Chapter 14

The gates to Ka Lamar looked the same they had when last Caled had passed through them. A decade past at the very least, but the imposing stone archway over the main city entrance had weathered no less stoically than the mountainous granite that it had been hewn from. Caled himself was much changed from the boy he had been when he'd left Ka Lamar for the last time, the human body far less immune to the passage of time than stone. But that was no small favor, since none would be likely to connect a stubbled, grim eyed trapper from the highlands to the oh so different young man he had been.

He'd kept his distance out of a healthy sense of self-preservation these past years, but it seemed of late that he'd reached some turning point, for he'd taken more risks these past weeks than he had since the unfortunate events that had cast him upon his current life. The neko seemed to bring it out in him. The neko with his bruised eyes and his soft mouth, and the fascinating texture of skin covered in a silken coat of fur so fine it was almost imperceptible as such. The neko with his feline grace and his shy earnestness and his oh so great need not to be cast upon the cruel mercy of 'civilized' human men.

Dharsha followed him now, tail tucked back into his trousers, ears hidden under his cap, trusting. Not knowing what folly Caled committed coming within a dozen miles of Ka Lamar. And Caled led him here, knowing full well and - - not caring. Perhaps he'd simply lost the fear of death, living so long alone in the wilderness. Whatever the reason, he passed under the stone arch, by the casual gaze of the gate guardsmen and into the mining city of Ka Lamar.

The main avenue was broad and cobbled with large flats of stone. The houses were of similar sturdy construction, the roofs tiled with tin or copper, gleaming in the sun. The buildings rose towards the city center, tall and blocky. It was not a graceful city, not compared to Genair at the coast or the Imperial city at Tri-river. But it was rich and it was ruled by the most powerful of the mercantile families. The mining and export of metals, both precious and industrial was a lucrative business.

The tents of merchants lined the streets, hawking wares. The smell of a hundred different foods permeated the air as well as the fouler odor of the smelts drifting in from the east where the factories lay. The neko walked beside him, wide eyed, nostrils flaring as he took in sight and sound and smell. Even had he shown ears and tail, he'd have been safer here than he'd been at the coastal city where he'd entered into the human world.

Slavery was not frowned upon here, but it was of a different nature. The hard labor kind. Slaves and bondsmen worked the mines, but few if any were used for the purposes Dharsha had been bought and sold for. There were plenty enough free men and women who practiced that trade here. A man or woman sold into slavery for debt or crimes against the city might work their way to freedom. Hard work, yes, but not the surrendering of all dignity. A man that paid his debt might hold his head high for the doing of it.

Caled found a vendor of fine furs and leathers and bartered for the sale of his remaining stock. Furs were not in short supply here, as they were closer to the coast, but he had trapped very high and had no few exceedingly fine pieces. They came to an agreement of price, while Dharsha and Pell wondered the stalls outside the furrier, the dog on a leash to keep her well out of trouble that might attract more notice than Caled wished.

He pocketed his profits and left with two unburdened horses. Dharsha found him quickly enough, nervous at being left to his own devices among so many human folk. Almost, Caled considered heading right back out the city gates and back to the mountains, but his hackles rose a little at the thought of letting fear of decade old transgression chase him from a city he'd known inside and out, once upon a time. The folks that knew him were unlikely to happen upon him in a lowtown tavern and even if they had, they'd likely not spare the 'new' him a second glance.

He'd a craving for a real bath, not one taken at a basin or in haste at an ice-cold stream. And the neko would benefit from a pair of boots crafted to fit his feet instead of those strung together from scraps and rawhide. It was the least he could do to buy a pair, in repayment for his life.

So they stopped at a boot maker along Tailor's Row. Dharsha blinked, and Caled imagined his ears flattening under the cap, when he realized they'd made the trip for him. He was reluctant to sit down and let the boot maker unwrap his homemade boots to measure his feet for new ones and he perched, entirely uneasy as the man did so. He kept casting Caled uncertain glances, and Caled, unrefined in the art of overcoming the timidness of chance traveling companions, turned his attention to a display of fine leather belts and left Dharsha to deal with the discomfort on his own. The elderly boot smith was hardly intimidating and a pair of boots no particularly extravagant gift. Simply a practical one.

