Voices Behind Walls

Author's Note: This story will technically be the fourth in my Rarity series. I strongly suggest that you read one or two of the previous stories so that you can understand what the basic premise of this universe is. Otherwise, you'll be confused. I will admit, though, that I might accidentally be inconsistent with some minor details between the stories, because this is an ever changing universe in my head. This story and entire series will mostly focus on centaurs. There will also be some sexual things involving breast milk and feet. That sentence is really strange when read aloud, huh?

******

Vera was an old woman all alone in her tiny, literally one room apartment, and that was how she liked it.

When she found the unconscious, obviously pregnant young woman stretched out on the street, exposed to the mud and rain, Vera was annoyed because she didn't want to put anyone else in her apartment.

But she had to. She ignored the curious faces of all the tenants in the townhouse as she carried the filthy woman up to the top floor and put her in her apartment. Then she washed her up, made a little straw pallet on the floor, and put her there.

When the young woman woke up, she was hungry and weak, and her speech wasn't very coherent. When Vera asked for her name, the young woman slurred out something that sounded almost like, "Ileana." A moment later, she shook her head, bent over and coughed, and then said with a stronger tone, "Lahri."

Fine then, Lahri.

The saddest thing about her was all the bruises, scars, and even burns that were all over the little woman's body.

Even when Lahri was able to communicate more clearly, she hardly ever spoke, and she certainly never wanted to discuss her injuries. She did thank Vera, however, for caring for her, and she also had a request.

"Kind Mistress, when my child comes, I'd like to send it to a temple so that it may live a peaceful life."

Lahri was weird. She spoke almost like a foreigner, a fancy foreigner, and sometimes Vera didn't quite understand her. She was also pretty damn pale once you looked past all the marks.

Vera kept Lahri for a few mores days, having the younger woman earn her place by doing chores. Dish washing, sweeping, dusting, cooking, sewing, things like that. But when Lahri gave birth early one morning, she was put back to the pallet.

Lucky, lucky. The child was a girl.

Vera sent another tenant to find a Purveyor that had been sniffing around the town. Within an hour, a few dwarf women were at Vera's apartment. One of them was the Purveyor. She had short, fluffy blonde hair and a long pipe in her mouth.

Lahri had no idea what was going on at first. She seemed to think that Vera had some guests for once. Her foggy green eyes were concerned, but she spoke politely from her little pallet. Her tiny girl was properly nestled to her full bosom.

Jideth was the Purveyor's name. She knelt down on the floor beside the mother on the pallet, holding her pipe away from the child's direction. Her plain teeth revealed by a smile, Jideth spoke to Lahri with a rough, smokey voice. "Good morning, Sweetheart. Are you feeling alright?"

Her pale red curls unruly, framing her blotched face, Lahri looked up at Jideth with a small frown.

"Ah, I imagine you aren't," Jideth said, putting her pipe to her lips. She inhaled. Then she blew the smoke away from the mother and child. "Haaaah ... well, I'm concerned about your health. You're all alone, right? But, what if I could find a family for you?"

Coldly, Lahri blinked up at her.

Unfazed, Jideth shrugged and continued. "If you're without a social disease, then I could take you out of the country and to a family who'd be glad to have you."

Sharply, curtly, Lahri insisted, "I'm clean."

"Well, you wouldn't mind if we took a look at you, then, wouldn't you?" Jideth pinched her pipe with her teeth as her other companions suddenly moved in on the mother.

Some unsettling minutes later, after Lahri had been examined, Jideth blew another puff of smoke and said, "She seems clean, truly battered, though. A decent Purveyor wouldn't normally take a battered one, don't want to reward that sort of filth." Another puff. "But she comes with a wee girl only just born. That sort is worth more than a grown woman. Babies can become peasants or princesses, as they say." Jideth coughed against one of her broad hands. "I'll take her."

Vera was given a pouch full of gold and silver coins. This was more than worth all the trouble. She wanted to grin, but she didn't think that would have been a very dignified thing to do.

When one of the dwarves said something about hurrying to Breden, the land of the centaurs, that was when Lahri pitched a fit, screaming that she didn't agree to anything about those frightening beast men. The little child screamed too. Fortunately for the dwarves, Lahri was still weak from giving birth. She wasn't too difficult to restrain and carry away.

