Ralnor

(aka Larn)

(aka Dar Eherdir)

Two contracts

Lithoniela’s song turned sour at his words, her face displaying her discomfort, despite the effort to hide it. Had he overstepped, in his eagerness? Was there something, he’d missed? Ralnor wondered, giving the royal brood the time, to recover her composure.

“What do they call you?” Baltoris’ daughter asked, when she did.

“If I answer, a contract will open,” He replied. “A service will be rendered. Is that your wish?”

“I wish to know, what they call you.” Came her retort, all indignant.

“Name’s Ralnor, mistress.”

Lithoniela hissed in annoyance.

Ah, the privileged, he thought. Always impatient. Ever rush in their wants.

“Why is the Lord’s heir important?” He asked instead and watched as she turned guarded, her eyes glowing like sapphires. A vain indulgence, almost childish.

“Glen isn’t any Lord’s heir,” Lithoniela said, appearing certain in her ignorance. “He’s not important.” The latter a lie.

Oh, but he is, Ralnor thought.

The boy has talents, or secrets you probably keep hidden.

“Why stay with him then?” He tried again.

“I trust him. Can I trust you to be discreet, Ralnor?” She replied, her tone measured.

She dreaded discovery. He could understand that.

How times have changed.

“Of course, mistress,” Ralnor appeased her, with a small curtesy, repeating his words from the other day. “You have nothing to fear.”

The bridge was to be a final point of retreat. A way to delay the Khan’s men from crossing into Raoz proper and Altarin. It wasn’t a bad plan, Ralnor thought, mulling it over hours later, patting Dar’s head, before leaving him to graze in peace. All they have to do is lose, to find out, if it will work. He walked inside the small copse, the trees on this side of the river, younger and smaller in size and sat down before the put out fire. Mezera watched him, as he placed a small piece of flesh in his mouth and savored it.

“I roasted a chicken,” The woman said, a little apprehensive and quite ignorant. “There’s enough left.”

“It loses much of the flavor,” He explained, not talking about her chicken. “Where did you find it?”

“Bought one, from a farmer.”

“Do not spend anymore coin,” He cautioned her.

“Fine. What about the ranger? Was she the one that killed my predecessor?” Mezera asked.

“You haven’t earned the spot yet,” Ralnor explained, after swallowing. “And it’s complicated.”

“What does this mean?”

“Not every job is straightforward, child,” He said and added, his eyes set on the glowing embers, his mind wandering. “Sometimes you have to improvise.”

Or outright stray away.

“The land is shaking,” Dar Minue Mol had said, lipless mouth giving him a perpetual grotesque sneer. “There’s smoke coming out of Goras Nest as well. You can see it from the city. The Elderborns decided to stay though, for political reasons. Many believe all this will blow over, when the Queen gets rid of the raiders.”

“What does old Nym think?” Ralnor asked, the smell of redleaf burning, brought by the faint gush of wind, a sinister warning; the First Servant wasn’t sent alone.

“They burned Eikenport to the ground next,” The assassin replied, the report a rehearsed sales pitch, for an offer still vague. “Steered clear from the interior, their force spent. They only have one way to go and the Queen of queens will catch them before the Lazuli Peninsula. The Horselords will pin them there, or force them into the desert. Either way this will be over, before the year is out.”

Ralnor looked around the campfire, flames now turned to embers that glowed a bright red. The night dark, but for the lights coming from the distant Wotcheki Castle and the moons above. He could hear the river, but nothing else. The accomplice had either wised up, or he’d imagined it.

“What does Nym say?” He probed again, to stall for time.

“Reinut had help.”

There it is then, Ralnor thought.

“Who would do it?” He asked, although the answer was obvious. Queen Baltoris would never be satisfied, until everyone was brought to heel.

“Dissenters. Those unwilling to let go of the old ways. Those that lost the most,” Minue Mol said, seemingly unbothered from the change in Ralnor’s demeanor. “Edlenn’s acolytes.”

“The First Priestess is dead for over a century Mol.”

“Still, people favor her teachings.”

Ralnor stared into the assassin’s gleaming eyes coolly. Mol favored his right hand, where the scimitar was, but enjoyed killing you in his mind first and left the actual act for his partners. One of them probably lurking around in the dark ready to move on him, when the signal was given.

“You can’t bind magic, old friend. It doesn’t matter anyway, our great Empress of the whole Realm, won that argument,” He argued, softening it at the end on par with his well-studied character. Dar Minue Mol’s smile grew, or so it appeared; it was always difficult to tell it apart from a grimace of rage.

It made him the more dangerous.

“Some say, Dar Eherdir wasn’t pleased,” The First Servant pointed. “Edlenn was your patron. Brought you to the temple, before the Fading Light won you over.”

“She saved many children, of lesser bloodlines,” Ralnor countered, maintaining his composure. “You weren’t much different than me, as I recall. Does that make me a traitor?”

Mol breathed the night air in silence, holding his reply.

“Nym doesn’t think so,” He finally said, his eyes on the embers. “There was a disagreement though. Many believe you left the circle, to continue in the old ways. A compromise had to be reached, to alleviate some of the concerns.”

“What does he want?” Ralnor asked tiredly and Dar Minue Mol revealed, what they needed from him. The Empress’ orders.

Sever the witch’s bloodline, Dar Eherdir.

Come back.

Let the Old Ways die.

Do this, and Nym assured me, she’ll forgive your transgressions.

“So you’ll just forgive her?” Mezera probed, returning him to the present, not willing to let go.

As if he could do that. This was not how things worked. Ralnor closed his eyes.

“She did it for him,” He said patiently.

But why? Another whim?

“So now we go after that lordling?” Mezera pressed.

“I want you to stay away from him and especially the Gish,” He warned her.

