The Thief's Scent
#1 of Tales of the Wandering Dog
The Thief's Scent
By Sirius
A song echoed through the corridors of the city and stirred Sher Galah out of sleep. It was a beautiful song, an old song about unspoken passions, and the jackal knew it well. With his eyes shut he listened to the faint song, sung by some young man in the distant plaza, beyond the white walls and myriad steps. There was a naked quality about such a voice without instruments to back it up, an unadorned beauty that made Galah curious as to what this young man looked like, what species he was, where he had come from, what cause he had to sing his heart out by the morning's light. A spurned lover, perhaps. To love a singer would be foolish, reflected Galah silently, for when it ended he would give voice to your shame. The same would be true for a poet.
If such a man ran afoul of Galah, however, the jackal always had his sword. Galah was no poet, but he was well-versed in poetic justice. The singer? Cut his throat. The poet? Cut off his hand. Irony was best dealt with a sharp edge.
The jackal rubbed his still-shut eyes. It was too early for such bloody thoughts. Galah rolled over in bed, reaching out to seek out the comforting warmth of his lover. His hand only found the silk sheets of the bed, and cold sheets at that. Galah cursed softly and opened his eyes. His lover's scent was still on the sheets, as well as a number of other scents that brought vivid memories of the night before to Galah's mind. Oh, he had not indulged so recklessly in quite some time. It almost made the prospect of the penance he was about to suffer somewhat bearable. There was barely any light in the room; the dawn outside shone a dim lavender through the many colorful fabrics draped over the window. Galah's lover had left incense burning, and the room was heavy with the odor of sandalwood and spices. Galah had an abrupt, childish impulse to just curl up under the rich sheets and pretend as if the outside world no longer existed and he was safe, but he dismissed it immediately. If what he suspected was true, he would have to act quickly.
The jackal rose to all fours, stretching out on the bed and yawning. He was nude save the golden servitude band around his wrist, his fur matted and mussed in many places. What a tussle that had been. His cock was half-awake, peeking drowsily out of its sheath. Galah looked down at it for a moment, still blinking away sleep from his weary eyes. The jackal's clothes were still scattered about the floor, which was promising. Even his sword rested in one corner. That too was a good sign; it gave Galah some glimmer of hope. He'd half-expected his items to be stolen. Galah slipped off the bed and through the curtains, still clinging to his hope. The room beyond was silent and dark, and Galah knew he was alone. How nice it would have been to see his lover bringing him breakfast, a rich cup of coffee, or even just his own wild little body, to toss and turn the sheets some more before they faced the day. Galah took a deep breath, trying to force back his hurt and anger. At least his clothes and his sword had been left behind. That was still a gesture of honor.
The faraway song had stopped. Galah knew that if he waited too long, there would soon be men searching for him, men who did not need swords because they could kill with their bare hands. Galah's own weapon would be useless against them, and they were too foolish to listen to persuasion. The jackal ran back into the bedroom and quickly dressed, ignoring the faint aches and complaints of his tired body. As he pulled on his vest, Galah felt an unfamiliar weight in the pocket. He reached into it and found a tiny, ornate box there. He brought it out and studied it; it was finely crafted, made of wood carved into little curls and shapes and painted bright colors. A gift box - stolen, no doubt.
Despite himself, Galah sat down on the bed. He could afford another minute, perhaps. He opened the little gift box, and what was inside stirred a whirlwind of emotions in him. The jackal did not like when something reached through his tough, scarred chest and so easily touched his heart; it was inappropriate for a warrior such as him. Within the box was a small glass bottle with a cork stopper; inside the bottle was a dark amber liquid. Galah pulled out the cork and breathed deeply, and in that moment he realized that this gift was much more than it appeared.
A day earlier, Sher Galah knelt in the magisterial chambers before the Most Venerated Adi Bharis, High Magistrate of the Blessed City, awaiting the command of his master. Bharis, a petulant young tiger dressed in gaudy finery, looked small in the chair his father had occupied for so many years. Bharis's father had been a wise and benevolent ruler, whom Galah had served with pride, until the day five years ago when the former Adi had been taken unexpectedly and suddenly by a brain-sickness. Bharis might have been the equal of his father had he only had proper training and time to assume the role of the Magistrate, but the young tiger had been thrust into it, with wealth and pressure in equal measure, and had thus become a bit of a tyrant in the years since. Sher Galah both pitied Bharis and chafed at his rule - Bharis requested the Sher's services far more often than his father ever did - but Galah still served loyally. Bharis had several wives, but none of them lived in the palace, nor had any bore him a cub. Galah was one of the few who knew why.
