Halloween Series 2022

The Warlock

“Maybe I should have followed him; but somehow it went from too soon to too late, without the right moment in between.” – Bridget Collins, The Binding

* * *

The old wagon creaked and squeaked as the two horses, Callin and Stallik, pulled it along the muddy lane. Huwel held the reins loosely in one hand as the other rested on his thigh. He kept an eye out for trouble or those that would try to rob him of his latest bounty. If someone wanted trouble, he was ready to draw his sword. And the bounty he was taking to the king was the best he had captured in many years. A rare find in this dark age. He glanced back seeing the young man sitting in the iron cage on the back of his wagon, hands tied to each side keeping them apart and a black hood pulled over his head. Huwel knew to keep the hands separated or the warlock could conjure some old magic and the hood kept him from seeing the icy blue eyes that could mesmerize him.

“How much has King Grevil offered for my head?” the warlock asked.

“Shut it,” Huwel replied once again, not interested in any conversation with a bounty, especially one as untrustworthy as the Warlock Estin.

Huwel gave the reins a whip and the horses pulled harder as they road began to climb up the mountain. Through the early morning fog, the red castle was barely visible. Huwel knew it was the rock from which it was constructed that gave it the vivid red color. He also knew the legends that arose from those that had seen it. Some said it was pure, like a blossom. Others said it was evil and cursed. Huwel just knew the king that resided within would pay handsomely for the young man in his cage.

After the slow climb, Huwel saw the village come into view. It sat at the base of the castle, a shear rock face separating them. He kept the horses moving as the villagers came out to see what he was bringing their king. As he neared the lane that led up to the castle gates, two knights on horseback fell in beside him.

“Huwel, you old scoundrel, what are bringing our king?” the one to the left asked.

“The warlock Estin,” Huwel replied smiling at the knight.

“Estin? You surely jest. They say he is dead.”

“I assure you I’m quite alive,” Estin replied from the cage and the knights pulled back from the wagon, letting Huwel lead the way.

As they approached the gates, the iron gate was raised and the double doors, three times the height of a man, swung inward. Knights sat on horseback on each side of the lane within the walls, and Huwel steered the horses between them and up to the steps of the palace.

Men lined the steps, each with a sword, and at the top, a large wood door swung inward, and the King’s son stepped out, Prince Ceith, followed by his father, King Grevil.

“Your majesty, the bounty hunter Huwel has arrived with the warlock Estin,” one of the knights called out.

Huwel climbed down and bowed at the waist to the king, then he moved to the bottom of the steps and looked up.

“Huwel, you look in good health,” said the king as he descended the steps until standing in front of him.

“Thank you, my king.”

“So, this is that devil Bstin.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Wherever did you find him?”

“A village in the White Mountains. He was playing Gluckshaus and winning far too often to be playing fair.”

“How did you capture him?”

“A liquor made from the night mushroom.”

“That could have killed him.”

“Not a warlock, your majesty. It merely knocked him out.”

“Guards, take the prisoner to the dungeons,” the king called out then held out a purse of gold coin. “Your services are appreciated,” addressing Huwel.

“Thank you, your majesty.”

Bstin found himself in a cell in the dungeon below the castle. The straw that covered the floor had nearly rotted away, and in the corner, he saw the bones of a rat. He leaned against the wall with his wrist in shackles attached to the wall over his head. He looked up at the small window near the high ceiling and saw a fragment of the crescent moon. He had been locked away for nearly a day, and morning was soon to arrive. He rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

But he didn’t sleep, instead he focused his mind, brought his third eye into focus. Like an apparition he moved up the steps from the dungeon into a corridor. He followed it to a larger stair, one that led up, curving with the castle wall. He moved up the stair, following a soldier on night patrol.

At the top floor, he followed the soldier past the king’s chambers, and to a narrow stair that led up within the main turret. The soldier continued down the corridor, but Bstin rose up the narrow stair until he was at the door to Prince Ceith’s chambers.

The prince lay in bed, tossing and turning, lost to a dream. He was at the window of his chamber looking down at the village below. It was in flames and a great flying beast was picking off fleeing villagers. It flew by his window and on its back was his father. Then he was falling through white clouds.