The neko had long, slightly odd shaped feet. Narrow at the heel, but wide at the ball of the foot, with long toes. The better for heroic leaps and landings, Caled thought, but not so much for the buying of off the rack boots that would fit comfortably. The boot smith would most certainly make a pair, since Caled was offering good silver, but they would not be ready till the following morning.

It was excuse enough to ignore common sense and linger in the city. But then he'd never had much common sense when the influences of Ka Lamar were upon him. They left the boot smith's and he looked longingly south, where the buildings rose taller, and gleamed with more than copper at their rooftops. Where wealth flowed like mountain streams in the summer and the pleasures to be had were limitless, for those with the monies to purchase them and the influence to spark creativity.

He turned his gaze away with an effort, heading east instead, towards the taverns and shops and hostels that catered to the working class. No self-respecting South sider would be caught slumming there. He found a hostel. One that boasted of in room tubs and running water. It was a temptation Caled could not pass by. He'd gone too many winters without, banished to the cold highlands, to ever pass up the chance at a warm bath when it came his way.

Dharsha was unimpressed by the large copper tub when they unlocked their room, but he was intrigued by the water that appeared from pipes to fill it with a turn of knob. He watched that with ears pricked forward and head cocked. Caled smiled at it, moved despite himself at the simple fascination of modern luxuries. Dharsha's 'innocence' despite his time as a slave was a rare, precious thing. A dangerous thing in the world of men. Caled rather thought he'd been born lacking the quality, but then most likely that trait had been bred out of his own family line generations ago.

He took first bath, not generous enough to forgo pristine warm water when hot water would not be limitless in a place like this. Dharsha hardly seemed to mind, finding things to occupy himself with the window over looking the street. A busy street no doubt with the evening shifts from the smelteries letting out.

He rose to step out and caught the neko looking his way, quick assessment from under thick lashes, before he jerked his gaze back to the window. Caled remembered, as he'd remembered no few times since the incident, Dharsha's warm hand on his dick and the firm press of his body. A man who'd spent the winter alone in the highlands damned sure hadn't the presence of mind to forget such things, fine intentions or no.

Perhaps he might find a willing body tonight, one that might not rouse feelings of guilt from the partaking, to quench those desires.

"Take your turn while the water's warm," he suggested. He'd already shown Dharsha the workings of the plumbing, so turned his attention to dressing. Just leathers and his finest shirt, the one only patched thrice over, and his belt with the knife he never went willingly without nowadays and his pouch of coin. He felt naked, almost, heading out with so little. He'd been in the mountains too long.

"I'll be out for a while. Go downstairs for supper and have it charged to the room. If you have scraps, take them to the stable for the dog, so she doesn't whine the night through."

The neko nodded silently, large solemn eyes fixed on his face. It made him shiver a little, the looks Dharsha gave him sometimes. Grateful looks. Hopeful ones. Yearning ones. Sometimes wary, as if he feared Caled might abandon him to continue on with the life the neko had interrupted. He might have, when he'd been younger and still angry at the world. He might have now, should have by all rights, save for the damned niggling little feeling of empathy. Of connection.

He retreated from the inn, pushing Dharsha from his mind, intent on finding thorough diversion. He knew where to find it. The scarlet district hadn't changed an iota since he'd last visited it. Same whores, different faces. He just wasn't in the position to visit the most exclusive houses now. Even if he'd had the means, there would be those who'd recognize his face, even with ten years weathering.

The scarlet district was sprawling though, filled with more than just houses of ill repute, and busy at this time of evening. He walked the cheap end, avoiding the unsavory brothels, the darker, smaller ones where a man might leave with more than he came with, or the one's where he might not leave at all. There were moderate houses with moderate whores. Clean places where a man might find girl or a boy, depending on mood. He found he was rather in the mood for a boy, but the one's hawking their wares were less than alluring. Hard expressions beneath contrived innocence. Consummate actors, these. Not nearly so appealing as . . . he frowned, realizing where his subconscious had taken him. What subtle comparisons he was making and with whom.

