Date: Sun, 3 Dec 2000 13:51:48 EST
From: Tommyhawk1@aol.com
Subject: Knight of Carlovain, Chapter Seven

		      KNIGHT OF CARLOVAIN, CHAPTER 7
			 "The Fediresta Betrayal"
			   By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM

     Andrew had heard a great deal of Fediresta, but this did not prepare
him for the reality.  Built in the small crescent-shaped space of land
flanked by two rather precipitous hills and the bay, the main town was
cramped and heavily built up, houses reaching three and four and even five
stories in height, a preposterous height in Andrew's eyes.  Carlovain had
always depended upon its unfriendly harbors for its defense, so Andrew had
never seen a walled city before; now that he had with the hills playing the
constraining walls, it struck his fastidiously clean Neresterii nature as
being cramped, dirty and unhealthy.  The more well-to-do citizens seemed to
agree, the larger houses of the local nobility and guildmasters were all up
the sides of the hills, building at times upon a series of stilts, or
having the house go down from its entrance rather than up, with the lower
stories being built further down the sharp hillsides, giving them a
triangular appearance, as if partially buried by the hill.
     The harbor itself was V-shaped from the way these hills literally
drove off the land and into the water before diving underneath the waves,
and this harbor was crowded with ships, more than Andrew had ever seen in
one place before, nearly twenty of them plus double that number of smaller
skiffs and rowboats and small single-sail boats.  It was like a forest of
white-leaved trees that had sprouted out of the calm blue harbor.
     Andrew was alone once more; he had left behind the circus with the
approach of Fediresta, and he had seen nothing of his two companions on the
trail, but the warning he carried in his pocket burned with the King's
nearness, he knew from the flag of Carlovain that flew over it which of the
houses on the hillside was the King's residence in Fediresta.  He would see
the King and then seek out his comrades.
     He rode up to the front door, and noted that two of the King's own
Guard stood watch there.  He smiled affably to them as he passed, though he
didn't recognize them by sight.  He wondered if Adomeh or Trevish were here
with the King, it had been some months since he had seen his old friends
and had no word from them.  This was nothing to be fretful about, for the
King often sent his Guards off on missions about Carlovain, and they didn't
always have time to send word to their friends that they had departed.
     Inside, another Guard, and again he didn't recognize the man in the
Royal Guard's uniform.  This began to be odd, for he was a frequent visitor
to their barracks and the Royal Guard was no great size, less than a
hundred souls.
     "What may we do for you, my Lord?" the Guard said, unsmiling.
     "I have come to see the King." Andrew said.  "I have urgent business
with him."
     "The time for petitions to the King is past for this day." the Guard
said frostily.  "You must return on the morrow."
     "Petition?" Andrew said, surprised, then he laughed.  "You
misunderstand, the fault of your being new with the Royal Guard.  I am Sir
Andrew, the son of Falin, Duke of Heslov.  I am a friend of the King.  If
you will but carry word to him that I am here, he will tell you to grant me
entrance."
     "I will ask the Royal Chamberlain." the Guard said and left.
     Andrew looked about, found a rather small chair, and seated himself.
The Guard was new, how else would he not know who Andrew was?  The Duchy of
Heslov was the most important post in Carlovain except for the Royal Family
itself.  Other noble families must find a place for their younger sons, but
the Duchy's younger heirs were the natural choices for the various royal
retainers.  The current Royal Chamberlain was the uncle of the Archbishop,
and of Lord Montaigne, the Earl of Sheredov, who had recently...led the
rebellion against...the King.
     Nonsense!  The Royal Chamberlain had served in the King's house for a
half century, first as Chief Steward and now Chamberlain, his loyalty had
been assumed as much as had that of Lord Dentremon during the rebellion
despite his family ties.  When the Earl's rebellion had fallen to its doom,
there had been no question of replacing him in his task, for the
Chamberlain had been with the King at Winseran Point on the day the
rebellion had died, being stabbed by the Lady Dulicen's claws and butchered
by the loyalist forces.  True, the Chamberlain's son, the steward whose
place Andrew's father had replaced briefly on his meteoric rise to fortune,
had joined the rebellion....  A king had to surround himself with people to
deal with and keep away the masses, these same protective wards could turn
into a prison for the hapless monarch if they ever allied against him....
