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Ralnor
‘Larn’
Dar Eherdir
Fae O' Elum
Broken, burned out things
Part I
-Half an arrow shaft-
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The guard paused at the large gates, the building refurbished to house a different corporation, but still remaining in the same business. The Bank of Dinar, the carved gold label easily read above his head. He grimaced, the morning sun in his eyes and retreated inside the entrance. Ralnor moving the moment his figure disappeared. He crossed the road, not as busy as one would expect given the time and the centrality of the location, but then again Rida wasn’t the big city it once had been.
He reached the bakery, the big round pastry an idiotic joke from the former owner of the place the Guild had kept in place, well… Ralnor didn’t know the thinking behind it, nor did he indulged in humor easily. The assassin paused for a moment at the open entrance, glanced back the way he’d come from and nodded for Toutatis to get moving and circle around the small building, afore he crossed the threshold.
The half-breed standing in the relative dark next to the counter, a Cofol with pirate Issir blood, saw his figure lit from behind materialize at the doorstep and frowned. His skin a sickly gold, which would have given him the moniker Dar Tulca, a play on ‘yellow’, even without all those gold incisors added. Ralnor stepped into the roomy, but empty bakery, the difference in temperature noticeable.
“Ugh,” Dar Tulca gasped, common name Rhys Vandran –both names made up- and moved a couple of steps towards the back exit of the shop, Ralnor’s voice stopping him.
“Don’t be a fool. The way is covered.”
“Shit,” Rhys cursed and tossed the blade he’d pulled out on the counter, the clattering sound bouncing off of the empty walls. The blade’s hilt circling twice afore stopping within his left hand’s reach. “Wasn’t involved,” he rustled.
“Where’s she?” Ralnor asked testing him, whilst taking another step inside. His eyes slowly adjusting to the difference.
“Don’t know. Haven’t talk to Maja for years,” Rhys replied. “Brit and Caruso left with a client claiming he knew you.”
Hmm.
One.
“A male?”
Rhys narrowed his eyes. “A man aye. Didn’t see him.”
“Why are you here?” Ralnor asked, taking the time to evaluate the information. He hadn’t seen Dar Tulca in over ten years.
“Been working Rin An-Pur,” Rhys replied relaxing a bit, but not enough not to glance behind his back at the narrow corridor leading to an alley exit and out of the shop for any danger. “When word reached me through the grapevine that the ‘Fading Light’ considers retirement.”
“When is the vote?” Ralnor asked and stepped away from a table to have more space to maneuver.
“Before the end of the year,” Dar Tulca replied. “I traveled with the Khan’s army. Rida isn’t what it used to be.”
“What do you know of the fire at the palace?”
“Killed a lot of people,” he said and hearing the crack of the door opening behind him paused in alarm.
“Go on,” Ralnor urged him.
“They clean it up some. It’s not easy to learn more with the Khan present.”
“Any news from Brit?” Ralnor asked. “It’s been months since, right?”
“Brit is dead. Merchants found his remains by the road,” Rhys Vandran informed him. “The next day. He was hidden, but not well.”
“Which road?”
“Southwest. Towards the Oasis,” Rhys replied nervously and glanced behind him. Toutatis raised a dirty small hand in greeting. “What in the…?”
“You have any pastries?” the scarred boy asked with a murderous grin.
“Not now Toutatis,” Ralnor grunted.
“What happened to him?”
“He fought an Imperial Assassin,” Ralnor elucidated. “It was a rewarding lesson.”
“Right,” Rhys nodded unsure.
“How many extra animals they had with them?”
“A mule and three horses,” Rhys replied. “No extras, if your man was the client.”
Hmm.
“Are you sure?”
“I could check with the stable guy,” Rhys grimaced, his gold incisors biting at his lower lip. “Why is she stepping down?”
