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Part Three: The Age of Excuse

~ Chapter 22: On The Road ~

Breeze found the sheer greenness of Alavakia almost offensive. Sitting in the back of the wagon Solomon had given them, Erasmus riding up front with Fenton, the big wolf had nothing to do but prod at his healing wounds and watch the world slide by. The Northwest Madlands was a tired and broken place, marred with insanity and blood and cold, the trees were razor-sharp skeletal fingers clawing up from the soil, the rocks were knife-edged and plentiful. Grass there was grey, perhaps with a telling hint of green shimmering throughout it, ultimately a pointless endeavour as the overcast sky and windblown fields managed to sap away any trace of joy the palette of the land clung to.

It seemed Alavakia had been made almost purely in spite of that. Breeze had thought the lands of the Union green, but this was something else entirely. He could smell it on the wind, he could feel it in his fur. The trees were full-bodied and luscious, adorned with colourful birds and sometimes fruit. He saw merry crews of young men and women traipsing on horseback, working their fields or hunting down some elusive private space. There was rain and wind, as it was still winter, but it came in gentle bouts, as if not wishing to inconvenience the kingdom's inhabitants too badly.

The horizon was free of smoke, and they had yet to pass through a village beset by plague. Alavakia was like a paradise, somehow untouched by the war, a more intense contrast to Lyskirk than he could imagine.

Lyskirk had felt like an extension of the Union, simply more of the same, the borders existing because the land had been carved up and divided for the greedy machinations of power-mad men. Gohdren had been festering with plague, stinking of it, the madness and delirium rising from the mud and streets in a thick haze. Breeze had almost lost himself in it, and now every time he closed his eyes he felt the joy of crushing Nail's skull. He dreamed of that elation and drive, that hunger to know he was better than them.

Because he was.

They avoided Nalledurn, the capital city of Alavakia, as best they could. Erasmus led the horse and cart around a detour that added three more days to the trip, circumventing the whole area by way of a precarious cliff-line.

"Nothin' good comes of us bein' in cities." Fenton had said, kneeling in the back of the cart for once, staring over the lip like a pup first gone to market. Breeze nodded, though a part of him was curious to see if the city was as free from the trappings of the hundred as the rest of the countryside. Fenton clicked his tongue.

"Something on your mind?" Breeze asked. As intriguing as Alavakia was to watch go by, he was getting tired of not being able to walk. Gently, he poked at his kneecap, winced as a fault-line of pain ricocheted across his leg.

Still tender.

"To be truth with you Breezy," Fenton whistled. "Jus' glad you and weasel-boy got it on already."

Breeze cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Fenton seemed oblivious, swirling his paw about as he spoke. "I was gettin' fed up with all the pining. I mean, it was exhaustin', the long an' pensive stares you two'd give each other. Having to stuff my quilts around me ears for a little bit every other night is a small price to pay for that mess to be cleared up." And he laughed.

Breeze felt a growl in his throat. He and Ras hadn't been able to do much more than lie together, due to his injuries, though the otter had proved his paws and tongue could be a perfectly capable substitute for his arse.

The minutes blended into hours, taking their perch in Breeze's mind and then blending into days. Erasmus played weirmother to his knee, constantly checking up to make sure it wasn't showing any signs of infection. It didn't hurt too bad for the most part, though Breeze found he often woke in the dead of night, fur all bristled and bunched up, toes curling as he shivered his way through a series of agonising fits. The pain ruminated from his kneecap like nothing he'd felt before, and more than once he wondered if he'd ever fight again.

"Do you want to?" Erasmus asked him one day. The otter was lounging in the rear of the wagon, Fenton driving the horses up front.

"I... I don't know." Breeze admitted, his eyes settling on a tightly packed thrush of pine trees at the lowest point of the valley. Wind nipped at them, winter slowly waning, if it could even be called winter down here. No snow, no ice, no frost. Just rain, wind, and chill. Even the southerners' seasons were all soft and limp.

Not that Breeze could say he missed freezing his tail off much.

"Seemed for a long time that fighting's just about all I'm good for." He added, watching the pensive otter. "Not rightly sure what else I'd do."

"What about the fishing?" Erasmus asked, cocking his head, paw squeezing around Breeze's wrist. The otter was a lot more physically affectionate than the wolf was prepared for, but he didn't pull away, almost liking the sensation. "You said..."

"I know." Breeze said quickly. "But..." But what?

But a part of you never really believed it. He thought. You knew deep down that trouble would come back, come find you. It always does. He bit his lip. And if you're really being honest with yourself, Witchborn, you'd realise that isn't something you want at all.

"It doesn't seem possible." He finally settled on, looking away.

Erasmus let it drop, settling in for a nap beside him.

You deserve this. Breeze told himself. You deserve to be with someone who loves you, deserve to love someone other than yourself. It's not wrong.