     Andrew worried over these relationships, cursing himself that he had
not thought on them earlier, and so he was partially prepared for the
reception that he got, and it permitted him to do more than stare dumbly as
the Royal Guards came for him, four of them, with swords drawn.
     "Sir Andrew, you are under arrest for treason to the King." one of
them intoned, but by then, Andrew was on his feet and his sword was drawn.
     "I say that is a lie.  Take me before the King and let him tell me so
with his own lips, and I shall lay down my sword.  Until then, you are
varlets in the guise of the Royal Guard, who have long been my friends."
He recognized but two of these Guards, and they were both near-strangers to
him, no more than familiar faces.  The enormity and complexity of the plot
was beginning to make itself clear to him.  "I say take me to the King, or
stand and fight!" he challenged.
     He would never had thought this day would come, when the Royal Guard
would come at him with swords drawn, and he would have to draw their blood.
     Two swords came up at him at once and he parried them barely with a
flash of silvery steel.  Or they would draw his!  He had expected an
enveloping action, but one meant to capture rather than slay him; these
blades were flashing to kill!
     He backed up and his legs hit the stool he had been sitting on, he
lifted it up with his left hand stretched behind him and wielded it as an
impromptu shield, the razor-honed blades making quick work of the soft
wood.  But it permitted him the space to back up to the doorway which he
had been working toward, which did not lead outside but was the best he
could do, and he got to that doorway which was shuttered by a free-hanging
tapestry sewn to a bar above, and he darted back through it and when the
Guards attempted to follow, he hacked high above them and the tapestry fell
upon the Guards, muffling them partially and blocking the path of all four.
     It was as much of a break as he would get, Andrew turned and ran, the
shrieks of some women in the room echoing in his ears.
     "Danger!  Assassin in the house!" came the cry, and Andrew realized
that they were speaking of him!  Soon the entire house would be roused
against him, the other end of this room led only to a set of stairs that
led upwards, he took the flight two steps at a time, climbing them
awkwardly for they were narrow and steep.
     They led to a servants' area, he assumed, for there were some
not-too-clean people there (he could not tell in the brief glimpses he got
whether they were male or female, and then they were throwing things at
him, and everything was a clamor of dust and objects that ranged from
sharply cutting things to small pillows that merely pumped against him and
fell away again.
     A way out!  He needed a way out despite where that may lead!  He
ignored as well as he could the flying debris aimed at him and the clangor
of the Guards behind him as they made it to the top of the steps, and there
near him was a triangle of light.  He moved toward it, banging his head and
realized that he had made it into the attic, a storage area of some sort,
and these odd gremlins that threw things at him were some children at play
and frightened for their lives at his appearance with wild eyes and
flashing sword!
     There was a triangle of light and he moved to it, a wooden grating
blocked it, but it flew apieces at a kick from his heel, and then he was
out of it.
     And walking on air!  He fell a short space, and a roof of a lower area
of the house then caught him, he fell heavily onto the wooden slats that
covered the roof, and then he was rolling downwards, unable to stop or
catch himself, turning it into a slide as the edge found him and he was
falling once again, this time with his feet aimed mostly downwards and he
crouched to brace for the landing.
     The ground grabbed him with a dull whump, snatched and mauled him,
fingernails raked his face...he had fallen into some rose bushes, the
golden roses of Carlovain.  He struggled out of this, heard a shout and saw
a head and arm from the garret above him.
     "He's in the garden!" the man yelled.  "Hurry, or he will flee us!"
     Which way to run?  Left?  Right?  Walls were in both places and not
far away.  In front of him was more bushes, it was his only chance and he
dove into them, grateful that these at least were honest bushes and not
more thorny roses.
     He ran for some distance before the wall again stopped him.  Over it!
He had to get over it!  But where?  How?
     "Hsst!  Andrew!" came a call and Andrew looked over and saw...Charles!
     A gift from the gods is not to be denied; Charles was on the other
side of the fence and was reaching an arm down to him.  Andrew took the arm
and Charles heaved, fell from his perch on a limb and Andrew and he were
briefly dangling, the top of the wall holding Andrew's forearm, then Andrew
caught the top of the wall with his other arm, the one that held his sword,
and he was struggling over it.  Behind this hill was some wasted land, not
smooth, but a ragged gully that he stumbled through, following Charles in
the hope that he knew the way!
     Charles did, and before long they were running down the road as best
they could.
     "Your horse?" Andrew gasped out.
