Rexi and Talon

By Onyx Tao

Jack: Rexi and Talon by Onyx Tao is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Permissions beyond the scope of this license may be available at http://onyx-tao.sofurry.com.

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Talon 3

Talon came suddenly awake as water poured down around him -- warm water, scented with orange blossom. He was standing, and blindfolded, and he leaped, only to have his shins hit something hard and unyielding, and he started to fall.

Arms caught him, roughly, and then the hold relaxed. "I'm sorry," the deep voice of his new owner said. "I ought to have realized that could happen. You fell asleep in the carriage. We've arrived, and you're in a tub, and I can give you a real bath."

"I can do that ..." Talon started to say, but he was cut off.

"Yes," the voice said, and righted him. "You can stand now? You did not hurt yourself on the tub?"

"No ..."

"It's already bruising," sighed his owner. "Really, everyone will think I spend all my time beating you."

Talon laughed at that, and then was quiet, hoping he hadn't offended. Apparently he hadn't.

"I'm glad you still have your sense of humor." His master began cleaning him with a wet, warm cloth, very cautiously. "I knew some half-elves bruised easily, but your skin is remarkably delicate. Does the normal routine of a day leave marks?"

"No," Talon said. "Not unless I fall or hit myself. But yeah, if I do ... it looks worse than it is, though." A breath brought the warmth of steam, and a surprisingly harsh tang of soap.

The scrubbing continued, a little harder now. "Good to know. You were restrained for nearly a day and a half. If you're having any trouble standing, you are to tell me."

"I can manage," Talon said, feeling a little guilty.

"I am not interested in how far you can push yourself now. I am interested in getting ... yes?" Talon turned his head, as there was a faint noise. "Ah. Yes, I've been waiting for these ... no, no, you did very well, my dear, you must have run most of the way, to come so soon. Well done. What is your name?"

"Sassy, Master," came a whispered reply.

"Sassy," the deep voice repeated. "Those welts do look terrible, don't they."

"I ..." the whispered voice stumbled.

"The salves will sooth and help them to heal properly. They might -- might -- even keep them from scarring, although ..." the voice sighed. "That may be optimistic. But the sooner I can apply them, the better they will do, so your diligence is appreciated. Please find Rexi, and tell him that I approve strongly of his selection of you for this errand."

"Yes, Master ..."

"There is something else?"

"Well, Master, we could help you with him, it's ..."

"Yes, and I appreciate your reminding me," the voice said smoothly. "I am glad to find you eager and willing to turn your hands to the work that presents itself. But this is my task, and I will do it. Is there more? No? Then you have your instructions, and you are dismissed." There was another pause, and then, more quietly, "I cannot believe I've never had halfling domestics before. The combination of eager to please and competent is refreshing."

"Well, you must be new to Cheliax, then."

His master didn't say anything, simply continuing to wash. It was oddly erotic, and Talon felt himself stiffening as the washcloth scrubbed over his legs. He just gritted his teeth, and his master didn't say anything.

Until, "That's reassuring," rumbled through the room.

"Master?" asked Talon, although he was pretty certain what his owner meant.

"Your getting hard is reassuring. If you were seriously hurt, that wouldn't happen," the voice said, and a hand curled around his length.

Talon jerked a little, and then held himself still.

"Lovely," the voice breathed in a whisper so low that Talon could barely hear it. "But not for now ..." and the washing continued, perhaps a little faster. More water was poured over him, rinsing the rough soap off him. A hand stroked him, and there was another sigh. "The soap is probably too rough for your skin, I know, and I should have lotion. Your skin is very fine, very delicate ... this is mistreatment, really, but it's the best I can do today."

The best he can do? Talon wondered just what his master planned. Being carried -- well, he'd needed that, he couldn't have walked after he'd been released from the restraints. He could barely move, as limbs held for too long had tightened, cramped, and burned on their release. But he was steady now, steadier, at least, and ... he had hopes that this master would not be too difficult to serve. He could hope, after all.

Probably foolishly. This was Cheliax, after all.

"Where did you get it?"

"What?" the voice asked, sounding puzzled.

"This soap, then, if it's so bad. Master."

