him, ripping his clothes as they fought over their new toy. Thonvar fought back tears of regret and shame, of hopelessness, he focused as he marched with hard and labored steps as the creatures tugged to hold him back and consume. Tongues were on him, their wet surface ran over his skin and the mouths hissed when they tasted slick salt. It had been awhile, he had been active, the salt was no longer as effective as it could have been.

Soon they began to enjoy his taste, lapping at him, teasing him, he tried to fight nature itself and not harden as a pair of meaty tentacles tasted and stroked him to fullness.

A hand of green came out and beckoned to him.

Black tried to pull him back, gripping his shaft and suckling hard, making him want their evil pleasure with every slurp, every gulp, he almost... No, no. No. No. NO. He yelled it. He yelled so hard that his lungs burned, his throat ached, the green shuddered from the indescribable volume.

I am THONVAR.

Two syllables to form a masculine word. Grunts of power, of strength, of primal times when Men were simple things that screamed in terror when the sky of Fear loomed high. Thon. Var. His heart pounded as he fought them, hand on his sword to keep it close while his fought off the blackness. They wanted him though, they wanted him real bad, they needed it and they needed him. Finally he looked away from the green, he looked square in the red eyes oh so close to him, into the shadow maw with it's soul-crushing teeth that gnashed for a tasty meal.

I AM THE REACH.

Hissing! Hateful hissing, fear, it knew fear when he yelled with a strength that came from so deep. Deeper than him. It came from the very earth itself, the ground rumbled and he felt the real sensation of needles jumping up to touch his bare skin.

His free hand caught the green and the green pulled him far from the black.

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She set him down like a child, petting the human's red hair with a wooden smile.

Literally. He looked up into the glowing sockets of green set in a face made of magical wood. There were others there, a male, another female, but it was the hooded figure that caught his attention; a figure that he could see, but could not comprehend. All around them were ancient stones cut by the first men of the north, crude marks of stone on stone, imbued with a forgotten magic that left a taste of spice and coldness in his mouth.

"You're a spryggan, you all are," he breathed.

"Yes, we are," the male rumbled, his bark snapping and cracking as he moved. "This is our spring, our home, we bring you in to show you."

"Show me what? I knew you--"

He stopped speaking when the female ran her wooden claws over his lips. He wasn't afraid, she wasn't letting him feel anything, she had him under her enchanting allure and he gave his obedience freely. This was her home, he was a guest, he remained polite by keeping silent.

Satisfied she leaned down and knelt, putting her level with him. A calmness washed over him as the spryggan took him by the shoulders, her hulking form loomed closer and closer; all he could do was stare into those orbs of green. Shaped like beautiful seeds, coming to two points in a most provocative and alluring way, the curve of her cheeks reminded him of a beautiful maiden from the fjordlands he had seen once. An erotic glance at him from across the table nearly made his heart stop, but with the forest beauty he only felt serene pleasure in her company.

A moment of clarity flashed into his mind through the haze... Seeing him understand made the queen, the matriarch, smile into his soul.

He wanted to talk so badly, her brow raised as she waited for his disobedience. It never came, he wouldn't dare to offend such a beautiful creature, and he respectfully remained as quiet as he could. She took his sword and gave it a kiss, he watched her lips conform to the metal surface for the longest time... He longed to touch her skin that defied all sense and reason.

Their moment in forever had to end, she stroked her claws through his hair and vibrated a sigh that penetrated him down to his bones. Thonvar shuddered, but did not move. Moving would have offended the true regent of Rangvaal's vast forests, and as a reward he was granted a soft kiss for being such a good guest. Except he felt his role had changed, she had accepted him, but she had her own reasons for drawing him in besides showing him.

Her wooden lips went down and down until they found what he had brought her. Without realizing it she made him stiffen into a hardness he hadn't thought he was capable of, her magic working over his flesh as he stood paralyzed. There was no escape, this was his toll, he would need to bear the shame of infidelity for her half of their mutual exchange. He didn't resist and she made him allow himself to enjoy it as she laid him down. So much of him wanted to struggle, but his muscles had been tricked into sleep, his eyes slipped shut as she wove an image of his wife into his head.

Anza's ethereal form climbed on top of him and spread, mounting herself as she had done all those times before with a rumbling sigh. He wanted to touch, to bury himself in her breasts, but she was too big for him and made him stay still as she loved him completely. A thought of eggs came to his mind, put there by his loving wife, he gasped and smiled when she showed him how full he would make her. His life-giving seed would fill her in all the ways the blackness wanted, the Mother wanted him to be the sire for her clutch of eggs.