The Adi was regarding Galah with a troubled, doubtful expression, drumming his fingers. Galah waited until he could wait no longer, and then spoke up: "My lord, I await your command."
"I know that, you fool," snapped Bharis. "I'm trying to decide if you are worth the job I have for you."
"You know my prowess as a tracker and fighter," said Galah. "Whoever you want me to find, I will return with them - or with their head, if the Adi prefers. If a man has taken something, I will retrieve it. If there is a punishment to be dealt, I will deal it. I shall not fail you."
"Stop boasting," growled Bharis. "I know very well how skilled you are. What I don't know is if I can trust you with this task."
"If the Venerated Adi would tell humble Galah precisely what it is he is to be entrusted with," said Galah, gritting his teeth, "Then perhaps I could tell you better if I am equal to the task."
"There is a thief loose in the city below," said Bharis. "He makes his filthy nest somewhere in the Guduwa district. "I want you to find him and bring him to me, alive and unharmed...that I may deal the harm to him personally. You must be swift; he will try to evade you the moment he senses you."
"He will fail," said Galah, rising. "What is this man's name and kind?"
"His name is Luwak, and he is one of the many loathsome, stinking civets taking refuge in the Blessed City," snarled Bharis. "One day I shall find a reason to slaughter them all, and nail their pelts to the walls of the city as a warning to any other newcomers!"
Galah struggled to say nothing. Bharis often announced murderous ambitions such as this; the young tiger truly trusted no one. Galah's fear was that one day Bharis would in fact make good on such claims.
"My lord, may I ask what this thief stole?"
"That is none of your concern!" snapped Bharis. "Just do my bidding!"
A suspicion suddenly took root in Galah's mind, and the jackal crafted his next question carefully. "My lord, is there anything in the palace's possession with this thief's scent upon it? It would make tracking him much easier."
Bharis gave Galah a look of outright contempt, but rose from his chair and gestured to him. "Follow me."
The Adi led Galah to the magisterial bedchambers, a place Galah had seen the inside of more often than he wanted to. Galah's suspicions were proven the moment Bharis produced a pair of ornate, bejeweled shackles and held them up to Galah's nose. The insides of the shackles carried a faint, musky odor. The jackal took a deep whiff, and committed the scent to memory.
"This thief will be punished," said Bharis in a low, dangerous voice, "And I alone will see to it. Your job is merely to find him. And you will say nothing of this to anyone, do you hear?"
"I hear and obey my Adi," said Galah. "I will find him and bring him before you."
"He is tricky," said Bharis in the same voice. "Do not let him get the best of you, Galah. Do you hear me?"
Galah nodded, then bowed to Bharis and withdrew. He did not like being in here; it brought back far too many unpleasant memories.
The trail was fresh, and easy to find; Galah picked it up within a block or two of the palace, and chased the scent swiftly through the streets, sword in hand. Before long he found himself amongst the market stalls and mazelike alleys of the Guduwa district. The marketplace was packed with buyers and sellers, dealers of questionable repute selling goods that were likely stolen. No one stood in his way; they were wiser than that. The thief led him a merry chase; the jackal could not catch sight of the quick little devil, but he was hot on the trail, and could smell the hints of fear in the civet's scent now. He dashed through the market, ignoring all the other distracting smells. Many looked upon him with concealed or even open hatred; it was a look he was used to. Most commoners thought the Sher a necessary evil; some saw him as corrupt and draconian, as reprehensible as Bharis himself. Galah did not care in the least; he had a job to do, and he enjoyed his work.
Abruptly, the scent split. The wily bastard had marked other people in passing somehow, and they were moving in different directions! Galah scanned the crowd before him, drawing on every sense, every instinct. He knew this part of the city fairly well; many of the victims of his wrath had once done shady business here. Where would his quarry escape to? What alleyway would provide the easiest outlet while the hunter was distracted?
Galah was momentarily stumped, but his instincts were good. He stopped wasting time reasoning it out and plunged forward, racing through the crowd, picking out a particular back alley and sprinting towards it, tightening the grip on his sword. Yes! There it was - the civet's scent, still fresh! He came to a halt at the end of the alley, then looked directly below his feet. There, with the civet's prints fresh in the dust upon it, was an iron sewer hole cover. Oh, this would not be pleasant at all - but that would make the catch all the more satisfying. Galah seized the cover and tore it off, then clamped his sword in his teeth. Taking hold of the filth-encrusted metal rungs, the jackal descended into the sewers.
