Valorian

When there was love

It was a happy time; a pure, innocent time. They lived in a cottage in a forest that blossomed with bluebells and crocuses in springtime. His father had been a soldier but was at that time a carpenter. He made chairs and tables that he took into the city and sold to rich merchants and their wives. His mother painted pictures and knitted colourful blankets that she sold in village markets.

His father was Andook, a tall man with a short mop of brown hair and arms toned and tanned from years of working in the sun. He was not a talkative man, preferring actions to words, and the delight he took in his work was only surpassed by the love he had for his family.

His mother was Zelda, the only daughter of a wizened gypsy matriarch who had only permitted Andook to wed her after he had completed seven tasks to prove his worth. Zelda had raven hair that hung straight down to her waist and owned a huge collection of dangly earrings, some gifts from her clan; others from her husband.

He (their only son; their only child) was a perfect blend of them both. He possessed his mother’s features and wore his own raven hair long (in the manner of her people) but in character he was his father. He too preferred action to words and enjoyed working with his hands.

There was love. He remembered that so clearly, though other details had become hazy over the years. There was love.

His parents had loved each other. He had never seen either of them upset or angry with the other. They kissed often and enjoyed all the tiny physical touches: the holding of hands, the touching of fingers as they accidentally brushed against each other and the hugs. They danced often, sometimes going into the village to enjoy the festivals; sometimes just dancing in the little garden surrounding their home. They went together so perfectly, made for each other…opposite halves of one whole. They knew each other’s thoughts, completed each other’s sentences and even when apart seemed to know if the other was well or not.

They loved each other and they loved him.

They kissed him and held him. His father read stories to him at night and his mother taught him how to paint. In their presence he was loved and he was safe. There was no fear and no pain. He had not known sadness or loss. He knew nothing of hatred or violence.

All that changed one balmy summer night.

He was ten years old when the soldiers came; ten years old when the image of a cruel man with grinning eyes was imprinted on his mind…an image and a desire for vengeance.

CHAPTER ONE

Suffer little child

They were asleep, he in his narrow single bed with one of his mother’s knitted blankets pulled up under his chin; they in their huge double bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, when the door crashed in and booted feet thumped across the floor.

Rough hands yanked him from his bed. He was propelled across the floor and outside. What the–? he exclaimed, surprised rather than scared at that point.

Shut it, kid! a voice snarled. Unless you want to feel the back of my hand.

Or feel something else, a nasally voice uttered before sniggering.

You shut it too, Jal.

The voice fell silent as he was thrown to the ground.

He looked up fearfully to see twenty white horses gathered in the clearing in front of his home. On their backs were hard-faced men wearing uniforms of gold and black. They carried swords and shields with the crest of two hawks fighting on them. Off to one side was another horse (a grey-coated stallion) and on its back was the man who very clearly led the group. He wore the same uniform but with the added extra of a swirling black and gold cape. He wore black gloves and when his eyes fell on him he shivered and looked away.

Bring the parents to me, the man uttered. His voice carried loudly and clearly over the sounds of a struggle.

Andook and Zelda were dragged from the house. Zelda clawed and spat at the soldiers, uttering curses he had never heard before.

Shut up, witch, one of the soldiers growled before felling her with a resounding backhand.

Get your hands off her! Andook roared.

You shut up too, traitor.

He cried out as his father was brutally kicked in the stomach. He went down wheezing and coughing, and was dragged the rest of the way to the clearing where the man with the cape was dismounting. He was tall and powerful-looking with dark hair that had white streaks running through it above each ear. His eyes were grey and sparkled wickedly.

Andook, my old friend. It’s so good to see you.

Not you, Andook replied as he was forced to his knees. I’d hoped you were dead but then you always did have a devil’s luck.

The caped man smiled and removed his gloves. I’ve missed you, old friend. It’s been too long but I see you’ve done well for yourself. He eyed Zelda and smiled appreciatively. Very nice. Gypsy?

None of your damn business!

And a son too. Bring the boy here, Sergeant Jal.