He sat up, finding himself in a meadow of wildflowers. They were blue and violet, and large colorful butterflies were going from flower to flower. He stood to his feet and saw a young man approaching him. He was dressed in a blue robe with a hood pulled over his head.

“Ceith, come to me,” came a voice but the young man’s lips did not move.

He watched the young man step up close and pull the hood back. It was the warlock and he fell backwards, falling and falling, for an impossible long time.

Bstin sat in the cell, listening to the voices of the guards, then he tuned himself to listen to voices on the floor above. The king in council, someone saying they needed to tax the people heavier, and the wheat production was down, and the farmers needed to be visited by the king’s guard. Bstin frowned at the cruelty of it, then leaned back and closed his eyes. He searched for the prince, the one who could free him. He searched the castle, then the courtyards, where he found the prince practicing with a sword, one of the knights trying to teach him. It wasn’t the time to go to him. Bstin would wait patiently for the prince to be alone.

Prince Ceith grew frustrated, sheathing his sword and walking away from the knight. He heard the knight laughed at his incompetence with the sword. He knew he was bad at it. He hated sword play and the reason behind it. To fight in a battle was barbaric and he had no intention to do so.

He moved through the large entry hall and to the main stair, taking it up to his chambers. He stripped off the chainmail and tossed the sheathed sword on his bed. Then he stripped off his sweaty clothes and moved to the basin with its warmed clean water.

“Ceith.”

He jerked around looking toward his door. It was still shut and latched. No one was in his chamber.

He turned back to the basin and began to wipe himself down.

“Ceith, come to me.”

He looked around then back at the bowl of water. The water had calmed and instead of seeing his reflection, he saw the warlock.

“You!?”

“Come to me,” said the image then it faded and Ceith was staring at his own reflection.

Ever since the warlock’s arrival Ceith thought of him. He considered the magic the warlock was rumored capable, and how his father considered it an evil to be destroyed. Then he thought of the person, the physical nature of him. He had seen him removed from the bounty hunter’s wagon and led to the dungeon. It had made his heart race to look at him. So alluring, to be so evil. He knew it was worse for him to consider the warlock in such a way. But for four years he had found himself attracted to other males, not females, and in all that time he struggled to conceal it from everyone. But the knights that tried to train him seemed to sense his difference, for they ridiculed him behind his father’s back.

Ceith moved to his bed and laid down. He stared up at the wood structure and ceiling but only saw the warlock with his long black hair and a face so smooth and pure he sighed at his weakness in longing for some contact with the warlock. And the warlock was making it worse with his summons.

It was late, the castle quiet. Only a few torches were lit on any floor and along the stairs, providing illumination for Ceith as he made his way down. He wore his robe over his night shirt having hurried to slip from his room. On the second floor he had to hide in an alcove as a knight made his patrol. No one was to know he went to see the warlock. How he would get past the guards in the dungeon, he would figure out once he got down there.

Easing down the last stair, the stone wall less tooled, rough, and sharp with stairs more worn down along their center, he sensed the warlock. Felt drawn to him.

At the last landing, he stooped down and looked for the guards. They were at the small table where they played dice, both resting their heads on it sound asleep. He knew the warlock had something to do with it but was relieved to know he would make it to the cell without being seen.

Down the passage between the cells, their iron bars rusting in the damp air, he moved silently until standing at the last cell, the one straight in front of him. Through the bars he saw him. The young warlock shackled at the wrists, arms spread wide, sitting at the base of the rough wall. The warlock looked up as he came to the bars.

“You came,” Bstin whispered.

“Yes. You wanted to talk to me?”

“I want more than that from you, Prince Ceith.”

The prince stepped back, suddenly fearful of what the warlock meant.

“Oh, come now, Ceith, I mean you no harm.”

“What do you want?”

“First, I think we should talk about your father.”

“What about him?”

“You know he fears anyone who is different. He fears what he doesn’t understand. He locks me in his dungeon for being a warlock. What would he do to someone who was different in other ways?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think you do.”

“Warlock Bstin, are you trying to tempt me?”

“Yes, and Prince Ceith, you tempt me as well.”

Ceith took three steps back from the cell. He knew what Bstin was suggesting, and he found himself short of breath.