He finally arched his back as she worked him good, a hand on his face to keep him there. He wasn't going to move, he needed to give her his seed. She didn't care. She liked to hold him down, it reminded him of his place. He was to serve her, she was his queen, his empress, his goddess in that moment. He gasped and confessed he needed her to hold him, to make him give the gift, and she obliged by teasing it out of him.

They shared the final snap of bliss together, her chest vibrated with happiness as he filled her with thick, sticky life. She was now pregnant, her beautiful stallion of the grassy steppes had done his job well. He smiled. She smiled back.

Thanking him with words was not her way. There was a gift for him, he didn't know what it was but she did. Having ridden him hard, she dismounted from the red-haired horse and helped him to stand. As he stood in amazement, in reverence, she leaned down and kissed him again.

He felt bees in his chest and he tried to cough, but she filled him up. A gift for a gift.

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Thonvar snapped awake.

He ached all over so badly that he could barely move, his brain refused to work right as he clawed at the red needles. Dawn's light basked over his cold, shivering body and he realized he was naked. He ached between his legs. His mouth, throat, and lungs were devoid of all moisture and felt... Cooked. Or raw. Breathing was hard at first, but he figured it out. Was that Anza he was with last night?

... No.

No, that was not Anza.

As he laid there he remembered the night, how the spryggan had used him. What gift had she given? A sore throat? He could always get that himself.

His sword was there with a silk cloth that he used to tie around himself, and with great effort he managed to pull himself to standing. Lost and unsure of where the sun was in the cloudy overcast, he looked around and followed the trail of scratched-away needles.

Then he saw a boot.

His boot!

And the other, he vaguely remembered those being pried off of him. He put them on and kept walking, the trail led him deeper and deeper into the forest from where he started. Bits of cloth were strewn all around, the trees had sharp claw marks all over them and the ground was churned up in places as if by giant burrowing creatures. What an odd sight. He kept collecting bits of cloth and leathers, at least as evidence of what had happened. Perhaps it wasn't necessary since his entire body was marked in scratches and bites anyway, but he kept doing it.

Somebody ahead made him freeze in place.

"Husband!" his wife cried, running for him.

He fell to his knees and she flew into his arms, kissing him, snuggling him, rubbing her snout all over his neck and shoulders. He held her tightly and... Sobbed. He couldn't explain it. He didn't want to, but he knew he should. It was necessary, he knew it was necessary when he thought of it, but he didn't understand. He couldn't understand.

"Anza I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, I was so foolish," he breathed

"Husband sad, is safe. Anza protect," she whispered, petting his wounded head.

"No, I... I think, I think I mated with something. A spirit of the forest. She needed me, she needed me for it, she pretended to be you."

His little kobold froze and looked at him.

"She made me think--"

Anza kissed him.

"She breathed into me and--"

She kissed him again.

He didn't understand. She should be angry at him, but she was not. Her movement was less frantic, but she just quietly hugged him tightly and hummed. Did she understand him? He used the right words, she knew what he meant, why wasn't she angry?

Thonvar put his hands up to his face and broke down in hysterical tears. He didn't understand, he just wanted it all to stop. He wanted normal again.

Humming softly she pet him as he cried and cried, he held onto her like she was the one thing keeping him from floating away. Maybe she was? His body squirmed and wanted to be born a million times out of his painful skin, his throat begged for release as he gagged and retched off to the side. He couldn't stop, he balled up to the side and suffered on the forest floor while she doted on him. Thonvar felt as if his body was purging itself, trying it's hardest to be made anew, and there she was through it all making his metamorphosis barely survivable. Did she love him? Was that a trick from the spryggan? He knew in that moment her form was a mirage for his benefit but...

He felt her love, it was this terrifying colossus that was so much bigger than him. He wanted to tame it and make it smaller so he could figure it out, but that was not how those things worked. He was so confused.

"Please help me," he begged, rolling over on his back in awkward pain. "I'm so sorry, I am so sorry."

"Shh, husband. Anza forgive trick," she cooed, running her claws over his damaged face. "Anza protect Thonvar."

All he could do was put his hands up to his face and hide. He just wanted it to stop.