He was hoisted to his feet and brought to stand in front of the caped man. His eyes were wide and he shivered but stood tall and was determined not to be cowed in front of the stranger.

What’s your name, boy?

You leave him alone!

I’m not talking to you, old friend. I’m talking to him. He can reply for himself, can’t he, or is he like his father who only does what others tell him? Well, boy? What’s your name?"

Valorian.

The man smiled. That’s Valorian, sir. You always add sir when addressing an elder, especially someone of rank or title. I am Captain Torino. I’m a friend of your father’s.

You’re no friend of mine, Torino. You’re a monster; a sick perverted monster!

And you’d tell anyone who cared to listen, wouldn’t you? Like Commander York for instance.

Andook sneered. You needn’t worry. Your shameful secret will not be revealed. If I told I’d have to explain my own part in the incident; explain why I failed to stop you. Your shame would become my own. What you did at Niarette will remain our secret.

Niarette? I’m not talking about that. Those traitors deserved to die for what they did. I’m talking about Neossa.

Andook paled.

Yes. Torino nodded. Neossa. Did you think I wouldn’t find out about you whispering in York’s ear?

Did you really expect me to keep quiet about that? Every man has a line he will not cross. You crossed a line and I was honour-bound to report it.

Yes, Torino sneered. The ever honourable Sergeant Andook who goes running to the top man whenever he sees something he doesn’t like. That conscience of yours always did get in the way. Namely, in my way.

What you did was wrong.

And yet it felt so right. Torino smiled widely but his eyes did not join in with the expression. A lot of good men lost their positions because of you. I was lucky to escape a court martial. Instead I was demoted and it took me eight years to regain my captaincy.

They should’ve hanged you.

The army doesn’t hang its best soldiers.

Especially when they’re lords and get their daddies to bail them out of trouble every time there’s a problem.

Indeed. My father was very helpful but even he couldn’t stop my demotion, and he disowned me when the reason for my punishment was made clear to him. He called me an animal.

You are.

He said if it weren’t for my mother’s pleas he would’ve killed me himself.

Smart man.

You cost me eight years, Andook. I wasn’t best pleased and have thought of nothing else since that day but tracking you down and making you pay. Torino leaned down and whispered in his ear. Your wife is very pretty, as is your son. I’ll do you a small favour. One of them I shall merely hurt; the other I shall kill. Whose life do you value more? Which shall I spare? Choose, old friend. Choose.

Andook stared at the man, knowing he was not bluffing. He was out for blood. Valorian, run! Get out of here! Run! He lunged to his feet, roaring and lashed out with his strong fists. Two of Torino’s men went down, groaning. A further two grabbed for him but found their heads knocked together. They crumpled into the dirt, blood pouring from their ears.

Zelda lashed out with her sharp nails, scoring deep grooves down one man’s face and plucking the eye from another’s. Valorian, run! she shrieked. Go!

He ran, but not away as they wanted him to but towards the house where he knew his father kept an old sword. He crashed through the front door, eyes frantically searching for the weapon, finally finding it under his parents’ bed. It was a huge sword and so heavy he could barely lift it but his mother’s screams added strength to his arms and with a cry he hauled it up over one shoulder and staggered back to the clearing.

Andook had been subdued. He was on his knees again with his arms wrenched behind his back. The men who held tight to him growled as he struggled in their grip.

Hold still, fool. You brought this on yourself.

Zelda lay unconscious on the ground, bruises blossoming around her eyes and blood pouring from her mouth.

Torino smiled hugely as Valorian returned with the sword. Well, well, little man. What have you got there?

Valorian…no, Andook groaned. Get away from here. Run.

No, Papa. I won’t go. Valorian struggled to lift the sword and pointed it at Torino. The weapon shook in his grasp and it was all he could do to keep hold of it. Let my papa go, or I’ll…I’ll...

Torino chuckled. Or what, little man? What will you do?

I’ll kill you.

Torino bellowed laughter. Kill me? Oh, that’s priceless. He spread his arms wide, exposing his chest. Well, come on then, little man. If you’re going to kill me, come on.

I’ll do it, I’ll really do it, Valorian uttered, the sword shaking harder in his grip. I mean it.