"Oh. It's mine," the voice said with amusement. "From my trip. I was washing in saltwater, on the ship, and finer soap doesn't do well in saltwater. And of course my skin is somewhat -- tougher." A rough towel surrounded him, drying him lightly. "Can you walk? You'll need to step up and ... ah, here. Let me." Arms gripped him, lifted him, and then set him down. "There. Come this way. We're going over to a bed, where you'll lie down, and I'll put some salve on your back and on your, ah, many bruises. By then we should have some food -- no, here it is, waiting for us. I'm liking these halflings more and more. I must find some way of expressing my pleasure ... stop, you're at the bed."

Talon reached out, felt for the furniture. "You want me ..."

"On your stomach." Talon obeyed. The feel of the fabric was rough, raw silk -- vastly expensive. It had the faint smell of silk, and nothing else, not a whiff of soap, the freshness of just-aired linens, and not the closed-in herbal scent of stored linens, either. It was clean, very clean, and wonderfully soft and smooth against his skin, but ... strange. Very strange.

And then he felt his Master's hands on his back, spreading a coolness into the dull aches and hot cuts. It numbed, and he heard his master crooning something, in his deep resonant voice, more to himself. His Master's touch relaxed him, fingers and his palms pressing into tense muscles, forcing them to loosen, making him relax. It felt good, really good. The salve or lotion or whatever it was surprisingly effective -- amazingly so. His back felt ... whole. Not a twinge, not an ache.

"I feel ... a lot better," Talon said slowly. It was nothing but the truth, but he'd never imagined a little hot water and rubdown with lotion or salve or whatever it was could make the pain vanish so completely. Entirely gone. Talon twitched his back, experimentally, just to see what it would feel like. It felt ... fine.

"Don't," his master said. "Moving like that will reopen cuts."

It would, Talon thought, if there were still cuts to open, and Talon didn't think they were there anymore. He concentrated on his legs, where he'd smacked his shins into the tub. They should still feel something, some roughness, some soreness, the thin skin of his leg still complaining about being crushed between tub and bone.

But they felt fine. He felt ... fine. Good. The lingering ache of being tied up -- gone as well. All the little aches and pains and scratches -- gone. Gone as if they had never happened. Talon pushed his head down against the fabric, inhaled again. Even the cleanest cover should have some hint of dust, some hint of its making, some herbal scent to repel insects and keep it fresh.

Nothing. It was as if the silk coverlet was clean, perfectly clean.

Just the same way he, Talon, felt good.

Talon had seen, felt, smelled cloth this clean before. Perfectly clean. A wizard had cleaned them, several old bolts of cloth that he was selling, and he'd used what he called a minor magic to strip the dirt from them. _ Minor! _

Talon knew there was magic to heal, too. Expensive, difficult, and not minor. Not minor at all. But that was the only possible explanation. His master had used magic -- real, expensive magic. A potion, perhaps, and Talon cringed as he thought of the cost ... and the purpose. Underpriced. A fine, virgin half-elf. Oh.

"What's wrong?" his master's voice was smooth, concerned. "Talon?"

Talon just shook his head, and managed to say, "Nothing, Master."

There was silence. A hand rested gently on the center of his back. "It's the scent, isn't it. It does give one away ... and here I thought I'd been so clever ... I wasn't trying to trick you, Talon, just to ... let you grow accustomed to me before you saw me. A misjudgement. I'm ... this is new for me, believe it or don't, and I'm making much of it up as I go along."

That arrested Talon mid-thought. What was his Master talking about?

The mattress moved and shifted as his master moved up beside him. "And getting less right that I expected. It is true that that idiot Des lost the key to your blindfold, but ... that is hardly the same thing as my being unable to open it. Please hold still ..."

There was a snort, and the faint brush of fabric against his head, the almost imperceptible stirring of air that told him something was moving by his head, and then a click! near his ear. "A bent pin would open that lock," his Master said in a growl. "Close your eyes. Too much light can be painful after one's eyes adapt to darkness, and it's bright in the room."

The blindfold came off, and the darkness morphed into gray. "Take your time," his Master advised. "Let your eyes adjust to the light." There was another snort of laughter. "It takes mine quite a lot of time."

Bright red seeped into his vision, even buried in the silk coverlet. Simply lifting his head an inch revealed the reason -- the coverlet was a shocking shade of brilliant crimson, and Talon blinked, clearing his eyes, ready for the bright light.

