Date: Mon, 20 Nov 2000 00:21:41 EST
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Knight of Carlovain, Chapter 6

		    THE KNIGHT OF CARLOVAIN, CHAPTER 6
			       "Air-Walking"
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM

     They made good time over the course of that day and the next day, and
were soon upon the King's lands of Cederel, a broad valley between two arms
of the having skirted by using the King's Road and going between the
outlying lands of the Count of Fediresta and tiny Lesleran.  The King's
Road usually (but far from always) divided up the lands of the nobles, the
King retaining these long thin strips as his own territory throughout
Carlovain.
     "We shall be in Fediresta by this nightfall." Charles said as he
passed the road leading to his father's house without a single glance that
way.  By now, Andrew had reconciled himself to Charles' constant presence
and had paid for his lodging along with his own at the inn the night before
without a qualm.  After all, he had money in plenty, Charles had little or
none.
     Renaud (Brother Eserel) was warming to them as well.  It was hard not
to like Charles' continually bouyant nature, and Andrew worked to rebuild
his friendship with Renaud.  However, when he laid a hand upon Renaud's
shoulders when they rested by a brook, it was quickly lifted away by
Renaud.  "Nay, Sir Andrew, touch me not." Renaud said.
     "But I meant nothing." Andrew protested, not entirely truthfully.
     Renaud smiled.  "Would you force me to change my planned testimony
before the Holy Throne?"
     "But why not?" Andrew said rather than carry on the deception.  It was
true, he had only placed his hand on Renaud's shoulder, but it would have
quickly strayed.  Charles had seen this interchange and gone several steps
away from them without comment; they were nearly alone and could talk in
private.  "Do you still hate me?"
     "Nay." Renaud admitted.  "I never hated you.  When one would betray
his sovereign lord, he must expect betrayal in his own turn.  I could not
hate you without hating myself.  After my brief flurry of anger, I...I
mistrusted you."
     "Then do you still mistrust me?"
     "Nay." Renaud said, softly.  "It is myself I mistrust.  The danger is
not that you would force yourself upon me, but that I could not stop myself
from joining with you eagerly."
     "Then why?" Andrew said.  "My kas... Brother Eserel, my feelings for
you have never changed, and I told the King nothing without I wrested a
promise from him to spare you.  You could have been the Count of Fediresta
at this very hour."
     "And so my uncle Ernaud stepped into the house as master in my place."
Renaud agreed.  "My father and older brother betrayed the King, and I was
nowhere to be found and Ernaud was there.  So what else could the King do
but give him the royal seal and invest him in my place?"
     "But...you are here now." Andrew said.  "I could ask the King to
acknowledge your superior claim...."  He would have continued, but Renaud's
warm finger pressed itself across his lips.
     "I signed over my rights to Ernaud in exchange for the fee paid to the
Merlemagnists to permit me to join them." Renaud said.
     Andrew pondered this.  Renaud had signed away his birthright!  "I
still don't understand." he said after a moment.
     "You shall, in time." Renaud said.  He stood up.  "Others are
approaching."
     Charles ran up to them.  "They are the Archbishop's House Guards." he
said breathlessly.
     Andrew jumped up.  "We would best be on horseback." he said.
     They mounted just as the Guard rode up, but had time to do nothing
else.  There were some five Guards present.
     "Andrew, son of Falin, Duke of Heslov?" one of the Guards said when he
saw Andrew.
     "I am he." He said.
     "By Order of the King, you are under arrest." the Guard said.
     "You lie." Andrew said, scandalized.
     "I have the Royal Order with me." the Guard responded.
     "Then show it to me, before I slice your throat open and let the
falsehood pour out with your blood." Andrew said, becoming angry.
     Instead, the Guard drew his sword, and the others with him did the
same.  "And I say you are to come with me." the Guard ordered.
     "And I say nay!" Andrew said.
     "Hi-yee!" Charles called out and with sword drawn he rushed at the
massed Guards.
     Not again!  He could not watch Charles die the way he had been forced
to watch Marcel.  Not another of the sons of the Marquis of Lesleran, not
today!  Andrew rode after Charles.
     He had done some practice swordfighting upon horseback, but not nearly
enough, the horse was a hindrance to him, he could only get this proud,
energetic animal over to them and stand still and hope his sword arm alone
was enough, and him facing a man dressed in leather armor and with a shield
as well as sword, who was practiced upon horseback swordplay.  Oh,
foolhardy Charles, his ebullient form housed a spirit that did not believe
death could take him in its arms and deliver its cold kiss!
