Ekleipsis (Fantasy Romance - LGBT, manXman)

3.11.

Ithildin fled from the capital with Kintaro and his men in utmost secrecy. He was dressed as a barbarian, and rode a shaggy horse of the steppe-dwellers. The Essanti crossed Creede's borders and turned to the southeast. Kintaro wanted to cut across the Enqins' trail, afraid to miss them in Niyar.

The flat endless steppe stretched, monotonously, everywhere you looked, but the chief drove his men with certitude, relying on signs known only to him. They almost never paused to rest, and Ithildin fleetingly marveled at the strength of this people that could nearly match that of the Ancient Race.

He expected Kintaro to claim him as soon as they stopped, but this did not happen. Caught in the pursuit, the chief hardly paid Ithildin any attention. Absorbed in the chase, he all but forgot about the elf. Ithildin was also ready to be at the disposal of any barbarian. Most of them had lain with him at some point, more than once, and he remembered them. Some of them he did not remember – either he had been unconscious, or they were too superstitious to lie with an elf. But they all remembered him – naked, collared to a post. The elf could read the memory on their faces, as they pointed at him, smirking and nudging one another. But it did not matter.

Nothing mattered to Ithildin except saving Alva's life. Kintaro could order him to strip any time, and the elf would have obeyed instantly, lain down quietly, and endured whatever the nomads wanted to inflict on him, just as he had been prepared to endure Fairiz's crude assaults and Rennarte's sophisticated lechery. But it looked as if the chief had given orders, and all the Essanti left the elf alone. Ithildin noted the fact remotely, not even relieved.

He knew, without a doubt, that he'd give his life for Alva at any moment. His only regret would be about not seeing again Alva's smile, never again looking in his shining green eyes. But would that make Lielle happy? He was not sure. Alva did love him, in spite of all their differences, and this was a miracle, Ithildin thought. The gorgeous Chevalier Ahayrre could bestow his love on anyone, any courtier, and they all would take it for a greatest honor. Alva could even have picked this barbarian chieftain, with his wild steppe passionate ways that the elf could never match.

Alva's life was now in Kintaro's hands. This disposed the elf more kindly towards the chief, and he could look at him now without cringing, without the flashbacks of the gleaming steel, blood, pain, suffering, dust of the steppe. He had seen Kintaro in battle, and now, after the fall campaign, was certain that Kintaro was a peerless warrior. He will find the Enqins and free Alva. The nightmareh vision did not beset Ithildin any more, and that meant they had changed the future, or at least delayed it.

For the first time in his life, the elf regretted not being able to do magic. Still, he had not planned on being a dead weight. During their week-long chase, Ithildin obsessively went over every detail of his vision in his head: the enemy's strength, their weapons, the sun's position, the horse carrying the nude and bound Alva.

The elf's mount loped across the steppe, the sun rose and set, but Ithildin's mind never stopped. He strained to hear Alva, to feel him, to penetrate the veil of the future, picture the unfolding of the events and prepare for action. Lielle was getting closer every day, and, finally, Ithildin could catch distant snatches of his emotions – fleeting and barely discernable. Lielle was unharmed, a little frightened, but still did not despair of being rescued.

Such was Alva's nature: not to be dispirited even in the face of death. Ithildin saw it in his visions: the blood-stained lips that barely move, so the henchman moves closer to hear a plea for mercy ... and, furious, slaps the victim – who still dares to jeer – across the face; but even that does not wipe off the insolent grin, and he still laughs at his captors.

~~~

"We'll cross them tomorrow," said Kintaro when they stopped to camp.

The barbarian was unusually subdued. There was no need to ask what he meant. Ithildin approached Kintaro who had sat away from everyone, hoping to talk uninterrupted.

"Are we gonna die, doll-face?" Kintaro asked. He did not sound scared, merely curious. "What do your visions say?"

"My visions never reflect my own destiny, only those I care for," answered the elf evenly.

"Hah, so that's why you were so surprised when you met with the Essanti last year." The chief smirked to his private thoughts.

The elf shivered, but got a hold of himself and his voice had remained steady. "You don't expect to win?"

"They are a hundred, and we are fifty," Kintaro observed, nonchalant. "Not the best set-up. You said they were covered in red paint. Seasoned warriors, the best of the best. All armed with bow and arrows. An open space, and wind blowing our way."

"Then why attack them by day?"

"Because at night, they will set up in the hills and shoot at every noise. Even if we do make it to their camp, they'd stab our sweet redhead once the going gets tough."

"We have to attack day after tomorrow."

"What, premonitions again? After tomorrow is a no-go. They could get reinforcements."

"Day after tomorrow, at noon, there will be a solar eclipse."

The chief clutched at the elf's hand. "How do you know this?" he asked sharply.

Ithildin's response was curt. "We just feel it."

"An eclipse, I'll be damned," repeated Kintaro in almost childish awe. "Gods are certainly on our side. We'll attack then."

Kintaro and Alva, fanart by Amedeo Alva (http://amadeoalva.deviantart.com)