He shook his head, passing the young men by and looking for a woman. Soft breasts and round hips would take his mind off things he'd rather not dwell on. He found a clean little house, and the girls presented themselves under the watchful eye of the mistress and the beefy slab of muscle lounging in the corner, who served as house protection. He might have come in straight from the mountains, filthy and bearded and they'd have accepted him with a smile, for silver was silver, no matter whose hand it came from. But he was fresh from a bath and with clean hair, the glints of red and gold shown through, and only a stubble of beard darkened his jaw. There'd been a time he'd been no small bit vain of his looks and with good enough reason. Ten years hadn't changed him that much.

The smiles directed at him were genuine. The girl he picked had dark hair and large, high breasts, dark nipples showing through the thin gauze she wore draped across her body. Soft belly, round hips, long legs. She would do. She took his hand and led him upstairs to the private rooms. Foreplay wasn't required here, nor was he inclined to practice it with a woman who probably serviced half a dozen men or more in a night.

He stripped the gauzy tunic off and palmed the heavy breasts, thumbs circling the big nipples. She pressed against him, moaning and it might have been contrived, probably was, because he'd been too long without a woman to be particularly clever in his handling of her. They fell upon the bed, and she opened her thighs in welcome, her fingers expertly loosening the lacing of his trousers. Her hand slipped inside, fingers firm and knowing on his cock. He drew in a hissing breath, shutting his eyes as sensation rushed outward from the center. She breathed the ritual words at him, how big he was, how long, how much she wanted him inside her. Part of it might have even been true. Most of it was sheer flattery. He wasn't 'that' big and he wasn't 'that' long, but as wet as she was between her legs, she was eager to have him.

He shifted, shoving his trousers down enough to accommodate her, and a weight clamped down on his shoulder - - fingers biting into material and flesh and flinging him backwards. He heard the whore let out a squeal of surprise, a split second before he impacted with the wall between door and basin stand. The pitcher rattled, threatening to fall.

Caled blinked away the bright lights at the corner of his vision and reached for the knife in his boot, even as the big man approached him. The muscle from downstairs. Broad, grim face, big clenched fists and damned if Caled had a clue what had happened to trigger the attack. Houses weren't in the habit of assaulting paying customers. Bad for business.

"Jorjie," the girl complained.

"Get out," the muscle snapped, waving a thick arm. She scooted off the bed, not bothering to retrieve her wrap and retreated from the room.

"What the hell," Caled snarled, pulling out the blade, trying to get his wits together enough to push himself up off the floor. The muscle kicked out, not doubt well used to dealing with unruly, armed men, and the toe of his boot deflected off Caled's wrist. It hurt. The knife flew from his fingers, skidding across the wood floor.

"You don't remember me? I remember you, Se Lamar," the man snarled and Caled felt a sinking nausea in the pit of his stomach.

"You've got me confused with someone else, you sot headed bastard," Caled growled back, no hard task to force offended dignity onto his face. "See if I ever spend my coin at this house again."

"You smug little prick." The muscle was damned quick for a big man, and down on the floor straddling Caled, big hands tangled in his shirt before Caled could convince himself to move. Stale breath, indeed soured by alcohol warmed his face as the man pulled him close. "Think a few years would be enough to make me forget your pretty face? What, you don't remember mine?"

"You're damned well mistaken. Get off me." In all honestly he didn't recall the man, which meant nothing, really, for there had been no few men and women that had labored under the employ of his family.

The big man snarled something incoherent, fists tightening in Caled's shirt a moment before he snatched him away from the wall and then slammed him back into it. Hard. Hard enough for plaster to crumble and pain to explode in Caled's skull. Hard enough to send him plummeting into red laced darkness.

He came awake when he hit the ground. Dirt, not floorboards, and rolled instinctively, instincts honed by life in the highlands where a slow man might meet his death a hundred different ways.