Then come on. Don’t just talk about doing it. Do it. Come on. Come on! Come on, little man. Stick me. I’ll make it easier for you, shall I? He moved forward and allowed the tip of the sword to press against his body. I’ll just stand here. I won’t move. All you have to do is lean on the weapon and it’ll go straight through. Well? Come on then. Do it. Stick me.

Papa? Valorian looked to Andook, his eyes wide with desperation. Papa?

Stop it, Torino. Leave him alone. He’s just a boy. Let him go. Please.

Then you’ve made your choice?

I won’t play your sick game."

Then you won’t choose?

Never.

Then I’ll choose. Torino slapped the sword out of Valorian’s hand and snatched it up. Thank you for the use of the weapon, little man. I had decided to let your father go. Didn’t want to dirty my sword with his traitorous blood but now I don’t have to. I’ll use this one instead.

No! Valorian lunged forward only to be grabbed by one of the soldiers. He was hoisted into the air where he kicked and screamed. Papa! Papa!

Take him to the tree, Torino ordered.

Andook was hauled to his feet and dragged towards a huge ancient oak tree. He was shoved against it and his arms were roughly pinned back by two of Torino’s larger soldiers.

Hold him, the captain ordered. Hold him still I say! Torino glanced over his shoulder to smile at Valorian. Remember this day, little man. Remember that your father was killed with his own sword, the sword that you handed to his killer.

Valorian struggled and cried out as Torino turned back to Andook. Papa. No. Don’t. Don’t hurt him. Papa! Papa!

Torino suddenly gave a wild cry and with one quick motion thrust the blade through Andook’s strong chest, piercing him just below the heart.

Andook screamed and spewed blood from his mouth. Valorian ceased his struggles and stared as Torino moved away. His father was pinned to the tree like a bug but he was not dead. He struggled weakly, blood running down his chin.

Papa.

His father looked at him through eyes glazing over with pain. Valorian. My son. I’m sorry.

His head dropped as the agony overcame him. Unconsciousness quickly claimed him but before he blacked out entirely he heard Torino whisper in his ear.

Know this, old friend. As you succumb to death the last thing you’ll hear will be the screams of your wife and son. I shall enjoy your wife’s lovely flesh but enjoy even more forcing your son to watch.

Andook made no reply as the darkness was fast rising to smother him.

Torino smiled again and turned to his men. Bring the woman to me and wake her up. I want her conscious.

The men grinned and dragged Zelda to her feet and slapped her cheeks. Wake up, witch! Captain’s got something for you.

Zelda groaned and her eyes flickered open. They widened on seeing her husband impaled to the tree. Andook! Andook. You bastards. I curse you all! A thousand curses! She spat on them, hissing and screeching as they dragged her towards Torino. I curse you most of all, she snarled, spitting right in his eye.

His wiped it away and smiled tightly. Curse me all you like, witch. You have no power over me. He ran his hand down her cheek and she jerked away from his touch. Ah, ah, ah, he chastised. That’s not very good manners, is it? He backhanded her and sent her sprawling into the dirt.

Then he was on top of her, pulling at her clothes. She fought him, clawing at his face.

Hold her arms. Hold her! he commanded. Hold her and bring the little man over here. I want him to see.

A big man with swarthy features grabbed Zelda’s arms and held them down, laughing as she spat in his face. A second man dragged Valorian closer. He twisted one of his arms up behind his back and grabbed a handful of his hair with his free hand.

Yanking Valorian’s head back, he snarled. Take a good look, boy.

Valorian struggled again, furiously bucking and writhing in the man’s grip and screamed as the man twisted his arm further.

Torino looked up and grinned. Oh, little man. Look at me. Look at me! You look at me, little man. You’re going to watch this and if I see you trying to look away I’ll have Seras there cut your eyelids off.

Tears spilled out over Valorian’s cheeks. He struggled to rein them in but as his mother’s dress was torn open he began to sob and then to wail. Mama! Please. Don’t. Don’t hurt my mama. Please. Please!