Except it wasn't particularly bright in the room. A few beams of sunlight leaked in through tightly closed shutters. Talon opened his eyes more fully; and a large room full of -- presumably -- furniture still with the dust-covers on. He was on a huge four-posted bed. Heavy curtains had been pulled back and secured to the posts. The room had the feeling of temporary occupancy; aside from the bed, only a nightstand had been uncovered. The platter of vegetables and cheese sitting atop it made Talon realize just how hungry he was.

But Talon was delaying. He swallowed, and pulled himself up and over, to sit on the bed and take a look at his new owner.

And came face to face with an orc. Small black eyes set too low on an elongated hairless skull, heavy lines where the skull pushed out against the face; a grinning ferocious mask of a face framed with long, polished tusks, staring at him. Worse, the beast was nearly naked -- and huge, his (most definitely _ his ) gray-green skin taut with muscles. It -- _he -- was staring at him, and for a moment, Talon was petrified.

And then the surprise broke, and Talon hurled himself off the bed, away from the thing, dimly aware of a faint pain in his leg as he landed.

A strange look crossed the bestial face, and his owner's voice, coming from the humongous bestial humanoid, "Are you all right?"

"I'm ..."

"I thought you'd guessed, from your reaction," the orc said, still with that amazing, perfect deep bass, all the more astonishing for the exact diction. "Apparently not. I seem to be making any number of errors with you. It's becoming ... irritating." The orc seemed to just lift himself with a preternatural grace up and off the bed. "And you've hurt yourself," the orc sighed. Again, he didn't say, but Talon heard it, and blushed. "More bruises."

"I'm sorry," Talon said. "No, I ..." and he stopped, but the orc simply walked over to him, and offered him a hand. "I am sorry," he managed to say. "Master."

"I will not hurt you," the orc said quietly, spreading his hands. "Truly I will not." The beady eyes blinked a couple of times. "I'd thought you'd realized I was half-human by the scent, but ... from your reaction, that was not the case. What startled you, then?"

"Uh ..." said Talon, and then his mind reviewed the clues together. Cleaned. Magic spent to heal him. Ready for butchering. "I was just thinking you'd used a healing salve on me." He got up. "Master," and his eye twitched toward the window.

"Don't," the orc said warningly. "I don't know what desperate thing you're planning -- and I certainly don't know why -- but don't do it. Talk to me. What have I done to alarm you?"

"Nothing," Talon said quickly. "Master."

The orc seemed to think about it. "Obviously something is wrong," the orc said. "And I don't know what it is; I guessed, and as it happens, guessed wrong. And that made things worse. So, rather than repeat my mistake of guessing wrong, I want you to tell me." The orc paused again, thinking. "I promised not to hurt you, and a liberal interpretation of that includes core ego, so making you tell me would be, in a relevent sense, hurt."

Talon shook his head. "What?"

The orc snorted. "Sorry. I am thinking that it is best to think through my options, out loud, both for my own reasoning and to give you some insight into me. Let me see ... forcing you to comply would hurt you. I said I wouldn't hurt you. Ergo, I cannot force you to tell me -- or do anything, really -- without breaking my word, and I never knowingly do that. I am limited to mere cajolery." The orc snorted again; Talon was starting to recognize it as a short, abbreviated laugh. "Although I'm fairly good at ... cajolery. So, Talon ... let us see where we are. You're scared, and, if I read matters aright, scared to tell me why you're scared. Is that so?"

Talon nodded.

"Then ... are you scared to tell me why you're scared to tell me why you're scared?" The orc's eyes held some hint of amusement.

All Talon could say was, "What?"

So the orc explained it again, more slowly, and this time Talon found himself nodding. "I think you'll be angry. Or ..."

"I will not be angry," the orc said. "I will be pleased." He smiled, and despite the teeth and tusks, it was less of an intimidating smile than Talon had expected. "Please me, Talon."

"I ... well, you used magic on me, to heal ..." Talon's voice softened, slowed, as he took in his owner's reaction to that. It wasn't what he'd expected.

