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Aelrindel
Tales from Rida
Part II
(Sing me a song)
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Siege of Rida
-Day seven-
Lirue ni o linn, her mother crooned.
> The crown of its head had blackened, the rest of it a salient cerulean color, but for its upper tail feathers that were a deep yellow. The bird’s beady eyes black and unresponsive. Aelrindel pushed its beak open with her index finger and pouted unhappy.
>
> She turned to stare at her mother watching from her spot, under the green-leafed palm tree, dry fronds shaped into a natural stool and the old tree’s shade keeping the strong sun away. Edlenn, her gorgeous face radiating warmth, a soft glow all around her, just as she always had been, when they visited Nesande’s Garden, cast her head to one side and sighed.
>
> The high priestess of Nesande had stopped humming that tune she was singing all morning.
>
> “You’ve taken too much again, Aelrindel,” She admonished her, in a soft melodic voice.
>
> “It’s dead,” She admitted and stared at the stupid bird with hatred. “I will try again.”
>
> “And you’ll kill another one,” Her mother replied. “How can it help you ni Netela, if it’s dead?”
>
> Turlas flew above them, before she could think of an answer that sonorous trumpet announcing his coming from afar, as he headed for his nest and little Aelrindel turned her silvery eyes to the sky, both excited and terrified, to catch a glimpse of him.
>
> The magnificent, gleaming red-gold scales, turned black in an instant, time moving forward and then the wall of her tent was torn apart, huge horse and armoured rider crashing through her belongings, the giant tent caving on its south side, the many night wrought-iron fire pits setting it ablaze. Aelrindel burst out of her tent with a shriek, the camp in a state of chaos, slaves screaming scared, soldiers cursing and Knights roaming freely about.
>
> Death was everywhere.
>
> But this was the present.
>
>
>
> An Issir stumbled her way, as she tried to find her bearings, blinded by the bright torches and the explosions, as flames were shooting out of almost every large tent. She paused, realized her feet were bare, thorns and rocks hurting underneath and hissing put her hand on the man’s wrist. The soldier turned and made to raise his sword, but she pressed until his iron vambraces gave and caved in crashing his forearm. The man screamed blinded by pain and a mounted Knight heard him and turned towards them, even managing to spot her amidst the general chaos.
>
> The Lorian, kicked his legs and pushed the stallion into a charge, the light of the fires making him radiate from foot to head alike the Goddess’ son Tyeus, his helm gleaming like a small sun.
>
> “Alurae,” Aelrindel said in the old tongue, letting go of the still groaning and thrashing soldier’s pulverized arm and snatched him, before he’d a chance to react, by the throat. Even the pandemonium of the battle raging all around them, couldn’t completely mask the onrushing horse’s wild gallop, but she was too angry to let the fear penetrate her psyche.
>
> “Cante nae calae,” Aelrindel spat, without hesitation and the trapped screaming man’s face turned to ash, while a huge ball of fire erupted from the charging Knight’s helm, first shooting out of the narrow eye slits and mouth opening, and a moment later, when the helm cracked and exploded, it engulfed half his torso.
>
> The blowback of the spell, had almost killed the Moon of Dan on the spot, but in her dreams, she’d walked away without a scratch, but the minor inconvenience of having to protect herself from direct sunlight, for a couple of days.
“Mistress,” Wulan whispered, worry evident in her voice. “You shouldn’t be here. He won’t come.”
“Silence,” She hissed, the heat unbearable, not because of her mending injuries, but the fact they were standing in the middle of a flat field, for almost an hour. Aelrindel would have gone completely naked for the rest of the day, if not for the gossip following everything the Prince and his entourage did. She glanced at her feet and found her shoes lovely, though a bit too much for an open event such as this. Then again, the majority of her clothes and footwear, the Duke’s brutes had destroyed, when they’d burned her tent.
“Who is coming before the exultant Prince Heir? Who will plead, with the triumphant son of the Eternal Khanate?” The Prince’s Herald announced pompously and Aelrindel glanced bored out of her wits at the slow moving, low level lording, Winfield had sent in his place.
Youthful looking, his hair longer and too unkempt, than what perhaps was favored in a Lorian court and also unruly, curling too much at the edges. A dark-brown color, exposure to the sun had lighten up at many spots. Tanned and well-built, but on the slimmer side. Wearing simple plate armor and uncomfortably tight leather pants, with a pair of worn out boots underneath.
He was young, she decided, despite that spoof of hair on his square jaw and cheeks, but also quite appealing in a roguish manner, those piercing amber eyes of his, examining the crowd listening in to their exchange, in a calculative manner.
