Ralnor

(aka Larn)

(aka Dar Eherdir)

One (Reveal Proper)

Mezera half-twisted on the saddle, curious look on her face, when they finally turned towards the river. Redwood trees were clattered on either side of the well-trotted path, olive-green and black, shadows under them dark and foreboding. The bridge visible further ahead, people working on it, too disciplined to be local farmers. Some of the latter still came and went from time to time, their carts bouncing and jolting on the rough terrain carrying felled trees, crudely cut; others produce, mostly vegies and grain. Over the bridge they went, one cart at a time, making a whole show of it.

Ralnor grunted, grimace of pain marring his pale face, Mezera’s eyes questioning. People always thought they needed to learn more, he thought pressing his knees to force Dar move forward. More about themselves, more about others. Uncover secrets and find long lost connections to stories that shaped the Realm. Someone wrote it in a book so it must be true, their plague festered dictum, carved on their foreheads with a blunted razor. Well, you know who you are, unless you’re lying to yourself and learning what was once hidden is always one part a blessing, three parts a curse.

Dar rode casually towards one of the carts waiting its turn to cross the bridge, a family of three clustered around their cart, the couple in their thirties, their daughter half of that. The man paused counting sacks of grain seeing him approach, thick black brows raising in question.

“Greetings,” Ralnor said in common, turning Dar’s head away from the cart. “Can’t the bridge hold the weight, good man?”

“Are you a merchant?” The farmer asked looking behind Ralnor, back where Mezera waited. “You have carts coming?”

“On the return trip,” He replied. “Thinking on leading a caravan laden with ivory from Que Kila,” Ralnor put the facsimile of a smile on his lips. “Think the damage will be repaired by then?”

The woman, sunburned face half-hidden under her rough winter coat, frowned at that. Her daughter’s blue Lorian eyes shone excited, but for another reason. Something primal stirred in him and he had to fight hard to suppress it.

“Not much of a damage. More like the lord’s order. Is that in the Khanate?” Her father asked, trying to measure him up. Had he sensed anything? Ralnor sat back on the saddle, knowing he appeared too road weary, for a rich merchant.

So it might be just that.

“Greenwhale Peninsula,” He explained. “It might take a couple of years, but I’ve staked everything I owned into this.”

“There might be trouble wit the Khanate soon, is the word,” The man said, hint of pity in his voice. “Not a good time to travel that way.”

“Is that so? Never had trouble with them.”

“Neither did I, but things are changing,” The farmer glanced at the slow moving row of carts. “Might want to come back after noon, it eases up a bit. In the afternoon is even better.”

Ralnor gave a nod with his head. “I appreciate the talk.”

The farmer shrugged his shoulders.

“Don’t mention it. May Luthos bring ye fortune stranger.”

Ralnor returned to where Mezera waited, nervously working on a stale piece of hardtack. He heaved a sigh reaching her and made to stretch his tired muscles, grimacing in pain while doing it. Dar snorted probably as tired as he was and still recovering from his injuries, though Ralnor had the excuse of overtaxing himself back in Altarin as well.

Was that a draw? He wondered mildly amused, before jumping from the saddle, Mezera’s eyes drilling his skull all the time and her patience wearing thin. She needs to work on that some more, Ralnor decided. Same as he needed to learn dealing with his hunger better.

Later though.

That was the answer to both counts.

“You can speak.”

“For real?” Mezera asked.

Ralnor remained silent.

“Right. Well…” She puffed her cheeks out unsure. While her cape and boots were dirty from the road, her face was surprisingly clean. Youthful skin unblemished. Ralnor licked his lips.

“What are we doing here?” Mezera asked, finally finding her mojo.

Everything, Aelrindel hissed.

“We… are not doing anything,” Ralnor said. Whatever the priestess’ wishes were, Zestari came first for him. She was the reason, Ralnor had come here. This is where the trail, he had been following since the summer had led him. “You are here to watch, listen and learn. Next question.”

Mezera grinned.

“I can ask anything I want?”

“No.”

“Who’s Faerith K’lael?” Mezera queried undaunted.

“Ora is the Fading Light. In the old tongue, that’s his name.”

“Come on… not what I mean. It’s you. Am I right?” Mezera pressed, excitement oozing out of her.

Ralnor sighed at the foolishness of people.

“You think, I’m leading the guild?”

“I overheard Dean Kutas mention him after you left,” Mezera explained. “Thought he meant you.”

“Faerith K’lael was in Altarin?” Ralnor asked, the detail troubling. That explained the injury to his horse and Dar Vranga’s sudden re-appearance after two hundred years. Partially. Why would the leader of the Silent Servants meet with the old Imperial assassin though? Why do it, without informing him?

