Aelrindel

The Assassins moon

Part I

-Whole Lotta Luck-

Lithoniela watched her walk up and down the hall, heels clicking on the marble floor. The soft threads of her aura touching her soothingly. Baltoris’ spawn wanted a mother and a lover, all packaged in one. The sorceress couldn’t be her mother and going all the way with her was dangerous. You can’t hide from a lover.

She hissed frustrated, the irony of the latter not missed and the view of the destroyed city depressing. Wanting to get some air Aelrindel got out to the large balcony, the heat making her thin tunic stuck on her like a second skin. It was wet and heavy. It made her tense and she felt on the verge of exploding. Baltoris’ daughter followed her outside though, not allowing her to release all that pent up anger.

Not that there were any enemies left to kill in Rida.

Except they were.

Old as dirt, decrepit remnants of a dead empire, still tormenting the Goddess’ children.

“Why would Nym’s pupils come after you?” Lithoniela sang, her voice soothing and pleasant to the ear.

“We don’t know, who is in charge, Princess.”

“Would he do it? Without my mother’s order?”

No. That antediluvian walking bag of old skin wouldn’t.

“Yes, there’s no one above them now. As far as they know, they can go after anyone they want.”

“Why?” Lithoniela queried and came to stand next to her. Some spots of Rida were still smoking, more than a month after its fall. Although a smoke pillar could mean anything.

“Spite,” Aerlindel replied and sighed, feeling a brook of sweat running down her chest. It pooled at her navel, the tickling vexing and the need to lash out huge. “Madness, in his old age.”

“He’s a man?” Lithoniela asked, with a frown.

“I haven’t the slightest,” She replied. “Does it matter?”

“I guess not.”

Ralnor always looked ghoulish, but the tribulations of the past several weeks, had made him insufferable on top of that. His uneasiness spilling out, the Princess’ annoying efforts to cheer him up not helping Aelrindel at all. There was no improving him, she thought. Her mother had tried and this was the best you would get.

“There’re still here,” The assassin hissed, lips pressed into a thin line. “Circling the palace. They caught the scent and they just won’t let go. We need to leave.”

“You want me to go back, travel through the desert,” Aelrindel sighed, the Duke’s throne hard on her back, despite the large pillow. She wiggled the toes on her right leg, then uncrossed them, before crossing them again, bringing the left on top. The large hall was empty, the Prince overseeing the work at the docks and the walls, everyone busy with this and that. Not that she wanted anyone in the Palace.

This was hers.

Though officially, there was some work to be done.

Politics.

“You are a sitting target,” Ralnor said, stating the obvious, while staring at her fit legs. The cut on the Cofol outfit quite scandalous. “Eventually, one of them will slip inside.”

Put a knife in your eye.

“How many are there?” Aelrindel asked, pleased at the attention, but worried. She caught the frown on Lithoniela’s face.

“It is foolish to guess on numbers.”

The plebe learned a bit of magic and thinks he can teach his betters.

“Just pick one.”

“Two, three at the most.”

“I can talk to them,” Lithoniela offered. “They will listen.”

“What if they don’t?” Ralnor countered.

“It’s not a bad proposal, Princess,” Aelrindel said.

“We can’t risk the Princess’ life,” Ralnor hissed. “And this won’t motivate them to leave.”

“But you can risk mine?” Aelrindel snapped.

Ralnor blinked, his face frozen. What? She challenged him. The assassin glanced at the Princess, clenched his jaw and then turned heel and walked out of the hall.

“He may be right,” Lithoniela whispered. “What about the Aken? Aren’t they also a cause for worry?”

Bonemancers and Imperial Assassins, Aelrindel thought, her stomach turning. Coming out of the woodwork to interfere in my business!

“One problem at a time, Princess,” She said, rapping her long nails on the throne’s armrests. “We can’t solve everything in a day.”

“There’s a famine in the city,” Wulan said sounding haunted, while gathering her discarded clothes from the floor. Aelrindel groaned, her skin burning up. The heat of the summer, something she’d forgotten about. Too many seasons in the cold, making sure her unaccustomed body suffered every day.

“There’s a spell,” She murmured, thinking out loud, not paying attention to her servant’s words. “Makes ice out of water. I could have Yeriden… hmm, what?”

“Nothing mistress.”

“Speak fool!”

“The Prince will stay in the army’s headquarters,” Wulan reported nervously, what she’d heard from the other slaves.

“Fine. What else?”

“They are worried about Van Durren escaping to the coast.”

“How will he do that?” Wulan shrugged. “What then? He needs ships.”

“He could attack Hi Yil Castle, secure the Merchant Path.”

Aelrindel rolled her eyes. “There’s another army coming from Eikenport. The young knight will be caught in a trap, if… he escapes Prince Nout.”

“It would be better if Prince Atpa was at Sadofort,” Wulan pointed, suddenly well-versed in military strategy. Everyone seems to think, following the army around made them generals, or something. “The Desert, while horrible to traverse, is an open route.”

“Atpa is dragging his feet on purpose,” Aelrindel said.

“What about the shaman?” Wulan probed, probably having eavesdropped her talk with Lithoniela.

“Haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Gives me the creeps,” Wulan admitted with a shiver.

