Aelrindel

Incident at Merchant’s Triage

Aftermath II

-A Witch’s dream reaches very far-

Nesande’s moon send its pale cerulean light over the massive pyramid. It painted the marble palace walls at its top a shade of blue, matching her gleaming azure eyes. Aelrindel changed them to a brilliant silver when she got up, her body drenched in sweat. She walked barefooted to the throne room, the dark not bothering her and when it did, the sorceress used the embers heated core to light up the many braziers, one after the other. She stopped before the doors of the large balcony, the soft breeze on her skin a lover’s caress.

The city mostly dark, sprawling under her. Filth hidden behind the darkness, ruin and death. The taste of her vengeance unpleasant. The prize won diminished in the trade.

War, Prince Sahand had declared half-drunk, is going well.

But for one setback.

It didn’t feel that way to her.

Aelrindel gasped, drawing a rugged breath, her mind still dreaming, interfering with her reality. The Imperials were dead, but Ralnor wasn’t pleased. Another pupil lost, a third maimed horribly. Saved though, she thought, taking a step forward. That must count for something.

She closed her eyes, sensed Lithoniela’s song coming from Yeriden’s bridge. Felt Dar Eherdir brooding over the boy’s bed and heard again the man’s voice coming from the granite throne. Face hidden in the dark, the black scale armor gleaming in the lightstones radiance.

The darn dream spilling out.

The marble walls and floors of the Duke’s palace turning to fine cut, square granite pieces, giant columns sprouting out of the tiled floor and reaching for the ceiling, four on each side. The smell of sulfur burning her nostrils.

I’ve seen you before, the man had said. Show me your real face.

Aelrindel breathed desperately, her mind at last waking up and the spell cracked and lost its cohesion slowly. Everything returned to the present and when she opened her eyes again, the sorceress was standing in front of the doors to the large balcony, the moonlight the only illumination. The braziers had gone out and the old woman that had appeared outside, turned slowly to stare at her flushed face.

“It’s a past I don’t remember,” Aelrindel said truthfully and the old woman, wearing the simple teal robes raised her right arm. She opened her hand and showed the sorceress the blood dripping down. Red, it painted her wrist, palm and fingers.

“It is not the past, but this is your blood,” The Goddess told her. “What you want thou shall have, but never see grow.”

Aelrindel gulped down and took a step back nervously.

“I didn’t ask for a divination,” She blurted out and the Goddess chuckled.

“He did. There’s a Wyvern on Eplas, child. Your dreams are trying to warn you. What you took, thou shall give back.”

“I did it for the Realm!” She snapped. “For your people! For you!”

“You danced to a silent mummer’s tune. You’re still blind, child.”

Nonsense!

“What if I don’t?” Aelrindel countered. “What if I can’t?”

“You’ll have the choice, this query I’ve already answered.”

The old woman raised her other arm, hand closed in a fist.

“You can’t bind me to this,” Aelrindel insisted. “This is all a dream.”

She needed to rouse herself.

Now.

Escape this snare.

The Goddess puckered her ancient mouth.

“In your dreams thee are free child and in them, you’ve asked for this. An old temple like this. It was where the Horned One listened. A witch’s dream reaches very far, daughter of the Moon. Abhorrent is Abrakas child, but he may have given you a chance in his foolishness, what will you do with it?”

Take her throne,

Aelrindel had asked in her nightmare.

Don’t wake the Wyvern.

“No,” She shook her head right and left frustrated. “No, this is wrong, it’s not what happened… this is a trick.”

The Goddess smirked. “Eh, Luthos may have changed a thing, or two.”

Aelrindel bit the inside of her cheek, sharp teeth opening the flesh and her mouth flooded with blood. All an attempt to wake up.

“You did this,” She accused the Goddess. “You’re not going to trick me. I won’t do your bidding.”

“Ah, always so vain. You’ve no idea how the Realm works. You should have not allowed Oras Servant to kill Nym’s pupils. It makes it, more difficult for you. Do you want to know who you’re dreaming about?”

Aelrindel narrowed her eyes.