“Family reasons,” Ralnor rustled crooking his mouth. “Find out more. I’ll return. Better if you didn’t leave the city,” he added warningly. “Then I’ll be forced to come after you.”
“Sure Larn,” Rhys replied and recoiled seeing Toutatis playing with his blade. The boy had slipped behind the counter.
“Can I keep that?” Tot asked him hopefully.
“Leave it,” Ralnor ordered. “We got work to do.”
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The Khan’s massive camp had covered most of the old Duke’s palace grounds, the top of the red pyramid showing the ruins of the once expensive building, now blackened and partially collapsed.
“You think Ael is dead?” Toutatis asked him, whilst he waited for Jati bin Anuar, an officer tasked with governing the city, to appear. The small corner tea pub, one of many businesses that had sprouted in Rida, reminiscent of the Cofol cities across the continent.
Ralnor had ordered a chilled carafe of water with a twist of lemon in it, much to the boy’s despair.
“We don’t know what happened,” he rustled the matter bothering him. It was a shock to learn of the disaster in the palace. Unexpected, but also in a way, the sorceress remaining here for so long had caused it. They had dodged the killers once, but apparently, they had come again.
“But you’ll find out,” the one eyed boy hissed angry. He loved the witch fiercely, especially after she had revived him. “Make them pay.”
“Vengeance can’t make out for what’s lost,” Ralnor cautioned him hoarsely. “Never forget that. But avenge them we shall.”
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Jati Bin Anuar sighed, wiped the side of his face with a lavish silk hankie and loosened the front of his robes, under his fancy leather vest. He had some cold tea, smacked his lips and eyed the silent Ralnor unsure.
“A hundred gold pieces,” the officer/governor said in his heavy Cofol accent. “I expected someone from Mclean & Merck.”
“Gold has no father, or mother,” Ralnor reminded him.
“Hah, true… hmm,” Jati glanced at his men waiting in the street under the strong sun. “What is your business mister Larn?”
“Information.”
“Seems profitable.”
“It is, as much as it is dangerous.”
“What do you want to know?” Jati asked with another sip at his sweet black tea.
“The night Prince Sahand was killed…”
“I can’t comment on the prince’s circumstances,” Jati stopped him.
“His consort died also,” Ralnor continued without bothering to protest.
“That’s true. Why is this important?”
“As I said. There’s a market for it,” Ralnor retorted.
“Hah. No lewd stuff happened. It was an assault mister Larn,” Jati reached for his hankie again to wipe the sweat forming on his forehead. “They slipped inside and killed everyone on the royal quarter’s floor, set the place on fire to escape, killing many guards in the process.”
“A part of the gates and wall was brought down. Over a hundred soldiers killed in a field on the road to Liyana Fort, the Lord Commander of the Khan’s Chariots amongst them.”
“It was a difficult night,” Jati commented icily.
“Any arrests?”
“Some of the intruders were killed of course,” Jati said with a sigh. “Prince Atpa could have done a better job. No wonder he opted to leave the city than face his father.”
“I thought Prince Sahand’s bodyguards were tasked with securing the palace,” Ralnor noted.
“Prince Atpa had overall command of the city.”
“How big was the force that assaulted the palace?”
“Large enough.”
Bullshit.
“How did they slip inside?” Ralnor probed. “The alarm wasn’t raised until the fire broke out.”
“These are rumors mister Larn,” Jati retorted grimacing annoyed. “Listen, I think that’s enough.”
Ralnor stooped over the small round table and eyed him coldly.
“I reckon it is not.”
“You must be joking,” Jati hissed and barred his teeth insulted.
“You don’t actually think I woke up today and decided out of the blue to spend a fortune to learn more about the whole ordeal right?” Ralnor warned him.
“Who put you up to it?”
“Someone high enough to not fear your small inconvenience,” Ralnor retorted. “You can always opt to leave this venue, although I would counsel to follow Prince Atpa’s plan and not stop afore you reach Sadofort.”
