by Tony Roberts
“Oh? How do you come to that, Swordmaster?”
Seltonas paced back and forth, troubled. “I cannot teach her anything new; she almost knows what I am about to teach her before I demonstrate it. She has stopped using her dark elf abilities yet I hear from the guards who are on duty outside her room that she uses them every night for hours on end. She is becoming too big for this school. My fear is that one day we will wake up to find she can outfight us all.”
“You are still concerned about her future?”
“I am, absolutely. If she can use her powers to the fullest of her abilities, then who knows how far it could go? She could feasibly attract an army to her side and lead it to Keria. It wouldn’t take much for her to gain dark elf allies, especially those tired of the in-fighting between the Houses there. With her knowledge of our world, she could call on the dark elves to forget their petty squabbles and turn on us all and enslave the entire world.”
“So what is stopping her?”
Seltonas scowled. “I don’t understand something. She has the pendant; she has Lancer armour. She has a heritage, you say her father left her money? So, he left her money, a mail shirt, that pendant, instructions to come here, and no sword? Nothing? Makes no sense, Blademaster. Have you ever seen her carry another sword? No? hmmm…. no something is not right. She has got her powers from somewhere other than from just me. There had got to be something else she has.” He thought for a moment. “I need to study dark elf history anew. Something is not right with her. I’ll return tomorrow.”
“Very well, Swordmaster. Let me know of what you find.”
Seltonas left, his stride full of purpose. Territus remained in his seat for a moment then called in the messenger who stood outside at all times. “Fetch Blade here immediately, and ask her to bring everything she brought from her village. Everything, tell her I specifically asked for that. Clear?”
“Master.”
He waited, drumming his fingers on his desk. It wasn’t long before she appeared with her two guards. Her elf sword was in her back scabbard he saw with relief. He first addressed the guards. “You may go. Blade is no longer to be escorted; the restrictions on her are withdrawn. Dismissed.”
“Sir!” the men saluted and left.
“Master?” Faer asked, apprehensive.
“Faerowyn,” he sighed, liking the use of her true name again. “I think the time to go has come.”
“Why, Master?”
“Do you think you can learn anything more here? Seltonas has said you know everything he teaches someone of your grade, and furthermore senses that the sword you use for practice is not the only one you have. He senses that,” Territus pointed at the elf sword. “I worry that if he does find out what it is he may make great efforts to take it. Imagine it – a White Elf possessing one of the five legendary Royal Dark Elf Bloodline Swords. He would be feted as a hero amongst his people. He might even be made a king!”
Faer stood, open-mouthed. “And me a Queen! You’d be surrounded by royalty, Master.”
Territus looked at her for a moment, then chuckled. “A queen calling me Master! I must be honoured. No, seriously, Seltonas is close to discovering everything. You must leave tonight.”
Faer stood silently for a moment, then sighed, her head dropping. “Without saying goodbye to my friends?”
“I’m sorry, Faerowyn, but it has to be.”
“Grange will have to come with me, Master.”
“Why so?”
Faer paused, drew in a deep breath, then spoke. “Because…he is my slave.”
Territus looked at her for a moment in incomprehension, then closed his eyes slowly. “Oh by the gods; you have done it after all. Why?”
She told him of the attempted rape which went wrong for Grange. “I’m sorry, sorry for him, too. Poor man has lost his mind but he’s utterly dedicated to me. He won’t be able to stay here – he’ll be lost, an empty shell.”
Territus covered his eyes. “Anyone else, while you’re at it?”
“No, Master – I don’t want people following me around like sheep. It’s a huge responsibility and I haven’t got the time and resources to have any more. And I’m not comfortable in possessing someone like that.”
“What of your dark elf side?”
“Oh yes, she loves it! I sometimes let her come to the surface, but I’m always careful to control her.”
“You can do that at will?”
Faer nodded. “Seltonas didn’t even know about that. He opened the way and I merely practiced and practiced. I can use my abilities when I want and how much I want. It’s a great burden on me, knowing I can do all these things and not permitting myself. Even with Seltonas’ insults. I could have turned on him at any time.”
“Don’t dismiss him lightly, Faerowyn; he’s lived for ten thousand years and has great powers himself – and he’s better at the blade than you are. In a fight between the two of you he would win easily – except for that in your possession.” He pointed at the sword. “That makes all the difference. I want you to get out of here, and take Grange with you. Before you go, however, there is something I must show you.”