Torino laughed as he pawed at Zelda, appearing to take greater delight in Valorian’s pain than hers. He squeezed her breasts, cruelly pinching the nipples. She bit her lip and refused to cry out but Valorian had no such control. Torino grinned up at him and then buried his head in Zelda’s perfumed hair. Urm, heavenly. He looked up again. Have you scented it, little man? Do you smell her hair when she kisses you goodnight? Is she a good kisser? He lowered his head again and fastened his lips on Zelda’s.

She struggled beneath him, spitting curses into his mouth and twisted her head away. Torino laughed again and ran his hands further down her body. He caressed her slender hips and stroked her legs. Strong. Athletic, he murmured. Do you run much, woman? Gypsy women do, don’t they? They spend their lives running, from the law and those they’ve stolen from.

I’m no thief, Zelda snarled. You’re the thief. You stole my husband’s life. He was a good man, worth more than a thousand of you. You’re nothing but a pig. You’ll die like a pig, squealing.

Torino’s smile turned icy. It’s you who shall die squealing but not before I make you moan like the whore you are.

He wrenched her legs apart and settled comfortably between them before glancing at Valorian again. Are you watching, little man? I want you to watch. You may learn something about how to treat women. You see they do occasionally get out of line and have to be taught a lesson. That’s all this is, just a lesson.

Torino’s men shouted encouragement as he groaned and writhed on top of Zelda.

She closed her eyes tight and clamped her mouth shut, determined not to give him the satisfaction of hearing her scream. Not in front of my son, she commanded herself. Not in front of my son. She could hear Valorian crying and mentally cursed Torino, using the foulest and darkest of her clan’s curses that she could remember. She hissed as the man shoved himself deeper into her and berated herself for allowing him even such a small triumph. Bastard, she screamed inwardly. Bastard. Bastard! You will pay for this. If there are any gods in heaven or hell you will pay.

But not because of her.

She could take the pain. Torino was a typical man, foolishly thinking that this one small act could break her. She was Zelda of the clan Romero. The women of her clan were strong; they had high pain thresholds. Her own grandmother had survived the Night of Blood.

When Zelda’s grandmother, Rosala, had been twenty years old the clan Romero had been attacked. They had been camped in a small forest surrounding a sleepy little town called Bethalis. A young girl had gone missing a few days after they had set up their tents and a week later her naked mutilated body had been discovered buried in a shallow grave. The townspeople had seen one of the gypsy boys talking to the girl and their already considerable mistrust of the gypsies grew frenzied almost overnight. Later Rosala claimed that there had been a witch involved. Dark-seed she had called her. She had stirred the crowd and set them off.

Like pushing a rock off a cliff and then stepping back to watch it roll down and smash into some unsuspecting town. She was there. I saw her. An old witch with a crow perched on her shoulder. She watched when they came for us. She watched and did nothing to stop them. She watched and smiled.

In the middle of the night the townspeople came, rousting the clan Romero from their beds and dragging them into a small clearing.

They whipped us, Rosala had said. They whipped us and demanded to know which of us had raped and killed that girl. When no one claimed responsibility every man in the group was tied to a tree and flogged to within an inch of his life, from my brother Keyo who was only seven to my great grandfather who was ninety eight. Then every woman was raped. They spared no one. They said it was what we deserved. Then they left us. We gypsies are hard to begin with but that day we became like rocks. We couldn’t afford to give in to our pain. We women couldn’t weep and wail as we would’ve liked. We had to tend to our men. They were dying. My great grandfather did die as did my brother. I buried them together wrapped in each other’s arms.

The next day the clan Romero left Bethalis and never returned. The men were incapacitated for months while their wounds healed and the women had to take on extra chores and work to keep the clan alive.

We never spoke about that night, Rosala had said. For some, the memories faded in time; others never truly healed. My father was never the same, having felt powerless to protect me though I assured him I did not blame him. He died in a bar-fight a year later. My mother faded after that and eventually she walked into a river and drowned herself. I tell you these things not to upset you but to show you how strong we are. We survived that night, for the most part, and look at us today. We’re twice as big and there’s a lot of love here. Those men thought they could kill our ability to love. They thought they could destroy our hearts. They couldn’t. It was one night and one small act.