     And then Andrew was too busy dealing with saving his own life to think
about Charles or Renaud; the Guard he confronted blocked his first thrust
with his shield and delivered immediately after his own swordswipe.  All
that saved Andrew from this was that his horse shied at the clang of metal
and backed away from him, the sword missed by a scant half-inch its target
of severing Andrew's head from his neck.
     Andrew got his horse steadied and the man rode in, and Andrew let him,
watching now the blade, he blocked it.
     And the folly of armor revealed itself, the wearer sacrificed mobility
and speed for safety, and no armor could ward all of a man's body if he
were to wish to move inside of it.  Andrew's blade was borne back by the
swing, but when the man attempted to recover his extended reach, Andrew
swirled the blade around to thrust it away from himself, and then jabbed
into the man's revealed face, and the Guard fell back, nearly carrying
Andrew's sword with him.
     And another Guard was upon him from his right side, this meant that
the shield warded none of this man's body, Andrew fought him blade-to-blade
easily and soon the man retired, his shoulder freely bleeding, staining the
dark-brown armor and blue-and-gold tunic over it.
     And the battle was thus over.  Charles had dispatched two of the
Guards, and two others were retreating down the road.  Renaud stood on the
ground, his chest heaving, his staff cloven in two, a shattered remnant of
sturdy oak.
     "There are more Guards down the road." Renaud said.  I can see them."
     "Then we'd best take to the forest." Charles said.  "There is another
road not far in that direction (he pointed southeast) where a peasant's
trail wends down to the Ereset River and up to Fediresta from the south.
We had best split up.  I'll meet you both at the Fisher's Wife Inn at
Fediresta, which is near the shipyards."
     And Charles bounded off into the brush.  Andrew heard the thundering
hooves, and seeing Renaud getting astride his mule, he rode his horse into
the brush on his own.
     The forest was virginal and uncut, and fire had not visited it for
many years, the brush was thick and the going was heavy.  It was no longer
any question of following Charles or finding Renaud, he was hard-put to
keep a general southeasterly course, and could not tell from all the noises
of the bushes about him whether it was his friends or the Guards in search
of him.  Finally, the noises diminished and he was alone with his horse
wending his way through the brush.
     He nearly missed the peasant's trail, for it was little more than a
narrow footpath which to his unpracticed eye would confound any but the
smallest wagons.  He picked what he hoped was the eastern direction and
rode off with little hope that he was riding in the proper direction, for
he had gotten confused around despite his best efforts; he had only the sun
which was dropping in the sky to tell him which direction west lay, and at
that he found himself having to guess that the sun was more to one side of
the trail than the other.
     He rode as the day grew longer and the shadows of the forest deeper,
and he still didn't find his friends.  When he heard voices, it was
several, and the sound of music, and he grew cautious.  Not a second time
would he ride up and claim safety at another's fire!
     The campground was quite large, bearing several wagons which were
round-topped boxes on wheels, with doors upon the rear which bore steps,
traveling houses!  Their music was strange to Andrew's ears, happy, but
almost the giggling of a maniac in its fast tones.  There were many women
and children in the group, this gave him the courage he needed to approach
their fires.
     His clothing was fine and fancy, his face was bearded
aristocratically, his horse was a fine white gelded stallion of high
quality.  His greeting by these common folk was little short of worship.
They bowed and rushed to him with offering of wine and bread.  Andrew
laughed and dismounted in confidence.  He recognized what had happened.
     He had stumbled upon an traveling troupe of performers.  They would
travel about, seeking out markets and villages hungry for entertainment,
set up their wagons in a fallow field or village green, and for the space
of from a day to a handful of days would do such things as perform various
tricks from walking about on a wire strung in the air some preposterous
height in the air, sometimes as much as ten or twelve feet, to acrobats
jumps and stacks, to tricks with fire or ropes, they would exhibit strange
animals or fights with more mundane ones.  When they had exhausted either
the village's small amount of excess currency or the equivalent in produce,
they would pack up and move on.
     "Why travel you alone upon this road, my Lord?" One of them asked, an
older woman as she handed him a cup of wine..
     "I am bound for Fediresta." Andrew said, taking the wine and drinking
it gratefully.  Finishing the goblet, he reached for his pouch and handed
the woman a silver piece, a ridiculous price for a single drink of wine.  A
scattering of coppers to the children and silver to some more of the
adults, and everyone was ready enough to let him rest at their fire.