The civet had been smart to lure Galah down to this disgusting place; there was almost no light, and the acrid, rotting odors from the sewer waters almost completely masked the thief's own scent. Galah moved slowly along the stony embankment overlooking the river of sewage, sword at the ready, his sharp eyes trying to permeate the darkness. He did not know these tunnels; but neither, he suspected, did the thief. This was a desperation move, not a calculated one. It would be too easy to get lost in the myriad of twists and turns down here.
"Come out," said Galah aloud, for he knew the thief was in earshot. "You have nowhere left to run!"
There was a displacement of air behind Galah, and the jackal narrowly dodged a swipe from a blade. He spun around and met the thief's blade with his own, their swords clanging and clashing in the shadows. Galah's eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and now he saw his quarry clearly. Luwak was taller and more muscular than most of his kind, but otherwise a typical civet: dark fur and a white face, with a mask over his eyes not unlike a ferret's. He was small compared to the tall jackal. Luwak wore loose pants and a sleeveless vest, and a thick belt from which hung many little sacks which clinked as he thrashed and fought. His fighting style was clumsy; the thief was clearly more used to running than dueling, and he'd clearly never faced an opponent of the Sher's stature. Galah decided to end it; with a single, driving slash, he knocked the civet's sword right out of his hands. It fell into the slowly moving sewer mire with a wet splash. The civet toppled and fell to the stony floor, and Galah placed his foot on the thief's neck, pinning him. He readied his sword for another swipe. "Fool."
"STOP!" gasped Luwak. "Damn you, I surrender! You must not harm me! He told you not to harm me!"
"How do you know that?" growled Galah. "Answer me, thief! What game are you playing?"
"It's not my game!" hissed Luwak. "It is his...and you are a pawn in it!"
"Explain yourself," said Galah, "Or I will cut your throat here and now."
"Not if you want to risk the Adi's wrath," Luwak spat back. "But if you're so damned eager, then do it! Put me out of my misery!"
"No...not yet. How do you know what my task was?"
"Release me and I shall tell you everything."
"That is unacceptable," said Galah. "Nothing prevents you from running."
"I do not know the lay of these tunnels," said Luwak. "And even if I did, here you could throw your sword and strike me in the back faster than I could run. And you wish to know the truth, do you not?"
Galah hesitated, then let the civet up from under his foot. He kept his sword raised, however. "Then speak, thief."
The diminutive Luwak rose to his feet, dusted himself off, then took what looked like a coin from his belt and held it out to Galah. "See this? Look closely and you will understand."
Galah took it and scrutinized it, then sniffed at it. It was made of an alloy unknown to Galah, bore an unfamiliar seal and had a strange odor, a cloying perfumed scent not unlike certain currencies of the western lands. "What is it?"
Luwak just glared at him with narrow eyes. The odor from the coin was permeating his nose, and it was such a peculiar smell. Galah felt a sudden heaviness creep over his body, and he found he could not hold his sword, or even stay upright. His limbs felt like thick iron, and the jackal tumbled to the ground, cursing his foolishness. His eyes lost focus and the world blurred. He glimpsed the civet leaning over him, and then the world receded into numb, silent blackness.
"I could have killed you," said Luwak. "Or I could have done worse: I could have cut out your eyes or tongue, or other parts. So before I take the gag from your mouth, understand that I am showing you mercy. I do this because I am a better man than the Adi."
Galah had come to a moment before, his senses quickly reasserting themselves as the sleeping drug wore off. It was night-time, and he was in a dark place, lit only by an oil lamp in one corner. It was clearly Luwak's lair; the room was covered in richly-hued tapestries common to the nomads from the wastelands, and the air was thick with the civet's smell. Galah was tied and gagged, his arms and legs bound by rope to the four corners of Luwak's bed. He was still clothed but disarmed, and his sword was not in sight.
Galah allowed the gag to be removed. He did not scream, for that was not his way. He would find a way out of these restraints and then break the little civet's neck, all on his own. "And what is your mercy dependent on, thief?"