It felt like a lie.

He readjusted himself, shifting the otter against his shoulder. Another, small, quieter part of Breeze wondered if he could ever stop the killing. If he had the choice, was it possible to leave this behind? He looked down at Erasmus, eyes tracing the soft round face, the eyes squeezed tight, the tiny flash of pink as the man licked his lips, whiskers twitching.

Erasmus was everything Breeze was not. He was soft, thoughtful, optimistic about the future. When Breeze closed his eyes and cast his thoughts that way, to a time a decade from now, all he saw was violence and hatred. There was no clear picture, only a thrashing, raging mess of red and black and gleaming steel. It was like noise. A growl. The visual equivalent of a blood curdling wail.

Is that what you're going to take him into? He asked himself. Or are you going to resist it? To be better than who you know you are? That voice laughed at him. And if not, do you think you're strong enough to tell him he can't?

"Town comin' up!" Fenton cried over his shoulder, flicking the reins. Breeze and Ras sat up, looking out over the lip as they passed into a small inland village. The buildings were mostly squat log cabins with peaked rooves, a still and placid lake stretching off to one side. In the lake Breeze saw fisherman nestled into tiny rowboats, their poles arched, hats pulled low, no doubt caught somewhere between dozing and waiting.

The group saw none of the plague-men that Breeze and Erasmus had encountered before, way back in Respidon.

A lifetime ago. Breeze thought, reminiscing. He remembered how foolish and weak he'd thought the otter to be, resigning himself to at least go to Hieron and hear the Inquisitor out. They both nearly died on the journey, Erasmus soothing so much of Breeze's madness he nearly lost his damn mind.

Respidon had burned. The King's Trust set it ablaze, an attempt at controlling the infection. He recalled the person in the leather bird mask, warding them off.

"We're running low on a few things." Erasmus said, interrupting Breeze's memory. He climbed up gingerly, stepping cautiously over the wolf. "Do you need anything?"

"A piss'd be nice." Breeze admitted, and Erasmus laughed.

"Alright, c'mon, I'll help you and then go for trade."

With his arm around the otter Breeze performed, letting out a sharp hiss as a loose branch nicked the side of his wound as they limped back to the wagon. "Think you'll feel up to walking on your own soon?" Erasmus asked.

"I better." Breeze growled, massaging his thigh and grunting. "Otherwise I'm likely to cut this damn thing off."

"Breezy." Fenton cooed, rounding the rear of the wagon, his bow and near-empty quiver secure on his back. "If you might consider winding down the dramatics for a day or two, I'm certain we'd all be appreciative."

"Fuck you too, mutt."

"So you don't want me to fetch you a nice toy at market then, tsk." The Doberman whistled, pivoting on his heel and wandering off.

Erasmus waited for Fenton to disappear into the town, then looked to Breeze. "How long is he going to stay with us? I would have thought he'd have gone his own way by this point."

"That what you want?" The wolf asked.

Erasmus hesitated. "No. No, I don't think so. But if he is going to come along, I think he deserves to know the truth, about who Abigail really is I mean. About what we're doing."

"No!" Breeze snapped, showing more teeth than he meant. He forced himself to sit back, reaching up a paw and smoothing down his hackles. "No. Ras, do I need to remind you what happened last time someone learned that? You think some deserting low-life like him is gonna stay loyal when he could sell her off and live like a king? Especially with me like this." He pointed to his knee, wincing slightly as a twang echoed up his leg.

"Fenton isn't like that." Erasmus protested.

Breeze set his jaw. "I'll think about it." He lied.

Erasmus left, and Breeze wriggled down in his little nest, letting his eyes shut as the wind washed over him. He'd have a good few hours until the others returned, hopefully with some food.

His thoughts turned to the duel with Nail, as they usually did eventually. He and that wolf had once been friends, or at least what counted for friends in the Madlands. They'd served under Slaugh Morningbreaker together, they held Liar's Pass with only a dozen men against fifty. Nail had always been adept with a spear, flourishing it with a twirl, never making it look hard, slapping weapons right out of his enemies' paws.

He left Morningbreaker's group, back then barely more than a slightly-less-brutal war party, after Breeze had beaten Black-Tongue Thomas in a duel. Black-Tongue was a massive snow tiger, a beast of a creature that towered even over Breeze. Breeze and Nail chased Black-Tongue and his thralls across half the damn Northwest, up to the northern reaches where nothing grew and nothing lived. They backed Black-Tongue and his men, women, and children into an abandoned hamlet built into the bosom of knife-sharp cliffs.