     "Supper shall be done in a moment, my Lord, if you don't mind
pulse-porridge and black bread." the old woman said.
     "That will be welcomed, for I am sore famished." Andrew said.  Would
that his last venture to a stranger's fire had gained this reception!
     "You shouldn't be out alone on these roads." the old woman said.  "We
are also bound for Fediresta; you should travel with us and we will be
there in a couple of days."
     "I dare not, for my business with the King is urgent." Andrew said.
     "Take another draught of our wine, sire, it comes from vineyards near
the River Seine." the old woman said as she offered a wineskin holding
perhaps a quart of liquid within.
     "It is good wine." Andrew agreed, and took another cup which the man
poured.
     "Tell your fortune, my Lord?" another woman said.
     "May we perform for you, my Lord?" a man offered.
     "Anything you would like." a second man said.  He was broad and
black-haired, with a wide beard; at first glance he seemed the cousin of
Uverel; only the contours of his face showed him to not be Neresterii, or
at least, not wholly Neresterii in his blood.
     "Where do you come from?" Andrew asked the man
     "Here and there and far away." the man responded.  "We travel wherever
there are souls to watch, and wherever we hear our hearts bid us go."
     "Our grandfathers came from Tours in France." another man chipped in
hastily.  "There we used to have a settled place to hold our entertainments
until the local archduke decided that we were a danger to morality and cast
us out.  We have been traveling ever since."
     "Fediresta should welcome you, I am sure." Andrew said.  "They are
building ships and there is work and money for all who are willing to earn
it, whatever you do."
     "Where shall we have our Lordship sleep this night?" one of the women
said.
     "He can share my wagon." a comely lass declared.
     Andrew smiled.  "But I am a married man."
     "Happily married?" she pouted.
     "Very." Andrew said.
     "Pity." she said.
     Andrew laughed louder than the joke deserved.  The wine was so strong.
Another cup had been thrust into his hand.
     The strong man had poured this cup.  "Here, my Lord, some spring
water." he said.  "The wine Maris pours out needs cutting more than she
does from the flask."
     "I thank thee." Andrew said.  "And what do you do in this troupe?"  He
regarded the strong arms.  "Do you wrestle bears?"
     The man laughed.  "On occasion." He admitted.  "Mostly, though, I work
with the acrobats or walk a tightrope."
     "You walk upon the air?" Andrew said.  "That I should like to see."
     "Upon the morrow, then." the man said.  "At first light, before we
must break camp."
     "I look forward to it." Andrew said.  The big man sat down next to
him, very closely.  "But if I am not to have to fend off the wenches who
wish to kindle a lord's bastard, may I share your wagon?"
     "You may indeed." the man said.  "I am called Norice."
     Andrew realized that he hadn't said his name.  "I am Sir Andrew of
Heslov." he said.
     The supper was served soon after and the stories they told about that
campfire!  Andrew listened in wonderment at the variety of their life.
When it came his turn, he could only tell the story of how he had become a
duke's son, glossing over the sexual aspects of his meetings with the King
by circumspect language.  The adults elbowed each other at those points in
his story and Andrew didn't dispel it (dissembling wasn't in his nature,
and after all, why cover up the basis of his strong connection and favor
with the King?).
     Andrew finished and rose, found himself staggering.  Norice's arm went
around his back and under his arm in a flash.  "I told you the wine was
powerful." He said as he held Andrew erect.
     "I did partake too well of it." Andrew said.
     "Come, my Lord, we'll go to my wagon now."
     Whatever the accommodations normally were in Norice's wagon (there was
plenty of evidence that more than he shared this wagon), there was but the
one bed laid out on its bed.  Andrew weaved and lay down.  Norice's hands
began to pull his clothing from his body, and after a bit of ineffectual
movings in protest, and then to try to help, Andrew gave up and let Norice
undress him.
     When nude, Andrew was covered up and Norice began to remove his own
clothing.  The tunic he pulled over his head, and Andrew saw the strong
arms, golden brown and yellow in the candle light.  The hair was thick upon
the chest between the breasts, the arms bore a heavy web of black strands
on each forearm.  "You are Neresterii." he said to Norice.
     "No, my Lord, I am French." Norice said.  "A stranger to your lands."
     "French aren't strangers here." Andrew said groggily, blearily.  "They
took the land from us."
