Black Wolf, Silver Fox

Chapter Three “Raori”

Chapter Three

“Raori”H

is brain was pounding mercilessly against his skull when Raori opened his eyes and struggled to bring his world into focus. Someone groaned. He realized it was himself.

Something was pushing him down and holding him to the ground. He tried to push against whatever it was, but he was stuck fast. After a second of struggling, he lost his temper. The backlash of his brief fury slammed it across the room to shatter against the wall. Raori winced as the sound amplified the already resounding throb in his brain and realized that he had just splintered a good table. Now he would have to pay for it.

Picking himself up off the floor, his hand brushed an empty bottle and sent it rolling. Another groan emerged. Holding his head in one hand, he surveyed the situation.

He stood in what had been a tavern only a few hours ago. All of the furniture, now that the table had met its abrupt end, was destroyed. Broken glass was everywhere, twinkling in the morning light. The building was missing one wall and smelled of scorched flesh.

Oh.

A grin cracked his face, causing his lips to burn. The table be dammed, he would have to pay for the entire building. With pride. He had caused this: a beautifully rendered fiasco starting with accusations about a girl he did not even know. It had been so easy to get the fight started. All without uttering a single lie.

That would teach old Febis. Next time the tavern's owner saw Raori, he would look the other way and mind his manners. If Raori again heard the old man speaking ill of MacKegan or anything to do with The Five even remotely, he would do worse.

Dropping to one knee in the midst of the rubbish, Raori immediately offered thanks to BileEll, the shining god. Then, a little guiltily, he offered a second prayer to the god of mischief. A breeze brushed his cheek, affirming his prayers. He could not tell from which god it came, but he would lay bets on the latter.

He was filthy, but his head hurt too much to make an effort to magic the dirt away. Grime, ripped shirt, sore muscles and all, Raori stepped out of the ruined tavern. The town was surprisingly busy that morning. Raori seldom got up before noon, and he could not comprehend the need to do so. If it had been left to him, the place would be little better than a ghost town.

Fortunately, it was not up to him. Bread was being baked, wives made their way to buy eggs and butter, and children shrieked happily. Raori dodged a toddler, nodded cordially to his mother, and scowled at her back.

"Stupid woman," Raori muttered under his breath. Children were rare enough these days without some woman allowing her child to be murdered under foot. Not that Raori would ever do such a thing, but there were those who would.

Home jutted against the rising sun sharply, and welcome. Gratefully, Raori slipped inside. Moire greeted him, holding a cup of warm milk, and took his cloak. He stood by the door and sipped the beverage slowly. It settled sharply against the lump in his stomach.

"Master," Moire said nervously, "you have visitors."

Raori grunted. "You mean, I had visitors and you sent them away."

Moire blinked for a moment. She was dutiful, for a mortal, but sometimes got details confused. He supposed it had been a difficult transition for her. One moment she was picking flowers on a hill in Éire, the next being borne away in a sluagh ride.

He had bought her intending to set her free, but she refused to go. Why go home, she said, when years, even centuries, may have passed for her there? The quality of life was better in Fion, too. She preferred to take her chances among her kidnappers and appeared grateful.

Raori had found himself stuck with a servant he truly did not want. He gave her some tasks to earn her keep but insisted on doing most things himself. Being raised on a small farm with eight siblings had tempered Raori into independence – and allowed him to appreciate the finer things in life, like not having to share a bed.

Moire was still blinking stupidly. "Do you mean, you want me to send them away?" she asked.

Raori sighed.

“Yes, Moire,” he said. “I’m for bed. Tell them to come back this evening.”

"I would, Master," she said hurriedly, placing a brave hand on his chest to stay him from leaving. "Truly, I would. But, Milord, they seem important."

Everyone who came to see Raori was important. He did not encourage friendships, other than those made years ago, and those people had forgotten him by now. Raori could not forget, even when he tried. The ability had always escaped him, even from childhood.

Drunken nights and late mornings helped temporarily. With Moire standing before him, unwittingly forcing him to think and remember, Raori almost regretted what he had done to the tavern.

Moire was waiting for him to say something. Her eyes were targeted on his lips. She had clasped her hands in front, as if she regretted touching him. Raori felt obliged.

"How important?" he asked, raking his fingers through his hair.

"Very," Moire said, as expected. She pointed to a side room. The door was closed.

Raori considered first the closed door, then the stairs leading to his bedroom. Then the closed door. The stairs were winning the debate.

"They bear the mark," Moire said in a wide-eyed whisper.

His attention tumbled down the stairs and back to Moire. "What mark?" he demanded.

"Like yours," she said. "I know you don't like anyone to see it, but you get careless once in a while, if you don't mind my saying. In the bath," her face reddened, "when I bring your fresh clothes is usually when I get a look."