Black-Tongue walked out alone, met Breeze and Nail in the knee deep snow, wind and ice whipping at them. He asked for a duel against Breeze, against the Witchborn. If Black-Tongue won, Nail would take their forces and leave in peace. If Breeze won, he would take Black-Tongue's head and spare the rest, tell Slaugh they died in the cold. It was easier, Black-Tongue argued, one death instead of dozens. Breeze had raged at that, claiming it was no deal at all, that it was nothing, that he could take Black-Tongue's head regardless, that the Witchborn didn't _need_a duel.

Nail agreed on his behalf.

Breeze won, obviously. He was barely injured, and in the end he threw his axe away and stove in Black-Tongue's chest with his bare paws, turning his ribs and heart to a thick pulpy soup. Then he turned on the hamlet.

Breeze shuddered presently. He remembered the anger he'd felt, the indignation, like letting them live was a loss somehow, a weakness. He remembered the elation he had at the flames, at the screams. Nail claimed Slaugh had really only wanted Black-Tongue. Breeze hadn't cared.

On the trip back, Nail slipped away.

After that it was him that the Witchborn chased. Slaugh was furious at the betrayal, and Breeze chased Nail down and challenged him to a duel. Nail agreed, and after taking a spear through his arm, Breeze stuck his sword hilt-deep through Nail's gut and threw him off a cliff.

Three years later it was Breeze leaving Slaugh, deciding he'd had enough of being the Witchborn, of being some madman's champion. Slaugh had hunted him like a mongrel. Breeze took the men most loyal to him, the ones he called his Sandmen, and ran.

Eventually Slaugh's forces caught them, in Eltric Chasm. And then Breeze was the one going over a cliff and presumed dead.

How it turns and twists and bends, but never breaks. The same old story over and over, just with different players. He wondered briefly what wars before the hundred had been like.

Probably just the same.

~

Breeze's paw closed on the back of Ras's head, and the otter took it as a sign to speed up. He heard the big wolf whine slightly, and let his tongue trace up along the underside of the thick wolf cock.

Ras was close, his paw sliding slick across his own prick, pushed out of his trousers and leaking like nothing else.

"Ras..." Breeze groaned, kicking his leg slightly. Ras's felt his shoulder bump something soft and the wolf went rigid, hissing, but not from pleasure. "Fuck." He growled.

Erasmus pulled Breeze's dick from his mouth, looking up in the darkness. The wolf sat on his arse, paws latched around his bandaged knee.

"Oh, sorry." Ras said, one paw still gently pinching his prick. "I didn't mean..."

"It's okay," Breeze said, laughing. He winced again, repositioning his leg. "You uh..."

"Want me to keep going?" Erasmus asked, lowering his head and meeting Breeze's eyes. He let his fingers squeeze loosely around the wolf's growing knot, this time eliciting a slow groan of pleasure.

"Please." Breeze said. Erasmus nodded, letting his fingers slide up over the prick, putting his lips to Breeze's tip.

He wanted to be ridden again, bred, but unfortunately the wolf was simply still too injured for that. Until then, however...

Erasmus sped up, minding his teeth, one paw squeezing along Breeze's cock, the other sliding his own sheath up and down his own length.

"Ah, ah..." Breeze moaned, softly but not too softly. Erasmus grunted in his throat, sliding as much of the wolf's cock down his maw as he could manage.

The otter felt his balls tighten, and increased the pace on the wolf.

"Ah, uh, Ras--" Breeze grunted, before thrusting his hips forward and going still. Erasmus braced, then swallowed as a thick rope of cum splashed on his tongue, shooting down the back of his throat. Through soothing, Erasmus felt the pressure in Breeze's cock opening out, bowing as he came, the surge of intense feeling gripping his crotch like a vice.

His own orgasm hit a moment later, and he mewled around Breeze's prick as he felt the waves of electricity racing up his dick, heading to a peak, like he was going to explode, before lancing out of the tip and covering his paw in the hot wet stickiness.

Ras pulled himself off the wolf, sighing as he wiped at his lips. "Think I'm getting better?" He asked.

"You weren't ever that bad." Breeze replied, chuckling. "C'mere."

Moving tentatively, Erasmus crawled up to Breeze, laying up against the wolf's good side. "Sorry again about your knee."

"Hazard of the job." Breeze murmured, yawning. Erasmus let his paw snake beneath the hem of Breeze's shirt, tracing his fingers up, feeling over the tapestry of scars, touching and tracing his firm muscles. "How long 'til we get to Abigail?"

Erasmus went still, a chill running through him. "Um, what, how long we been out here? We've got a good three or four weeks to go, I think."

"Alright."

The otter paused. "Why?"

"I need my leg for it. What if one of 'em runs? We don't know how many guards they'll have there either. Fenton is good with a bow, but they'll fight back, and I need to be standing at the least."

"I suppose." The otter replied. He had been avoiding thinking about what would happen once they caught up with Richeleau and Estrion. Somewhere far away he imagined that they would be so shocked at being hunted down, they would simply give the pup back in exchange for their lives.