Aelrindel saw one of the shadows move, avoiding the light coming from the torches and sighed. “Give me the room. I need to think about things.”

And talk to a stubborn man.

“I left your nightshirt on the bed,” Wulan said and bowed deeply, before leaving out of a side door. The old bedroom was massive and right next to the throne room, but also dark and foreboding, despite the many lit torches.

“Do you need more light?” Aelrindel taunted, turning around. She walked to a nightstand, filled a gold goblet with water and drank half of it. Turned the rest to ice inside the cup, smashed it once on the table to get it out and used a large chunk on her neck and naked chest.

Making quite a show of it.

“I want her engaged,” Ralnor said, appearing directly across from where she’d expected him. He’d a tired look on his face. “She hasn’t been with her own in a while. We need to use this. It won’t always be the case.”

“Uhm.”

“Your pathetic attempt at stimulating my senses, won’t work,” The assassin added, with a freakish leer.

“Are you sure? I sense you’re pretty aroused from here.”

“If I can restrain myself, others will as well.”

Right.

Aerlinder smacked her lips, then watched the ice melting away on the nightstand.

“How long?”

Was the Princess alone, was her meaning.

“A couple of centuries. Since the end.”

“Where?”

“Around Oakenfalls,” Ralnor replied and gathered some of the moisture from her left breast with a steady finger, then licked it off with a long rubicund tongue.

“No. She wasn’t there.”

“Yet. She was.”

Aelrindel sighed. “How did she get there? Did she swim?”

“How did Reinut escape?” Ralnor countered, stepping closer. She put a hand on his chest and pushed him slowly away.

“That was earlier. She just went through the chaos, the world around her burning?”

“What did she tell you about the boy?” Ralnor asked, his stare unreadable.

Why?

“Nothing much.”

“Yet, both of you seem determined to keep him breathing. Why?” Ralnor repeated again, more sternly. Aelrindel gasped, the stench of raw flesh on him too much to endure for long and stepped away. Her naked feet, leaving moist impressions of the marble floor.

“What are you getting at, Dar Eherdir?”

“Ah,” Ralnor said that leer back on his lips. “Naughty sorceress, plays games.”

“I’m not.”

“The Wyverns never left Goras,” Ralnor said. A weird topic to bring up. Unsafe, even at this late hour, to talk about. “No one’s listening. I’ve people stationed.”

“The boy? Or that pupil of yours?” She taunted.

“Answer the question.”

Fuck you.

“They never left.”

There.

“Why did the Queen sent Ovinet back from the Peninsula? Why not keep her there? A dying Wyvern is still dangerous,” Ralnor probed.

“Bring the others? The moment she realized Reinut was there. It made sense.”

“How could a Wyvern lead the others?” Ralnor insisted. “How would the Queen explain her needs to her?”

With the dagger.

“Apparently she didn’t. It was a fail. The Wyvern came back but never left, then they couldn’t and it was over.”

“Lithoniela made it out,” Ralnor said annoyingly and approached her again.

“If she had used one, we would know, or heard about it,” Aelrindel replied and looked for the nightshirt. It was one thing to tease him, another to underestimate his skill. With so many shadows about them, Ralnor was lethal. “Even…”

Where are my children? That voice had asked.

She sighed, looking at the bed. Where is my nightie? “There was no way one of them escaped, Ralnor,” Aelrindel murmured absentmindedly.

“Yet, the boy has a Wyvern’s egg with him,” The assassin said casually and offered her the nightshirt, after sniffing it deeply.

What?

She stared at him incredulous. “Reeves has a… no, you’re wrong.”

“I almost died because of it. The shock of seeing one, all but did me in. Reeves almost gotten himself killed as well, in the attempt to retrieve it,” Ralnor stopped to let his words sink in, then added. “Does she know? Is that the reason?”

This can’t be, Aelrindel thought and went to sit down on the bed, the nightshirt forgotten.

“I don’t… I don’t think she does. Ah. I’m not sure.”

“Great,” Ralnor retorted. “Anything else, I should know about?”

“Ovinet was expecting,” Aelrindel blurted out, her mind thinking back feverishly. Could she have resisted the poison enough? Then what? She flew Lithoniela out of Goras and went to die in the wilderness? Forced it out, when she sensed the end was near? “What was Lithoniela doing in Oakenfalls?”

“I don’t know. Mourning her dead mother? Where did Reeves, get the egg? He just found it?” Ralnor asked, with a scowl. “Something is up with him. Dodging out of nowhere, using spells—”

Nah, you must be wrong. But it was there for her to see.

There. Damn you!

She stopped him, raising a hand.

“He can’t,” Aelrindel said, this time feeling really worried. “It’s that damn dagger.”

Ralnor raised a hairless brow.

“A dagger,” He repeated.

“One of my daggers,” The sorceress explained and Ralnor stood back silent, looking none too pleased. “If Reeves used it to shortcut his way through high level spells. Then… a dead Wyvern might’ve noticed him, or worse. All he needed was to kill a lot and whole-lotta luck. Even then, he should be dead. Like, I can’t even fathom, unless there’s a God involved, or he’s Luthos in the flesh.”

Which, while hyperbolic, it was in a sense close to the truth.

Close, used very loosely here.