Vera played around with the pretty coins when the mother and her child were gone, thinking about a few repairs that needed to be done to the townhouse.

***

Underneath lit chandeliers, resting on a pile of straw that was covered with a large blanket, there was a gold champagne centaur with pale blue eyes and a wrinkled face. Close to him, there was a large platform of polished brick with a thick pillow. On that pillow, there was a kneeling woman. But she didn't just rest on the pillow. She also rested against the centaur's barrel, feeling the uneven rattling in his breath.

King Aldabert Brundo Geitana was tired.

Sapless, quiet, the King rasped his words to the woman. "He matches you, but he also matches me."

"That might be so," the woman said, patting and caressing the man's lovely coat. "But he's still a grave person."

"As you are." He turned his head so he could give her a silly look, wiggling his eyebrows. "The poor little tombstone needs to pick a wife soon. The remaining boys are impatiently awaiting their turns."

"He certainly has a great number of native maidens to choose from."

The King coughed into one of his fists. The violent shudders in his body had the woman bouncing for a moment. But he soon calmed down, and he said, "He needs a bride with mischief in her teeth."

Nodding into the soft coat, the woman gave her agreement. "Marriage must be balanced."

Right then, the King surprised her. He curled his torso towards her. He gripped her long sleeves and pulled her closer to him. Then he put his tongue between her lips and kissed her so hard that her spine jolted.

Queen Chiana Lenzyn Geitana wasn't tired, but she was willing to pretend she was for the sake of her husband's pride. She retreated a little, and she said to him with a stern tone, "Oh, you wild beast, have you forgotten how fragile I am? Let me have my sleep tonight."

"Very well, then." He patted her black and gray hair. "Find peace in your chambers, but please remember to come to me tomorrow."

"Certainly, my dear Husband. Have a kind night." The Queen rose and called out to a nearby servant, "I'd like to return to the women's quarters." The servant trotted over to her, carrying slabs of shiny, well treated wood. He laid the slabs on the packed dirt floor, between several squares of brick. The Queen's bare feet stepped onto those bricks and slabs as she left her husband.

***

There was a small castle, or rather, it was small by a noble centaur's standards. Even with both interior and exterior equestrian staircases, it was a fairly cozy estate with a single, protective outer wall of stone, all whitewashed. The Master of that estate was known as Count Koriel Arkson, a dark brown centaur with slightly lighter hair and a decently average build.

He was carrying his wife, Teodyn, around the keep so she could properly admire the gardens without touching the ground. There was some construction being done, though. New pathways designed for a woman's delicate feet were being laid down, similar to the path between the keep and the another building that served as a kitchen.

A feather in his hat bouncing and quivering, Koriel asked Teodyn, "Has little Lahri chosen a name for the child?"

"Tarabell told me she named the girl Meia," Teodyn said, reaching under her cloak's hood to tap her fingers against her braided blonde hair.

Koriel's large nostrils flexed as he snorted out some air. Then he smiled. "That's a sweet name, like a melon fruit."

"I imagined a peach," Teodyn said as she put her grip back on the belt that loosely connected her to her husband's first waist. "She's a pretty little child."

A shrug, and then Koriel said, "I can't confirm that. She won't show herself to any man, let alone the child." He had only seen Lahri when he purchased her. Once she had been put with the women, Lahri had apparently decided that she needed to hide.

"The poor thing's more skittish than a cat near a snake." Teodyn sighed. "I suppose it's to be expected. Someone's treated her in a way I can barely settle in my brain." Her arms stretched out on both sides as her voice rose. "How does one even behave in that way?"

"I don't understand it either."

"I know you don't. You vomited twice after I described all of ... that." Teodyn folded her arms and shook her head.

Another masculine shrug. Koriel said, "Three times."

When they went to the entrance to the keep, Koriel noticed a interesting looking pigeon resting above the doorway. He halted, and he rose his palm to entice the bird. The pigeon jumped down to his hand. There was a tiny note rolled and tied to one of its legs.

It was a pleasant sort of warning from a friend.

The eldest prince was out looking for a wife, and he'd been fussy about it, just like his father. He might even send Koriel a letter.