"Your cooperation." Luwak stood at the side of the bed, the oil-lamp light dimly illuminating his fur. His dark eyes glistened in the shadows. "We are no longer in the sewers; I have brought you to the lair of my family. Now that they know I am safe, they have already departed. We want nothing more to do with the Blessed City. Luckily the Adi does not know they are my relatives, else he would kill them all, men and women and children alike, without hesitation."
"You'll hang for speaking such blasphemy about our Adi," spat Galah, but deep down the jackal wondered if indeed Bharis was capable of such a thing.
"If you serve him, you know I speak the truth," said Luwak. "And I promise I will free you, Sher, but only once you have heard me out."
"I was willing to hear you out before you used your cowardly sleep-trick on me," growled Galah, tensing his muscles against the restraints. He was testing their strength, but the ropes held firm, the knots tight.
"I did not trust you then," said Luwak, "Because your sword was still in your hand as you spoke. Now hear me, and hear me well."
"I was a thief without honor," said Luwak. "I will not deny this. I stole not for any noble cause, but merely to survive, and to supply rare scents and essences to my family. We civets were once traders who traveled the great roads between East and West, learning the arts of mixing and transforming the elements into distillations pleasing to the senses. We have lost much since those days, but the remnant clans found they could make a decent living in the Blessed City, selling spirits, incenses, spices and perfumes. For a long time we remained beneath the sight of your precious, venerated Adi.
"I grew impulsive and daring in my thievery. Even my family warned me that I was growing cocky and foolish. I became adept at making scent-masking mixtures, and used these to evade the Adi's men. I thought myself untouchable, and tried more and more daring raids. It is ironic, then, that in the end I wound up in prison not for thievery but for a trivial offense: an argument with a rival shopkeeper in the plaza that broke into a fight. By then Bharis knew of me, but thankfully he knew nothing of my family.
"He could have easily singled me out in the prison and had me executed, but instead I was summoned before him. He knew of my reputation, and told me he would pardon my crimes if I did whatever he said for a night. How foolish I was, Sher. I did not believe such a young boy, younger than me, could be capable of such cruelty, such ravenous lust. I had no qualms about being his bedslave for a night, for this was clearly what he wanted. I even had no fear of the bejeweled cuffs he fastened onto my wrists. Little did I know that when I awoke the morning after, the cuffs were still on - and in addition, I had been fitted with a ball and chain.
"He kept me that way, treating me like an unwanted pet, for many moons, wearing me down, starving me, breaking me. When he knew I no longer had the fight in me to try to escape or harm him, I became a true slave - he worked his filthy perversions on me, made me do things I cannot repeat."
Galah closed his eyes momentarily, his brow furrowing. Luwak gave a rueful chuckle. "I see you know precisely of what I speak. Good...then you do not hate me as much now, I trust."
"You are still a thief," Galah said softly, but Luwak was right; it was difficult for Galah to blame him, in the light of this.
"He brought me rare substances and bid me make aphrodisiacs for him and his other lovers, and then he would use them on the boys he brought to his bed - and they would act as if I were not even there, Sher. He would engage in his disturbing trysts with them while I watched, chained, just out of reach - and sometimes in the midst of their passions, while those boys moaned, Bharis's eyes would be upon me, greedy, punishing, sadistic. And all through this he kept dangling the possibility of freedom before me, always promising that if I did well tonight he would let me out of the shackles tomorrow. I hated him for a long time, and then I pitied him, Sher; for he will consume himself in the end, do we not both know that?
"Today, Bharis had me bathed and cleansed, then dressed in my clothes. The mighty Adi said he had grown bored of me, and wanted to offer me a challenge. He would let me go, and if I could evade his hunter, the great Sher Galah, then I would be forever free. If I failed, I would remain his slave until my death. He set me free, and then mere moments later he set you on my trail."
"And what will you do now?" asked Galah. During Luwak's tale, the jackal had quietly loosened one of the ropes, and his hand was all but free.
Luwak leaned in close to Galah's face. "Now, I want a promise from you. I want you to go back to the palace and tell the Adi that you were forced to kill me."
"He will not believe me if I do not deliver your corpse."
"Then tell him I drowned in the sewers," said Luwak. "You are a clever dog; be resourceful -"
Galah's hand moved in a blur, seizing Luwak's throat with the speed and strength of a boa. He squeezed, and Luwak gasped for air.
"Or perhaps I should choke the life out of you," Galah growled. "Perhaps I should kill you just for humiliating me like this. Would you like that, thief? You have made a fool of me; do you think I would take that idly?"