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Fever had set in by the time the lizard huntress had brought him back, Anza kept pouring water and broth down his throat to sustain him. When the wagons set off again he had passed out into a restless, dreamless sleep. Every time he snapped awake she was there, guarding over his soon-to-be corpse and doing her best to make him comfortable. Had he stumbled on some odd kobold mysticism? Was adultery okay if it was with a magical creature? Was she killing him with shame? He felt shame, he wanted to cry from it and the pain but there was nothing left.

He was too weak.

...

A gasp of air as he clung to life, he looked around again. She was sleeping soundly, he swallowed the pain down and started to pant through the weight on his chest. It hurt so bad, all of it, the scratches, the burn in his eyes, his throat, lungs, gut, muscles, bones...

Eyes were on him again when he passed out once more.

...

A deep vibration woke his mind, his body was too damaged to respond. Anza was there, singing softly to him, washing his naked body, tending to his awful wounds. Khezde came in, offering a bowl of something. She lingered to look at him in worry, but Anza sent her away as she applied the bowl's contents to his skin.

His lungs refused the scream he begged for. She was killing him, he was sure of it.

Blackness swept over his eyes.

...

Horses! All the horses! They sing and sing and dance and play, he needed to catch them!

...

Thonvar's spirit flew high above the forest, the clouds were his friends as an ancient drum guided him far across the land. There was the other he had seen in his dream, the woken, the black nothingness that tried so hard to be but could not, he wondered if he did that. Through the Mother. A part of him didn't believe she was carrying his children, that seemed so odd because she was made of wood.

Trees couldn't have babies.

Dancing spirits below called to him, full of life, calling him as one of their chosen. He wanted to go, but he was too busy flying around to stop by.

He liked this.

Yet he was tired, so tired from flying, he had to come down... Sleep...

Away...

...

Somebody was out there, he thought about who it might be and she answered him. When he forced himself to look he saw her, green eyes gazing down at him with concern. Anza touched his face with something, he winced when it burned. Why did it have to burn and...

...

His blood was too hot. He need to bleed it. Bleed out all the bad blood! Get it out! Anza help me please! Take it! It's in me, it's too hot!

A cool rag touched his forehead, it went to war with his hot blood.

Colors of all kinds filled his eyes as he slipped away. She called to him, but he couldn't find her.

He couldn't find anyone where he was.

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"... mad, out of his mind and we're gonna lose another soon enough ..."
"... healer, don't fuckin' believe ..."
"... think of husband, Anza sad ..."
"... breathin' hot fever's breath, that's not my ..."
"... what I can, best I can, all anyone can do ..."

...

Pain was his world as he drifted back into consciousness, his body felt like it had been trampled by all the horses in the world and run over by every wagon with a crooked wheel. Even his eyelids hurt, he had to try hard to get them to cooperate and he cautiously grunted through the sharp agony. Somebody was outside, he was afraid at first of this intruder, but then he realized it was just a big lizard shuffling around. She spoke to Anza, something about a bear... He needed to get up, his body would be his first challenge.

No part of him wanted to move, even crying out in effort was too hard. When he did manage to shift his million pound leg, it rubbed up against something between his legs that just wouldn't be able to be negotiated. Defeated he closed his eyes and tried to think of a different plan of attack. Worse still was how Anza casually climbed in and left the flap open, he knew he was nude and he knew people could see him.

"Scalekin find bear," Anza muttered, claws in front of her mouth as she quietly roared to emphasize the point, "tell Anza it kill bad. Big evil kill."

His bath was being started, she ran the stinging solution all up and down his hurt body while humming to herself. Or to him. He didn't know, he wished he knew how long he had been out and he wanted to ask... His jaw refused, it still hadn't woken up.

"Anza tell elfe wait, not want, we go next day," she sighed, her scrubbing going lower and lower. "Find big, big..." his wife paused and did her best frog impression, "for making of eats, human not want, Anza like. Give Runa meat. Mmm-mmm, good, grow strong for husband, Thonvar teach Runa northman way. Anza like, very like."

Oh well that was good, he was wondering about that. Of course teaching her kobold stuff wouldn't be bad, she was one after all, but it seemed to him that her people were destined to be failures if they didn't learn new ways. At least learn the ways that made men and mer successful, try to emulate them, rather than clumsily mimicking what they saw from the outside. Wagons were a good start though, he had to appreciate how much work the kobolds put into their rickety designs.