Aelrindel almost dropped from her saddle, when she heard this young man was in fact, the old Lord Reeves’ spawn. His grandson. Her horse moved on its own, interpreting her confused thoughts on the matter as an order to approach and brought her closer to Sahand, before she’d the change to regain command. The Prince himself, was enjoying playing the conquering general for his people, despite almost losing them the battle that first day and having Aelrindel killed, when he failed to protect his camp.
Aelrindel had reached with a spirit thread to touch the young Reeves, before she’d time to control herself. Her spell was pushed away, before she’d time to ‘taste’ him though. Nothing but a glimpse of many nights under the stars, the belly of a mountain and a ship. A pirate’s eyes and a brigand’s life. Somewhere afar, her mother started singing again.
With her heart drumming in her chest, breath drown in a blend of hope and hatred, she tried again and again. Each time pushed back, despite her efforts. Was she too weak, to cast such a simple spell?
The young Reeves looked at her, as if too warn her to stay back. Such brass, she thought, and hearing his response, Aelrindel decided to stop torturing herself and solve the young nobleman’s riddle. Are you but a precious fool of a human? She thought. Sent to spoil my fun?
“Winfield’s life is forfeited,” Aelrindel told him and reaching with her hand inside the leather bag secured on her saddle, burned through all the sandalwood seeds and frankincense resin she had available, in the hopes to protect her body from harming itself.
Two of her fingers turned black nonetheless.
Nur Na Ni.
Sir Glenavon didn’t even blink. “The Duke won’t accept that,” He told her earnestly, brushing her domination spell off. “If you really want to avoid bloodshed, you should give him an out.”
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No.
A perturbed Aelrindel, approached him even more and stopped so close, she could discern the dark circles of worry under his eyes, from the first stress wrinkles. This isn’t a noble scion’s face, her instinct’s told her.
“Winfield’s life is forfeited,” She repeated, searching his common armor and clothes with curious eyes, for the device that protected him and felt it first, before seeing it sheathed on his waist.
Edlenn hummed in the background.
> The Queen of Queen’s plopped down carelessly on the felled trunk, luscious cobalt hair a mess from flying over the Pale Mountains. She adjusted the curved sheath housing Black Eirkor, her famed war sword, armor painted black and a reddish-gold, the segmented metal strips mirroring Ovinet’s scales, the beast’s inhuman dragon eyes locked on Aelrindel, either amused…
>
> Or hungry.
>
> “She’s expecting,” Baltoris commented touching the giant head, over the cavernous nostrils. “We might have a new Wyvern soon, sorceress. Isn’t this a great occasion?” She added with the hint of a smile.
>
> Aelrindel said nothing. You can only lie to a Wyvern once.
>
> “You asked for clemency, daughter of Edlenn,” The Empress of the Realm said, her tone changing. “Yet you still follow the Old Ways.”
>
> “Only to work with my incantations, Great Mistress,” She replied, then looking into the beast’s red irises swimming in that sea of jade, Aelrindel added. “I’ve never killed for pleasure.”
>
> Ovinet snorted and the ground shook, when her giant head moved. Twice as tall as the Queen, from the edge of her door sized jaws to the base of her foot-long horns, it made Baltoris appear small, when she was herself taller than Aelrindel.
>
> “I can’t understand her,” The Queen commented. “Yet you claim that you can,” She added looking at her nervous face and time moved backwards again.
>
> His unshaven cheek roughed up her ribcage, moist lips tracing each one ritualistically, until she had to stop him, begging at first and then using both her hands, when it didn’t work, his rich and unkempt white hair, smelling of salt and sea.
>
> “These don’t look like bones,” Reinut remarked, raising a thick white brow, pointing at what had been left for her to cut off of the massive corpse of Gimoss. The experience as foul and disturbing as the big wyvern had been when alive.
>
> “They took all the bones,” She explained, hearing Zargatoth’s words repeated in her mind. “So I’ll use his talons.”
“Why him? Why now?” Aelrindel probed, snapping back to the present.
Why couldn’t you stay dead?
“I don’t understand,” Sir Glenavon replied.
“I was talking to Gimoss,” The sorceress hissed.
“Who’s that?” Sir Glenavon quizzed, appearing confused.
Was this an act?
Of course it is.
He’s playing you again.
“You are lying,” She spat, as much angry, as scared. Prince Sahand stared at her confused as she retreated, but Aelrindel, by now barely able to stand on her saddle and with her left hand a hot cauldron of pain, didn’t even have the patience to talk with him. Let the Prince and his men figure it out. All Aelrindel cared for now, was to learn the story behind young Reeves.