Both of the Count's hearts skipped a beat.

***

The memories were disturbing, to say the least.

Again, there had been a bending of the peace agreement with Lunra. The result had been a short war. Everything was fine now, but Prince Vansoth Brundo Geitana knew he'd be haunted by images of bloody combat for years, perhaps even the rest of his life.

His massive hooves clopping against the dirt road, along with the hooves of his guards (half of them had dwarves) and carriage men, Vansoth was trying not to let his mind dive back into the agonizing abyss of murderous imagery.

Great, two legged beasts with sharp teeth and the speed to match a centaur.

Tearing into their enemies, pulling dwarves off their centaur partners.

And course, Vansoth had to be there. There had been so much peace before, with limited opportunities to prove to the world that he was indeed a strong warrior.

His black eyebrows lowered into an ill-natured expression as he thought to himself, "No, don't think of those darker times! Think of the reason why you're traveling! Think of how you're almost to your next destination!"

Women really were lovely, weren't they?

Soft hair and careful feet, chiming voices and pink lips!

Too bad he hadn't met one he wanted. They had all been too ... chirpy ... falsely upbeat. Vansoth believed there was beauty in laughter and joy, but only with honesty tucked underneath.

The little castle's outer wall was coming into view.

He nearly moved out of his assigned place in the formation. His dark eyes touched the empty carriage he ran beside for a moment. It was a mostly empty vehicle. The Royal Emblem was on the doors, a white shield with a black silhouette of a centaur rearing back, wielding a long sword of gold.

Underneath Breden's emblem, there was a smaller emblem. It was a another white shape, a circle with a black bow crossed with an arrow floating over a black saddle. It was meant to represent the long appreciated alliance between Breden and Duklok, which had one been known as Throgan, but a rebellion had done some malevolent thing in the past century or so, which ended up changing the language.

Vansoth was certain that any woman would be happy to sit in that carriage, but he wasn't certain if he'd ever find a woman he liked enough. He'd visited six estates already. The next castle would be the seventh. This Count had at least one nubile daughter to admire. Vansoth hoped she was interesting, or else the visit might become dull.

At the gate in the outer wall, all the men halted. One of the guards opened the carriage's door, reached under one of the seats, and pulled out a locked coffer. His armor almost blinded Vansoth in the hot morning's sunlight as he ran. Then, before his prince, the guard took a special type of kneeling position, one front leg bending at a right angle against the earth with the other front leg extended. His torso bowed and he held out the coffer with both of his dark hands.

With an thankful nod, Vansoth reached into one of his hidden pockets to pick out a small ring of keys. He unlocked the coffer and raised the lid. There were heavy pieces of jewelry inside. As Vansoth let his fingernails clang against the jewelry, wondering which ones to wear, a second guard went to his side with brushes, a comb, and a hoof pick in his hands. A third was getting a slightly larger coffer from the carriage; there were some tunics with festoons inside.

Not even fifteen minutes later, Vansoth was bejeweled, groomed, and much less sweaty. His traveling clothing had been taken away, replaced with a much brighter and boastful outfit. A salad green tunic with fitted sleeves was doing nothing at all to hide the brawny shapes of his greatly muscled arms. Dark blue and shiny gold threads were intertwined in fluid patterns around the pointed, deep neckline, the sleeves' cuffs, and the garment's hem. A green festoon of braided silk was draped over his lower body with a small knot around the dock of his tail. Little golden charms were hanging from the braid. They were mostly geometric symbols.

Vansoth took a moment to look all around himself, checking his black coat for anything unpleasant. He had a rather sturdy and heavy body. Quite a few women had given him very telling looks, some lustful and some not so lustful. The men in the Queen's family tree were sometimes pretty thick too. The King was different type. He was leaner, more graceful.

Oh well. At least he had an advantage in his search for a woman, unlike many other men, who often had to compete almost ruthlessly, particularly when seeking out a native.

A dwarf on top of a centaur guard called out to the castle's gatekeeper. A short conversation later, the gate was opened, and the procession proudly went through the opening.

