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The Truce by Eternal_red
 
Chapter 14
 
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It was fully dark by the time Spike returned with a gently snoozing Buffy pressed to his chest. At this time of year daylight hours were precious, and only his keen eyesight had prevented him from pitching them both into a stream or gully on the way back.

Still oblivious, Buffy murmured a low “Mmm," as he carefully shifted her weight to push open the door. A wave of warm air laced with wood smoke enveloped them, and the girl bundled up in his cloak scrunched up her face as the changes intruded on her dreams.

It was still early, with only a few villagers present - no doubt hopeful of snagging the choicest meat before the soldiers arrived for supper. Scarr and Brack were in the corner playing dice and looked up just long enough to grin before resuming their game without comment. Relieved that Anjell wasn’t around to give him yet another extended lecture, Spike mounted the narrow staircase leading to Buffy's room.

Once he’d settled her on the bed, Spike tried to part her from his cloak but, with a surprisingly strong grip, Buffy wound it back over her shoulders and snuffled her face into the soft fur. Giving up, he smiled and went to pour her a large glass of water, placing it within reach on her night table before carefully unwinding the scarf wrapped around her head. Spike couldn't stop himself from spending a good few minutes running his fingers through the tangled mess of her hair until it lay in a mass of gold-flecked waves across her pillow. Leaning down, he rubbed his thumb along her soft, plump, lower lip then gave her a light kiss.

“Night, love.”

Mission over, he stood up, unconsciously rubbing his arms as they recovered from carrying Buffy for so long. Now, a few choice words with Faythe and that pond-life Ennico, a good feed and a few ales, and he’d be ready for bed too.

***

Spike was having a glorious time; Buffy was underneath him, writhing in pleasure, her eyes wide as he pushed and withdrew inside her eager body, her little hands grabbing and stroking, along his back and tensing buttocks in encouragement. With a feral smile she bared her teeth, huffing at each energetic thrust. Her delicious crinkle tipped breasts jutted and jolted against his chest with their combined movements, and a bead of sweat trickled down her flushed neck. He licked it off. Buffy responded by arching her head back, offering up her pulsing throat.

“Please, Spike, please.”

Delighted, Spike bent down to nuzzle there with little sucks and nips, getting her ready. His heart sang.

“Wakey, wakey, Spike!”

Spike’s dream was doused, literally, in a deluge of cold water...very cold water. He leapt up from his bed, snarling and disorientated, throwing tiny chips of ice around the room as he shook his head like a dog.

Buffy stood a safe distance away, feet apart, holding an empty jug loosely by the handle. She looked both annoyed and smug.

Spike’s eyes homed in on his attacker; they were golden, narrow slits, his entire body tense with the need to pounce and punish. Buffy watched in fascination as small rivulets of water continued to descend his completely naked form. An odd sense of deja-vu hit just as her eyes were drawn to his rather impressive erection. Buffy fought the urge to move closer and examine it more thoroughly. See if it was as silky and as hard as she remembered.

Before she could allow herself to be completely distracted, and who wouldn’t be, Buffy rounded on her soggy victim.

"You despicable man...thing! Don’t think I don’t remember. You dragged me out of a tree, you half drowned me, and then you smacked me on my..." Buffy gulped at the next sequence in her foggy memories.

Spike stopped scowling. Folding his arms, not caring a bit that he was cold, soaked and naked, he brazenly looked her over. Even her fetchingly flushed face couldn’t disguise a drug-induced hangover. ‘No wonder she’s grumpy.’

“First,” he drawled. “You went sneaking off without telling anybody. Mistake. For all you knew those woods could have been teeming with Terr-Khan. So I follow your trail and find scores of dead skeelers - any one of which could have killed you...” He paused, swallowing before continuing. “When I did find you, you were completely intoxicated and groping that little rat Ennico, so I rescued you from the tree that you almost fell out of after I killed the queen skeeler about to skewer you, then I sobered you up a little - I admit I enjoyed that bit - then I put you over my knee, and yes, I enjoyed that a lot, but you…” He moved close and tapped a forefinger against her chest. “You scared the marrow out of me, so I think I was entitled to be cross.” He couldn’t resist. “Besides, I made it good for you there at the end.” He leaned even closer and whispered in her ear, “So now you’ve got me all wet, don’t you want to spank me too?”

Flustered, incredibly aroused, and not a little put out that he could get the upper hand so easily, she pushed him away.