One small act, Zelda thought, gritting her teeth as Torino rocked harder against her. One small act. You cannot destroy me with this. My heart is strong. I will survive but for my son’s tears you will pay. What you do to me is nothing, but for every ounce of hurt you cause Valorian I wish on your head a thousand more curses.

Valorian, she groaned inwardly. His sobs tore through her more powerfully than Torino’s crude motions. Don’t cry, baby, she wanted to say. Don’t cry. It’ll be alright. It’ll be over soon.

It was. At least for Torino. With a satisfied grunt he was finished. He clambered up off her body, rearranging his clothing and smoothed out his hair. He gazed down at Zelda, satiated physically but annoyed that she had not screamed. He preferred it when they screamed; even better when they begged. He suddenly looked at his arm and snarled.

In his haste to tidy himself up he had caught one of Zelda’s earrings on his sleeve, ripping it from her earlobe. There were a few spots of blood on his otherwise immaculate outfit. They could barely be seen in the dim light cast by the rising moon but he knew they were there and suddenly he was furious. She had not screamed, she had not begged and now she had marred him with her dirty gypsy blood.

Bitch! He kicked her in the stomach. Do you see what you’ve done? It’s ruined. He looked to his men and then at the cottage. A smile spread across his features. Burn it. Burn her. Burn this filth

But, Captain–

What? he snapped, glaring at Seras.

Nothing, Captain. We’ll get right on it.

Grumbling and groaning the soldiers lit torches and tossed them into the cottage. The flames took hold instantly and the men smiled softly, though their disappointment was still great. They had wanted a turn with the woman but arguing with Torino was always futile.

Alright, Sergeant Jal said, hoisting Zelda to her feet. In you go, whore.

No! Valorian screamed, ripping out of Seras’s grasp. You leave her alone. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you! He ran up behind Jal and pummelled him with his small fists. Let her go. Mama! Mama! Let her go!

Come here, little man. Torino chased him and swept him up into his arms. I told your father one of you would have to die. Would you rather I put you in the fire?

Get off me. Let me go! Valorian writhed and bucked in Torino’s grip, his face white like snow as Zelda was dragged screaming towards the burning house. Mama!

His last scream was drowned out by hers as she was shoved through the front door. Jal pulled it closed, barred it with his sword and then stepped back, listening with a smile on his face as Zelda’s screams grew louder. He wondered which would kill her first, the smoke or the flames. As her screams turned to howling shrieks his smile widened…the fire.

Valorian screamed one last time and clamped his teeth hard on Torino’s hand.

The man shrieked and released his grip. You little bastard! He backhanded him, sending him sprawling into the dirt. You dirty little bastard. He bit me. Torino stared incredulously at Seras. Did you see that?

Seras nodded.

Valorian clambered to his feet and stood shaking as he stared fearfully at Torino. I’m going to tell everyone what you did, he sniffled. When you’re gone I’ll run to the town and tell them. They’ll hunt you down and kill you.

Oh, you’ll tell no one, little man. Not after my men are through with you. Torino gestured to his soldiers. The woman’s gone but I won’t say anything if anyone of you wishes to enjoy yourself with the boy. Men have needs after all. He winked at Valorian. And with that long hair and those pretty lashes it won’t be too hard for them to imagine you as a girl. He laughed and mounted his horse. Well, men? What say you? He’s very pretty and I’m sure that unlike his dear mama he’ll be only too willing to scream for you.

The soldiers looked at Valorian, licking their lips as their eyes roamed up and down his slight form. He was very pretty, very feminine, slender like a girl and for some of them it was easy to picture him as such. Others needed no such pretences, their tastes had widened with life in the armed services. Soldiers who sometimes did not see another woman for months had to be flexible in their desires or go without. And some did not care for women anyway. They admired Valorian with keen appreciation and glanced at one another, looking to see who would be the one to make the first move.

As expected it was Sergeant Jal.