Jati gulped down with a sour grimace and then had more of his tea to wash the taste from his mouth.
“We don’t know,” he finally said. “The Queen Consort we recognized from her clothes and jewelry. Not much of the head remained and the fire had done a number on all of them. The Prince hadn’t any wounds, so we assumed the smoke got to him, eh… I don’t want to speculate on the matter.”
“You make it sound as if she was the target of the attack,” Ralnor grunted, the information painful.
“She was killed inside a servant’s room, the prince in the corridor,” Jati replied.
“How many women dead?”
“Her servant and herself on that floor, another twenty or so inside the palace and the yard.”
“The yard?”
“Some fighting was done there as well,” Jati said.
“There were four women sleeping there. The Consort and another three,” Ralnor insisted hoarsely.
“No, you’re mistaken,” Jati argued and seeing his expression added. “Now perhaps a couple of slaves might have run away, so… in a sense you could be right.”
Zilyana wouldn’t have run away, nor Lithoniela, Ralnor thought frustrated. If Aelrindel was hurt then they would have tried to help her and died in the attempt.
Something isn’t right.
“No attacker was found?” He asked the sweating official.
“I told you…” Jati sighed deeply. “We are not certain. The Khan wants answers, but we have nothing concrete…” he paused unsure.
“Go on,” Ralnor urged him calmly.
“Some guards claim the culprit was one man,” Jati puffed out troubled. “Others saw a hooded archer laying waste to soldiers in the yard and some woman using magic spells. How can any of this be brought to the Khan?”
“What kind of spell?” Ralnor grunted.
Zilyana could cast and so could Aelrindel of course.
“Something with fire obviously, whatever the fuck that means,” Jati replied and stood back on his chair. “The Khan is angry. You don’t want the Khan angry,” he murmured to himself. “Whoever did this, will come to regret it.”
Kaltha was his meaning, but nothing Ralnor had heard pointed to Kaltha. Or the Guild. As a matter of fact, this attack made absolutely no sense.
The numbers hinting at a void.
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Faelar would have gotten her out, he thought troubled hours later, standing outside the door of the pastry shop. Come hell, or high water.
We owe it to the ‘Fair Mother’, Faelar had told him many centuries back in Neil-Dan. Everyone here would be dead either by the Empress’ hand, or nature’s wrath, if not for her foresight.
Probably used Brit and Caruso to do it.
It was him inside the yard fighting… who were you fighting old friend?
“He’s inside,” Toutatis informed him, the governor’s hankie tied on his small wrist. A skilled thief more than a killer. Though the boy was pretty darn good with a knife.
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“You’ll need to learn using a bigger blade,” Ralnor told him.
“You said I’m too little for it.”
“You’ll grow,” he rustled and pushed the door open.
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Rhys downed his goblet of beer and put it on the counter. He had light armour on this time, the intertwined boiled leather cords creating a sturdy mesh, reinforced with steel wire.
“Really hoped you’d leave the city,” he griped burping. “I learned nothing else. Other than that your man was present for the gathering of the supplies and that he paid in rather old coins.”
“Three horses,” Ralnor repeated.
“Yep. What now?”
“You want to lead the Guild Rhys?”
“Whilst I can still walk Dar Eherdir, I’d like to wear the eye of Oras,” he admitted. “Don’t have much pull on Jelin though.”
“You know where Barlow is?”
“Haven’t had dealings with him in years.”
“You won’t. He betrayed the Guild,” Ralnor grunted.
“Something its leader should perhaps deal with,” Rhys replied and eyed Toutatis. “Where are the girls?”
“Only the one survives.”
“Sorry about that, it’s the job right?”
Ralnor pressed his lips tight not answering.
“Will she support me?” Rhys asked him after a quiet moment, his mind on the vote.
“She’ll do as I say.”
The assassin nodded. “What’s the job? I assume there’s one coming.”
“We find Caruso. It might take a while.”
