Chapter 1 - The Meeting in the Night

A lone person wandered through the Black Forest, the deadly silence broken only by the panting of breath and occasional curse from the person, probably from the voice, a female. She was tall, her black cloak, silver shirt, breeches and hooded head giving of an aura of foreboding, and even though her body fit, she had a limp of one who has been injured, though at the female’s present state of mind, she was, in no means, going to tell anyone. She finally reached a clearing, the trees surrounding it so thick, that the moon was only just visible through the smallest tree tops. The female sat down in the middle of the clearing, and, without taking her cloak off, she sat crossed legged on the ground, her silver eyes taking in every single detail of the trees around her. She pulled her hood on her cloak further up, closed her eyes, and sunk into deep meditation.
The darkness of night lay thickly over the sleeping village, its occupants unaware of the happenings that would take place. So, the lone figure sat, meditating, hardly visible in the surrounding darkness, deaf and blind to the world. But not for long.
Two large owls sat perched above the female, having followed behind her all of her journey and into the forest, their large, round eyes drifting lazily over the shadows, keenly watching for signs of movement, even though there was none. One of the owls, black like the night sky, gave off a low hoot, and stared expectantly at the female.

“Be patient Shadow,” she said to the owl, keeping her eyes firmly shut.

The silence settled again and everything was still once more.
However, the other owl, silver like the moon, hooted louder than Shadow, and swooped down at the female’s head, the tips of her flight feathers grazing the top of the hood, drawing it back, and letting long, silver hair tumble out.

“Curse you Opal! I swear that you and Shadow are slowly making your way towards being taken to the Royal Aviary if you continue the way you have!” she shouted at the silver owl, scowling.

Both owls gave an indignant hoot, as if to say, “You would never. So there!”

She scowled deeper and groped around the dark ground for her staff. Giving up in exasperation, she leant on a tree, pulled herself up with the lower branches, and attempted to stand on both feet. She fell with a cry, swearing colourfully as she landed on her staff. Her slim fingers closed around the runes carved into the silver-birch wood, just missing the long glinting blade at the end as she heaved herself up. Even though she leant mostly on her staff, she was quite tall for a female, reaching the owl’s perch in the lowest branches of an oak tree, and even though the darkness and shadows of night hid most her face, her skin was the unmistakable black, the mark of a Drow. Just below the blade on the staff, five letters were carved clearly and painted in silver; Rayne, the female’s name.
Rayne surveyed the clearing through her silver eyes, more intense than before, inspecting each tree, running her fingers down trails of red sap where a woodcutter must have tried to cut some of the trees down, failing most terribly.
She limped from the clearing, making her way along an overgrown goatherd track to a hill over-looking the village. She sighed, knowing she could never get used to that life, never.
Quite suddenly, in a flurry of black feathers, Shadow left his tree perch with a sharp beat of his wings, swooping down to the low bushes at the far end of the hill, thrashing in the leaves and branches.
When he returned, he held a squirming frog in his beak. It croaked noisily, struggling to slip out of the owl’s beak to no avail.
Rayne gazed at the frog in Shadow’s beak, looking as if she was deciding on something important.

“I’m not in the mood for games,” she said dryly to the frog, after a while, as if were human.

It stopped struggling quite reluctantly, and Shadow put it down, eyeing it with great enjoyment and glee, though he seemed gloomy that he had lost his dinner. The frog hopped away slowly into the bushes, and sat, its eyes closed, while Rayne waited patiently.
Its skin started to shift, changing to a coffee-brown, and its body began to bend and expand into a human form.
In not much time, a young man stood before her. He was an impressive sight; tall, even taller than Rayne, slim with a flowing blue robe on under a white cloak. His fingers were laden with rubies and emeralds on thick gold bands. His dark brown eyes were young and full of life, his long black hair tied into a ponytail, his brown skin damp with sweat.
Rayne looked him up and down, walking in a tight circle, taking in his rich clothing and jewellery.
They stared at each other for some time, Rayne cold and stony and the man quite bemused and shy.

“Name yourself,” Rayne demanded sharply, still watching him closely.

The man looked nervously from her bladed staff, to her face eyeing her black skin with obvious fright. He had heard rumors about Drows…

“I am Xavier,” he started shakily, “Imperial Mage of Mages, loyal servant to His Royal Majesty, Rowan, King of this land, Tavares, Duke of Brining, Lord of-“

She cut him off. “That will do, save your breath. Why are you here?”

“I have been ordered to seek and escort a powerful mage to His Royal Majesty, Rowan, King of this land, Tavares, Duke of Brining, Lord of-“ He stopped and flushed a light crimson.

“Does this ‘Powerful Mage’ have a name?” she asked bluntly.

“Yes. He is known as The Raven,” he said, equally as blunt, loosing his shaking voice and looking at her with visible wariness.

“I know of The Raven you seek Xavier of Mages,” she said, mildly amused.

“You do?” Xavier asked, his face brightening.

“You are looking at her.”

She held back her laughter at the look on Xavier’s face, but only just.
He stared at her, utterly shocked.

“But – you – lady – mistake – Raven - man! - I thought…” He took a shuddering breath. “Forgive me your Ladyship, but I, err, WE were expecting a, err, a…”

“Male?” she guessed easily, a frown twitching at her lips.

Xavier nodded his head weakly, attempting a lop-sided smile, which faltered and faded at Rayne’s fixed face.

“You and your King have much to learn. Why am I needed?”

Xavier fumbled for words, his eyes darting over the shadows. “I, err…” He closed his mouth quickly and composed himself. “I cannot speak of it here your Ladyship. Perhaps you know of a place where we could eat and sleep? We can talk then.”

Rayne smiled. “I know of a charming place to stay the night, and it’s always open to strangers.”

Her eyes sparkled with laughter.

“Perfect your Ladyship! Lead the way!”

“I’d prefer it if you called me Rayne.”

“Yes your Ladyship Rayne!” He said merrily, almost skipping on the spot.

“Not your Ladyship Rayne, just Rayne.”

“Yes…” he stopped short, visibly unsettled by calling Rayne by her given name.

Rayne started off at a brisk, limping pace, the owls flying behind them, Xavier falling easily into step with her, skipping slightly.

‘What a pair we must look!’ she thought silently to herself.

The trees twisted in, out and around the worn path leading from the hill down past the clearing, village crops and into the little village beyond.
They passed closed shops and an empty market place. A commotion was coming from one of the buildings they were heading towards, its bright lights burning into the night sky.
Xavier looked at it with apprehension, wringing his hands as they stopped at the door.

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