Valorian backed away as the weedy-looking rat-faced man approached. He did not know what the man intended to do but the greedy shine in his sapphire-blue eyes frightened him. He glanced around, searching for an escape route. To the rear was the forest but he had only ever walked its gloomy pathways with his father and did not think he could find his way alone. Also one path he knew led to a vampire’s lair but he could not remember which one. The only other escape routes were blocked by Torino and his men.

He continued to back away, wondering if he should just take his chances in the forest. The thought of coming face to face with a soul-feeder caused him to hesitate though and while he was busy thinking Sergeant Jal closed the gap between them and suddenly the man’s hand was around his wrist, gripping him so tightly and pulling him towards him.

The man reeled him into his embrace and ran a hand down his cheek. Urm, very pretty, he murmured. Tell me, boy, are you still untouched?

W-What?

Jal ran a hand down his chest, delighting in the mad pounding of the boy’s heart beneath his skin. Are you still untouched? Have you lain with another? Are you a virgin?

Valorian’s eyes widened. He had only a basic understanding of sex and could not imagine why the man was asking him such a question. He was ten. He would not likely take a bride until he was sixteen (as was the custom of his mother’s people) so naturally he had not yet lain with another.

No one has yet touched you? No woman? No man? Jal continued, licking his lips with a very long and pointed tongue.

It reminded Valorian of a lizard’s and he shuddered, wondering what on earth Jal meant by no man.

A true innocent, Jal murmured, suddenly reaching down between Valorian’s legs to grip him through his trousers.

Valorian shrieked and tried to pull away but Jal held him fast and grinned. Ah, ah, little man. Play nice now and we’ll make a real man of you. Come on, guys. He grinned over his shoulder. Let’s show him what it’s like to be a real man.

And suddenly they were on him, forcing him to the ground and pulling at his clothes. He struggled, not understanding. They laughed at him, taunting him.

That’s it. Fight, little man. Struggle. We like it when they struggle.

He began to cry and they laughed harder. Then finally he was naked and they stopped laughing. They stared at him, licking their lips, their eyes roaming up and down him. Then they started touching him, hesitantly at first, softly stroking him, testing the firmness of his skin then roughly, grabbing at him, poking and prodding, squeezing his legs and arms, pinching his nipples until he cried out and then dipping their hands between his legs to touch him there.

They pushed at each other in their eagerness to feel him, angrily shoving each other away so that they could caress his thighs and touch his scrotum, which had shrivelled in terror.

Tears rolled down his face and he squeezed his eyes shut, praying they would soon tire and leave him alone. His face burned red with embarrassment as they pulled at his penis. He heard them commenting on it, saying how tiny it was, how it was like a frightened little worm trying to burrow back into the earth. There were a few chuckles at this but again the laughter faded as they continued to maul him.

He was turned onto his belly and the smell of dirt invaded his nostrils. He kept his eyes tightly closed as rough hands ran up and down his back and across his shoulders. He cried harder as those hands moved down to cup his buttocks. Then suddenly there was silence.

Long seconds crept by until finally one of the soldiers spoke up. Well, go on then, Jal. You always like being first. So go ahead.

I will. I will. Don’t rush me.

Another few seconds went by and then Valorian gasped as a heavy weight descended on his back. He could barely breathe and twisted his head to one side to suck in air. There were tiny stones in the dirt and they scratched his cheek. He struggled beneath the weight, frightened that he would be crushed by it. Then suddenly his eyes grew wide as his buttocks were crudely wrenched apart, and he screamed. He screamed long and loud as Jal forced himself between his legs.

The pain was worse than anything he could have imagined and he cried out again and again, begging Jal to stop but he would not. He growled in his ear that he would stop when he was finished and not a second before.

Tears flooded from Valorian’s eyes and he stared wildly at Torino.

The man sat watching from his saddle, a strange look on his face.

Please, Valorian sobbed. Please, make him stop. I won’t tell anyone. I swear. Please!

Torino’s lips curled up in an odd little smile but he said nothing, merely continued to watch.

Valorian groaned as Jal continued pounding him into the dirt. Each thrust was more powerful than the last and he felt sure that he would soon be torn apart. The man grunted and moaned in his ear, his breath hot against his cheek and he felt sick.