"Poor husband," she whispered, pulling off his protective towel.

A gentle scrub to his sensitive parts stung him harshly, it had the unpleasant side-effect of also stimulating his bladder into action. Oh how he wished he could move, he just wanted to cry as he felt his body release right there in the wagon. Shame was hot in his cheeks as it happened, but it just got worse as his merciful wife actually gripped him while it happened and directed it. His skin crawled, he wanted to die.

He was done. He just couldn't bear it anymore, he had dishonored himself too much.

"Today good," she declared, pulling the thing from between his legs and tossing the liquid outside. "Khezde tell Anza make husband drink."

Water. He needed water so badly.

When she lifted his head to drink he opened his eyes to see an affectionate smile, her face lit up with indescribable excitement which threatened to upset her steady hand. Fortunately it didn't, he almost died from the feeling of having the worst thirst of his life slaked with gulp after gulp of water. When he was finished she cradled him in her lap and giggled, petting his face as happy tears came to her weary eyes. He wanted to tell her she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, but he was still relearning how to speak.

"Husband grow strong, Anza knew."

He gave her a weak smirk, it seemed to be all his wife needed.

Being awake was just too much work, as she put the stinging cloth to him again he dozed off with peace in his heart.

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Thonvar awoke to the sound of drums and horns.

Normally that would have been cause for alarm, but he remembered that southerners liked to make a lot of noise and had trouble enjoying the quiet of the forest. Well he had been cooped up for too long and he needed to see, so figuring out how to move was his first priority. A task easier thought about than done, he didn't remember his clothes being so stiff and heavy before his illness. Yet with effort came ease, his protesting body eventually relented as he fought his clothes on crawled to the flap. Getting down would be interes--

He tumbled head-first down and landed flat on his back.

For a long moment his world was pain, but it slowly dulled and he could move again. Daylight was quickly dwindling and the light of a big fire was the stronger source, he could just barely make out long flashes of shadow flickering against the trees. As he crawled around he saw why, the big fire dominated something resembling a harvest festival with kobolds, humans, elves, and others; some familiar and some strange. There were more wagons there too. Off to the side were the musicians, a few southerners playing their odd horns, another with a string instrument, and of course a thin, wiry drummer.

Next to them were a pair of half-naked kobolds with wooden strikers in both hands, drumming away with one after the other; each stroke came with a wide-legged bob as they threw themselves into the act. Of course they had to, they weren't very big, and the sound they made was almost overpowering.

Around the fire kobolds dressed in feathers and bones danced.

Catching sight of Anza wasn't hard, she was nearly a whole foot taller than the other females, he found himself drawn to her performance the most. Her movements were strong and purposeful, the drums guided her as she stomped in unison with her kin, he couldn't begin to trace the steps as she danced away. Then she came back into sight, arms up and hands twisting in the air, her body and hips gyrating most alluringly. She hadn't seen him yet, but he wanted her even in his weakened state; his wife was equipped in all the right ways.

"Thonvar!" Ruran yelled, raising a tankard.

She craned her neck and looked, the shadowed face interrupted by wide orbs of familiar pink. Just from their shape he knew they came with a smile, and he didn't stop himself from smiling back.

Corrick stood up on a wagon and shouted, "HE LIVES!"

Masculine cheers echoed high followed by booze-armed fists sprouting up into view, he weakly stumbled his way toward Ruran's group.

"Lad, you had me fuckin' worried," the spellsword muttered, walking out to catch him. "You had it worse than the other guy, he din't make it."

He winced from trying to look up. "How long was I out?"

"Four days, this being the fourth. That old kobold said you stopped breathin' an' I thought you were done. Your wife din't give up, I think she likes you."

"I have thought this," he croaked with a frail smile.

"You sound and look like boiled shyte, let's get some hot food in you."

That sounded nice.

After being led over to a makeshift table he was sat down by some of the mercenaries and got a mountain of furs and blankets piled on him, he was thankful for the kindness and tried to thank them. Others were there, unfamiliar foreigners, they looked at him like he was about to die any second. A bowl of thick, creamy something was put in front of him with bits of meat and vegetables floating here and there as the music came to a loud crescendo and ended with ferocious cries. It failed to inspire him to conquer the bowl.