“I got a horse ready,” Rhys replied readily. “Leave at dawn?”
“As soon as you lock this place up,” Ralnor countered. “We have ways to go.”
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A week later they were on the road to Queen’s Oasis, the rebuilding Rida left behind. Toutatis leading the way of sorts dragging a laden mule after him, with Ralnor and Rhys following after the boy. They camped briefly in the day to avoid the worst of the heat and used most of the night to make up for the time. The journey uneventful but hard and trying on Ralnor’s nerves.
A difficult to trust and solitary person, Ralnor always took the losses of those close to him hard, even when he didn’t show it. A Silent Servant shouldn’t form bonds was the dictum, but one can’t live as long as he had and avoid it.
He couldn’t fathom a life without the sorceress’ presence.
This truth had followed him since his youth, but it had taken the ancient assassin a while to come to terms with.
Another week brought them the first green color they had seen in a while and the dancing haze created by the large lake’s humidity in the distance. A patrol of scouts as well, ten of them.
The numbers still a mess, but this was easy to figure out.
“You do the talking. See to get rid of them quickly,” Ralnor ordered Rhys and eyed the tanned Toutatis. “You do not talk at all.”
“Ugh,” the boy murmured.
“Bounty hunters?” Rhys asked, keeping his voice low, eyes on the approaching riders.
They carried too many weapons to play the merchants.
“Looking for the killers,” he replied with a nod and stooped over the saddle to better move his hands.
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“Greetings riders,” Rhys said to the leader of the patrol in the Horselords tongue, the Cofol’s pointy metal helm and long white cloth flaps hanging from it making him look like a priest of Uher.
“Where are you chaps heading to?” he asked, the riders spreading behind his left and right shoulder, men and animals covered in powder-like desert dirt.
“Sadofort,” Rhys replied, Ralnor eyeing the scouts silently one after another. “We’re bounty hunters looking for an honest payday.”
“What you be looking for?”
“The Prince’s killers,” Rhys replied.
“Is there a bounty for that Tamir?” The leader of the patrol asked and his colleague shrugged his shoulders. “Anyone?”
“Jati Bin Anuar is paying it out of his own pocket,” Ralnor rustled and the scout leader crooked his head to the side to look at him.
“The governor came into coin?”
“Apparently, or he was forced to come up with something,” Ralnor replied.
“Well, there are no killers, or rebels here,” the Cofol officer argued.
“Word in Rida is they did the deed and then split,” Rhys intervened. “Travel in small groups now, or alone. They could be hiding in the castle, or the forest.”
“Not many places to hide in Sadofort,” the scout leader noted. “As for the forest, they only have half of it to use.”
“What happened to the rest of it?” Rhys asked and Ralnor placed a hand on Toutatis arm to force him to sheathe his knife. The boy had brought his horse next to Ralnor’s.
“A fire happened,” the scout retorted with a shrug. “Big one. North and west sides of the forest are gone, messed the lake up.”
“What started it?” Ralnor asked and Rhys glanced at him surprised for dragging the conversation out.
The Cofol smacked his lips, slanted eyes narrowing even more. “A reflection off a discarded shield, or blade. Prince Nout’s camp had been built there. Fought over twice. Stuff were thrown about.”
“We’ll look at it just the same,” Rhys cut in with a forced smile. “Give Sadofort a visit next.”
“Boy is family?” The scout leader asked, not bothering to answer.
“He’s a scout,” Ralnor rustled.
“If you say so,” the man retorted and grimaced. “On your way then chaps. Prince Atpa has camped near the west gates, see to avoid nearing it with all that hardware. People might get the wrong idea.”
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“You know I was jesting about looking in the forest right?” Rhys complained an hour later, the noon sun burning over their heads and the oasis offering less relief than they had expected, despite the difference in humidity. The damage done by the fire visible and extensive.