Mama, he whispered inwardly. Help me. Papa…someone…anyone. Please, make it stop. It hurts.

It did stop.

With one last agonising thrust that felt like Jal had driven a knife into him Valorian screamed and pressed his face into the dirt to muffle the noise. He lay shuddering, a wave of sickness washed through him and something wet oozed out of him but at least it was over. It burned deep down inside him and he felt sure that the wetness was blood. He wept softly, silently thanking the gods that it was all over.

But it was not.

One after the other the remaining soldiers came at him, spurred on by Jal’s obvious enjoyment. They fell on him, running their hands over him, sometimes pressing their wet lips to his skin before taking him with such force he felt sure he would die. By the time the last one climbed up off his back he wished he was dead.

Lying face down on the ground with dirt blocking his nostrils and the taste of grit in his mouth, he prayed for death. He prayed to all the gods he knew and those he did not for mercy. Make it stop, he pleaded, not realising that it finally had. Make it stop…make it stop…make it stop!

He stared out through eyes blurred by tears and saw the soldiers mounting their horses. They rode away, laughing and congratulating one another. Torino glanced back over his shoulder. He smiled, tipped him a wink and was gone.

The sound of the horses’ hooves dissipated until finally the only noise was that of Valorian’s ragged breathing and the crackle of the fire that had all but burned itself out.

He did not get up right away. He did not think he could or that he wanted to. He hurt all over from what the soldiers had done to him, not quite understanding what it had been. He thought of his mother; of Torino writhing on top of her. Surely those men had not done the same to him? In his over-stressed mind he could not quite believe it. Surely men did not do those things to other men. Did they?

He wept into the dirt and prayed harder for death to take him.

----

Sometime later, he did not know when, he fell asleep. His dreams were frightening. Horror awaited him at every turn as he ran through a nightmarishly overgrown forest. The soldiers chased him. They caught him effortlessly each time, grabbing at him and ripping away his clothes. Then they laughed at him as he fled, naked, deeper into the forest. They shouted at him that he was very pretty, that they enjoyed kissing him…that they would make a man of him.

He cried as he ran, weeping hot tears that blurred his vision and caused him to stumble. And the soldiers were on him again. Their bodies were so heavy on his small back and there was pain between his legs. It burned. They were ripping him apart and it burned like fire. It was as though he were being stabbed with swords dipped first in molten metal. He screamed, he begged, he pleaded but they would not stop. He called on the gods, any gods to save him or to let him die but neither request was granted.

----

Valorian groaned and his eyes flickered open. It was daytime. The sun was high in the sky and he had lain exposed to it since it had arisen. His back had been burned. Just thinking about moving brought him pain. So he just continued to lie there. Maybe he would burn to death in the sun, or die of thirst or hunger. His mouth and throat were both as dry as deserts but the idea of a cold glass of water did not appeal to him. He doubted he would ever be truly hungry or thirsty again. He felt sick, feverish. His head pounded and his whole body ached. He felt as though he had been repeatedly stamped on with heavy boots. He whimpered softly.

What if someone found him here like this, lying so exposed? It would be humiliating but he could not work up enough energy to truly care. He would be dead soon. No one could possibly survive such hurt. No human and certainly not such a little boy as he was.

He wept harder into the dirt, fearing that if he lived he would never again be just a little boy. His childhood was well and truly over. Innocence was now an alien word to him and he did not think he would ever laugh or cry again. If he lived. Which he would not. How could he? He did not want to.

He closed his eyes again and gratefully sank back into sleep. The sun was so hot on his back but he was fast becoming numb.

He slept fitfully for no more than twenty minutes when some sixth sense warned him that someone was near. He groaned and tried to open his eyes but they were crusted together with dry tears. His heart skipped a beat and began pounding erratically as he heard what could only have been a footstep approaching.

Torino had returned! He had not had his turn and had come back for it!

Valorian whimpered and despised himself for the cowardice that had so forcefully gripped him.