The muscle, Jorjie, loomed over him, dark silhouette against evening shadows. A boot lashed out, caught him low in the side, between hipbone and kidney. Another and it caught him full on the hip. It hurt and he rolled, desperately trying to place the face. He couldn't. He'd never paid that much heed to family retainers. If that was what this man had been.

"What the fuck do you think I did to you?" he gasped, fingers itching to grasp a knife that wasn't there. He might have been oblivious to the hired help, but he'd never been cruel. Not knowingly.

"You don't remember me," the man crowed again, angry, maybe having held onto anger a long time. A damned long time. "I lost everything because of you and you don't even remember. "

Another blow and Caled curled, coming up sharp against what might have been a tool shed in the small, enclosed yard behind the House.

"Then tell me, if you're so damned certain I wronged you."

The man jerked him up, one hand around his throat, the other tangled in his hair, and pressed him back against the rough wall of the shed. Barrel chest leaning into him, cutting of breath almost as efficiently as the hand around Caled's throat.

Damned big man. Damned strong one. The type of burly physique that a wealthy patron might employ as security. It hit Caled then, a vague recognition. A fist very much like a block of stone slammed into his side and again before the man spat.

"I guarded your steps for close to a year before your brother disowned you - - banished you. Did you know that every one of your confidants, your servants any one to do with you felt the wrath of the Kir Lamar? Did you care that we lost our positions and any chance at gaining any other decent posts? Do you care I spent a week in the dungeon, the skin striped from my back before they were satisfied that I wasn't a part of the plot. Black listed and tortured all because you weren't satisfied with the lot of a second son?"

The man's fingers bit deep, cutting off Caled's air and he shoved against the weight pressing him back, clawing at the thick fingers around his throat.

"I had a woman set to marry me, but not once I was reduced to working brothel security because of you." The man was snarling now, full of righteous anger that had been simmering for close to a decade. Caled stopped trying to force his fingers loose and went for the eyes instead, digging his thumbs in. It might have been the only vulnerable spot on this man, for he howled and thrashed backwards.

Caled shoved him back, gasping for breath, grasped the closest thing at hand, the handle of a garden rake and slammed it, two handed upside the man's thick head. It shattered, sent Jorjie to his knees, and Caled held the broken end, survival instinct telling him to plunge the jagged thing through the man's bruised eye and save himself the trouble of having to deal with him again later.

He couldn't. He'd killed before, and suffered damned little conscious because of it - - but he did recall this man now, and though he'd been a silent shadow, a nameless bodyguard for a scion of the founding family, he'd been efficient and loyal enough and he'd suffered for Caled's mistake. Probably suffered a great deal, if Caled knew his brother and he did. Tered Se Lamar - - no Kir Lamar now, that he was head of the family, had never much been one for mercy. To anyone. Caled knew that well enough also.

Jorjie hadn't been the only one to suffer consequences for a failed coup. Jorjie just hadn't more than likely had the honor of the Kir Lamar's personal hand in the matter. Caled still had nightmares from the memories of that. Maybe even it was the reason he'd been so quick to jump to a hapless neko's rescue.

Caled might not have had much mercy back then, eighteen and naive enough to believe he was clever enough to take the place of an elder brother with their father on the brink of death, but he'd gained it somewhere along the way since.

He swung the stick again, and it connected solidly with the big man's temple. The burly body crumpled and Caled took a painful breath, dropping the broken shaft and lifting a hand to his throat. Gods, but he hurt all over. A broken rib or two, deep bruising for certain. A head that pounded like drums in a Founder's day celebration.

He staggered through the dilapidated wooden gate that led to the alley running beside the building. Out onto the street where no one noticed one more staggering body. The swell of the evening crowd ate him up and he was grateful for it. Whether Jorjie would go to the Family with the news Caled was in town or not, he couldn't take the chance. Tered had promised death if he showed his face again, and for a little while there, Caled had forgotten to take the threat seriously. He was back in his right mind now. Albeit a mind screaming with the pain of one too many hard blows to the skull.