The old woman opened her fist and showed her an old Imperial coin.

“What this?” The sorceress croaked and the leering Goddess told her.

“What he used, to lure him in.”

And with a panicked cry Aelrindel woke up for real.

“Selussa sent me a strange report from the South,” Ralnor said hours later, the frown on his face making him appear ghoulish. “There are rumors spreading about magic birthed in the Desert.”

“Where did she hear that?”

“Tyeusfort. Dia run out of supplies, since our Prince managed to cut himself off,” Ralnor replied sourly.

“That was Tsuparin’s fault,” Aelrindel countered tiredly. “Sahand is cursing his lineage for weeks now.”

“Can’t exactly curse his idiot brother right?”

Aelrindel snorted and put her hands on her face, her head throbbing. She half-snickered half-sobbed.

“Ahm, anyway… perhaps it’s a nest of ancient ones stirred… what is it?” Ralnor asked seeing her shaking.

No it’s not.

“It’s a Wyvern,” Aelrindel blurted out defeated.

“Nay, Mol had you spooked. Weren’t you adamant it can’t be done? I’ve asked Selussa to learn more and she will write back. We’ll know within the month. She never fails me.”

“I was wrong before,” She admitted. “Your pupil will confirm it.”

“Reeves… has a Wyvern. Not an egg, presumed to be rock, thoroughly un-living. Oh well, not exactly the news I expected to hear today,” Ralnor said deictically. He crossed his arms on his chest with a scowl. “When will the others arrive?”

“You hope to find a hunter amongst them?” Aelrindel asked him mockingly. “What will you tell her highness?”

“Is there a better plan, famed sorceress?” The assassin retorted.

She had no idea.

“My head hurts,” Aelrindel complained.

“Take a healing potion,” Ralnor deadpanned.

“I have already. Can’t take another, or I’ll start puking on your face,” The sorceress came back at him.

“Perhaps abstaining from pleasuring the Prince through the night might help? Sleep cures most ails, but stupidity.”

Aaw Ralnor, you old numskull, she thought.

The fact she was half a century older than him escaping her.

“I think you’re right,” Aelrindel agreed with a sigh and got up from the Duke’s throne. “This thing with the Prince,” She made a vague gesture with her hand. “Is not working for me anymore.”

Ralnor took a step back and narrowed his eyes.

“What changed your mind?” He hissed.

Goddess’ wrinkles! What’s gotten into him?

“I thought you’d be happy. You weren’t exactly pleased with the Heir.”

“I’ll be better pleased, if you used what’s readily available this time,” The assassin retorted surprising her in turn.

Did he just offered himself?

Ralnor’s face had turned into that of a statue.

Good goods, it was joke!

Heh.

Hehe.

Aelrindel threw her head back and laughed uncontrollably, tears in her eyes.

It was cathartic.

“Gods, eternal gratitude onto you. I needed it so bad. Haha, oh my goodness, I almost peed myself…” She wiped her face with both hands still grinning. “I thought you didn’t have a humor bone in your body, Ralnor!”

“I always aim to serve,” Ralnor droned, his song unreadable. “You have someone else in mind? Hopefully of our own species?” He asked her next casually, always perceptive.

Aerlinder stared at him seriously for a moment and then she replied in the same manner.

“No, I don’t.”

Lying through her teeth.

“Show me your real face,” the man had ordered, his voice hoarse, its undertone laced with pain. “Not the dead and not the spells ye weave sorceress.”

And Aelrindel taking a step closer let go of her little illusions. She lost height, the fingers on her hands were now laced with burns and old scars, hair turning blue, but with light shades of purple and eyes, the azure color of Nesande’s Moon.

“Ah,” he said standing up, scale armour rustling. “There you are. Why would you hide that? Nothing comes even close.”

“It’s not perfect,” Aelrindel whispered and he snorted, amber eyes taunting.

“Perfect is nothing but a curse the Gods will envy, making it a folly. Real beauty is peppered wit little imperfections, inside and out. The latter, I see it afore me.”

In the dream the witch had shed tears of joy.