Fear suddenly gripped him. His guests, it seemed, were also Marked. He could almost forget when, but he was sure the last time he had been visited was after he had settled in Boynaan. He remembered.

Blast it.

Before he could change his mind, Raori strode bravely into the side room. Three figures rose from their seats to greet him. Moire had taken good care of them while Raori was away; they each had a goblet. A half-eaten loaf of bread sat on one of their best plates on a little table.

Raori took a breath to demand their business. Then he saw the Mark on each of their cheeks. Sorcerers. The demand dwindled into an inward sigh. As adept as Raori was in the manipulation of atma, these men could beat him without blinking.

"Raori MacGuinnan?" asked the oldest of them. The question was unnecessary. They knew who he was.

A lie formulated on the tip of his tongue. "Yes," Raori said, belatedly giving each of them a short bow. "My lords."

"We've had a little trouble finding you," said another of them. He was dressed in dark black and wore a cloak trimmed in gold. "You were not in Boynaan."

The inward sigh became a lump in his throat. "No, my lords," Raori said slowly. "I had some trouble and was forced to move."

"Trying to forget, eh?" asked the old one. He cackled.

When Raori did not answer, the third elf stepped forward. He was young and tanned from the weather. Flashing a friendly grin, he said, "You know as well as any of us the price of forgetfulness. And that it is... impossible for practitioners of magic to do so." He clapped Raori's shoulder. "You should feel proud. We're too few."

Raori bravely did not wince. Even his toes ached from the blow. "May I ask," he said through clenched teeth, "why you have come?"

The old one grunted. "Why else? To get you."

The one in black said, "We've an errand for you. Sadly, we had to waste some time looking for you. Now you're going to be late."

"They can wait for him in Nebhirrlos," the young one said. "He can travel four times faster than they. He'll probably be there early."

"Think you so?" the old one said. He peered at Raori knowingly and said, "Well, boy? Over that hangover enough to ride a ley line where you need to go? I'm telling you, Leahr," he turned to the one in black, "go find another one for this. Raori will never do."

Raori wondered what he would never do for and hoped they might find someone else who would do better.

The one addressed as Leahr frowned. "Moirfenn wants him specifically. He knows the others, remembers more than they will, and has tremendous talent."

"Too bad he doesn't use it," the old one said.

"I agree with Leahr," the young one said. He flashed another grin at Raori.

"The others are waiting in Nebhirrlos?" Raori, several sentences behind, managed to ask. His mind's eye flicked over long gone events, lingering at some and trying to ignore others. Mostly, a woman’s face haunted his inner vision and taunted him with smirking kisses. If ever there was someone he would like to forget, it was her.

The three nodded in unison. "There is a Sanctuary near there," Leahr said. "They will be waiting for you."

"Why Nebhirrlos?" Raori constructed a mental map of the land and pursed his lips in thought. Cnos Fada, the last city to remain standing against Moirfenn, was closer to his home by several days. "It would be easier if I just met them at Cnos Fada."

"You will obey orders," the old man snapped. Raori jumped and immediately lowered his eyes to the floor. In a gentler tone, the old man continued, “You’ve a mission, my boy. MacKegan wants someone dead and it’s you five to do it. Meet them in Nebhirrlos.” He handed Raori a small scroll sealed with MacKegan’s waxen mark.

"Yes, my lords," he mumbled. His headache was trying to get worse. All he wanted to do was get some sleep.

"Be there by the end of the week," Leahr said with what he must have thought was a reasonable tone. "If what Skagg says is true and you won't use the ley lines, I suggest you leave now." Raori refrained from mentioning that few used the ley lines anymore, with good reason.

Leahr and the old one left the room without further word. The young one started to follow, thought about it, and lingered behind. He watched the other two covertly until they were out of earshot.

His boyish grin would have been infectious at another time. "Don't worry about those two," he said. "They're harmless."

Raori had never heard of a harmless sorcerer, but he nodded anyway. The elf chuckled. "My name is Aes. It's a pleasure to meet you." He touched the Mark on his cheek, and his grin faltered for a brief moment. "I grew up listening to stories of how you and the others burned the temple. I took this Mark wanting to be like you."

Raori refused to feel guilty. If the young man's illusions were destroyed by meeting the real thing, so be it. He said, "You seem to have done very well for yourself."

"Better than you?" He laughed easily. Narrowing his eyes, he looked around suspiciously and whispered, "I just want to know one thing, if you don't mind my asking."

"What?"

"To be honest, I cannot decide just who I’ve heard the most about in court; you or that wolf woman. It’s rumored you two had a thing going.” The young sorcerer chuckled. “I wonder, though. Is the Priestess as beautiful as they say? I find it hard to believe, but you can tell me." And he grinned, wickedly and narrow-eyed, like an embittered sprite about to rendezvous with disaster.