     "Left behind!" Charles panted.  "Fetch later!  Run now!"
     Andrew did, his legs pumping for all they could.  Their path was all
downhill, and soon they were in the crowded canyons of the general township
of Fediresta.
     They were far from safe, the sounds of pursuit were still upon them,
and yet they were safer, for there was no orderly plan to the buildings,
they seemed to have sprouted where they were, the upper stories reached out
to cover the streets between, and now it was Andrew who picked a direction
and ran, Charles following in his wake.
     Some unknown time of running in unknown directions that turned on them
and with deadends that forced them to backtrack, peering cautiously around
corners, some time later, and Andrew thoroughly lost in this small maze of
streets, and he was ready to stop, which is to say, he stopped or his heart
would burst out of his chest.
     "I think we're safe now!" he gasped out to Charles.
     "Were we in the middle of the Royal Guards and the Archbishop's
troops, I could not run the more." Charles agreed, bent over, his hands on
his knees, face flushed.
     Andrew panted a little more and, the majority of his breath returned
to him, said, "How was it that you knew where to be?"
     "I did not know." Charles said.  "I saw you on the trail ahead of me
and called out, but you heard me not.  Your red tunic and tights show
clearly upon the road, better than my own garb, for I saw you turn time and
again and yet you did not notice my hand flailing at you.
     "Then I saw you come to the King's house, and I knew that this was
trouble, for did not the Archbishop's men attempt to arrest you on the
road, and so I rode to you but when I heard the sounds of the struggle
within the house, I rode on to the back in hopes of helping you escape."
     "I thought the charge of treason was but a ploy to gain my docile
compliance." Andrew said.  "I did not think for an instant that the King
had actually turned against me."
     "I doubt that he has." Charles said.  "But if his retainers are allied
against you, there is much they can do to block your way to him.."
     "But what can I do?" Andrew said.  "I must deliver this message to
him.  I see now more than ever that the Merlemagnists did not lie about its
urgency."
     "If I am to aid you, I must know about this urgent message, for so
far, only my regard for you has guided my hand."
     Andrew told him of the messages between the Archbishop and the Emperor
of the Holy Roman Empire.  Charles tugged at his beard in contemplation.
     "Knowing that the Archbishop has turned against the King, something
which does not utterly surprise me, there is much that we may guess."
     "His uncle, the Royal Chamberlain." Andrew agreed.
     "And the steward, the nephew of the Chamberlain." Charles said.  "All
that could open the door to the King now is the Royal Guard, and I saw them
in pursuit of you."
     "I think that the Chamberlain has disguised the bishopric's troops as
Royal Guards." Andrew said.  "The King is not as close to them as he once
was, and would not startle overmuch at unfamiliar faces, not so far from
Heslov."
     "So the King is ringed about with traitors." Charles said.  "It is a
wonder he still lives."
     Andrew thought it over.  "They must realize that the King is the last
peg they must remove.  When Lord Montaigne struck at the King, the French
houses divided, and with them and all of the Neresterii lords fully on his
side, Lord Montaigne was outnumbered for all that he had the wealthier
lords on his own side."
     "So this time they seek instead to isolate the King, cutting him off
from his loyalists one at a time before they act against him." Charles
nodded.  "And you are the thread they cut on this day."
     "My life matters less than the message to the King." Andrew said.  "I
will spend my life if it will but get these papers I carry into the King's
hands."
     "The Archbishop has no reason to distrust me." Charles said.  "Give me
the papers and I will place them into his own hands."
     Andrew looked at him.  Charles, a younger son of the former Marquis of
Lesleran.  The Marquis had joined Lord Montaigne five years ago, and now
his second son ruled Lesleran in his place.  Yet most of the former Lords
deposed by the King for treason had stayed on at their family residences,
mostly taking on the nominal duties of house steward or bailiff for their
sons and now masters.  Usually, the King admitted, these stewards ruled the
house, for what dutiful son would defy his father?  The King had said to
Andrew ruefully, "I fought a battle and then returned to my castle and
found all that I had changed were the pictures on the walls."
     What role had the Marquis played in the rebellion?  A poorer lord, his
small forces had been nearly invisible during the rebellion, drowning in
the larger forces of the Count of Ratisbon and Lord Bouillon to the south.