Was this Dar Nym manipulating events from afar?

“I don’t know. It sure spooked Dean though,” Mezera said, biting her lower lip. “What does this mean?”

“Nothing.”

Nothing good probably. Perhaps a random conspiracy brewing in the ranks. Not easy to run a guild that revolved around murder. Killing is a devious profession at its core. Unlike thieving, there was no honor among assassins.

Or trust.

“So what now?” His pupil asked.

“Now we wait,” Ralnor replied, eyes stilled on the path leading west through the woods. It ended before the mountains and it was used by the locals for hunting and woodcutting mostly. It run parallel almost to the river and if you followed it back the other way it led to Altarin. “Best you gather some wood for the night and prepare camp.”

“What will you do?” Mezera retorted, not liking being relegated to menial chores.

“Gather, same as you,” Ralnor replied dispassionately.

Only it’ll be information.

There was of a lot of soldiers parked in that small corner of Raoz. He counted over fifty, but there were others as well, fighters and rangers. Not many, but amongst them he spotted the Northman from Castalor and the Knight. A Gish of all things was present as well. A young one, but still worth keeping an eye on. Reeves turned out to be an unassuming and rather shifty looking young noble. He spent his time training and following around a woman wearing Zestari’s cape.

One woman returned.

Not the same though.

Ralnor tried to approach her several times, but she kept her distance and moved with ease out of sight, when opportunity arose. It was impressive and troubling. Another assassin?

Something was off with that woman.

Something was off with young Reeves as well.

He expected something different.

Perhaps the old Lord was at fault, he thought, on the return trip. He crossed the now mostly empty bridge and checked it for damage. He found out that work had been done on the structure all right, but not to strengthen it. The opposite. Another weird happenstance.

Then again, it was perhaps not so strange this last part.

The soldiers were working on a barricade across the mouth of Hellfort’s Pass after all. In the end Aelrindel’s arrogance had started an avalanche, it seemed. Foolish it was, thinking she could steer it. Utter madness, her childish belief that no one would notice.

Half an hour later Ralnor grunted in annoyance seeing the camp Mezera had set up at the side of the path.

“What? It’s a good spot. We can watch anyone coming and going,” She protested, when he kicked her fire to put it out.

“Same as they can.” Ralnor snapped, his mood worsening. “Pack up your horse. We’ll move further up the path.”

Ralnor found a clearing a hundred meters down the path, left their horses there and picked another spot close enough, but deeper in the forest for their camp. He left a frustrated Mezera there and climbed the tallest tree he could find, an arduous effort, without pause despite his muscles protesting, until he cleared the canopy. Ralnor rested his tired body on the thick branch seventy meters above the ground, reminiscing of his youth and the hunts in Nesande’s Garden, the ancient forest surrounding the Great Acid Lake. I could climb twice that height then, Ralnor thought, a bitter smile on his lips and in less than half the time.

He let his eyes roam over the vast green expanse, the view majestic and rewarding, the thin white pillars of smoke popping here and there, above the tree-line marking the various campsites of people like himself.

Those that didn’t want to be seen from the road.

The closest camp fire, not even a hundred meters from where they’d left their horses. Ralnor smacked his lips and with a last look at the sprawling nature that was singing seductively to him, he started his long climb down.

At the bottom of the huge redwood tree the assassin rested for another half an hour and then headed towards their neighbors.

“Where have you been?” Mezera asked him hours later, when he returned. Ralnor too hungry and too tired to answer her, lowered the hood over his eyes and slept amidst the roots of an old tree.

The old Lord was wearing a loose tunic and had a shortsword in his right hand, when he entered. He was sitting on his bed, the sheets still ruffled from sleep.

“Who sent you?” Lord Reeves asked, when he realized, who his night visitor was.

“Does it matter?” Ralnor replied, stopping a couple of meters from him. Voices could be heard coming from downstairs.

“I guess it doesn’t,” The old man said, rubbing his face to push away his drowsiness. “You won’t come out of this alive.”

“It won’t help you,” Ralnor noted.

“I could fight you.”

“I can make it quick,” Ralnor countered.

Lord Reeves nodded.

“Was it my brother?” He asked resigning to his fate.

A practical man, Ralnor thought.

“What if it was him?” He inquired curious.

“I need a favor,” Lord Reeves asked, his face dark. “Before you do, whatever is…”

“All you have to do is ask,” Ralnor droned, his interest piqued.

If Ora agrees, a servant will answer and his name revealed.

Did the old man know the code?

But Lord Reeves asked for something different.