     "But you got some of it back." Norice pointed out practically.  Nobody
in France calls your nobles French any more.  Only you Neresterii think of
them as French."
     "Really?" Andrew said, sitting up in interest, though his world reeled
about him when he did so.
     "Yes." Norice said.
     "My comrades, Charles, Renaud, they aren't French?" Andrew asked.
     "Not any longer, my Lord." Norice pulled off his shoes, and then was
unlacing his fly.
     "Then I have never slept with a Frenchman." Andrew said, astonished by
this.  "I would have said that I had slept with several of them in the last
few years."
     "We shall repair that lapse this night." Norice said as he skinned his
tights from his body, they were partihued, green and orange, Andrew now
saw.  He had seen them only in glances until now, and then by firelight
which distorts color.  Norice's back was to Andrew; he saw only the taut
oval orbs of Norice's buttocks, and then the hairy legs.
     "And tomorrow you shall walk on the air." Andrew said.
     "I shall walk on the air if you wish." Norice agreed and turned
around.  His cock was heavily buried in the black hair, but it was a proud,
long, white sausage of manhood just the same.
     Andrew reached up without embarrassment or prelude and grasped that
generous dong, fondled and stroked it, and it rose up with his touch into a
burning hot, inflamed organ.
     "Let me blow out the candle, my Lord." Norice gasped out.
     "Let it burn for now." Andrew said.  "I would see you in my arms."
     Norice compromised, he put the candle on the floor at Andrew's head,
Andrew still holding Norice's pud, and then he pulled back the covers and
lay down upon Andrew and kissed him.
     Norice's kisses were firm upon his shoulder, the brushy beard tickled
Andrew's clavicle and neck as he nibbled at Andrew's throat on the side,
and then those lips fastened upon his own and Andrew tasted the strong,
fundamental flavor of a peasant's life, the heady musk of his day's sweat
brought upon by hard labor, then the savor of the meal of pulse-porridge,
black bread and wine all still lingering upon his lips and teeth, not an
unpleasant taste but adding their essence just the same to Norice's
impassioned kiss, while Norice's cock clashed mightily with Andrew's,
fighting for space between their bodies, fighting for dominance which
Andrew's prick would not concede it willingly.
     Then Norice raised up and then back down, and both their dongs were
lying side by side upon Andrew's body in perfect harmony while Norice's
abdomen covered them both.
     Andrew felt the covers now covering both of them at the knees only,
and he managed to grasp the top of the covers with both his hands and he
brought it up to cover the two of them while Norice swirled his hips and
gyrated his crotch atop Andrew's, sending a thrill of pleasure through his
body as his cock was gently manipulated by these wide, strong movements.
     "Ah, ah, my gentle air-walker, work your magic upon me." He crooned to
Norice's ear.  The wine which had dazzled his brain now lent an aura of
mystery to the wagon, this hut which held many odd objects he did not
recognize, whether trappings for their shows or some odd utensils he had
not seen before this, in this light and at this time, all were like the
conjurations of a magician.  "Carry me into the air with you in a flight of
ecstasy, and grant that I may never need to touch the earth again!"
     "That shall I do." Norice responded, seeming to participate in the
strange ritual this joining had become.
     Andrew lifted his legs around and managed to drop both Norice's knees
between him onto the bedding, and then Andrew's legs could wrap around and
pinion this strong lover to him.  Norice gave a few crude hawks of phlegm
to his palm, and then reached down between them, and Andrew felt the warm
moisture not as contact but as a presence between them, for Norice was
plying it over his prong, greasing the shaft for its intended journey into
him.
     "Let thy conjurer's wand impale me." He begged when Norice seemed done
and reached for Andrew's legs to lift them higher still onto his body,
until they were taut around Norice's sturdy waist, and then that slick
stick of manhood was begging entrance into him and he granted it access
willingly.
     Like a broad, strong guest it came, like an ogre squeezing through a
castle's front doors into the great hall beyond, did Norice's cock fill
Andrew's anus and then his bowels beyond, crowding him but not damaging him
at any turn, moving most adroitly through the cramped quarters of Andrew's
body.
     When at last the entire length was within him, Andrew reached up for a
kiss from this large, strong lover.  Norice held still until Andrew's body
had adjusted to him, and then began to gently fuck at him.  Slowly Norice
moved, and Andrew relished this kind visitation to his pleasures, he was
not wrung out by his pleasure, it grew within him like a calf within a
cow's body, only slowly distending its space and making its presence known.