“The forest is that way,” Ralnor grunted and jumped from Dar, his boots sinking in soft sand. It turned darker near the water, the lake’s shore retreating at least five meters leaving a muddy treacherous terrain behind. “Beyond the remnants of the camp.”
“What are we looking for here then?” Rhys queried not wanting to climb down from his horse. Toutatis was already splashing in the mud. The assassin stared at the burned out, broken and scattered trunks and branches of the forest. Blackened bulges spreading about and the desert sands creeping closer to the diminished lake. One side of Queen’s Oasis had been obliterated completely. It would take a couple of seasons to recover, years for the forest to return to its former glory.
“We’re being thorough,” Ralnor answered. “Why?”
Rhys sighed, back in his teen years again. “Be thorough and diligent afore anything else,” he droned remembering his lessons. “Don’t speak for no reason. Be thrifty when you do. Fuck’s sake Larn.”
“Eat food when it’s available,” Toutatis added his own and Rhys chuckled, which was a rarity. The sound carrying over the desolated field before the lake’s shores, they had been circling the latter for a while, to the abandoned remnants of the camp and across it, to the damaged but still thick forest hugging its east side. Ralnor spotted the people searching the debris. A couple shifting sand near a torn down rotted tent pole, another staring at the lake blankly, a third group gathered near the remnants of the small gatetower and looking to evaluate their loot. The camp had been thoroughly looted, burned and raided since Prince Nout had last used it, but people still drifted that way looking for something others had missed.
Broken, burned out things.
Sometimes hold value.
Ralnor caught the glint of metal coming from the caked mud, four meters from a large wet quicksand pool –deceptively, though naturally camouflaged- and walked that way, careful to keep his steps light.
A piece of a vambrace, half sunk in the brittle sand. An Issir design. The arm still attached in it. Mostly bone now, the flesh eaten, or rotted away and pieces of dried up skin fused on the metal. It was crystalized fat, not skin he noticed upon closer inspection and the arm led to a shoulder, the bone cracking and then breaking away from the socket. Ralnor tossed it away and dug deeper finding part of a cuirass. A yank and he pulled it half out, bones, pieces of decayed petrified flesh and plenty of sand emptying out of the badly burned armour, the corpse’s neck snapping and the skull rolling on the brittle caked almost dry soil, loose bony jaws clacking funnily.
A stick stuck in its blackened bony forehead.
Half an arrow shaft.
“What did you unearth there?” Rhys asked and approached. “He almost made it to the lake. The waters were much closer afore the fire.”
“It’s a problem,” Ralnor rustled and used the thick piece of a branch, the wood turned to black coal to smash at the sides of the skull. The weakened bone coming apart easily. “That he died so close to the fire,” he reached with his dirty hand and dislodged the burned arrow shaft from the skull carefully. Turned the steel tip this way and that to examine it.
“That’s been repaired a bunch,” Rhys noticed with a frown. “A deserter?”
“Started the fire to get away?”
“It’s not out of the realm of possibility.”
“Other than it is a year after the army left,” Ralnor countered. “And that is not a Cofol-type arrow.”
“Looks like it. Sort of twin broadhead blades, incurvate and all,” Rhys argued. “There are Cofol scouts roaming about.
“There’s a curve on one side,” Ralnor grunted and slotted the arrowhead in his satchel. “And ridges like veins running it a bit worn out, but there.”
“Fine,” Rhys sighed. “What does this mean?”
Ralnor grimaced and turned his eyes on the treeline again, pausing to examine the looters roaming about.
“Could be nothing. Stay with the kid,” he rustled and stood up. Ralnor walked towards the camp. He went past the pair digging under the tent, intending to reach the part of the forest that had been spared the fire, but paused next to the Lorian staring at the lake. The man wore a worn out cloak, dirty boots protruding underneath it. There was a part of the old camp wall near his left leg, about half a meter high, the timbers burned out but visible.
“What’s in the lake?” Ralnor asked casually.