Lord Thedreaux to the west of Lesleran had remained loyal as had the
Neresterii lords, Earl Beredel and Baron Osrimee, to the north of Lesleran,
and so the Marquis had been hard-put just to hold his own during the months
of the rebellion, not taking one additional foot of land.  Already poor, he
had come out of the rebellion impoverished, so that even now, five years
later, Charles was sent to Merlemagne to pick curing herbs so that they
could save the handful of silver pieces it would have cost to buy them
instead.
     Andrew looked into Charles' eyes, seeking the truth.  Charles saw the
mistrust lurking there, and his normally jovial face grew solemn.
     "I can offer none but my word to you." He said.  "My father and
brothers were the traitors, not I."
     In this life so full of danger and betrayal, a man must take chances.
Andrew reached for the pouch at his waist and took it off, handed it to
Charles.  "The King's life lies in these papers." he said.  "And the
Archbishop's plans with the Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, and even the
Pope himself, I doubt not.  It has been a heavy burden to me."
     "I shall carry it with honor." Charles said.
     The light of the sky drew visibly dimmer as they spoke.  Dusk was
approaching and the heavy shadows of the western hills made actual sundown
something of a surprise.
     "When darkness is total, we shall leave here separately." Andrew said.
"You go to the King.  I shall try to find Renaud.  May God grant that he
found his way here as we did."
     "Yes, when it is dark." Charles said.  "Until then, we shall simply
remain here."
     Andrew looked about, the alley was filthy; there was no place even to
sit, save on the soiled ground splattered with unidentifiable substances.
"Well, we shall stand here." he said.
     Charles looked about, smiled.  "This is much better than a dungeon
filled with foul odors and stench, is it not?"
     "At least there are not chains about our feet." Andrew smiled in
return.
     "Should someone look out of several windows, they may wonder why we
stand here."  Charles pointed out.
     "We should give them a reason." Andrew agreed, and reached up his hand
to Charles' cheek.
     Charles smiled and nuzzled Andrew's hand, Andrew reached for this
face, this friendly face in a world gone mad once again.  He knew now the
way the King felt when in flight for his life on that fateful summer day so
many years ago and had reached for Andrew lustily despite the danger to his
life.  He felt...alive!  His body roared with primal urges, to fight and
live, the keen alertness of the senses of a man hunted, and his body begged
for action, any kind of action, to gain it safety, gain it life, gain
it...progeny.
     His body pressed itself against Charles' in the heat of rising desire,
he felt the strong arms encircle him once again, familiar enough for the
last few days, but now with a power in them and in himself that drove his
urgency, he kissed Charles not with gentle touch of lips but with the
pressing drive that sought to devour him.
     Charles was pushed back by this loving onslaught, so that his body hit
against the wall, and still Andrew kissed against him hard, and Charles had
to slip his face aside from Andrew's questing lips and he slid his face
around and nibbled at Andrew's neck.
     Andrew groaned as Charles' arms plied over his back, and he clung to
Charles not in weakness, but in need, and Charles knelt in the filth of the
alley and reached hastily for Andrew's tights and forced them down, freeing
Andrew's pud and as soon as that snout of his cockhead sought in the open,
Charles grabbed its shaft and guided it to his lips and Andrew gladly
plunged deep into that rabbit-hole of warm joy.
     Into the dark cavern, Charles' lips and tongue clutched at Andrew's
prick and no sooner had it driven deeply into him than he caught Andrew's
hips and used that hold to control the headlong flight inside and he
suckled noisily at Andrew's dong.
     Andrew felt his cock become tremendously hard and erect, it felt like
a tent-pole had been transplanted onto him, it would not bend in the least
but dove uncompromisingly in and out of Charles' nursing lips, each
movement sending a harsh pulse of energy up Andrew's spine, turning his
cock into a tumbling, boiling rod of blood-hot desire.
     He felt his climax rising within him, the rush of the animal hurrying
to mate while it can, and he groaned his warning to Charles.  "Ah, uh,
huh!"
     Charles rose and Andrew groaned now in dismay at the interruption, but
Charles quickly turned about, his cloak caught in one arm like some Roman
statesman of years long past, exposing his lowered tights and lush buttocks
like a pair of apples in the dusk.  "Take me!" he said simply.
     Andrew was beyond waiting for such permission, yet it galvanized him,
he quickly guided his spit-slicked dong between those apple-fresh cheeks
and found the blossom-pit between which was an oasis of steaming hot
moisture, there he gained the entrance he had sought and his cockhead
snuffled out this new hole and dug in after his prey.