It was one of dismay. "You weren't supposed to notice, that was the whole point of waiting until I got the lotion rather than just doing it there in the carriage," the orc said. "I'm sorry I made you made you wait, then. Magic scares people, even helpful magic like that, and I was concerned that even a beneficial spell would just scare you further. If ... I thought -- wrongly, ah, I seem to be doing nothing right with you -- I thought it would be easier for you."

Talon stopped in surprise. "It wasn't a potion?"

"No," said the orc. "I can work a few spells. Not many, but simple healing was one of the first things I mastered. The lotion was just ... lotion. But ... please, Talon, go on."

"I thought that ... well, if you were using a potion on me, I didn't know why you'd spend that much on a slave who'd heal on his own, and then when ... when I saw you were, uh, orc, rather than human ..."

The orc nodded very, very slightly in encouragement, breathing out, "Go on."

"I thought you were going to eat me," Talon got out in a rush.

The orc just stared at him for a moment, apparently at a loss for words. Even his jaw gaped open a fraction.

"I'm sorry," Talon said.

"Several things," the orc said slowly. "First, and certainly most urgent, I am not going to eat you. I am not planning you as a meal for anyone. I'm not planning on ... serving thinking creatures to ... anything.

"Next, you're right, I suppose. I would be hesitant to use a healing draught in anything less than an emergency, and despite your pain and hurt, it was not an emergency. Fortunately, I have a spell, and that's a lesser thing. I ... I have already said that delaying its use was an error that I regret. However, if I thought your life was threatened, I would consider that an emergency, and I would use such a draught or a spell or whatever else I thought was needed."

The orc shifted on the bed. "I want you, because I think you're beautiful. And there will be times when having a beautiful slave will get me what I want, it will reify the privilege that ... ah, I mean, will detoxify the inherent subversion of the statial para ... no ... no ..." the orc paused and took a deep breath. "Will reassure the higher-status Chelaxians I need to deal with," the orc said. "Yes. That's right, and I think, digestible." The orc grimaced. "Bad choice of words. Digestible, I meant, in the sense that all of the ideas and concepts are ones with which you are familiar. Understandable would have been a superior choice."

"What did the other things mean?" Talon asked.

"Essentially, that it would reassure the wealthy and powerful of Cheliax," the orc said. "Additionally, I have always had ... call it a soft spot, I suppose, for my fellow half-humans. I know I look pure orc, but I'm actually only half-monster. The other half is orc." There was a silence, and then the orc -- no, half-orc, added, "That was supposed to be a ... half-joke."

Talon didn't say anything.

"I thought it was a little funny ..." the half-orc suggested softly, and then said, a little more loudly, "I'm going to have to recalibrate my sense of humor for Cheliax."

That made Talon smile.

Only to be met with a grimace from the orc -- half-orc. Half-orc. Half. "And that wasn't intended as funny." The orc's face closed up in a look of frustration. "Damn me if I haven't gone and desocialized myself. That's going to make life ... difficult."

"I don't understand," Talon said.

The orc lifted a hand, and let it drop to his side. "It's straightforward. I just finished a ... task, job, contract, assignment, responsibility in, ah, Geb, shall we say. It's a pit, and I am glad to be finished. But I may have lost some of my ability to relate to the living. That would be bad. Need to fix that ..." the half-orc's voice drifted off into some private contemplation, and then he just as clearly snapped back to the current moment. "Which may explain why I've made so many errors today.

"You may call me Master, Sir, or Master Zack; if anyone asks, you are owned by Zackton Silvercane. Your duties will be essentially those of a valet and footman -- a private servant. Can you read?"

"Yes!" said Talon indignantly.

"Not everyone is so privileged," said Zack. "I didn't learn to read until I was nearly fifteen." He grimaced, and said, "and until I was eighteen or so, I thalked lizk tisss", as his speech suddenly degenerated into an almost incomprehensible slur before recovering. "I don't mean to insult you, I mean to learn about you. What -- if anything -- did you do before you were enslaved?"

The sudden, blunt reminder of his mother's death and his lost life caught Talon by surprise; once he started crying, he couldn't seem to stop, and he was aware of Zack reaching down, and picking him up. He tensed up, expecting some rebuke or comment or ...