“That won’t be necessary... you’d...you’d just enjoy it!”

Turning, Buffy scrabbled with the heavy catch until she finally managed to get out of the door, slamming it behind her.

Spike started laughing. “That I would, sweet Buffy. That I would.”

A scant minute later, Anjell barged into the room.

“Good, you’re up. Get some clothes on - you’re going on a mission. Oh, and Buffy is going with you.”

Spike blinked in surprise then quickly pulled on his leather pants, pausing only to grab the rest of his clothes and a towel for the bath house before disappearing in a blur.

Anjell sighed and sank down on the bed only to jump up quickly, away from the soaking mattress.

“What the…?”

***

Buffy entered the small parlour that Flo had vacated to let Anjell hold his meeting in private. A large black and white feline of some sort dropped gracefully from the only unoccupied chair and brushed past her, seeking a quieter place to sleep.

The general looked bulky and out of place in the cheerful, feminine room. A row of pink potted plants filled the windowsill and, to the left, a sturdy dresser displayed Flo’s best china service. Set into a small hearth was a black stove with a gleaming red metal kettle perched on top. Buffy was drawn to the cosy feel of the place.

The five others in the room were seated with Anjell around a delicately carved table covered with a white, lacy cloth. Of course, Spike had to be there, together with Scarr, Brack, Faythe and Ennico. The latter two had a black eye apiece. The soldier in Buffy noted that their opponent was left-handed and she was curious as to who could’ve got through Faythe’s defences. Ennico whimpered and looked away, his one good eye darting around the room as if looking for an escape route. Faythe merely grinned, then winced, touching her lip gingerly.

“Hi, B, how’re you feeling?”

Before she could answer, Anjell cut in. “Good, you’re here. Sit down, please.”

His tone was chilling. With a sense of foreboding, Buffy took her place at the table. Was this it? Was she going to be sent back to Giles in disgrace for her part in yesterday’s adventures?

As if reading her mind, the general continued. “I don’t want to hear about yesterday; I know all I need to. I believe that certain people have already been disciplined for their utter stupidity, and if these were normal circumstances then I’d take it further, but they’re not…and the locals are grateful, which will be useful the longer we have to stay here.”

Buffy lowered her head guiltily, not knowing what to say. The general continued.

“The Terr-Khan are scouring this region looking for an ancient artefact, one that shouldn’t exist. I’ve been making my own enquiries, sending word to elders, mystics, scholars, hell, even wandering tale-tellers, and all I’ve got is a collection of jumbled stories that, while entertaining, fail to reveal its possible whereabouts.”

Anjell stopped long enough to raise a cup of steaming liquid to his lips and took a long gulp. He looked tired.

“I’ve had just one promising lead. From Lossangel in the mountains.”

Spike looked up sharply. “The stronghold of the Gemhunters?”

“Yes. There’s a trader there who is willing to sell us information. They won’t tell us their name so you’ll have to make your presence known and wait to be contacted.”

Faythe grumbled. “Thieving bastards. Why don’t we just march in there and shake them by the balls until they tell us what they know?”

There was a general rumble of agreement at this.

“Because they’d just flee through the tunnels under the city the second we arrive in force, and we haven’t time to flush them out. No, we’ll do this their way, quietly. I want you to find this person and decide if they have information worth knowing and worth paying for.”

“But why send us, sir?” Faythe asked hesitantly.

“Because you are the most troublesome members of my outfit and therefore the best qualified to recognise trouble when you see it. Because you don’t stick to the rules, can think on your feet, and because if I send you far enough away I can get a bit of peace for a while.” Anjell allowed himself a little smile at this.

Faythe grinned. “Neat.”

Brack raised his hand. “Sir, I wasn’t aware that I’d annoyed you recently.”

“No, Brack, you haven’t, but you and Scarr are old soldiers and you know what’s what. I’m sending Spike to negotiate - he’s intelligent enough to recognise lies from truth - and Faythe and Ennico can dig for the information they’re not telling us.”

“Sir, am I included in this mission?” Buffy asked. She could hardly believe her luck, but why else had she been called to the meeting?

“Our contact expressly asked that you go, too. It seems that they know about the human bride of an Aurelian and want to meet you. They refuse to talk if you’re not there.”

“What?” Spike was incredulous. “We’re taking a human to meet a bunch of rogues who live to collect beautiful and rare objects - she’ll end up stuffed in a glass case over someone’s mantelpiece.”