"Beautiful cannot begin to describe her," Raori said softly. Visions of the very thing he had been striving to forget resurfaced in his mind. He swallowed, fighting for control, and won.

Aes was watching him closely. He still grinned, this time with disarming charm. A twinkle came to his eye.

"I said before that I know all about you," Aes said after a moment. His boyish charm faded, revealing deadly malice. "You have no love for Moirfenn. Said MacKegan was 'too dishonorable,' am I right?"

For the second time that day, Raori was tempted to lie. It was not that he would not. He simply could not. When he tried, he did so badly. So, he settled for nodding his head.

"Moirfenn wants you to do this errand. Who knows, it may put us in a position to wipe out Cnos Fada entirely." Raori’s face remained wooden. Aes snorted. "I've worked very hard to get where I am. Be successful, and I don't just stand to benefit. You do."

There was nothing this young man had to offer that would tempt Raori. Raori could be happy in a kobold's den while he was fed and comfortable. He said nothing.

"If you, for any reason, have a sudden change of heart and decide to fail," Aes went on quietly, "then don't expect any mercy. We found you here. Not even Tech Danaan has the atma to keep us out."

Raori nodded cautiously.

"Turn against us, Raori, and I will kill the Priestess."

Helplessness flooded Raori. Satisfied, Aes walked away. At the door, he paused and said, "I think it's ironic. She would let me kill her, if it would get you to behave." He left Raori alone with his misery, but not without a final say. "Her loyalty is astounding."

Raori sent Moire into town to barter for supplies immediately. While she was gone, he read the scroll twice, ripped it apart, and kicked the nearest table. Then he set about inspecting and repairing his horse's tack and sharpening his sword.

So, it was a prince they were to kill. Raori found the task typical and unpleasant. MacKegan had managed to drive out the royal family and claim Fion for his own centuries ago. Why destroy some harmless boy? Raori forced himself to put his frustration and bewilderment aside. Most times, one could not fathom the resolve behind MacKegan’s actions. He wondered if even MacKegan knew what he was doing at times.

The house was quiet, except for the soft scraping of his sword against the whetstone. Raori worked in his bedchamber where the light graced the floor with the afternoon sun. Downstairs, wood scraped on wood as someone, most likely Moire, entered the house via the front door. Raori ignored it, content with his work.

The sword was sharp, had been for years, but the sounds it made were soothing. One could fall into a pleasant momentum; swipe, swipe, swipe... The blacksmith Duinn had taught Raori how to sharpen his weapon with a tiny whetstone like this one. It was dwarven magic Raori wove into his blade as he worked; spells to strengthen and assure victory. His mind was thankfully numb from the exercise.

Moire entered timidly. Her eyes, red and puffy from crying, made her look like an owl. "I got all you asked for,” she sniffled. “I'll pack the rest you need, Master, and you just rest. There will be plenty of time to get started after noon."

"Thank you," Raori said, not breaking his rhythm. Moire fled the room, weeping loudly.

When Raori could delay no longer, he saddled his horse, packing it with only a small sack of food and his sword. His other tools, magical pebbles and bits of colored sand, were tucked safely in a little satchel at his waist. He mounted slowly. Moire stood below him, holding the reins, and choked back her sobs.

"Moire," Raori said, "I'm setting you free now."

"I know," she said miserably. "But I don't know what I'll do with myself."

"I could send you back to Éire."

She shook her head. "What good would it do me to be there? I've been here since I was a little girl. This place is all I know."

An uncomfortable silence stood between them. Raori broke it with, "Close up the house. Tomorrow morning, I want you to go north. About a day's walk from here is a stead owned by a man named Leanehus. Tell him that I had to take a trip south and would ask for him to give you employment. At least, until I return." He smiled boyishly. “I’ll send word when I do.”

Moire nodded dutifully. She knew not to expect him back.

Raori leaned down as far as he could go to whisper, "Don't mention my birthmark! Not to anyone! They'll get the wrong impression, and you'll be killed." He so desperately wanted to tell her the price of such a burden: to serve MacKegan with no choice, to feel the angry stares of people you conquered as you passed by on the street. Few would do it, but there was the chance Moire could be the victim of someone’s misplaced hatred.

Moire said, "I knew that mark was something horrible. But I never said a word about it. For your sake."

Their eyes met: mortal into elf. A deep moment passed. "You've been a good servant, Moire," Raori said finally. "I hate to leave you."

"I hate to lose you," Moire whispered, stepping back. Raori's horse was galloping away before the sentence had completely left her lips. She watched him go until he was no longer in sight.