“Do you look at me, or any young man the way other men look at women?” asked Bstin.

“No,” Ceith exclaimed and even to his own ears his reply was too quick and unconvincing. “I must go,” he added, turning to leave.

“Ceith, you forget the most important thing.”

“What is it, warlock?” Ceith replied without turning.

“You need to free me.”

“You know I can’t.”

“Ceith, you must for your father means to burn me at the stake the day after tomorrow, when the priest arrives from White Oak.”

“Then burn you must,” Ceith uttered then raced down the passage.

The warlock haunted Ceith’s dreams. Came to him as soon as he fell asleep. No matter how many times he woke in a sweat then fell back to sleep after tossing and turning, the warlock came to him. The sun shined into his chambers far too soon and he staggered from his bed. He avoided everyone, taking his horse out for a ride. When he returned in the afternoon, he saw the priest had arrived in all his pomp and ceremony. The incense and gold icons and ridiculous rituals. He grimaced at the show of power, a power even his own father bowed to. He slipped around the back of the crowd and up to his chamber. Laying on his bed, the fatigue of a restless night then a long ride allowed him to drift off quickly.

The forest was old, the ground moss covered and crawling with all manner of insect and creature. He moved over a fallen tree into a small clearing. A light appeared, at first the size of one of the insects that glowed at night. But the light grew in size, until he could see it was a transparent orb and within it the warlock, Bstin.

The orb set down then disappeared, and Bstin moved toward him.

“You know we’re alike, you and I,” said Bstin.

“No, I’m nothing like you.”

“But I feel it, your inner desires. They pull me toward you.”

“No.”

“I want to lay with you Ceith.”

“NO.”

Ceith jerked awake and sat up. He was sweating and breathing hard. He looked around his room, then out the window where it was still daylight.

He washed his face, then stood at the window seeing the priest’s procession had finally been received and given accommodations in the castle. He turned to go to his writing desk and froze. Bstin stood before him, but he knew he was not real. He could see through him, for only his spirit was before him.

“Ceith, come to me. Please.”

“I can’t,” Ceith replied.

“You must. Time is short. Come to me now while everyone prepares to dine.”

Bstin disappeared, like smoke in a strong wind.

“No, no, no,” Ceith uttered as he moved to his wardrobe and changed clothes. A loose shirt left unbuttoned at the neck and pants that were tied off loosely, letting them sit low on the waist. Then he eased out the door, securing it behind him, and made his way to the dungeon.

Once again, he found the guards asleep, and he slipped the key ring from the belt of one of them. He moved quickly down the passage until at the door and heard Bstin laugh as he unlocked the barred gate to the cell.

Inside the cell, Ceith moved close to Bstin and they stared at each other. Ceith saw the warlock’s eyes were dark brown, almost black, and he wondered if Bstin noticed he had green eyes, like emeralds his mother would say.

“I’ve noticed,” Bstin whispered.

“What do you want from me?” asked Ceith, stooping in front of the warlock.

“I want what few men would give me but know you would give freely.”

“But…I can’t…my father would…”

“Would do what? Burn you at the stake too? No doubt for he couldn’t endure the shame of having a son who wasn’t what he expected. No, demanded his son to be.”

“You make him sound so cruel.”

“Is he not? He burned the village at Chester over the suspicion a midwife was a witch. Burned every man, woman, and child. He will burn me tomorrow morning at first light, and if he finds out who you truly desire, he would-“

“NO, no, no, he wouldn’t.”

“Are you willing to risk finding out, or will you live this lie. Be someone you’re not.”

“What about you? You going to practice magic and live with whoever you desire?”

“If I get free of this place, yes.”

“How…how do you do it. Live so openly…unafraid?”

“Because there is no other way.”

“Do you…desire me?”

“Yes.”

“Is this your magic at work, tempting me so?”

“No, it is your heart.”

Ceith reached out with shaking hand and touched Bstin on the leg. He ran his hand up it then up over the stomach. He moved fingers over the chest, up the left arm until touching bare flesh. Warm, soft, and smooth to the touch. His heart was racing, and he felt short of breath. Bstin just watched keeping silent as Ceith touched his cheek, then ran a finger over his chin.

“Release me,” whispered Bstin.