And would that be enough? Erasmus wondered, looking to Breeze.

"And if they don't?"

"Fight back? They will."

Erasmus stopped, looking at the wolf, who sighed.

"I can't... they can't just get away with it." He protested. "They stole her, a little pup, to use as nothing more than a bargaining chip!"

"And what are we doing?"

"Ras, fuck." Breeze scowled. "It's different. We actually care about her."

"What if we took her away?" Erasmus whispered. His voice felt especially small in the darkness of their tent. "What if we got her back, and went to the coast? We could start fishing, or farming, or whatever you wanted."

"And what, raise her as our daughter?"

"Why not?"

"Because..." Breeze faltered. "Because we said we'd do this! Because of the madness, because... I don't know. It was your idea to go. And what about the Inquisition? What about those men that came after us, the ones you said would hunt me down forever? If we just run off with the most important pup in the world, eventually they'll catch us, right?"

That was so long ago though. Erasmus thought, guilt flaring in his chest.

"I suppose." Erasmus said softly. His chest seized, and he wished he knew how to untangle these feelings.

He was scared of Breeze, in a way. Scared of what he might do, scared of how unpredictable and impulsive he could be.

But Breeze could also be amazing. Kind, brave, funny. At his best the wolf was so good, so warm and protective. Erasmus had never felt safer, and Breeze actually saw him as person, not just a soother.

But at his worst...

Erasmus let his mind go back, to before he worked for Claude, back to the soother monastery. To the man he'd loved there, to the person he'd been. It had been the same then too, Vernon had seen through his role. He wasn't just a monk, he was a person with feelings and thoughts. But Breeze wasn't Vernon, he was dead. The otter licked his lips, thinking.

My father didn't want me, so I went and served the monks. Then I fell in love with a man who didn't see me as a monk. Then I left them and became a soother for the Inquisition. He glanced to Breeze. And I fell in love with a man who doesn't see me that way. Was it Erasmus's lot in life to simply find new people to serve, and then resent that?

What do you want? That's what Vernon asked him a lot. Erasmus didn't know, never had. He thought about the fight with Nail, about the anger and pain he'd soothed from Breeze during the end. Nail's head had popped like a squeezed grape, bone and brains spewing out onto the mud. And he felt joy. Erasmus had felt such elation at the death, he'd screamed with it, shouted his praise, thrown a fist up in the air, the soothed pain bleeding away as it was replaced with a feeling of total superiority.

Was that what Breeze felt? Was that who Erasmus was now? A person to howl with pleasure at a man's violent death?

If he didn't kill Nail, he'd just come back again. The past is dead, so let it stay there. Don't regret, just be better.

"Hey, Breeze?" He whispered, rolling. Only a light snore was returned, and Erasmus sighed.

He left the tent to find the fire still crackling along nicely, seating himself down on a squat log. Fenton's eyes stared back at him through the blaze, tiny pinpricks in the dark.

"Enjoy y'selves?" The Doberman asked, and Erasmus felt his face go hot and red. "Can't sleep then, eh?"

"No."

"Breezy?"

"Out like... I don't know, the dead."

"Those northman know how to get a night of rest, tell you what, especially after gettin' whatever greatness it were you gave."

Erasmus nodded dully, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. "Why are you still here?" He asked, crossing his legs and rubbing his paws together before the fire.

"Whaddya mean?"

"You got out of Niverron, got out of the Union. You know we're going to get our pup back, and then we're off--"

"To Astmoor, right?" Fenton asked. "Into the belly of the beast itself."

Erasmus opened his mouth, closed it again. "Yes."

Fenton shrugged. "I'unno. Got nowhere else to be. Most of me family is probably dead, strung up by Nurjan's forces." He paused. "Why, you want me gone?"

"No." Erasmus said. "Maybe once, but not anymore."

"I'll try to take it as a compliment."

"You wanna stay?"

"Long as I can, weasel-boy." Erasmus grinned. Fenton knew he was an otter, by now it was just a joke. The Doberman's light-heartedness was a welcome reprieve from the vicious doom and gloom of Breeze. "Breeze is a scary fuck, but it's always been my motto try and befriend those sorts in life."

"Then, if that's the case..." Erasmus waited, looking back to the tent. He thought about what Breeze had said, but Breeze wasn't the best judge of character. He also had skewed opinions when it came to Abigail. Erasmus repositioned himself on the long. He needed second opinions, he'd spent too long with the wolf, and had soaked up his worldview like a sponge; an unfortunate side-effect of frequent soothing.

"Then what?" Fenton asked, leaning closer, the fire still between them.

Erasmus sighed, running a paw over his head. "Then there's something you should know, about who I am, and... about who Abigail is."