However all was not lost as his little wife bounded over to him just then, almost knocking him over with her enthusiasm. A bit of struggling later and her warm, smoky-smelling body lost the ceremonial garments and slipped into his lap. He didn't care who saw, he grabbed her as tight as he could and kissed his savior and guardian with all the thankfulness he couldn't express. Tolerating it at first, she had to break it off with a sonorous giggle before slipping underneath his jaw to support him.

Thonvar liked how she had this relatively flat spot between the four corners of her horns and brows, it was padded in the thick, darker scales that came from her back and the top of her tail.

"Husband need food," she reminded him, tracing a circle on his chest. "Can eat?"

He shook his head.

"Too big hurt?" she asked, reaching up to touch his throat.

No, that wasn't it, so he shook his head again.

With a sympathetic smile she slipped away from him to sit on the table, a claw motioning toward somebody behind him. Big, scaly hands fell on him before he could turn around under the mass of furs, then he found himself leaned against the mountain of female and steadied by her mate. They were doing as they were told, but he could feel their concern and affection which made him want to cry. He wasn't special, he didn't deserve any more than-- A wooden spoon surprised him enough to stop thinking, but it was the hunger-spiced stew that made him moan and dissolve.

"Good?" Anza asked, her expression unknown and unseen by his closed eyes. "Anza think husband like, give more."

Yes, please! His wish was granted, she stuffed his mouth with steak, potatoes, and some kind of rich, cheesy broth that had the consistency of thick gravy. He wouldn't be surprised if it was actually gravy and cheese, he didn't care, he just wanted more and she gave him more. Her humming was drowned out by more music and he drifted off into a state of half-slumbered relaxation as the food filled his hurt gut, a man brought mead and helped him drink it.

"Aye, that'll do," Corrick said, taking position at Thonvar's feet. "Anza, you done well. I din't believe he'd make it."

"Anza know husband strong," she said matter-of-factly while she spooned another mouthful in. "Anza know many secrets, know Thonvar."

Agziqoh chuckled and readjusted the human against her arm. "Little human need find mate, learn her ways, long and happy life for humans."

"What if I like elves?" he laughed.

A gentle shrug failed to upset Thonvar's position, but she steadied him anyway. "Human take elf for mate, this one not care, words still true for human. Even big Agzi like place as one only in heart of Bothik."

Corrick shifted and sat back against the table. "Aye, tha' makes sense... How'd you find tha' husband of yours there?"

Chuckling to herself, the sebeka huntress turned slightly. "This one take big hunt, claim many hide, trade all to have Bothik for self! Good trade, happy for time. Elf come later and take home, take family, happy times done. Learn fast, behave with husband near, trick elf think only way tame big Agziqoh!" she explained, finishing with a triumphant chuckle. "Make all think this one have simple head, big trick, forget trick for Thonvar. Good human."

"Husband best, very brave," Anza added, ruffling up his red hair. "Eat good."

"Fuckin' elves want us movin' first light," Corrick muttered, taking the time to spit. "Still no pay, they tried to blame it all on you gettin' kicked outta tha' town back there!"

"Elfe not pay because elfe make many lie," his wife reminded the southerner. "Not trust elfe. Never trust."

"Aye, the lot of us on foot get nothin' so the riders get their share. Gotta wait they say."

Hearing talk about the elves made him angry, but he couldn't do anything about it with his mouth full. When he stirred Anza got him mead, and then made sure the big lizard put him in a comfortable spot before setting the empty bowl aside. Then she climbed down and snuggled in the pocket of warmth, adding her own dragon-blooded hotness to it.

"Make wagon ready," she commanded.

"Is ready, this one know Thonvar like it," Agzi replied. "Little kobold happy here?"

Nodding quietly, Anza pulled the furs over them and kept him warm while they watched the dancers until he couldn't stay awake anymore. Did they put something in his soup? Maybe...

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A bump on the road jostled him awake and bounced the kobold off his bare chest, she flailed her arms to catch herself. Good thing he already had his arms around her, she didn't go anywhere except to the side when he released her in a fit of coughing. He almost laughed when she had visible indecision about if she should tend to him or yell at Drond for his driving ability, but she opted to at least get him a rag.

After a few wet hacks he used it to catch a big, black lump with spidery tendrils that he pulled from inside his chest.

Thonvar might have gasped in shock if he wasn't too busy just coughing up normal-colored stuff, the blockage had released what felt like a torrential flood from deep inside. When he was all done, and it took him several minutes to finally stop, he gasped in a breath of crisp, fresh air and fell to the side. Immediately Anza had moved the mess to a safe location and checked him to see if he was still living, and when she was satisfied she gave his head a gentle hug.