Galah's hand tightened, but he could not maintain it. There was no weakness in his arm, only his will. Luwak had closed his eyes, awaiting Galah's punishment, and the civet was silently weeping. Tears streamed down his face, his chest heaving, but he made not a sound. Galah's hand weakened, and then let go. Luwak sat on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumping, face in his hands. Galah experienced one of the very rare moments in his savage life in which he had simply no idea what to do.
"I have no more desire to kill you," said the jackal. "But I am sworn to serve my Adi, and I cannot simply let you go."
Luwak had nothing more to say. He just looked at Galah with baleful, haunted eyes. Galah found it hard to meet those eyes.
"Release me, and I shall consider your proposal," said Galah.
"If I let you go, what do I have left? I will lose my last gambit."
"I am not your gambit," growled Galah. "I am no one's pawn, not even the Adi's, despite what you may think. I serve with honor."
Galah wiped at his eyes. In those eyes, beneath the sorrow, there was still defiance. They stared at one another wordlessly, in a standoff of wills.
"You could loosen the rest of your ropes and still kill me," said Luwak. "Why do you hesitate?"
"You could try to flee while I was loosening my ropes," Galah shot back. "Why do you hesitate?"
Luwak rose from the bed and went to one wall, parting the many-colored fabrics to reveal a window. Pale moonlight outlined the civet's form as he gazed out at the city. He looked surprisingly attractive for one of his kind. Galah's head was more likely to be turned by tall, limber canines, but this robust little civet was handsome in his own way.
"It is laughable," said Luwak softly. "You expect me to return with you when I have committed no crime against your master, and you know full well what fate awaits me. You are not the man I expected, Sher Galah. I would have thought that someone intelligent enough to be a hunter would see the reason in my actions."
"I have a duty," Galah said, emphasizing every word. "You cannot begin to understand that. I do not see right or wrong; I see the Adi to whom I am sworn."
Luwak turned to face him. "And was there ever a time when there was more to your life than duty? Was there ever anything you loved?"
"There was," said Galah, his voice softening. "There was a young man who I loved very much. But he grew to become a monster."
Luwak watched him from where he stood for a long while. Then he drew a deep breath, and approached. The civet produced a small dagger from within his vest. Galah watched warily, but Luwak's stance and posture did not suggest a fight. Instead, to the jackal's surprise, the civet used the dagger to cut through each of the remaining ropes that bound Galah. Luwak then handed him the dagger. "I surrender to you, Sher. What happens to me now is your decision."
"What is this? Have you gone mad?"
"No." Luwak smiled. "But I am tired of running. I am so very tired, Galah."
The jackal and the civet sat on the bed, eyeing one another, each seemingly waiting for the other to act. Galah felt the strangest impulse, and despite being anything but an impulsive man, he acted upon it. The jackal reached out and placed his paw atop Luwak's.
"What about your duty, Sher?"
"Stop calling me Sher. It is a title, nothing more. I am a man, not a rank."
"Then who is Galah?" The civet leaned closer, studying the jackal's face. "I suppose I shall find out, now. What is your choice, hunter? Will you bring me to your master? Or will you set me free?"
"It is not an easy choice," the jackal said softly.
"Perhaps you should think on it, then," the civet replied, his deep brown eyes capturing the dusky light of the oil lamp. "Perhaps it is a choice best decided by morning's light."
"Perhaps." Galah squeezed Luwak's hand.
The civet made the first move, leaning in to kiss Galah. The jackal encircled Luwak with his arms and pressed him closer, engrossed in the warmth and taste of the civet's eager mouth. There was an urgency to Luwak's actions; they were the actions of a man who did not know whether or not damnation would come the next day. The jackal's claws slipped under Luwak's vest and tracked through the civet's damp fur as they held onto the long, sweet kiss, and Galah found it had a luxuriant quality to it, rich and soft. Once one got used to the smell, these civets were really quite pleasing.
"Does the mighty Sher approve of me?" Luwak said softly as they broke the kiss.
"I told you, do not call me that." Galah smiled. "You needn't strive for my approval. I am just a man tonight, and for now we are equals."
Luwak chuckled. "But I still wear the costume of a thief, and yours is the garb of a hunter. Men can only be equal when they are naked."