Much as Spike’s word picture made her shudder, Buffy prickled.

“You’re so not the boss of me, Spike. If I’m needed then I’m going.”

“Be quiet, both of you!” Anjell gave the couple a withering glare until they both looked down at the tablecloth. “There isn’t another way and we’re running out of time. If you all dress the part then Buffy can pass as Aurelian. The trader won’t be keen to alert any rivals to her presence and, if it’s a trap, just kill who you have to and come back. I propose that you enter the city as a merchant with a wife and comforter." He nodded first to Faythe then Buffy. "Ennico can be a personal servant with Scarr and Brack your mercenary bodyguards.”

“Hey!” Buffy realised that she’d just been demoted. “Shouldn’t I be the wife? Why isn’t Faythe the comforter? I’m sure she could do slutty much better than me.”

Anjell cleared his throat before replying. “Wives have a certain way of behaving which I don’t think you’ve mastered...yet. If you stay in the background, and don’t say anything, it will arouse less suspicion. You’ll be safer that way.”

“Yes, sir.” Buffy folded her arms, indicating that she was far from happy with the situation.

“Good. You leave in two hours.”

***

As Harmonee tweaked and tugged at her outfit, getting it ‘just so,’ Buffy squirmed in embarrassment. Harmonee had eagerly donated some of her own clothing and that of her counterpart in the village, who was closer to the smaller girl’s size, to fashion a basic travelling wardrobe for Buffy’s mission. A seamstress was also present, concentrating on expertly threading the new creations together.

As Buffy looked down at her new and improved cleavage in dismay, wondering how soon it would pop out of her dress, Harmonee finished hooking up her tight bodice and sighed. Pulling the girl down to sit next to her on the bed, she looked at her shrewdly.

“Look, I know you don’t approve of this but there’s no need to look like you’ve just swallowed a geenfruit. There’s no shame in our profession; we like to be free from family and home, we choose who we want to sleep with and are paid generously. If you don’t look and act the part then this just won’t work.”

“You’re right.” Buffy sat up straighter. “Tell me what to do.”

“Good girl. Now, as a companion to a married couple you have entered a contract to add a bit of spice to their relationship, or to meet the needs of the husband, or wife, that they can’t, or won’t, meet for each other.” Harmonee looked thoughtful for a moment before continuing. “Without Droo around to make him a weak pup, Spike is quite a forceful male, and Faythe is definitely a female who needs to be in control, soooo... I’m afraid it’s likely that you would be employed to be meek and obedient, giving them both the pleasure of power. You are also a symbol of enormous wealth. As a submissive, and a beauty, you won’t be cheap and the Gemhunters will think that Spike and Faythe are extremely prosperous."

“This sucks!”

“It doesn’t have to. Besides I’m sure you can get your own back later.” Harmonee winked.

***

The two hours were up and Buffy finally came downstairs. Spike was immediately torn between lust and outrage. He wanted to leap forward and nuzzle those delectable tits - he also wanted to cover her up so that his companions weren’t also enjoying the view.

She looked stunning. Hair a mass of swept up curls, leaving neck and shoulders bare, enormous eyes enhanced with soft grey eyeliner, glistening carmine lips. A faint blush, both real and artificial, touched her cheeks. Buffy’s dress was fashioned in heavy velvet for warmth, lilac, with fringes of black beading at the neckline, tight waist and cuffs. A ruby drop was sewn over the point where each nipple pressed against the velvet, designed to both stimulate the wearer as they moved, and to draw the eye. The long skirt was slashed into four strips, revealing sheer black pantaloons, swirling with embroidery; Buffy’s shapely legs were obscured then revealed as she walked towards them, her ankles and feet protected by dainty white fur boots.

Buffy exchanged a sly smile with Harmonee as she fastened a white hooded cloak around her. Judging by the stunned silence at her arrival, this could actually be fun.

Speaking of Spike, he looked pretty amazing too. Part pirate, part dandy, he wore form hugging royal blue trousers and a long matching jacket whose thick gold-cuffed sleeves revealed a red, satin shirt underneath. A row of gleaming gold buttons ran down his chest. Only his knee length black leather boots were plain, but they looked expensive. He wore one large hooped earring, diamond and gold, and his hair was pulled into artful tufts. Spike’s vivid blue eyes were now enhanced with black kohl, and a sleek black fur cloak, draped over one arm, finished the look.