Another footstep sounded out and his heartbeat increased tenfold. Please, no, he cried inwardly. No. No more. Please, by all the gods, please, no more.

Another footstep and then there was someone at his side. A hand touched his shoulder and fingers moved to his throat, pressing lightly, searching.

Still alive, a voice murmured.

It was a man’s and Valorian cried inwardly. Please, no. How much more was he expected to take?

He was turned over, surprisingly gently and a soft woollen cloak was draped over his battered body. Please, he was finally able to utter. Please, don’t hurt me.

Shush, lad. It’s alright. You’re safe now. Don’t be afraid. You’re quite safe.

The man lifted him gingerly, apologising profusely for any pain he was causing and Valorian was carried away.

The smell of the burning house receded. He would never see it again, he knew. He would never see his mother or father again, except in his dreams. He lent his head on the big man’s strong shoulder and sank back into sleep.

The dreams began again almost instantly but he did not fight them. He was too tired too.

He would never sleep well ever again.

CHAPTER TWO

A new father

Valorian drifted in and out of consciousness. He burned with fever and cried out often. He came close to truly waking during the evening and when he did he sensed others near him. He heard the sound of a crackling campfire, smelled the roasting meat of a rabbit cooking on a spit (it turned his stomach) and heard many voices murmuring softly.

Both parents dead? he heard someone say.

He doesn’t look so good, another voice added.

What do you intend to do with him? a third said.

He drifted away again, fearfully wondering what they did indeed intend to do with him and who they were.

He came close to waking again an hour later when he heard someone crouching close to him. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping whoever it was would go away. Instead they pulled aside the blanket covering him and he tensed. He was going to be hurt again but he could not do anything: he could not move, he could not speak…he was frozen and struck dumb by terror.

Hands moved over him and he bit back a scream that had suddenly leapt into his mouth. He shuddered as the hands moved lower, dipping between his legs. But they were not hurting him he suddenly realised. Some sort of balm was being applied to all the parts of him that hurt. It smelled sweet as though made of flowers and was wonderfully cool on his skin.

He felt like crying with gratitude as the hands gently ministered to him but though he felt the emotion he could not produce the tears.

The hands moved up and he felt fingers gently dabbing some of the balm onto his cheek. There were calluses on the fingers. Working man’s hands, he thought. Like his father’s. Thinking of his father brought pain to his chest and stomach. Everything tightened up. It was hard to breathe and he felt sick again. He moaned softly and the hands moved away from his face. The blanket was pulled back up over him and a cold cloth was pressed to his forehead.

It’s alright, a man’s voice murmured. Rest easy now, lad. We’re watching over you.

----

The sickness grew worse over the next two days. When he was unconscious he lay tossing and turning, sweating and delirious with fever. When conscious, a dark-haired man with soft grey eyes spoon-fed him soup made from the leftover rabbit and piled extra blankets on him as he lay shivering with chills. He vomited up the soup an hour later. The dark-haired man held his hair back out of the way as he sat hunched over and heaving.

Then he slept again, like the dead for another day and a half.

He had the worst set of dreams ever and woke with a bloodcurdling cry that startled the birds out of the trees, but his fever had finally broken and the dark-haired man was there to tend to him.

He held him in his arms so gently as Valorian cried without tears against his chest. There, there, he soothed. It’s alright. Just let it out. That’s it. You’ll be alright. You’re safe now. We’re watching over you.

----

We turned out to be a group of mercenaries.

Like gypsies, travelling was in their blood and they never stayed in one place for very long. Unlike gypsies who made their money telling fortunes, selling goods, dancing, performing tricks and, yes on occasion, stealing, they made their money by offering their services to those who required short term protection or help with certain troubles. Defending small villages from rogue werewolves, escorting a merchant through vampire territory, acting as temporary bodyguards for visiting nobles…if there was money in it they did it. Not just for money though; sometimes for food, medicines, other supplies and occasionally for a favour.

There were several mercenary bands operating throughout the country, each one containing about twenty members: men and women. There was no discrimination within the groups. The women proved as good as, if not better in some cases, as the men.

The dark-haired man who had tended to Valorian’s injuries