Inside the keep, Vansoth was greeted by Count Arkson and his two sons. All three had brown coats and slightly out of mode clothing, but only slightly, with very minor details that only the most fashionable would care to look for. It couldn't be helped. Most people couldn't see the royal family every day, and it was impossible to see every single trend that was entertaining the most elite of the elites.

They were immediately taken to a dining area and served a meal of stuffed eggs, toast with preserved fruit, dried meat, a little oat porridge, and plenty of grass. There was a normal and happy conversation, and then joking and laughing, but only for a short time. Vansoth and his company were all tired. After the meal, they were shown to the guest quarters. Piles of fresh straw were the most welcoming things in the world to a weary centaur.

His yawn almost deafening, stretching all six of his limbs, Vansoth rested in the straw, still wearing his jewelry and silks. He didn't even care about letting those fine things touch the straw and a bit of earth.

So far, this visit was nice. He thought he spied a few cracks between the walls hiding the women, which had him imagining beautiful sets of eyes secretly gazing at his well adorned form.

Before he fell asleep, his mind repeated a few moments with the host.

"I have two daughters now, and a granddaughter. Tarabell is mine by nature, and I recently purchased a foreigner with a new little baby girl."

"A foreigner?" Vansoth had asked with his deep voice, smiling. Quite a number of the servants had flinched at his words. They weren't accustomed to his normal tone. "And she has a child? Which country granted this wonderful opportunity?"

"I was told she came from Raobet." Count Arkson's face tensed then. "Her name is Lahri, and she named her child Meia."

The child's name had reminded Vansoth of a mewling kitten.

On the straw, his golden charms were silent. His eyelids were unstrained. His stomachs were warm and comforted. His hearts were relaxed, pumping as they should. His legs folded. His breathing was even. He smelled the wonderful straw, the earth, the wooden furniture and interior walls, the silk, the gold, and even the particles of dust that wafted in the daylight.

Singing ...

His eyes were opening. His body was much better rested. He assumed he had finished his nap. He pushed himself to his hooves, getting into a stable position on the dirt floor. His charms chimed against themselves.

Vansoth found a mirror hanging on a wooden pocket, a hollow wall that wasn't meant to be moved at all, but was for other walls to be slid into.

Who was singing? All he could definitely claim was that it was a woman, youthful but also sedate. It was a bit muffled and distant, which made sense.

But it was certainly there, teasing him, putting curiosity into his heart.

Vansoth's fingers were picking straw out of his hair and clothing as he was examining his reflection in the hanging mirror. He was certainly the Queen's son. His cheeks were high. His jaw was sharp. His nose was very much a centaur's nose, however, broad and able to take in quite a bit of air. His humanoid flesh was tanned, as a normal centaur of even the highest class would be, because centaurs generally ran under the sun quite easily and naturally, only covering their skin when they were concerned about overheating or sunburn.

He went to the wall that kept him from the hallway. He pushed it aside and found that the voice became a little clearer and louder, but only a little. A young servant with a dark brindle coat and various things belted to his body was walking nearby. He approached with a bow and asked, "Do you require any assistance, Your Highness?"

With a nod, Vansoth used a gentle tone, although he was still naturally sonorous. "Do you know who might be singing?"

A tilt of the head and a mild shrug, and the servant replied, "When the Mistress or her daughter sing, they normally open some walls so that the men can hear them better. I think this is the newest daughter. She's been here for almost a month, but I don't know what she looks like."

"Ah, thank you." Vansoth nodded to him, and then he turned his body a little, asking, "Would you please help me with my tail?" There was some straw there, standing out very easily against the black hair.

"Certainly!" The servant approached as he took a comb from a leather case. Then, he started doing his best to make the prince's tail shiny and clean. "Would you like for me to braid your tail?"

That woman was still singing ...

"No thank you." Vansoth had always thought a braided tail was a bit too prissy for his tastes. He stepped a bit away from the servant. "That should be all."

As the servant left, Vansoth walked down the hallway, his ears careful, his steps as quiet as they could have been, considering he was such a great beast. The song was actually much, much louder just before it stopped.

Vansoth halted. With a frustrated shake of his head, he snorted. Then he closed his eyes, folded his arms, and waited. His tail swished and flicked in the air.

A voice as lovely as a small xylophone's exquisite tunes.

"Oh, why are you so bitter now?"