Faythe looked almost dowdy in contrast; she was wrapped in a deep grey cloak covering a mulberry satin dress that buttoned up to her neck. Clever makeup completely hid her earlier brush with Spike’s fist.

Ennico wore black, with a curious silver choker round his throat. Scarr and Brack, both armed to the teeth, looked like the mean bastards they were meant to be.

Together, the group made their way to the crossing place.

***

This time the journey through the portal - or crossing place - was a lot less unpleasant. When Spike reached out to take her hand in his Buffy felt a small pang of guilt that he would still offer reassurance after his dousing earlier. A moment’s panic at the familiar blackness and a minute later they arrived at their destination; the lingering sensation was of misjudging the last step on some stairs, a jolt and nothing more.

They were standing on a plain of frostbitten grass, the landscape bare save for narrow scars of shale and a few stunted, skeletal trees. Ahead of them was a formidable walled city, a fortress fashioned from the mountains that dipped and rose in a craggy line behind it.

“No wonder you want to take over other planets.” Buffy muttered. Shivering, she pulling her cloak more tightly around her.

Faythe bristled at that. “We’re in the north, what do you expect?”

Spike interjected before they started arguing in earnest. “Actually, we have all weathers and climates. This place is extreme even for us, but that makes it a good stronghold for the Gemhunters. Plus, this territory is rich in ore, precious stones and ancient treasures. Collectors and traders with an appetite for exceptional things make the effort to come here even in mid-winter. Now, if you don’t mind, I suggest we get a move on and leave the bickering till we find somewhere warmer.”

Casting identical twin glares at his back, the girls hurried towards their destination.

***

The single entrance to the fortress lay under a massive stone arch. Two thickly studded metal doors, maybe fifteen feet high, were partially open. A couple of slouching figures could be seen huddled around a small brazier, trying to keep warm. When the group were finally noticed one of the guards gave a shrill whistle inside the gate, and took a sharp step back as six massive wulfs came bounding past him towards the newcomers.

Now surrounded, but not feeling immediately threatened, the group continued to approach with their shaggy escorts, soft padding paws and rasping pants the only sounds made by the black beasts.

Stepping into their roles, Brack and Scarr added a little extra swagger to their step and Faythe raised her chin haughtily, shortening her soldier’s stride. Spike replaced his predatory slide with the gait of a rather slight man trying to look important, eyes darting anxiously whenever one of the hounds got too close. Buffy for her part kept her eyes down and tried to look demure. She allowed herself an extra swish of her hips, just as Harmonee had taught her.

As they arrived a short, round-bellied man rushed out to greet them. He was wearing a green coat, buttoned up wrongly, and puffs of air trailed in his wake as he gasped for breath.

“Welcome to our fair city. My name is Teller. I am the fortunate owner of The Sleepy Dragon, providing the finest food and accommodation in all Lossangel, no prior booking required.”

“Is that so?” Faythe stepped forward, looking at him disdainfully. “If your establishment is the finest in Lossangel then why isn’t it fully booked?”

“Ah.” He shrugged with a ‘what can you do’ gesture. “At this time of year, and with rumours of monsters roaming abroad, only the most intrepid souls are venturing this far.” His expression became sly. “Of course, that means that those who do come here are able to secure the very best goods. It’s a buyer’s market.”

Faythe gave Teller a calculating smile. “Good, then we can expect a suitable discount at The Sleepy Dragon.”

Boxed into a corner, but content that he would still be able to make a tidy profit, Teller pressed a palm over his heart in admiration. “You are a wise and prudent mistress and I promise, by Roth’s claws, that you won’t be disappointed. Come, let’s get out of the cold and discuss the matter over a cup of warming honeywine – complimentary, of course.”

***

Apart from a couple of miserable looking traders perched on carts laden with barrels and root vegetables, they encountered no other traffic as they followed their host through the narrow streets. Finally they stopped before an ornate gate and Teller waved them through with a flourish.

“Welcome to The Sleepy Dragon.”

To Buffy’s surprise the air was pleasantly warm, despite the grey sky above. Potted ferns and ornamental ivy flourished along an arched cloister that ran at right angles from either side of the stately building before them. They were in a large courtyard, an imposing fountain at its centre. Curved around a continuously bubbling column, a stone dragon lay as if sleeping. It was green, threaded through with red veins, the last remains of golden scales winked brightly under the passing water. Again, Buffy wondered at this so-called barbarian world, where beauty lay hidden in every corner.