     Again the aura of unreality pervaded Andrew's senses, and upon this
gentle ocean of pleasure he rose and fell with the waves almost languidly,
reclining upon the rippling waters and rising and falling in sections with
the wavelets beneath him.
     Norice held him in his arms...and suddenly Andrew felt as if he were
flying!  He couldn't open his eyes to see, but there was the rush of air,
the lack of gravity binding him, his stomach was waggling loosely and his
body felt the gentle winds caressing it.
     "Now we come to the air walking, my Lord." Norice said to him and
Andrew opened his eyes.  They were suspended upon a wire of light, strung
between two gigantic trees, and the ground...the ground was miles below
him.  His only contact with anything solid was Norice, and he clung to
Norice, bemusedly realizing that now the were both fully dressed, only
their flies were undone and Andrew's tights pulled down to permit Norice to
continue to keep him impaled upon that strong body, this body that held him
as tightly as the earth once had and did no longer, and Andrew clung in his
turn to this strength.
     "Now I will walk for you." Norice said and he walked upon the line of
light, and Andrew found that every move of his body sent that luscious pud
in and out of him.  He saw the extraordinarily miraculous feat that held
them high above the earth in defiance of every law of nature, and while
Norice air-walked and in doing so sent charges of excitement through
Andrew's body with every movement, every pump in and out of him by Norice's
prick.
     He had never experienced this and never would again, this miraculous
excitement.  He wanted it to go on forever, even though his own body denied
that to him, he felt his pleasure building within his body and he clung
tightly to Norice, eyes closed tightly.
     "Now, now, my dearest air-walker, take me back to earth again, for I
dare not reach my happiness here." He crooned to Norice.  "You have shown
me a miracle, now let me be with you but two men once again."
     "So be it." Norice said to him and then they were back upon the
bedding, and Norice was a rutting, sweating, heaving force upon him, his
thrusts in and out of Andrew were nearly painful in their realness and
their monomaniacal pounding into his bowels.
     Yet Andrew's lust remained at the highly excited state that had built
up so gradually, it was easy enough to seize this more mundane experience
of humping stud atop his body to bring his own desires to their conclusion,
for did not Norice's cock brush his prostate with every movement, sending
that unique pleasure deep into Andrew's brain?
     He let his body convert the transcendental pleasure into human climax,
his body jerked in response, his cock ignited with internal fires and
Andrew groaned out his pleasure, exploded onto Norice's body with his jism
while he clung tightly still to his strong, French, thoroughly French,
lover.
     Norice seemed to take surprise at Andrew's ejaculation, for his eyes
flew wide, Andrew's ass-muscles clenched tightly in his orgasm to Norice's
pud, and Norice humped at him the more fiercely, and with a long, moaning
grunt to signal the end of his labors, he sent his fiery jizz into Andrew's
body, lining him inside with red-hot coals of desire, spent and glowing
still, but dimming into blackness once more.
     As Norice collapsed onto Andrew's chest, groaning still and breaths
roaring at one ear, Andrew felt again the satiny blackness of sleep creep
up over him.  Ah, but one more dream, he begged of the darkness, but
whether this was granted, he never again could tell.
     It was morning when his eyes opened once again, and Norice was still
in bed with him, but shaking him awake.  "Come, my Lord." He said.  "The
camp is astir.  I shall erect my ropes for you and show you how I walk on
air."
     "You need not." Andrew said sleepily.  "The wonders you showed me last
night in air-walking have been more than enough."
     "I understand naught of this." Norice said, puzzled, looking at him.
     Andrew tried to sort out the strange occurrences of the night before.
"I must have dreamed it, even in the midst of our making love." He said,
and explained the experiences.
     Norice laughed as he concluded.  "I know that I have talent in making
love." he said, "but this exceeds anything I have yet dared claim.  I would
credit more the wine that you drank, for it is most potent.  Old Leona can
brew a potent drink indeed.  She is the one who offered to tell your
fortunes."
     Andrew laughed with him.  "Perhaps I should let her, for her arts are
powerful indeed." He said.
     When he exited the wagon a bit later, the old woman was stirring a
coarse gruel upon the stove.  She looked over at him, smiled and winked,
quite knowingly.
     Andrew's laughing smile died upon him.  Perhaps he had best learn of
his fortunes from her after all!

			     END OF CHAPTER 6