“You won’t hurt me?”

“Of course not. I like you,” Bstin replied.

Ceith pulled the key from a pocket of the robe and reached up to the right wrist. He freed it, watching Bstin work it then lay it in his lap. He moved to the left one, freeing it. Bstin rubbed each wrist, then reached out and took the robe by the collar, pulling Ceith to him. He kissed the young prince, boldly, passionately, without shame. The prince hesitated, then kissed back.

Bstin tugged the belt loose on the robe, letting it fall open. He rubbed the chest then got on his knees and kissed him again. Something broke loose in the prince. A calming of his breathing and a soft sigh of accepting what was offered. He stood and began to disrobe Bstin.

One body revealed to the other. Bstin stood naked with scares and burn marks on this torso and down each arm.

“What happened to you?” asked Ceith reaching out and running a finger along those on the right arm.

“The studies of a warlock can be intense,” Bstin replied.

Ceith eased to his knees before Bstin. He fondled the growing cock while looking closely at it, studying it, seeing the differences from his own. Where his was light in tone, like his body, Bstin’s was dark and the head was arrow shaped, something revealed as he tugged the skin back from it.

“What do you want to do?” Bstin asked.

Ceith leaned toward the cock and took it in his mouth. He had thought of doing it with a couple of the knights and with the boy of the priest but had never been afforded the opportunity until now. He sucked the cock into his mouth. It lay heavy on his tongue, then he began to work his lips along the growing length of it, letting it fill his mouth as it grew long and thick.

Ceith felt hands hold his head, then fingers comb through his hair. He moaned as he kept working his lips along the cock. Then Bstin pushed his head back.

“No, too soon. Too soon,” Bstin whispered. He guided Ceith to stand, then held up his arms, hands open and turned upward.

“Sundat Obleceni,” Bstin uttered, and Ceith’s clothes fell to the floor. Naked, he stepped out of them, moving closer to Bstin.

“Do you really like me?” asked Ceith.

“Yes,” Bstin replied, “I’ve seen into your mind, the innocence and longings that exist there, and I’ve seen how you think of me.”

Ceith blushed and looked away.

Bstin took his chin and turned his head until they were looking into each other eyes.

“Never turn away from who you are,” whispered Bstin.

Bstin went to his knees and took Ceith in his mouth. He sucked on the head making Ceith shiver, then he pushed forward until the cock filled his mouth and pushed into his throat. Then he worked his mouth along the cock, lips tight around it. He sucked and toyed with the head until Ceith was moaning and pushing it into his mouth. He knew Ceith was close, very close, and he pulled his mouth back to the head and used his tongue to toy with it. It swelled thicker and Ceith jerked and shuddered and Bstin held his mouth still and let the spurting cock fill it.

When Ceith was spent, but his cock still hard, Bstin pulled back and guided Ceith to the floor, using their clothes to blanket the rough stone. He moved over Ceith and was surprised to see him raise his legs resting them on his shoulders.

“You’re not the only one to imagine this,” Ceith whispered.

Bstin smiled, then moved over Ceith, pushing the legs down until the knees touched the floor either side of prone body. He kissed him, passionately and felt Ceith respond in kind. Hands moved over naked bodies, rubbing and caressing sensitive skin. Bstin worked his cock along Ceith’s feeling his arousal grow intense. Ceith shifted underneath him, and he felt his cock slide down the ass below the nuts. He moaned as his drooling cock slickened the skin.

“Bstin…I’m ready,” Ceith whispered.

Bstin worked his cock until pressing against the tight opening. He pushed, slowly, gently, feeling Ceith stretch open allowing him to penetrate him. He moaned and shivered at the tightness as he worked his cock into him. He pushed until halfway inside Ceith, then he began to fuck, slowly, feeling every inch of his cock move through the tight opening. Hands clung to his body, lips touched his neck, kissing then nipping at the flesh. It increased his arousal, and he increased his pace, fucking faster and faster, until Ceith clutched at his sides. He fucked deeper and deeper until smacking against the upturned ass, and he kept fucking, savoring every moment, wondering how he could keep Ceith in his life.