The place was well kept and, despite the time of year, not entirely empty. An odd assortment of characters, mostly respectable seeming, regarded the group with interest…and not a little disapproval where Buffy was concerned. After a cup of the promised honeywine and a passable lunch, they promenaded a little, engaging the other guests with small talk and casual questions, Buffy remaining silent during their walk, keeping in character as much as she could. Satisfied that they had aroused curiosity but no suspicion they retired to their guest suite.

Their accommodation was spacious and spotless. Two large double bedrooms linked by a central sitting room. To one side was a further room, furnished more simply with cots for Scarr, Brack and Ennico.

Faythe flopped down onto the nearest settee, staring at the ceiling in disgust.

“This is getting us nowhere. Trust us to find the only respectable place in this dump. I’m going crazy being polite to sour faced biddies; no-one has contacted us and no-one is likely to while we stay here.”

Spike had to agree. Far from fitting in, Buffy’s obvious status as sexual companion had attracted more than a few unkind comments, which he hoped she hadn’t heard.

Buffy had heard. “At least if I’m dressed like a tart I should be somewhere where I’m appreciated.”

“You may wish you hadn’t said that,” muttered Spike. Having spent the last two hours wanting to rip out the livers of some of the ‘respectable’ guests for their whispers and dirty looks, he wasn’t looking forward to pretending indifference when they met some real slime.

It was Brack who rescued them from an evening of boredom. He’d gone out earlier to explore the seedier parts of town and had news.

“There are a dozen houses up on the hill that cater to clients of all tastes. That’s where business is done. I’ve put the word about that we’re here to spend money and indulge in a little harmless vice, and two places seem to specialise in procuring mystical and magical items. If we make ourselves known tonight then our contact may approach us there.

“Yess.” Faythe bounced back up, all sulkiness forgotten. “It’s time to party.”

***

A change of clothing later and the companions formed two groups. It was decided that Faythe, Ennico and Scarr would go to the Blue Rooms and Spike, Buffy and Brack would try The Silken Rope. Faythe still wore a modestly buttoned dress but now it was black, shimmering with electric blue. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun and a thinly braided black leather belt wound several times about her waist. Ennico looked both delicate and sensual in skin-tight black velvet pants and waistcoat, arms bare save for silver bangles on each wrist. His silver choker was now attached to a long narrow chain that ended in Faythe’s fist.

For himself, Spike had chosen soft black leather pants to go with his boots and a long red jacket that flared out from the waist to his knees, A fine white lawn shirt fell in ruffles at throat and wrist. His fingers sported heavy gold rings studded with gems. Good for barter and for serious fighting.

Buffy was struggling with the urge to hide; the heavy velvet of her first dress replaced by a gauzy confection of white in a similar style. Pleated horizontal bands ran from waist to breast, while vertical stripes formed the skirt. Slashed into thin strips, it gave the impression of ribbons falling to her ankles. The sheer pantaloons were also white. Silver embroidery across her nipples, at her crotch, and running down her back, was the only barrier to prying eyes.

Taking a final horrified look at herself in the mirror, she wondered when her missions had taken such a bizarre turn. “I look like an x-rated fairy on a Christmas tree. If Spike makes one crack, I swear I’ll knock him into next week.”

To give him his due, Spike was careful not to reveal his thoughts when she emerged - largely because he wanted to shout at her to go and put some clothes on, or else carry her back into the bedroom where he could peel them off at leisure. He was quick to grab her cloak and pull it round her.

***

After an unnerving journey through the tavern area, and a rather brutal skirmish between Brack and a pair of would-be muggers - which Brack won hands down - the trio arrived at The Silken Rope. A tall building set apart from the rest, it was clad in polished black basalt, a reflecting mirror against the indigo evening. Gargoyles clung randomly to the gutters and window ledges, each one bathed in tiny red flames, which gave the illusion that they were moving.

“Oh, this is just great, now I’m a virgin sacrifice entering Satan’s den. Could my night get any more creepy?”

Spike put his arms around her and spoke softly in her ear; his gesture comforting, his words serious. “Correction, you are a submissive and you belong only to me. You don’t speak unless ordered to, which I won’t because your accent; sarcasm and daft questions will give the game away. Virgins are ten a penny but human sacrifices are probably at a premium here.”

Buffy kept her mouth shut as they went in.

***
 
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