Rukk Knaraugh swung his legs off the side of the bed with a swallowed groan, rising from the mattress to tug on his breeches, a black tunic, and a thick leather overcoat. No beads proclaimed his heritage. No war markings announced his allegiance. He was an orc without affiliation, except to the law as indicated by his black ensemble, despite the dark leaf-shaped markings along his wrists. He'd earned those during childhood trials.

As a fully clanned orc, it had taken a while to grow accustomed to garments, but now a sense of vulnerability, as if he were unarmed, claimed him when he was nude. With a soft command, white tendrils rose from his skin to sift through his hair, unravel and re-braid it. He didn't care how.

"Stay," Elanil whispered.

He grimaced. Hope poured from her blue elven gaze. He chose not to lay with a female more than once for this very reason. Not that he had found a female worthy of repeat samplings. They were a predictable and tiresome lot. Elanil had made herself available, and he was too tired to seek out another. Elves were preferable to humans, who were too weak to handle an orc at full vigor.

"Farewell." He scooped up his sword as he left her room. Once he had rutted, he never remained charming. Then again, the act itself blunted his magic and drained what energy he could muster for niceties.

She cursed his name, but that didn't bother him either. As a wood nymph with basic magic, her curses wouldn't harm an insect.

In the passage of the brothel, an Atrarian human male leaned against one wall, flicking and catching his jeweled dagger. His mannerisms conveyed impatience. His unkempt, gold-streaked brown hair fell across his dark-skinned brow, yet his vigilant gaze rested on Rukk. Tarid Inaris and he had trained together since childhood. The Council encouraged the forming of close bonds across races.

"I've summoned the healer," he said by way of greeting, sheathing his dagger into a knee-high boot. "You must be ill to have rutted with the same female twice."

Rukk scowled but ignored his fellow lawbringer otherwise.

Not needing a response, Tarid gestured at the bedroom door. "Her magic isn't powerful enough to enchant you. I considered mischievous intent, but that didn't ring true. Rukk, the imperious lawbringer, wouldn't succumb to the weak will of a wood elf."

Rukk trudged down the stairs. Exhaustion weakened his knees, and the urge to sleep on his feet bombarded him. He continued to ignore Tarid, forcing his partner to scamper after Rukk.

"Oh, ho! The silent treatment?" Tarid barked out a laugh, loud enough to echo off the narrow wooden walls of the passage. "Now that you've appeased the demands of your loins, the Council is sending us south to the bowels of Thoraval."

Frustration froze Rukk's next step, and he faced Tarid, granting him, at last, the attention he sought. "No knights available?"

Tarid leveled a serious gaze on him. "Vanishing bairns, my dear Rukk."

"Rumors," he said with a dismissive flick of his wrist.

"The cries of forlorn mothers say otherwise. Haraton Castle awaits." Tarid swept out his arm, whacking his knuckles on the wall.

"Anything south of here is unpleasant, but Haraton is hardly the bowels. It's the hours spent in the saddle, dodging ill-kept humans and orcs alike, I detest. Find another lawbringer." Rukk pulled an ebony leather glove out of his cloak pocket to slap against his palm before gliding it on.

"The Grand Lawmaster selected you for this quest." Tarid tapped his heels against the wall. He palmed a black root and clamped it between his lips. His jaw worked as he chewed.

Inhaling in a calming breath, Rukk stared at his lawbrother, studying their differences. Tarid's more natural look contrasted with Rukk's obscured origins. Browns and golds comprised Tarid's palette, but Rukk's grays and blacks hinted at racial mix in his ancestry, if his protruding tusks and pale skin didn't. He settled his gaze on Tarid's brown eyes, forcing his friend to look away first. He did, but only for a second.

When he lifted his face, his grin brightened the dimly lit passage. "Come now, Rukk, when last have we traveled for something this intriguing?"

"Are the mounts readied?" Rukk resumed his strides along the passage and out into the quiet road, wishing he could bury his fingers in his soil pouch from his homeland. He needed a portion of his magic restored.

Rutting emptied his overflowing energy, yet laid him low for at least a day. Sleeping beside Elanil hadn't been an option. Now, he must suffer en route to Haraton.

"Of course!" Tarid bounced beside him, all joyful and excited, as if every day was a marvel and not a chore. He gestured to the local stables, built behind the tavern. "The page will meet us at the trading post with our satchels."

"How long have you known about this task?" Rukk studied Tarid's face.

Guilt twisted his features, confirming Rukk's suspicion. Tarid had hours to prepare, by the sound of things. Strolling toward the stables, darting his gaze around, Rukk was careful to hide his annoyance from his friend.

He slapped his other glove against his thigh as he walked, grateful for the thick coat shielding him from the dawn mist. The locals believed its icy fingers brought more than shivers, that curses and plagues clung to it, and any exposed skin would feel its wrath. Foolish, yes, but it was cold after the sweet warmth of Elanil's curves.

"The Grand Lawmaster summoned you after the witching hour."

Fire burned through Rukk, and he spun on Tarid, grabbing him by his fur-lined cloak. "What?"

"I couldn't find you!" Tarid raised his hands in surrender.

"Did you scry?" Rukk's voice slipped through tight lips, his jaw clenching and softening as he fought for control. Hours lost! What must the Lawmaster Janar think of him? Curse Zetar!

"You're immune to scrying!" Tarid lowered his hands as a scowl marred his forehead.

Rukk's hard-earned patience evaporated. "Not me, the female, idiot!"

Tarid snorted. "You never rut with the same female twice. How was I to know she would be so blessed?"