"Get rid of that," he wheezed.

"No, husband. Show Khezde."

Rolling his eyes he fumbled for something to drink, but she was well ahead of him and happily trickled delicious water past his lips. He wasn't sure if that long fever dream was real, he wasn't even sure what had happened anymore. All he knew in that moment was his wife had given him the most intimate care and devotion that anyone could hope for, and then when she was done with that she went a bit further. Thonvar felt like the most important thing in her world, he reached up and ran his fingers along the outline of her face.

Finishing his drink off, she put her hand on top of his and smiled.

"Anza happy have Thonvar safe," she whispered.

What could he say? Words couldn't come to him, he took her other hand and gave her cute little fingers a gentle kiss. Sometimes he felt good knowing he didn't need to stumble to express himself, she seemed to deeply understand him more than he initially realized. At least enough to restore him from the brink of death, his strength had already started to return and no doubt she had gotten Khezde to help with that.

Sighing softly she leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Husband stink, Anza fix."

He didn't complain, somebody had stripped him down to a loincloth before putting him in bed anyway and while she closed the wagon's flap he wiggled his one article of clothing off. That also gave him a chance to look over himself, he saw where the blackness had clawed and bit him, rashes where it had licked and suckled... Memory of that made him want to retch. How much he wanted it to continue, how he almost gave in, it made him sick to remember having such dishonorable thoughts and being weak of character. Then the forest queen...

During her inspection she caught his eyes and read him through them; he could see some jealousy in her, but still she didn't appear angry. That was confusing. Did she know about it? How could she? That wasn't possible, but he didn't remember coming back either. Was she there? While it happened?

"This good," Anza declared as she rubbed the rag over a particularly deep scratch, "husband get strong."

Strong he may have been, but it didn't stop him from wincing. "Hurts."

"Always hurt, husband of bad magic," sighed his wife, shaking her head in pity.

Moving on, she inspected the inside of his thigh and dabbled some ointment on the set of marks there. Seeing him try to look made her giggle, she lifted his leg so he could join in the examination. They were deep, as if something was reaching for him and slipped, he didn't remember it happening at all. Bite marks were all along his leg too, he remembered a few of those since they came with the tongues and attempts to seduce him. Telling her about that experience wouldn't be so easy, he wasn't even sure how to explain the spryggan encounter.

Yet she had a way of making him drift off, gently scrubbing his abused body and wiping away the grime from body and soul. A soft humming, her usual tune, floated through his mind as the pain gave way to warm needles that numbed and soothed.

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After pampering him she curled up beside him and sang softly, the harsh words were smoothed over by his wife's lovely, rich voice into something that sounded beautiful to his ears. Reachmen knew singing and in his expert opinion he determined she had a real talent inside, it was a magical sound. After a bit he couldn't help himself, his throat's deep timbre resonated to support her with long and smooth notes as she carried the higher notes of her foreign song.

Thonvar didn't need to look to know she was smiling, he could hear it. Feel it. Some said that in a song to the wind was when reachfolk bonded, their myths often featured it, and he felt like a hero in a story having finally met the beautiful maiden under the flashing sky to share a moment of purity. Thoughts of wonder if that was true carried from one note to the next, but it was a soft breeze finding it's way through the wagon's cracks that confirmed it. At least that was true in his heart, and really, that's all that mattered.

She finished with a kiss.

"I did not know you could sing," he finally remarked as she sat up. "I am lucky my wife sounds as beautiful as she looks."

"Husband!" she scoffed, hiding her face from the withering compliment. "Anza know not pretty, human not want kobold."

Enough of that! He pulled her down for another kiss. "This one does."

Surrendering to him she sighed and smiled.

"I admit I never thought your kind were..." he trailed off and decided not to give life to such foolishness. "Before you I did not know much. That has changed."

"Anza fix husband mind best way," she giggled, swatting her own backside. "Husband like."

"Mmm, he does," Thonvar admitted, getting a handful to emphasize his point. "Does Anza like?"

Trying to be coy she shrugged and pretended like she didn't mind, but her curled toes and arched back told a different story. Was he well enough to claim her? His heart raced to find out, and ever so slowly he slid his grip down to her--

Drums. They heard drums.

Real this time.