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Later that day, as if the Goddess was listening to her, Ralnor’s chilly presence returned, his dark shadow waiting in her new tent. Smaller than her previous one, but since she didn’t want to stay with the Prince, Aelrindel didn’t bother complaining, or asking for something bigger. There simply wasn’t one available.
Ralnor appeared ragged, for his standards. Then again, she hadn’t seen him for almost a year. Endlessly living on the road, had slowly wore the legendary assassin down.
“I walked the fields of your vengeance,” Ralnor noted, examining her injured but by now wrapped in soft cloth fingers, with perverted interest. “Heard tales of men bursting into fire. Is that wise?”
“You failed,” Aelrindel said simply, putting her feet down and sitting on the edge of her bed. Hard and uneven, despite the many cushions. It was probably better for her back to sleep inside the forest and she seriously considered it. “The Reeves boy lives.”
Ralnor paused and then put down her leather satchel, containing the burned incense. He’d moved so fast, she missed it. Dar Eherdir, despite appearances hadn’t lost his touch.
“You met a Reeves. There are more in Rida.”
“His grandson. The Lord of Altarin in the flesh. He seemed very much alive,” Aelrindel pointed and getting up, grabbed her bag and hid it inside a large wooden container.
“It’s a large family, sorceress. Some brat stepped up and awarded himself the title.”
“Are you sure?”
Ralnor stared at her intensely. It made her uncomfortable.
“The boy was bleeding out. There was no way out of the Fort. Nout burned everything to the ground, is the word. Multiple sources confirmed it. Since I left him dying inside a wooden barrack, I assume he’s gone. Flesh makes for fine kindling.”
“Did Prince Nout take slaves?” Aelrindel asked, crossing her arms before her chest. Ralnor stepped closer, which made her even more uncomfortable.
“Girls mostly. Even if some slave master, swept the ruins afterwards, I doubt they would have picked him up alive. He had minutes to live.”
“Why not finish him up?” Aelrindel asked, a little confused.
Ralnor pressed his lips tight and reached to touch her injured arm. Aelrindel moved away.
“He dodged a lethal blow,” The assassin said with a sigh. “I’m not a thug, sorceress.”
Aelrindel kept her opinion to herself.
“How did he do it?” The Moon of Dan asked, although she knew.
Ralnor narrowed his ashen eyes, sensing her undertone. Aelrindel felt his song changing, reaching out, which of course was ridiculous, as Ralnor couldn’t use spells like that. But there it was again, the threads of it spreading, mingling with hers carefully not to disturb the sorceress patterns, an artistry behind them that couldn’t be taught.
This was a gift one was born with.
“I will find out, if it’s him,” Ralnor said, at last stepping back. His stench of death and decay, was too much for Aelrindel. “But it won’t be easy, with the city under siege.”
What have you done? Aelrindel thought. Who was this? This wasn’t the assassin.
“I shall use a bird to find him,” She said absentmindedly, trying to discern the familiar essence all over them.
“Just give him the mark,” Ralnor said, either oblivious to the fact one of their own was feeling them out, or hiding something. “And this time, he won’t be so lucky.”
“I don’t want him dead,” Aelrindel hissed. “I want to speak to him again.”
Ralnor froze. “If he knows what you are, the word will spread to your enemies.”
“I think they already know,” She countered.
“I meant enemies, in the Prince’s court, sorceress. Killing him is the wiser choice,” Ralnor insisted and while it made sense, Aelrindel had changed her mind. She wanted to learn more.
“No,” She said with finality. “The young Reeves lives.”
“Will you forgive the Duke as well?” The assassin inquired calmly.
“No.”
“Any particular last minute changes to this contract?”
Was he mocking her?
“Bring me his eyes,” The sorceress had said.
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Hours after Ralnor had left to slip into the besieged city, Aelrindel walked to the fire pits and placed fresh incense amidst the embers, then lied on her bed and watched Wulan lit the oil lamps one by one, as the darkness fell around them. The camp noisy, the distant hammering of the engineers livening up the silent night. The sorceress sent Wulan away next, her loyal slave upset and visibly bothered at the order, since she knew Aelrindel wasn’t expecting the Prince.
The Moon of Dan continued staring numbly at the nether, through her shrill mosquito screen, too many memories fighting to burst out and flood her hurting soul. The past was full of sorrows, but not everything was bleak.
Not everything.
Aelrindel started humming dreamily a mellow tune, shining many-hued ethereal bubbles dropping from the roof of her tent and bursting when they touched the net. Less than a minute later she stopped and stood up again, placing her small feet to the ground. The sorceress took a deep anxious breath, waiting for her new visitor to speak.
It was a tense moment.
“My mother, used to sing me this song, to stop the bad dreams,” The daughter of Baltoris told her, sounding moved. “Mused that she heard it in the Garden.”