“There’s a parchment in this drawer. Allow me to do this,” He said and walked there putting his shortsword down. At first Ralnor worried the man was stalling for time, but he unlocked the small cupboard with a key he had on his neck and pulled a scroll out. He poured some wax on it from a candle and pressed his signet ring on it, his hands trembling as he did. Lord Reeves removed the ring and left it on the open scroll, after he finished.

“It’s done. Uher help us all,” The old Lord said and Ralnor standing behind him, pushed a long thin steel nail, he’d gotten out in the meantime, into his right ear and then his brain, killing him instantly. Ralnor retrieved his weapon calmly, spent a brief moment to read the scroll and then used the half opened window of the master bedroom, to avoid the guards running up the stairs.

Almost a flawless job.

The next morning found him stalking a Gish and that brute Northman hunting a giant Stag and almost killing themselves in the process. Ralnor deliberated whether he should finish them both off on their way back to the bridge, just for killing that magnificent animal, but decided it wouldn’t gain him anything other than a brief moment of satisfaction.

And some pretty decent cuts of fresh meat.

On a second thought, it perhaps worth the risk?

“What happened?” Mezera who had just returned from her task queried, seeing his sour expression.

“What did they say?” He deflected, not wanting to talk about it.

“Well, they’re fine wit the coin and waiting for your signal, but want to have a round wit me as well.”

Ralnor narrowed his eyes.

“What did you say?”

Mezera shrugged her shoulders.

“I said it could be arranged, if I got half what ye paid them,” Ralnor turned her way surprised and she chuckled. “After they finished the job.”

It was half-clever, he supposed.

“Did they buy it?” He asked curious.

Mezera made a twirl on her heels that ended with a nimble courtesy, her head almost touching the ground.

“What do ye think?” She teased looking up, with a naughty smirk.

Ralnor heard the horse coming and ducked in the shadow of a dim green redwood tree, its bark covered with mosh that smelled of earth. Mezera gasped seeing him disappear, but thankfully stayed low. The hooded woman pulled at the reins and stopped her mount, head turning to stare his way. Ralnor pressed his lips tight, frustrated.

You can’t see me. Move on.

He reached for his small crossbow as the moment dragged, the woman frozen in place. Ralnor reached with a hand for a root sprouting out of the trunk, the ground torn and raised at that point, his eyes and weapon aimed on the woman.

A different one returned.

One.

A moment later he felt ridiculous for doubting his stealth abilities and pulled his hand back. The woman clicked her tongue and the horse moved forward and disappeared into the thick woods in the direction of the river.

“Who was she?” Mezera asked him, when he got out of cover and returned to her hiding spot.

“She’s one of the targets,” Ralnor explained, still shaken from the encounter.

“What did she do?”

“She and her friends, killed your predecessor.”

“Why did you let her go?” Mezera probed accusingly.

“If we kill one of them, the rest will be warned,” Ralnor explained, as they walked towards the path they were stalking for the past several hours.

“It will be more difficult to get to them.” Mezera agreed. “Will we get another chance?”

“There’s not much game on the other side of Teid River. Not with all the farm houses,” Ralnor said giving his small crossbow to her. “So sooner all later, they all cross the bridge, to enter the woods.”

“You don’t need that?” She asked.

“I have another. Can you use it?”

“Aye. I’m a great shot,” Mezera replied with a grin, as she examined the compact weapon.

“Only shoot what I tell you to,” Ralnor ordered with a grunt of dismay at her boast. “Never hesitate.”

The young Reeves appeared soon after, apparently following the woman. Mezera gave Ralnor a knowing stare, when they saw him following her trail into the woods.

A romantic fling with a hired blade. His old man is probably turning in his grave, he thought, as the hours ticked away, with no sign of them returning.

Ralnor counted the numbers again to ease his troubled mind.

One life, for the daughter he’d lost.

One death, for the life he owed Oras.

One boy, to be the Lord’s only heritor.

He was missing a clue. A verse short from an answer, the meaning vague and indecipherable.

Oras was keeping silent.

“There’s something off about her,” He murmured his worry spilling out of him for some reason and Mezera’s trained ears heard him.

“I want her bow, when you’re done wit her,” She replied with a wink.

“What about it?” He asked, surprised at her words.

“I could see it from where I was. It’s a beautiful white wood, all engraved,” Mezera explained. “If it’s from old Yew, then it’s way better than this thing.”

How have I missed this? He wondered. Was there a spell in play here?

“How can you tell?”

“My father scouted for the Khan for a moon. Brought home one,” She said, a touch of sadness in her voice. “Can’t make ‘em anymore, he told me. Not since the empire fell and the roads to the ancient forests were closed.”

