Chapter 20. Ra'jirra Enjoys His Honeymoon

It was about half an hour past eleven bells before S'jirra and I finally extracted ourselves from the nuptial bed. Something to do with Kud-Ei barging in without knocking and pretending to be surprised we were still there. Of course she'd have a second key!

"Oh!" says she, "I thought you had arissen already and collected your wedding giftss."

"Gifts?" asks I rather confusedly.

"Giftss," Kud-Ei repeats patiently, "Your mother hass already arissen five hourss previoussly, and wass ssaying ssomething about doing ssome sshopping before returning to the inn." She dawdles at a bookshelf apparently looking for a volume. "I am informed that sshe went to the Archer'ss Paradox, and to that fellow who runss A Warlock'ss Luck." She turns and starts rummaging through a chest, then adds, "You may like to invesstigate after lunch, which iss being sserved."

Now we can take a hint as well as the next person, and come to think of it we were getting peckish, so once Kud-Ei left on went the clothes and we went down to the dining area. The talk was very small, and I couldn't help noticing that even at this late hour a sizeable cross-section of the guildies looked like they could do with some rest.

So anyway we let Kud-Ei have her bedroom back and out we go. "I know where A Warlock's Luck is," says I, "But where's the Archer's Paradox?"

"Daenlin's shop? He is overr the Quiverring Brridge, my love, acrross frrom the lodge." And my S'jirra – my wife – looks at me with a wicked grin. "The Lonely Suitorr. Not that my Rra'jirrra carres?"

Well, I certainly didn't, and across we go.

The Archer's Paradox was a tidy unadorned store that smelled of hide and glue, probably from fletcher-work, and was currently occupied by an unshaven Bosmer huntsman whose chin looked like it could skin a carcass on its own.

"The Archer's Paradox," he declared in a surprisingly deep voice, making a careless gesture, "Because a perfect arrow flies forever, and that's impossible. I'm Daenlin, and I have no perfect arrows."

"Er..." says I slowly, "I'm Ra'jirra, and how could an arrow fly forever? What if you had a perfect bow?"

And Daenlin's eyes widen to normal size! "A fellow philosopher!" cries he, "Of course, an arrow by itself is nothing without the bow, and – oh!" He blinks and remembers what Abhuki told him. "Congratulations to you and your lovely wife."

I reckon you could have heard S'jirra's purring back at Faregyl.

"I take it Kud-Ei was her usual subtle self," Daenlin adds with a wink, and grins even broader as we colour. "Anyhow, Abhuki wants me to give you these. She said," and he looks puzzled, "you would need them in the course of your task."

'These' were a silver bow and a quiver of twenty-five silver arrows. My mother-in-law was smart; undead tended to hang around the corpse-jockeys if not vice versa.

"Abhuki is very wise," says I, "I'd love to explain but it's Mage's Guild stuff and all hush-hush."

Daenlin looks sceptical at that. "They're going after that Order of the Putrid Hand mob? About damn time. Come back when it's finished up, and we can have a talk – hunting stories, why nothing can move, good times!"

And I don't know what he's on about so we make our farewells and head off.

"Take a chance on the–" Ungarion started his spiel as we entered, "–Ra'jirra! I've got some gifts for you. Er..."

"What's the erring for?" asks I.

"Well," and the Altmer goes pink, "the gifts are for you, Abhuki never said anything about... oh heck."

"Motherr is giving me a grreaterr gift," S'jirra says calmly looking at me, "Ensurring my Rra'jirrra rreturrns safe and securre."

She had a arm around my waist, and I felt it shift downward and squeeze slightly. Wifely privilege I guess.

"Well then," Ungarion says, going pinker, "let's to learning, shall we?"

Abhuki had purchased a pair of conjuration spells. One summoned a scamp, and another a ghost. "She said something about assistance in a fight," Ungarion said, and frowned. "Is there something we should be concerned about?"

"I'm doing work for the Mage's Guild," says I, which is about right.

Ungarion stiffens. "Then gods help you," says he shortly, "I've run into rogue magi before."

-o-o-o-o-

S'jirra and I left just as the latest Black Horse Courier arrived on the steps of Silverhome On the Water. She picked up a copy before I could stop her and started reading it as we exited out of Bravil.

Need I tell you what was top of the bill?

S'jirra's steps slowed, then stopped completely behind me. I turned to see her staring in disbelief at the bloody rag. "What is this?" gasps she.

So I take the paper and look at it. "What?" says I innocently, "you mean this sale on men's clothing at Divine Elegance?"

Truth be told, most of my clobber was salvaged or rewards. Actually buying an outfit instead of leaving it to chance sounded like a good idea to me. But right now S'jirra had taken a swing and I ducked back, seeing a flash of claws. Talk about whirlwind romance!

"No games!" S'jirra's eyes were blazing and her hair was on end, setting her ornaments shivering in the afternoon sun. "What is happening herre? The Brruma Mage's Guild is sacked, the town nearly on firre, and you behold the King of Worrms! Arre you trrying to get yourrself killed?"

I actually looked at the lead story and swore. Sure as shit, the idiot scribe had mixed me and J'skar together. Wonderful.

"Not me," says I, "I got there after the spurius had already gone. It was J'skar saw his face." I looked steadily at my distraught wife. "If I had seen Mannimarco face to face," says I grimly, "I would be dead. Or mad."

And she just looks at me like I already am. Mad, I mean.

"Look, not even Traven knew what was happening, okay? All we knew was there'd been nothing from them for days. Me, I thought J'skar and Volanaro were playing tricks on Jeanne again, swiping her mail like they did her Manual of Spellcraft."