"Fair enough." Rukk released him without offering an apology. His friend stank of ale, which meant a dalliance at every tavern he had 'searched.' "Any further information on these bairns?" He picked off a strand of auburn hair from Tarid's cloak before marching to the stables.

He flashed Rukk a sheepish grin. "Same across the lands. Taken at dawn, burn marks on their blankets or mangers, and never seen again."

Rukk nodded. A vague memory teased his thoughts, something from his studies. It remained elusive, so he focused on the moment. "Any missing livestock? Reports of fires in forests, fields, or farms?"

"No more than usual." Tarid snuck glances at him, as if he had solved the mystery of the missing bairns.

Rukk smothered a snort. Did everyone think him the ArchMagus? "Let's see what Haraton Castle has to offer. Lord Nehrakgu's hospitality is legendary."

"At least there will be a fresh batch of females for you to plunder."

Rukk shook his head, accepting Tarid toyed with him. All knew Rukk kept a strict schedule. Every thirteenth day meant an evening spent attending to his baser urges. To miss such an event made his magic unpredictable, his focus carnal. If his instincts were right about the cause of the disappearances, then they should return before he next needed to rut.

Tarid, however, kept no such schedule, finding any female worthy of plunder. He believed his magic lay within the rutting, despite their archives stating otherwise. Rukk envied his jovial friend's ability to deal with the energy drain. Not once had he been on the verge of losing control as Rukk had. Perhaps more frequent rutting would ease the aftermath. Or Tarid had hidden the size of his energy pool, and it would never overflow.

According to the magi, magic came from the soul—the purer the body, the more powerful the magic, no matter the energy pool's size a wielder was born with. Hence why neither of them could aspire to more powerful positions on the Council. Tarid had no inclination of mastering the art, and Rukk had declined joining the magi. He far preferred merging his powers with combat training.

"A four-day journey through the Forests of Anduia. Oh, joy!" Tarid hoisted his great bulk into the saddle. For Atrarians, Eslaniel retained warhorses—more than suitable for a male of Tarid's size.

Unsheathing his iron sword, Rukk slid it into the scabbard fixed to the saddle. Taking a moment, he patted Harpax's neck, whispering orcish words of encouragement before ruffling his mane. The ebony gelding with white socks on three of his feet had been with Rukk for six years. His sleek lines, the ripple of power in his legs, and his stubbornness reminded Rukk of the first horse he had ridden. His mother gifted him with Telayi when he was but five.

Harpax nickered a greeting, pawing the ground to show his eagerness. Rukk vaulted into the saddle. From hours of traveling, the curved leather had molded to the exact shape of his backside.

The morning crowds parted to grant them free passage, avoiding the clumps of mud the horses' hooves flung up. Lanterns offered the illusion of warmth—the last dismal light in the gloom of the mist. He tightened the cloak around his neck, flipping his hood up to hide his pale hair since the silver of it announced his identity.

A page waited in front of the message board outside the trading post. His gray hood was easy to discern in the lantern he held out at face level. The lone roan to the left of him, with the Council Magus Sharn Tandagh astride it, drew a mumbled curse from Tarid. Rukk chose not to respond to this development. He didn't want his words twisted out of proportion.

The page attached their satchels to their saddles then snuffed the lantern. The gray mists shifted, lifting enough to illuminate Sharn's pristine beauty—the pale skin of her human heritage, but the bronze eyes of her orcish mother. Her pink lips pursed in a practiced pout around her tusks as she watched him. He met her gaze, assuming an expression of boredom. "The Arch-Magus insists I travel along. Something about needing a female's touch." She fiddled with the reins with her delicate fingers.

Rukk shifted his hood lower, hiding his face from the observant magus. He wished she would forsake her supposed affection for him. Even if it was true, he preferred not to rut with anyone from the Council.

"She's a spy." Tarid projected his thoughts across their bond, made possible by their proximity. Neither were powerful enough to master greater distances.

"I am aware." Withdrawing his dagger from his boot, Rukk pricked his thumb and cast the blood upward. His gut wrenched as he used magic he couldn't spare. "Shield me, oh, blessed life."

An expected swirl of mist carried the whispered words. The glowing droplets shot outward, slicing the air in search of vigilance. Cries in the distance confirmed the intended targets reached. Sharn slumped forward, clutching her stomach and the pommel as a soft whimper escaped her.

"Well done," Tarid said.

Rukk acknowledged his praise with a smirk, delighted to have thwarted the creatures of the night she coerced to spy for her. "It buys us time, but she will summon more as we travel. What worries me is the Arch-Magus has never sent a magus on a mission with a lawbringer.

This is an odd occurrence."

"Mayhap the stolen bairns are more than we anticipated?"

Rukk grimaced. "That would mean the Grand Lawmaster hasn't divulged everything. He would never send us on a task ill-informed. My allegiance is to the lawbringers and not the magi."

The Council comprised of two factions with equal power. The magi ruled by an Arch-Magus and the lawbringers governed by a Grand Lawmaster. Within the Tower of Eslaniel, magi trained those powerful enough in the use of magic. The resolution of problems fell to the lawbringers, tasked to guard the Council and the land from unlawful or abuse of magic. It mattered not why magi rebelled, unsanctioned covens formed, or an untrained magic wielder lost control and killed their cows. Such were the norm for lawbringers, and most were resolved with the lethal use of a sword. What was unusual was the Arch-Magus involving herself in lawbringer business.

Perhaps Sharn traveling with was beneficial. Rukk would take the opportunity, so sweetly afforded him, to explore her mind in moments of weakness. After all, not even a magus as skilled as Sharn could guard her thoughts all the time. At some point, she would reveal why the Arch-Magus had thought it necessary to spy on Rukk at all.