“Nothing probably,” the man replied.
“You were with the army?” Ralnor queried, the man had a shell-shocked look about him.
“I’m not sure,” he said and looked at him. About thirty years of age, but lacking visible injuries. Didn’t mean the man wasn’t damaged.
“Uhm,” Ralnor grunted and caught the lone figure watching the field hidden at the edge of the trees, about forty meters away from the center of the camp. He left the man behind, cut across remnants of broken carts and ruined tents and then dashed for the trees twenty meters before the spot he’d seen the figure ducking under.
A lunge and he grabbed a thin branch, heard it crack but let go afore it snapped and caught another. Ralnor pulled himself up, run on a thicker branch across to a bigger fig tree. He landed for a second and then jumped again –a solid four meters to the next, grabbed a palm tree’s leafy branch to help him cut momentum and dropped next to the archer.
She swung around abruptly, her eyes on him all this time and fired at point blank range aiming for his chest. Ralnor had grabbed the arrowhead though –almost an exact copy to the one he’d dug out of the corpse’s skull- its momentum ruined and yanked it out of her bow.
“Princess,” he admonished her, a cut on his palm bleeding. Lithoniela’s eyes opened wide, dark circles marring her youthful face.
“Give me the arrow,” she hissed angry.
Well that’s not a warm greeting, he thought sourly.
You can’t expect one, but it isn’t unwelcomed given the journey he’d just put himself through.
“There’s no danger over there,” Ralnor snapped and returned the arrow to her. “Where’s Aelrindel?”
“In the city.”
Thank the goddess.
“Zilyana?” Lithoniela’s face fell and she looked away.
Oras will be done.
“What happened Princess?” Ralnor hissed, barely keeping himself from slapping her out of that sickening lethargy.
“We couldn’t fix her,” Lithoniela replied hauntingly. “So we left her behind.”
What? “Why… where’s Faelar?” Ralnor grunted and then his eyes fell on her familiar bow. He stepped back spooked, the whispering wood whistling a greeting in his ears.
I’ll fire three times afore you make it here, the Imperial Ranger had warned him. Relocate and fire again boy.
“Naah,” he gasped, feeling numb. “Who did it?”
Lithoniela pointed at the field he’d come from. “There are over there.”
He grabbed her shoulder and turned her around. “What are you saying?” Ralnor grunted through his clenched teeth. “Looters killed Faelar? Have you lost your god darn mind?”
He cursed himself for losing his composure and sucked on his bleeding palm to calm himself back down. The blood tasting of iron and sweat.
“Aken,” Lithoniela replied and grimaced, afore nocking the arrow in Faelar’s bow again.
“The Aken are here?”
“In the field.”
“No they are not,” Ralnor hissed, clenching his jaw furious. “I just came that way!”
“A construct,” she insisted and took aim forcing him to stop her, putting his hand on her arm.
“Princess,” Ralnor gulped down his throat dry. “Who killed Faelar?”
“Grogoceq,” she replied hanging her head. “There were two of them.”
Ah.
“Where is he now?”
“Dead. He killed Zil and then killed the Aken. Does it make it right?” Lithoniela asked, not making any sense and turned to attempt to fire her bow again.
“Stop,” Ralnor hissed. “You can’t do it.”
“Why? He hasn’t moved for hours. A child could make this shot and I was Faelar’s pupil.”
Sweet child.
“You kill him like this, it will be messy and we’ll have to murder a score of people to cover it up. I have people in the field,” he explained. “I can’t risk it.”
“I can’t allow him to get away,” Lithoniela insisted and Ralnor almost yelled in her face, but got ahold of himself and sighed.
“I’ll take care of it. Stay that arrow Princess. Do not leave this spot,” he grunted and started back towards the camp again.
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Rhys and Toutatis saw him coming out and started walking towards him leaving the lake’s shores behind. Ralnor went straight for the Lorian still watching the lake standing at the edge of the camp with a troubled expression on his face.
