years before that, and certainly asking a man not to find a wife and have children is a much larger request than asking him for a piece of wolfskin.”
“Funny,” said Raettonus. “Most every werewolf I ever met would rather die than give up his skin. To all of them it’d be like losing an eye or a hand.”
Diahsis smiled sadly. With his handsome face and his light blue eyes, the expression made him look somewhat like Sir Slade. “I’m not really a werewolf,” he said. “I’m just an elf who a werewolf happened to give birth to, Magician. That’s the way it’s always seemed to me, anyway. All the real werewolves—yes, they are quite attached to their pelts. Rysah was. Rysah didn’t want to give his up when the king asked him for it. He did give it up though. He had to. He was never right after that though. But for me? Well, it was little more than a fur tunic to me, really. I’m no real werewolf, Magician. I’m just a lowly elf.”
“But you miss turning into a wolf or else you wouldn’t have brought it up.”
“No, not really,” said Diahsis. “I didn’t do it much, anyway. What should I miss about it? Being a wolf is much the same as being a man, except you can’t hold a sword or open doors. Ah, but to be able to do real magic, the way you do it—I would kill gods for that.”
“There is nothing I could show you to do that wouldn’t take a lot of time for you to learn—supposing you could learn,” Raettonus said. “You’re a busy man, running this citadel and all. I doubt you’d have the time for such lessons, really.”
The wolf-blood general’s sharp ears drooped slightly. “Oh,” he said. “That’s a pity. Ah—but what about just a very small trick? It wouldn’t have to be anything impressive…”
“Even a small trick would take months of intense study,” Raettonus answered. “It’s not like picking up knitting, General. You can’t become a mage over the course of an afternoon.”
“Ah, of course not,” said Diahsis sadly. “I was just hoping… Ah, but nevermind. No, it was a silly thing to ask. I knew the answer before I even asked it.” He smiled again. “So, Magician, are you sure you wouldn’t like to come hunt faeries with Deggho and I?”
“I’m really not interested, no,” Raettonus answered. “I don’t like to hunt. It’s so much traveling and all for next to nothing, really. It’s boring. As a necessity I understand it—but when it’s merely for fun, then what’s the point?”
With a soft laugh, Diahsis rested his hand on Raettonus’ thigh. “It’s the sport of it, Magician,” he said. “Tracking something, cornering it, engaging it in combat—taking its life. There is no better way in the world to prove yourself, Magician, than to cut down something dangerous.”
“Ah. Well, there’s the problem then,” answered Raettonus with a faint sneer. “I already know I can kill things. I don’t need to do it to justify calling myself a man.”
Another chuckle rolled out of Diahsis’ lips. “It’s not about justifying myself as a man, Magician,” he said. “Gods, no. It’s about justifying myself as something which lives and breathes and takes up space. How can you justify existing in a world like this if you can’t best other creatures? Er, not you, I mean—of course the great magician Raettonus is capable of ending any life he wants—but, ah, anyone else. We mere mortals need to kill or die, or else what is the value of us?”
Raettonus pursed his lips and stared at Diahsis for a very long time. “You have the strangest, most foolishly romantic notion of death I’ve ever heard,” he said finally.
Again the general laughed. “Yes,” he said. “I’ve been told that on occasion.”
With a sigh, Raettonus lifted the general’s hand off his thigh and stood. “It’s getting very late, General,” he said. “I’m going to retire.”
Diahsis’ ears fell slightly, and he didn’t hide his disappointment. “Ah, all right then,” he said. “I was hoping… Ah, nevermind, I guess. Good night, Magician. Sleep well.”
“Yeah, you too,” said Raettonus. With a brief wave over his shoulder to the half-elf general, he left Diahsis alone in the dusty, dark little room.
Chapter Fifteen
A storm had crept up on the citadel by the next morning, putting a damper on the centaurs’ construction work and stopping the general’s hunting expedition. For a full three weeks, the storm battered the walls of the citadel like a mad