Mezera scoffed. “Pfft. I don’t fear that pink haired freak.”

“You should. We will wait for a better opportunity,” He said and sat back more comfortably against the trunk, intending to catch some sleep.

“Like what?”

“War.”

“You can’t possibly believe the Cofols will come through the Pass, right?” Mezera asked, sounding stunned. “Rida is the other way!”

“You assume the Khan wants only Rida,” Ralnor said and with a final look at their campsite, he added, steel in his voice. “Pour some water onto the embers. Do not breathe another word, until morning.”

Sleep returned him to the land of dreams.

Aelrindel downed the contents of the silver goblet with long eager gulps, some of it spilling out of the corners of her mouth. A crimson color painting the thin material of her tunic, her delectable body clearly visible underneath, in the light of the many wall-lamps of her bedroom. Beautiful the brood of Edlenn was, her resemblance to her late ancestor uncanny.

I can see you, child, whispered the golden-eyed old Priestess, a hundred and fifty years back, her voice clear in his head, as if he was in Elauthin again. Ralnor reeled, the shock too great and it took him a moment to get his bearings back. The disturbance was carried by the large dresser’s shade like a wave.

Come forth.

Aelrindel turned her head, her long cobalt hair dancing and stared right at him. Ralnor saw fear into those eyes, hidden from her voice that followed, so different from the memory.

“You’ll kill an Elderborn?” She asked the shadows and Ralnor stepped out of them to answer her.

“If the Queen of queens wills it.”

“I see,” Aelrindel replied, her face darkening. Remarkably she’d kept her poise. “No birds are coming from Goras anymore, is the word. This was asked of you some time ago. Perhaps, while her and I, were still talking.”

“It has taken me this long to decide,” He lied, but some of her words were surprising onto their own. “You’ve spoken to the Empress?”

“She asked for me. Needed a way to talk to the Wyvern,” Aelrindel replied quickly, seizing her chance, perhaps even starting a spell. Not that it mattered. She was already dead. “I made a talisman for her, in exchange for her pardon. It’s been two years now.”

She’ll forgive your transgressions, Mol had said, appealing to his practical side.

Well known his character was to his brethren inside Nym’s Circle.

Easy to exploit.

Ralnor stepped back from the memory, with a frown. “If Baltoris used the Wyverns, then she has won by now.”

The land can be rebuilt.

Why would Baltoris break her word? Opt to murder an Elderborn?

What would stop her, from doing it again? What does a life of a killer worth?

“No she hasn’t.” Aelrindel crooked her lips into a smile full of smug satisfaction, but then her eyes strayed on the empty goblet, she still held in her hand troubled. The smile faded, when she realized what had happened.

“I’ve been with you for days,” Ralnor explained, suddenly unsure about everything. “When you go out to visit the frozen river, whilst you sleep and drown in your nightmares. What have you done, Aelrindel?”

She clenched her jaw, some of that hatred bubbling to the surface.

“I fought back,” Aelrindel said, her voice but a whisper. “For Edlenn and those like her that perished. For those that run, stripped of their station. For the Old Ways and even you, for I can hear your name now. The Goddess whispers it, all you have to do is listen. Is the Goddess in the wrong, Dar Eherdir?”

That was unexpected, he thought.

“You’ve helped Reinut,” Ralnor said, reaching for the small vial, he’d kept in an inside pocket, on his vest.

“I didn’t start this,” Aelrindel explained and he believed her. “All this destruction came from the Gods, for she had abandoned the ways. The pirate took advantage of the chaos. He saved me in a sense. You will fault me for reacting to her deception?”

Ah, politics, he thought, shaking his head in deep disappointment. And romance. The worst bloody combo. How many had died for a highborn’s whim this time? How many to satisfy a hyper inflated ego? How many will die the next time?

Aelrindel closed her left fist, the light coming from the lamps growing, the shadows retracting. Ralnor sighed.

“Don’t.”

“Why not?” Aelrindel retorted lively.

“Do you know how I found you?” He asked, catching her by surprise.

She started to argue immediately. “The Queen—”

“Don’t be a fool, she was on campaign for months,” He cut her off. “No one has seen her in fact, for more than a year. Wetull has turned to ashes the word is, no one knows what’s left standing, who is in charge there. Or if anyone really is. You might as well be the last of the old lines and he knew that, I suppose.”

“What are you saying?” Aelrindel asked, sounding haunted now. Ralnor tossed her the small vial and she caught it on instinct. She almost dropped it, when his answer came next.

“Reinut told me, where to find you.”

And while the antidote kept her alive, Aelrindel had never healed from that day.

The woods woke up, after he did. Birds and animals, still numb from the night’s cold, came alive. Some complaining, others happy. Ralnor placed another log into the fire and watched as it caught and blossomed.

Ora’s was a cruel, stubborn god. Sadistic in his zeal to get what he wanted. Everything had come full circle. Two contracts. Two lives he’d now spared, perhaps selfishly. Two lives, he owed and the God would never let go. Ralnor unfortunately had to intervene back then and he had to do it again now. It was a flaw in his character this, the assassin admitted. A humble boy from the slumps, trying to keep what was never his from perishing forever. Nurture it and for what? A small reward down the line.

Alike a dog.

Had he made a mistake back then?

He clenched his lips into a thin line, just as Mezera stirred and woke up from her slumber.

“Damn,” She gasped, her teeth rattling. “I can’t feel my bloody hands!”

“Give it a minute,” Ralnor counseled her, deciding he wasn’t just a servant anymore. There was an opportunity here, to decide the future of a whole race. He would. Neither some misbegotten queen, nor a foolish sorceress. Not their offspring, but him. “And everything will become as it once was.”

As much an advice for her, as for himself.