Back to the inn, and no one paid him any heed, even wavering as he was. Up the stairs and he pounded on the door to the rented room. Stood there with his forehead pressed against it the few moments that it took for Dharsha to open it from within.

Dharsha took a look at him and breathed a word Caled wasn't familiar with, a neko curse perhaps.

"Gather the things," Caled said, took a step and the bruised hip finally had enough, sent shivers of pain down his leg, turning his knee to jelly. It gave way under him and Dharsha caught him, shoring him up, damned stronger than he looked as he took Caled's weight.

"What happened?" the neko gasped, ears laid flat. Dead giveaway that he was no small bit upset.

"Old acquaintance, " Caled almost laughed. His head was swimming. It was a wonder he'd made it back here. "We need to leave - -"

"I don't think you should." Dharsha hauled him over to the bed, got him down on it and everything swam disturbingly once he was horizontal. The neko sat on the edge next to him, eyes uncertain, fingers hesitating, before he took a breath and gingerly weeded them through Caled's hair, probing the edges of the multiple swelling at the back.

When Dharsha pulled them back, they were smeared with red. The neko's ears twitched again, and his mouth thinned. He rose then and came back with a dampened cloth. He urged Caled onto his stomach and with some effort and help from the neko, Caled complied. He lay there afterwards, drifting while Dharsha tended him. Might even have drifted into sleep, for when he opened his eyes again, there was a pillow under his throbbing head, and he lay mostly undressed stretched out on his back on the bed.

He searched the room for Dharsha, and found him by the window, looking out at the darkness beyond. At least he hadn't sleep away the night. Caled pushed himself up onto an elbow and regretted it. Still he had a goal.

"We need to leave the city. Now."

Dharsha looked towards him, the tip of his tail twitching. "Why? Who did this to you?"

The question as well as the tone surprised Caled. He had never heard annoyance in the neko's voice before. Nor firm demand. It took him off his guard.

"My own stupidity and someone who suffered because of it."

It was hard work swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The dizziness was still there, along with a faint nausea. The neko moved towards him, and there was something in the gait that made the hackles on the back of Caled's neck stand up. It was a predator's gait, graceful and dangerous. Fascinating to observe the change.

"I think it not wise," Dharsha offered quietly, and indicated the pillow where there were spots of fresh blood. Scalp wounds were hell. Caled knew that from experience. He took a breath, lifting hand to feel the robin's egg size lump at the back of his skill. It hurt like blazes, sending little spots of color dancing at the edges of his vision, when prodded.

"Not wise to stay," he gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and willing away the pain.

"Wait till morning light," the neko urged. "A few more hour's rest will only lend more healing."

A few more hours rest would have him stiffer and sorer than he was now, and still in danger of his brother's wrath. He shook his head and grimaced.

"If you fall in the dark of night, or loose consciousness, I'll not know the way. There are pitfalls in these mountains . . ."

It was a valid point and he found he rather cared what happened to Dharsha, even if his own self-preservation had worn thin. Uncomfortable admission.

Dharsha was pushing him back down, before he'd even agreed, concern on his face. His eyes were large in the shadows, pupils huge and round. Pretty. So pretty.

"I'll listen for trouble," Dharsha promised and Caled almost laughed, because the sort of trouble the Kir Lamar could send, would be more than two refugees from the highlands could deal with. He held his humor, to not offend Dharsha's earnest offer. The concern was - - disconcerting. Warming.

He lifted a hand to Dharsha's face, skimming his fingers across the down on one cheek. It had been a long time since anyone had taken care for him. A long time since anyone had cared if he lived or died.

The neko's eyes widened, his breath caught in his throat, but he didn't pull away from the touch. Leaned forward instead and grazed his own soft cheek across Caled's. A feather caress that sent shivers of sensation through his body.

"You don't have to," he was disconcerted enough that he hardly knew what he was replying to.

"I want," Dharsha said softly, then on a breath that was almost a sob. "I need. Help me to forget."

Ah, how was a man, regardless of condition, to ignore that plea? What a pair they were, bruised and damaged in more ways than one. What use in denying comfort when it was wanted and just might lend a hand in healing?