“Fuck, Bstin, do it, give it to me,” Ceith cried out, and Bstin suddenly realized Ceith had been masturbating between them and cum hit his chest. He could smell the masculine odor, something primitive about how it affected him, and he pushed into Ceith’s depths and came.

“What is this!” King Grevil yelled with a fury Ceith had never heard before.

Ceith and Bstin looked down the corridor, seeing the king and a group of knights coming toward them. Bstin jumped to his feet feeling foolish for being too distracted to be listening out for them. He saw the king’s fury, how he a warlock had had his way his with his son. He knew the repercussions would be severe. He looked down at Ceith, hesitate to leave.

Ceith looked up and nodded. “Go. Go, save yourself. I can take care of myself. Now GO!”

Bstin opened his mouth to say something but there was no time. Not nearly enough to say what he wanted to say. He straightened up and stared at the approaching king, knowing his nudity was an added insult, as he stood over the prince. He held his hands out and the air of the dungeon began to swirl and blow around. His eyes darkened and the air felt charged.

“Otevrete portal, dovolte mi pruchod, vezmi me na bilou horu.”

Bstin clapped and the dungeon exploded into a white light, so intense everyone had to turn away from it closing their eyes. Then it was dark, every torch blown out.

A knight came hurrying down the passage with a torch and the king soon saw his son, the prince was alone, shamelessly laying naked before him.

“Get dressed and come to my chambers,” said King Grevil, then he pushed aside a knight and stormed down the passage heading to the stair.

White Mountain lay in the Unknown, territory no king had been able to explore or lay claim. It was a colder climate, the upper section of the mountain always covered in snow. Just below the line of snow, lay a small compound of priest of an ancient religion, one that practiced magic and earth alchemy, but no belief in the gods and spirits. It clung to the side of the mountain, in places only one room wide, but so many levels the priest were constantly going up and down steps. In the middle of its length along the mountain cliffs a small courtyard lay. Statues of great warlocks circled the space and in the middle of it, an ornate stone pattern of the world, a map more precise than any in history. It would be an eon before man created one better.

Two priests were crossing the courtyard and two apprentices of Xenonra where on a balcony testing each other for their ability to read minds, when the wind picked up. Suddenly a swirling wind formed in the courtyard and the priests and apprentices stopped and waited, wondering who was making such a dramatic entrance. A white mist spun from the swirling air then a cackling of air discharging energy, then an explosion of air, blowing outward from the center.

Bstin stood in the courtyard, naked and weak. He collapsed to his knees, exhausted by the effort to travel so far.

“Bstin!” an apprentice cried out, as the two priests rushed to his side.

Three Seasons Later

Ceith walked along the road, one not used much, for he had not seen another person for two days, nor any track. He adjusted the backpack, the large fabric bag heavy with food stuffs purchased in the last town from three days before. He had been walking for so long he had last track of time. He only knew he had set out a week after Bstin disappeared and his father had made the mistake of freeing him from the dungeon where he had been kept.

The path had been long and not always straight, for he didn’t know the way to the land of the Unknown and the White Mountain within. He had no idea if he could even find the Unknown, much less the White Mountain. All he knew was he felt better about himself than ever before. He felt a new strength within his body, a stamina he didn’t think was possible. He moved up the steep grade with ease as he made his way through the land of Wilforest, a land of ancient forest. The trees towered over him and created a canopy the sun could not penetrate. He knew he should be frustrated by his endeavor, fearful of failure, but something kept him going, some sense he was heading along the right path.

He came to the top of the hill and the edge of the forest. Down below a valley of wildflower. Reds, yellows, and blues covered it for as far as the eye could see and he stood in awe at its beauty. He finally looked at the path of the road, how it crossed the valley, bridged over a stream, then wound up the other side to a village. He looked at the smoke from chimneys and saw movement along the perimeter. Citizens working small fields, terraced down the slope to the valley of wildflowers. It should be the village of Rosesh, the one an old bartender told him to look for back in the last village. He set off, determined to get to it before sunset.

The sun was low in the sky when Ceith strolled into the village. He was surprised to see the buildings were stone and heavy timber, none the light framing or thatch he was used to seeing. As he strolled into the village, he saw the looks. Friendly, everyone smiling, as if expecting him. In the center he saw a market square, a plaza surrounded by a tavern, two restaurants, a provision’s shop, and places of businesses supporting the village.