They tore each other's clothes off, throwing them wantonly into the dimness around the bed. Luwak's musk grew even stronger, and Galah could smell it most intensely between the civet's legs as his nakedness was revealed. The civet's cock was quite thick around, and already well-drawn and hard. Just seeing it made the jackal hungry to taste it. Galah's own cock was stirring to life; it was only just beginning to peek out of its sheath, but he knew it wouldn't be long before he was ready. There was an intense heat between their hard, taut chests as they slid against each other, a feverish warmth of passion. Luwak shivered at Galah's aggressive touches; Galah knew full well that the pleasure from his claws straddled the threshold of pain, and he did not care. He took the lead now, unleashing soft but insistent nips with his fangs over the civet's tender neck. Luwak tilted his head back with a little whimper, and Galah noticed a tiny bead of precum glistening on the tip of the civet's cock. Unable to resist, he daubed at it with his finger and brought it to his muzzle, lapping it up. Like the rest of him, Luwak's precum was heady and musky. They kissed again, tongues thrashing against each other, Luwak's paws running down Galah's sides and then squeezing the jackal's firm ass.
"Stay here," the civet whispered. "Let me get something from my family's collection."
The jackal propped himself up on an elbow and watched, curious and bemused, as the little civet briefly departed. He returned shortly and produced a vial as small as a finger, full of some sort of liquid that Galah couldn't make out clearly. Luwak brought this little item over to the bed, uncorked it, and held it to Galah's nose. "Breathe it in."
"No more sleeping-tricks, now."
"I promise," said Luwak. "It will not make you sleep; if anything it will awaken you more than you have ever been."
Galah took a deep breath of the stuff. Whatever Luwak's concoction was, it was fiercely potent. Something about the scent made Galah tremble, his heart pounding in his chest, every nerve in his body suddenly set afire. The scent was indefinably masculine, somehow. He had only felt something this intense once when, on a special mission to Nahjripa, he had dallied in one of their exotic bathhouses. There in the steamy shadows he had smelled a hundred mingling scents of aroused males of every kind, watched their entangled, lustful bodies engaging in hedonistic acts, watched slickened cocks spurting and tongues teasing and gorgeous muscled bodies flexing and swaying in acrobatic, extravagant positions. He had heard moans and feral growls and roars of dominance and whimpers of submission...
"What is this potion of yours?" Galah breathed out slowly, his whole body feeling warm and strange and filled with desire. His thoughts had suddenly become of pure carnality. He looked down, and found himself hard as rock, his shaft fully extended, the beginnings of a knot bulging slightly at the base. The civet closed his hand around Galah's cock and stroked, and the sensations were overwhelming. Galah gasped and panted, his hips jerking involuntarily. It was as if every touch were multiplied tenfold. Luwak took a whiff of it himself, then set it aside and fell upon Galah, nearly attacking him with his lustful tongue and teeth. Their cocks rubbed together between caresses, leaked precum into their fur, added to the hot, heavy ambience between them. Galah's mind felt clouded, and yet in a different way sharpened; it was like the outside world was fading away, and instead there was only this place, this time, the beautiful male here with his engorged cock and the jackal's own uncontrollable passion.
Luwak shifted positions atop Galah, turning so that his lovely, thick cock was within reach of the jackal's mouth, and without hesitation Galah took the length into his muzzle, his tongue eagerly dancing over the hardness, eliciting wonderful little squeaks and whimpers from Luwak. The civet bowed his head and returned the favor, and Galah shuddered at the intensity of the feeling, amplified by Luwak's concoction: the civet's mouth felt like a blissful warm place of textures and wetness, sliding up and down on Galah's throbbing cock. It took all of the jackal's effort not to come right away; he wanted more than anything to savor this.
Galah noticed something beneath Luwak's tail, a gland where the musky odor was the most intense of anywhere on the civet's body. Curious, he took Luwak's cock out of his mouth, then licked directly upon that little place beneath the tail. Luwak shivered and moaned: "Ohh - be careful! That is - sensitive!"
Galah smiled, then lapped at it some more, stroking Luwak's cock with his paw at the same time. Luwak was barely able to control himself, his whole body tensing and quivering, the civet letting out all sorts of wild noises, his cock dripping ample precum. The smell was fascinating; it was a scent Galah would've considered unpleasant under normal circumstances, but in this moment there was something irresistible about it. He dragged his tongue over the musky gland, and Luwak's tail thrashed about, the civet on the verge of release. Finally there was no more holding back, and Luwak's cock spasmed and sent spurt after spurt of warm seed into the jackal's paw. Oh, this little civet was a fountain, he was! It was too much for Galah, and the jackal thrusted faster and faster until he too came, erupting in the civet's mouth, his knot bulging and his cock shooting his hot cum until he was spent.