“I thought it was a lake,” the man said seeing a sullen Ralnor coming to stand next to him again. “But it wasn’t.”
“Where?”
“In my dreams,” the man replied. “I can’t recall a lot of stuff.”
“You’re not from Rida?”
“How is Rida?”
“Much bigger than this,” Ralnor said, pointing at the distant walls of Sadofort to the south with one arm, fishing a long steel spike out of his harness with the other. “A river near it, a port.”
“There was a port, but it wasn’t big… the town,” the man reminisced. “Near the sea.”
Eh, his brain is cooked, Ralnor thought. Whatever happened to him, has nothing to do with Faelar. He isn’t even armed.
Rhys paused ten meters away, a hand on Toutatis’ small chest to stop the boy from running near him, sensing something was amiss. The Princess lost it, Ralnor mused and shook his head in despair.
“Heading for the sea might be the prudent thing,” he told the confused Lorian and felt his blood dripping down the spike and then on the sand.
“I’ll need a horse for that,” the man agreed, pale face livening up.
“Umm,” Ralnor nodded and turned to walk away, with a glance at the frowned Rhys watching him unsure, but the Lorian’s voice stopped him.
“I remember the mayor talking,” he said. Ralnor turned around. He was worried about Lithoniela firing an arrow across the field, hitting Toutatis’ good eye in her confusion.
“You do?” he croaked. “What did he say?”
“Eh, I can’t remember the words,” the man replied and Ralnor grunted in frustration. Dude you’ve eaten away a lot of my time, he thought. Good luck in your life. He made to leave, but the Lorian placed a hand on his shoulder, his eyes gleaming happy. “Remember his name though,” he told a thoroughly uninterested Ralnor, adding with a smile. “Lord Tellman—”
His smile freezing on his mouth, both eyes turning bloodshot and losing focus, the left one leaking blood down his cheek and the assassin’s spike the only thing keeping him upright. Ralnor used his other hand to stabilize the shuddering man’s body, the spike buried in his right temple, the tip breaking through the other side. He carefully lowered him to the ground next to the torn down remnants of the camp wall, retrieved his spike and then covered his shocked face with a dirty cloth Rhys handed him.
“So, what did he do?” the assassin he’d trained fifteen years back asked and Ralnor grimaced afore glancing back to the trees uncertain.
“Probably nothing,” he hissed and wiped the blood off his steel spike with a hand. “But the Tellmans rule in Pastelor and that’s an Issir port.”
“So?” Rhys asked looking at the dead Lorian.
“That’s all,” Ralnor replied with a sigh.
Rhys grimaced and then dug another cloth out of his satchel to clean his face. Tossed it to Ralnor next to clean his hands.
“Lithoniela is alive,” Ralnor told Toutatis. “Ael as well.”
“Where?” the boy asked with a grin, then seeing his face paused. “There’s more.”
“Umm,” Ralnor nodded.
“Right,” Rhys said and followed after them and the animals. Toutatis dragging the horses with him. “What’s a Lithoniela?”
Ralnor stopped and turned to eye him sternly.
“I can live without knowing,” Rhys assured him, the earlier query not as valuable in the grander scheme of things.
“A Zilan,” Ralnor said, decision made.
When the numbers are silent go with your gut.
Or Luthos.
Eh, the latter best you avoid.
“He’s serious?” A bewildered Rhys –another rarity- asked Toutatis and the boy assumed Ralnor’s unsympathetic expression. Somehow the scarred one-eyed kid pulled it off more menacingly. “Good grief. You know what? I can also live without leading the Guild—”
“It’s too late now,” Ralnor cut him off gruffly. “Assume you’re in control.”
“I don’t feel… is there, do I get some of the perks—?”
Dar Eherdir stopped him again. “It’s a probation period. Survive it and you’ll get the job permanently.”
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