At the first restaurant, Ceith went in for something to take care of his hunger. He got cured pork, a block of cheese, a chunk of bread and a bowl of vegetable soup. He carried it back to the plaza taking a seat at one of the tables arranged in front of the two restaurants. Most tables were empty for it was too early for evening meal, but he wasn’t alone. A woman with two children was at one table and at another two older men playing a game of dice with mugs of beer for each.

Ceith set the tray of food down, slipped off his backpack, dropping it to the ground and took a seat. He ate slowly, wondering if he could get a room in the village, then he wondered which place would be best to inquire about White Mountain. No doubt the tavern, for they were always the best places for information. He ate with a relish, savoring every morsel, something his travels had taught him to do. He was spooning the last of the soup when a shadow fell over him. He looked up, stunned to see Bstin standing before him.

“I trust you have had your fill. I’ve waited far too long as it is for you to get here,” said Bstin.

"Bstin? How did you know to find me here?”

“You doubt my skills?”

The two men laughed and Ceith saw they were listening to their conversation.

“You knew I was coming?”

“Yes.”

“Why not come to me?”

“You needed the journey. It allowed you to find yourself and make you feel good within your body. Am I wrong?”

“No…you’re not wrong.”

“And now my prince is here. Come, I’ve got us a room.”

“A room?” Ceith replied, smiling up at Bstin. “When will we head on to White Mountain?”

“When you are ready,” Bstin replied, then picked up the backpack. “Come on Ceith, we have much to catch up on.”

The bed squeaked and rocked beneath them. Bstin moved over Ceith, body undulating with their sex. He pushed into Ceith’s depths, fucked him with an urgency driven by desire and a sense of lost time. He laced his fingers with Ceith’s and held him down. He possessed him, sexually and with a desire that felt as if it could consume them.

Bstin’s pace increased, working his hips faster and faster, ass cheeks flexing with every push inward. Ceith clung to his body, moved hands over sweat covered skin then dug fingers into flexing muscle, spurring Bstin to fuck harder.

Ceith was so loosened to the penetration, and Bstin’s first load slickened his opening allowing the thick cock to move within him with ease. It stroked his desires, made his own cock so hard he ached for release. He had come twice already, once from Bstin’s oral ministrations, the second between their undulating bodies during their first fuck. He felt fingers toy with the head, rub it and slid over it. He shuddered and tried to push through them.

“Fuck, I can’t believe how much I missed you,” said Bstin as he lifted himself up on his hands and began to fuck harder, rougher, their bodies banging together. Then he cried out, guttural and bestial, shoved into Ceith’s depths and shuddered with release. Then he slid down Ceith’s body, moved down between the legs and took the leaking cock into his mouth. He moved on it only a short time and Ceith gasped for breath and shoved upward, filling his mouth with cum.

They lay in bed, skin cooling as it dried. Ceith lay on his back, head resting in Bstin’s lap.

“There were times I wondered if searching for you would prove futile,” Ceith whispered as he ran a finger up and down Bstin’s right arm.

“But you didn’t stop, and it was because I was guiding you.”

“This is so crazy. We’ve only been together that one other time.”

“But it was not the first time I had lain eyes upon you,” said Bstin, causing Ceith to turn his head up with a questioning stare. “It’s true. I saw you riding your house in the woodlands to the north of the castle and watched you sit and stare off into the distance, and I…listened to your thoughts.”

“You knew I was not happy?”

“Yes, and why. I also watched you when you…pleasured yourself and what you were thinking,” said Bstin, laughing at the confession.

"No, you didn’t?”

“And I let that fool, Huwel, capture me, knowing he would take me into the castle.”

“The bounty hunter? You let him take you?!”

“Don’t look so surprised. What one will do to gain the attention of the one they desire knows no bounds. You crossed five territories and came the very edge the Unknown looking for me.”

“This is too much,” Ceith replied, sitting up looking at Bstin.

Bstin smiled with a devilish grin and Ceith shook his head and tried not to do it, but he laughed.

“What is it like at White Mountain?”

“It’s amazing, and on its rocky side clings the loveliest little place. I can’t wait for you to see it.”