Ralnor blinked once and pushed the memories away.

Pushed everything away.

“What did you do with it?” He asked, his tone coarse.

“Had to sell it after he died,” Mezera replied, wiping something out of her eye. “Used the coin to buy my entry into the guild.”

Ah, people are insane. First they sell something precious to realize their dreams, only to spend the rest of their lives lusting after what was lost.

Ralnor snorted and got up. Enough was enough, he decided. He chanced another look at the darkening sky.

“Are you okay?” He asked his new pupil, seeing her glum expression.

One life, for the daughter he’d lost.

His quest already fulfilled.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She replied bravely.

“They are late,” Ralnor said, not trusting her that she was. “There’s a way to get rid of them without raising suspicion.”

Petaerson didn’t like the idea of killing their only horse, even after Ralnor explained to him that they could gain two fresh ones out of the bargain. Mezera surprisingly managed to convince him though, just as Ralnor had surrendered to the idea of finishing the job himself and use their dead bodies as décor for an ambush gone wrong.

“He really likes me,” She said later, taking her position beside him at the side of the path leading inside the forest, less than twenty meters away from the three outlaws. “He’s got a certain roguery in him, you know?”

The dark hid them well, not that it was important. It wasn’t their ambush.

“Don’t get too attached.” He warned her.

“Uhm.” Came her childish reply. “We’ll see.”

“They started searching for them,” Ralnor said after an hour of watching from a distance the trio discuss how they were going to spend their coin and teasing Petaerson on letting them share Mezera’s body in an egalitarian manner.

“You think something happened?”

“I think the boy is love-struck.”

“Heh. Makes sense then.”

Ralnor glanced at the moons over their heads.

“Yeah. It does,” He said, just as the couple appeared out of the woods.

The woman was leading them, not much of a surprise, Ralnor thought and Petaerson put his plan in action immediately. Ralnor stood up and walked slowly towards the light and the group listening in to their exchange. Mezera followed his example, crossbow in hand.

It was going to be easy.

The woman approached the man pretending to be out for the count to check on him and Petaerson went after the boy, leaving the other two outlaws to deal with his hooded companion. Ralnor raised his crossbow, just as the action exploded, his eyes watching intensely, close but still unseen in the almost complete darkness.

Nothing went as easy as he expected.

The Reeves scion managed to avoid getting killed immediately, through sheer luck, as his skills were lacking and the woman… Well, she avoided the worst through instinct, got hit hard in the back of the head, but rolled her body forward absorbing much of the blow. Dropped to her knees and punched the length of Zestari’s shortsword in the belly of one of the assailants, while having the presence of mind to whisper her surrender right after, avoiding getting decapitated by the dying man’s friend.

For some fucking reason.

You can’t stop a man intent on killing you, with just a soft word, he thought, frustration oozing out of him in waves. Not without the darkest magic and another fresh body for the trade.

One word.

Only you could, was the truth of it.

Some bloodlines could stop a man, or woman on command.

Their song pure and strong. Their rare essence perfectly attuned with nature.

These bloodlines were also lost; severed, never to be seen again, under mountains of burning lava, scalding waters and a grieving Wyvern’s wrath.

Or so the tales would have you believe.

Ralnor started walking fast towards the unfolding scene and the light, without realizing it. Petaerson ordered the woman killed per Ralnor’s agreed upon orders and his man pulled her hood back, snapping out of his earlier stupor, shattering a myth and proving two hundred years of the Realm’s history false.

I need a favor, Lord Reeves had said and Dar Eherdir had allowed him to ask for it.

All the numbers arranged in place neatly.

But the answer still obscure.

One life, for the daughter he’d lost.

One death, for the life he owed Oras.

One boy, to be the Lord’s only heritor.

One royal brood, the beast mother spared.

What will you do now?

“Shoot Petaerson!” Ralnor roared, decision made. He fired while on the move, nailing the paid brigand in the chest, another bolt already nocked in place a second later. Mezera hesitated and Ralnor fired another one in the blink of an eye.

Dropped the crossbow next and approached unseen by the couple, his disbelieving eyes on the woman, face bloodied and feverish, her song powerful and her pleasure at the feast so immense, Ralnor felt completely sated himself for the first time in years.

Everything, the Moon of Dan had ordered in her righteous fury, marking them all for death.

Gifting them to the Fading Light.

Oras was a stubborn, wrathful god.

But no Zilan could ever harm an Elderborn.

The sorceress will have to settle this time. When she sees the bigger picture, Aelrindel will understand, Ralnor thought while he wiped his blade on the man’s clothes, certain in his conviction and overlooking that hope never favored killers, who owed the god of death twice over.