But all Zack did was hold him, and return to the bed, a huge hand supporting him, and another around his back, and apparently the half-orc had a lot more patience with his crying fit than Talon had; he was feeling stupid and childish by the time he finished, and in all that length, however long it was, the half-orc hadn't said anything, hadn't done anything except hold him, let him cry.

I will not hurt you, Zack had said. And so far, Talon had to admit, he hadn't.

The hand on his back vanished for a half-moment, and Zack handed Talon a small, soft towel. All the half-orc said was, "Better?"

Talon nodded.

"I would be lying if I said I understood," Zack said, quietly. "I would like to, though."

"It's ... it was ..." and Talon paused. "My mother," he got out. "She ... she had a shop, and ... she ... she was run over in the street and there were debts ..."

"So this just happened," Zack said, in a tone of trying to understand.

Talon nodded, still unable to say anything.

"I wonder ... how old are you?"

"Thirty-six."

"For an orc, that's an elder," Zack said slowly. "If not dead. For a human, adult. For an elf, a child, barely past the toddler stage. I look orc, but I aged human-slow. You look ... adult, but ... you're young, still. Maybe ... hmm, six, for an orc, or sixteen, for a human, or maybe sixty for an elf." There was a pause, and then, "I don't know that much about elves. Must look into it sometime, all things considered." Zack took a breath, let it out.

"So, then, you're young, human-sixteen-equivalent maybe, and your mother is killed -- I doubt that there was any justice for it, not here, and there were debts, and, again, because this is Cheliax, perhaps there was trickery, that is how you came to find yourself in that cage, where I bought you."

Talon nodded.

"What a terrible week you've had," Zack said. "Losing your mother, and your life, all at once."

Talon tensed.

"Ah, no, that's ... that's, what I meant was, the life you knew is gone, and the new one didn't start well," Zack clarified. "What did your shop sell?"

"Cloth. Imported, local. Thread."

"You know fabrics, then?"

Talon just nodded, and the half-orc sighed and settled back against the headboard. Almost absently, Zack reached over to the nightstand, picked up a small piece of melon, and held it up to Talon's lips. The half-elf took it, and reached for another. Zack carefully caught his arm, brought it back to his side, and fed Talon another small slice of melon.

And then a cube of soft, crumbly mild cheese. And then another. And more, while Zack just kept stroking him. It didn't seem like a long time before he was full, but looking at the plate, most of the food was gone. Talon wondered: Had Zack eaten any?

The half-orc was humming something, deep, with something that sounded almost like words but wasn't, somehow. A tingling spread in a quick wave across his face and hands, leaving them ... clean?

"Magic?" Talon asked in almost a breathless whisper.

"Of a sort," the half-orc admitted. "The halflings will figure it out too, I expect, but ... let them. Our secret. For now. Can you do that, Talon?" A smile flickered across the ferocious face, making just that much less ferocious and almost amused for the duration. "For me?"

Full and warm and tired, Talon just nodded.

"Good," the rumble of the half-orc's voice purred. A few twists, and they weren't sitting upright anymore; they were in the bed, the linen crisp -- magically crisp, Talon thought muzzily -- and cool against his now-healed skin.

"Sleep," murmured Zack, cradling him close. "Sleep."

Talon woke partway, to hear Zack talking quietly to Rexi. "I agree, but it would be imprudent to decline to see them. I trust none of the receiving rooms are open?"

Talon couldn't make out Rexi's response, just his voice, but Zack shushed him. "No. I would be displeased to discover otherwise. Receiving guests before we are prepared to see to our own comforts would be ridiculous. Divert no effort towards that end. The entrance hall will do. Show them in, inform them that no better place is ready upon their ... ah ... precipitate arrival, and that I will ... attend them, hmmm, as soon as ..." and the pleasant rumble of the half-orc's voice slowed to a stop as he considered the wording. "As soon as propriety admits," Zack finished.

"Yes, Master," the halfling's voice was clearer, or maybe Talon was closer to waking up.

"Dismissed," said the half-orc, and there was a short, short pause as Talon felt the arms around him tighten just a bit. "Sweetling," Zack whispered. "I know you're listening, and I know you will return to healing sleep after this, and remember it when you awaken. I had hoped to nap with you longer. Eat, refresh yourself when you wish, wait for my return. I know you will do that, hmmm?"

Talon made some kind of affirmative noise, and went back to sleep.