After that there was an interval of heavy breathing and limbs askew, of Galah staring dazedly up at the colorful patterns in the tapestries above him. His mind was dulled with pleasure, his senses sated. It had been a long time since he had indulged so much. Luwak rolled off Galah and rose to his feet, and Galah reached out to grasp his tail. "Wait...do not go."
"I will not be long, my beautiful Sher," whispered Luwak, leaning to plant a kiss on the jackal's mouth. "I promise."
Galah reluctantly let the civet's tail go, and he disappeared into the darkness. He returned shortly, carrying another little vial full of a different substance. This one was paler, almost colorless.
"What is that?" asked Galah.
"Another secret of my clan," whispered Luwak. "We learned many things on our travels, including a few tricks to increase...potency..." The civet took some of the stuff from within this vial and rubbed it directly on his flagging cock, and to Galah's amazement, Luwak's cock revived swiftly, already perking up once more. "This will make you as a young man again..."
Galah smiled in wonderment as the civet carefully applied the stuff to Galah's own cock, and he found that it worked indeed quite well. Hard once more, the jackal contemplated the civet's fine ass anew. Their play went on for hours; the moon rose and
climbed high in the sky, and still they danced between the sheets.
Sometime in the longest, darkest hours of the warm night, as the tired moon sank in the sky and slumber at last crept over Galah, the jackal's last few waking thoughts were of Bharis, and the consequences of his actions. He still had a choice. While Luwak slept, the jackal could still --
No, he thought, lost in the warmth and comfort of the civet next to him. I will not contemplate such things ever again. I have made my choice, and I will live with it.
That was the last memory Galah had of the night before. The jackal chuckled as he sniffed at the gift left by the civet in his pocket. Luwak had keenly understood and appreciated Galah's fine senses, and so the gift he'd prepared while the jackal slept was a riddle designed to tickle those senses. The key ingredient, of course, was the fresh musk of Luwak himself, which quickly filled Galah's nose and almost instantly made him hard. He ignored the erection, instead focusing on the details of the mixture within the bottle. The jackal knew that he would have to guard the bottle carefully. It was presumptuous of Luwak to force his hand further, but he could not truly blame the civet; it was Galah who had allowed himself to fall into his arms.
Beneath the civet's musk were a number of scents, mixtures of oils and essences that to any commoner would have seemed like a simple perfume. Yet Galah knew otherwise. There was a hint of the qarov trees at the western end of the city - a starting direction. And beneath that was a mixture of unusual spices, hints of palm, the faint smells of different earths. Galah knew precisely what Luwak meant by this. There was some place west of the city, perhaps far to the west, where all of these scents could be found together, and there, Galah might find Luwak. It was as good as a map.
Come find me, the scents whispered. Perhaps Luwak did not care whether Galah pursued him as a hunter loyal to the Adi, or as an exile with nowhere else to go. Of course, Galah knew he could also choose not to follow Luwak, to tell the Adi that the civet had escaped despite his best efforts. Galah wondered if Bharis would believe such a thing, and if the young, cruel tiger would forgive Galah even if he did believe the jackal's tale.
Galah breathed deeply of the scents from within the bottle, and the urge to stroke himself was great. He was almost painfully erect, and the musk's scent was maddening. Luwak wanted Galah to chase him, to catch him, to repeat their meeting in another city, to have another fierce clash between sheets in some other place, some other hot, panting night.
The jackal glanced at the golden servant's band around his left wrist. He had worn it for years and years, so long that he barely even noticed it there. He'd never taken it off, not to bathe, not to make love, never. If Bharis ever saw him without it, Galah would be swiftly put to death, for this would mean the jackal had broken his vow to serve the Adi. Galah's eyes slipped shut once more, and he replaced the cork on Luwak's gift. He went to the obscured window, and breathed in the outside air that wafted through the fabric of the coverings. The life of a Sher in the Blessed City was grand. Or rather, it had been grand.
Galah pulled at the band around his wrist. It held for a moment, then snapped and fell to rest on the carpet at his feet. He left it where it lay, and moved swiftly. He could not travel by day, only under cover of darkness. The jackal knew places he could hide until the night came, and places where he could find scant provisions to sustain him on the journey. It would be long and difficult, but he was still a hunter. He had no more allegiance, but he had his sword and his wits.
The jackal would find his quarry again.