     Charles was tight and not very pliant, Andrew had to push in his cock
in stages, gaining a short distance, then waiting while Charles groaned and
worked his buttocks, sometimes pushing Andrew back out in the process.  But
Charles did not beg off for all of this, and Andrew managed somehow to keep
his control enough to hold still until Charles gave his sobbing authority,
and then he shoved anew at this tight entrance.
     Finally, some two-thirds of Andrew's cock was buried between Charles'
butt-cheeks, and Andrew settled for this, he began to make short, quick
hunches into Charles, and Charles rested his face against the dirty wall
and muffled his grunts against one arm.
     Soon, the way was more open to Andrew, Charles' body had adjusted and
now Andrew humped harder, moving up against Charles and wrapping both his
arms around Charles' lower ribs, and he began now to fuck Charles in
earnest.
     His cock was totally alive, and Andrew felt totally alive, his body
burned with the need to struggle, to achieve in this world, in some way,
somehow, and his cock turned this into an urgency of sexual commerce, it
electrified and turned into a shining torch of sheer delight that surged
through Andrew's body, and he felt it turning then into something less
joyful and more intense at the same time, his body was tensing up for the
extreme concert of muscular movement that would lead to climax.
     He was beyond words now, he could only groan out his rising need to
Charles and when Charles made no reply, he took it as acquiescence and
pummeled Charles' ravaged buttocks, ramming into him with a sword-swift
movement of his hips, the tingling in his cock coalesced into a single
tower of raw energy, and then to a climb to passion, Andrew roared out his
lust and his cock blew into Charles' ass like a cannon barrage, he pumped
his jism hard and felt it squish about his cockhead still plunging in and
out and turning it all into a stingingly salty exercise where sweat and
come merge into a single entity, dribbling off his balls onto the
foul-smelling cobblestones below.
     Done, he clutched tightly to Charles, less in desire now than a fear
of falling down into that dirty floor beneath.  When his breath blew with
less urgency that it no longer hissed out of his lips with each intake and
exhaust, Andrew said, simply, "I thank you for your gift of your body."
Then, because he didn't know.  "Did you reach your own fruition?"
     "Nay." Charles admitted.  "Your need was very great, it gave me no
room for my own pleasure."
     "I am ashamed." Andrew said.  "Pray let me make amends now."
     He pulled up his tights as Charles turned around and knelt into the
muck beneath him, one knee becoming soaked, but his duty was clear.  Andrew
turned his attention to Charles' crotch, the cock still only partially
erect, and he lifted this soft dong up to his lips.
     It awoke and grew within his mouth, increasing by slow growth from
within so that it felt like Andrew's lips were imparting with their
moisture and the cock soaked it all up and used it to grow and wax fatly,
like a baby bird grows within its nest by the parents feeding it with their
beaks.
     Soon it was fully erect and Andrew was working with strong bobs back
and forth upon the turgid dong, and Charles was running his hands over
Andrew's head, clutching at his hair and threading it between his fingers
to enliven his scalp.
     "Enough." Charles groaned as these fingers pulled Andrew away.  "I
would take back my own at this hour."
     Andrew smiled and rose, rested his forearms against the wall.
Charles' eager hands pulled down his tights which clung to Andrew's sweaty
body and settling for the bare exposure of Andrew's buttocks, sent that
saliva-softened dong into the warm niche between.
     Andrew sighed as Charles' cock entered him.  It felt so very much like
the King's, which he had not enjoyed for far too long.  He spent the time
while Charles' plunged into his ass with increasing fervor and speed in
almost romantic contemplation of the soon-to-be reunion with the King,
first of his lovers and primary among his loyalties.
     He had been forced to delegate to Charles the letters.  Now they
sealed their bond of loyalty with this lovemaking.  He did not mistrust
Charles in the least now.  When Charles gained his climax and send his seed
boiling into Andrew's buttocks, Andrew found himself sucking in that
onslaught, holding it into himself as well as he could.  When Charles clung
now to him in slaked desire, he smiled.
     It would soon be dark enough to risk the streets once more.  He must
find Renaud.  Perhaps Renaud's words would be needed to convince the King
fully of the plots of the Archbishop and Royal Chamberlain.

			 THE END OF CHAPTER SEVEN