And her ears come back to half-mast and she's calming down. "They did what?"

"Well, they didn't swipe it, they made me swipe it. Y'see..." and away I go telling her about J'skar's invisibility prank and all the other pranks they'd claimed to have done. She was thoroughly distracted for a while, but then, "But what happens now about Mannimarrco?"

"Not my problem," says I, "Arch-Mage Traven will probably find him, pay a visit and kick his arse into the deepest pit in Oblivion." And I shrug. "I wouldn't try in a million years."

"Of courrse," says S'jirra relaxing, "Only the Arrch-Mage could take on that monsterr."

"Speaking of monsters," says I, "I'll have to pop into the Black Horse offices and set the record straight..."

And we talked of nothings as we returned to Faregyl.

-o-o-o-o-

On arrival, S'jirra and Abhuki went upstairs – to prepare the marriage bed, no doubt – and I was approached by Alix.

"While the ladies play decorators," says he, "let's go get dinner. Which do you prefer – venison or pork?"

And I have a think; I've eaten plenty of venison and drunk it in potions too, more times than I care to admit. "Pork," says I.

"Right then!" says he, as we go back outside, "I'll be chasing bloody deer all over Nenyond Twyll, but if you go around Mingo Cave –" and he points roughly north-east, "– I've seen boar sign around there."

So out comes the bow and off I go stalking the wily boar.

There was a mystical imp hanging about, which hacked me off no end, but inside Mingo's heavily abused gate there was a fair-sized herd of wild pig. Despite their best interests, I bested them with spell and bow. This was the third time I'd come out victorious without armour – my spellcraft was improving!

It was getting late, so I went back to the inn. S'jirra and Abhuki fell on my haul with cries of delight and admiration; Alix on the other hand just sighed and said, "Maybe I should get married." Apparently wolves in the area had the local deer spooked. Not surprising. It was winter after all.

-o-o-o-o-

The next day was Turdas, and S'jirra left our bed early. Finding this inconvenient for obvious reasons, I followed her outside past a sharp vomit smell to where she was fussing over her potato patch.

"Oh my poorr little darrlings, did you miss S'jirrra?" she crooned, doing gardener-type things – hey, alchemy doesn't always involve growing the damn plants. "Two whole days I've forrsaken you, oh my poorr babies, motherr has some nice waterr..."

It was all very maternal in a creepy sort of way. Fortunately she can, in fact, tell the difference between tubers and toddlers. Tubers don't create as much havoc for a start.

"S'jirra?" and she starts and turns to me. "Was there anything you wanted to do today?"

"Do?" and she frowns at me, then, "Well, I was just going to make anotherr batch of brread, but now I think about it..." and she rises and wraps her arm around my waist, "perrhaps S'jirrra makes something else?"

That something else turned out to be a basket with one of her exquisite potato loaves, some cheese and pork, and a couple of bottles of Tamika vintage, which we took over the hill past Mingo Cave towards the Niben River.

As we started down the hill, the forest began to change for the worse. The trees were heavy and oppressive, the leaves unpleasantly discoloured like dried blood. The ground became blackened as well, and then there was the smell – lavender plants versus something malevolent. S'jirra tugged on my sleeve and we skirted the area's edge.

"Lorrikh Village," she explained, as the remains of buildings appeared downslope, shrinking away from a well that looked unnervingly intact in the middle of what must have been the village square. I opened my mouth to ask what happened, but she went on, "The rruins werre herre when motherr and I came. Only fools and rrogues come herre, and dead men at night!"

Then she gasped at something behind us, and the next thing I know I turn invisible!

And I spin to see something like a bluish will-o-wisp floating away, giggling.

I go for my bow and that breaks the spell. S'jirra breathes a sigh of relief.

"That was forrtunate," says she, "when I was a kit, that crreature currsed me badly," she shudders. "I did not rreturn for a yearr."

We continued past the remains of the village to the river's edge and after toasting some mudcrabs that wouldn't leave us alone, we spread our repast on a flat spot that stuck out into the river.

It has a nice view of the Imperial Isle, although the bridge gets in the way. S'jirra and I ate and drank, talked about what life in the Arcane University is like, and fooled around a bit before we put our clothes back on, packed up and headed back to the inn.

"The Norrd who rruns the Inn of Ill Omen says he surrvived what destrroyed Lorrikh," S'jirra said as we left the blighted area behind. "Perrhaps you should ask him." And she scowls. "And learrn his current load of hairrballs."

According to my wife, the fellow spins a good tale, but obviously can't leave it alone and keeps 'improving' it – improving that would be better used on his food.

S'jirra's description of her one dreadful meal there made me laugh and brought us to the crest of the hill. We began to head down to the road, and then S'jirra spoke.

"Rra'jirrra, therre is something I must tell you–"

"You're expecting?"

And she looks at me in surprise. "You know?"

"I could smell the puke this morning," I explain. Apparently women bearing children spew every morning. They don't like it, but it happens anyway, and the sooner someone finds a cure for it there's probably a sainthood waiting for them.

I took S'jirra's hands. "I am going to be there," says I, "and I will hold our baby, and be a father. That's more important to me than..."

She didn't let me finish and I didn't have to.

I wasn't going to get myself killed if I could avoid it. Whatever Traven threw me into, I was going to do my damnedest to either beat or retreat from it. And then I was going to spend the rest of my life being a dutiful husband and father – and not worrying about any more Mannimarcos, thank you very much.

And I didn't. Instead I found myself worrying about Oblivion gates, getting assorted nutty magi to pull their heads in, and longing to bang assorted councillor heads together on a regular basis, but fate plays pranks like that.