He unlocked his desk and produced a bundle of papers tried with string and passed it to her. Her heart leaped. She’d seen this sort of thing before. She looked up in amazement. Territus nodded. “Jarrodowyn made me promise to pass this to you on your eighteenth birthday or when you left. He was very persuasive,” he smiled in remembrance.
“What was he like, Master? Please, I must know.”
Territus wagged his finger. “You must have formed your own opinion of him by now. How he behaved to me might well be different to how he normally acts, but maybe he’s like it with everyone. Assertive, hard, commanding, humourless. He had what I would call presence, automatically drawing people to him. A born leader, yes, but a typical dark elf? Maybe. Cruel, probably – I could see that in him. Ruthless. Yes. Heartless? Maybe at times, but he changed when talking about you. Oh how he changed. He loved you, absolutely.”
Faer felt tears sting her eyes, and begin to run down her cheeks. “Where-where did he go?”
Territus got up and came round the desk. He took her in his arms and held her close. She clung to him until her tears stopped. She hadn’t cried for long. “Thank you.”
Territus sat back down. “He didn’t say – it was none of my business. He had to try to gather an army, he did say, but where he was going? No idea. He left that for you.”
She untied the string. It was, yet again, in the Dark Elf dialect and she began to read the letter. Faerowyn. You have done well, as I knew you would. I am proud of you, my daughter. By now you would have learned of your heritage. You are a princess, a royal family member, a possible heir to the throne of Keria. If I do seize the throne, you will be my successor, a queen in waiting. Queen of the Dark Elves is an honoured rank; you could in all possibility command legions of soldiers and other Dark Elves to do your bidding.
But you will not be able to do this without help, without substance. I cannot lead you to these people straight away for I do not yet know my own fate. What I can tell you is that there is a list of retainers and followers I brought with me out of Keria and scattered them across the continents of the world. I left them scattered so that our enemies would not be able to find them all. It may well be that many will no longer be alive, but I am certain that some will.
What you will need to do is to locate these people and I have left you their locations and their names in a box back at the same place you came from. I will not say this place name just in case our enemies have found this. You will know the location by standing in front of your home and walking forwards till you get to an obstruction. You will then turn right and count twenty paces. There you will find the hiding place. A key is with this letter and it will open this box.
I know you will succeed. You are my daughter. You are of the royal line of Owyn. I love you, my daughter. Once again please destroy this letter so our enemies cannot find i
t.
Jarrodowyn.
Faer’s hand shook. She looked up. “This must be destroyed, Master.” She took the key which was on a chain and placed it over her head. It was a small metal key.
Territus put a bowl in the desk and she put the letter in it. Faer pointed her finger at it, forced some of her inner power through her hand and a small flame shot out and engulfed the letter. The paper shrivelled and burned.
The Blademaster looked at the half-elf. “You know what you must do now?”
“Yes, Master. I must go, as you rightly said. I shall go fetch Grange and leave. I’m just sad I won’t say goodbye to my friends.”
“I’ll tell them.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Master.” She left, her feet carrying her rapidly to her room. The door was slightly ajar and she edged it open. She stood in shock at the sight of what met her eyes. The room had been smashed to pieces, the furniture broken and piled up in the corners. Lying on the floor lay Grange, his body soaked in his own blood, his sword in his hand. He had died hard, that was clear from the wounds he had. Faer knelt and stroked his hair, telling him she was proud of him and she was sorry.
Then she stood and left. There was only one person who could have done that.
The hall that she knew so well now assumed a menacing air; she nudged the door open and stepped in, gently closing the door. Seltonas sat behind his desk, and by the desk were four figures, men she also recognised. The assassins. Seltonas smiled as Faer came closer, her sword taken out of its sheath and now firmly in her hand.
“Faerowyn of Keria. Queen of the Dark Elves. Welcome, whore-spawn, you have saved me the trouble in looking for you.”
Faer stopped, a few paces from Seltonas. “You killed Grange you bastard. For that you’re going to die.”
Seltonas laughed at her. “You incredibly stupid bitch. Do you really think you have any chance against me? You had to be in control of that mindless zombie, it was so abundantly clear. I said nothing; why spoil your silly belief I didn’t have any idea? The same with that,” he pointed to the sword. “I had hoped it had been left behind when you came running to the Blademaster. By the gods you really fancy that idiot, don’t you? And you’ve got him dancing to your tune, too. Snap your fingers and his tail wags. I’ll deal with him once I take that out of your dead hand.”
“Do you know what this is?” Faer waved the sword.
“A sword,” Seltonas was enjoying himself.
Faer looked surprised. “I had no idea you had a sense of humour. I thought that had been removed at birth.”
“Oh, very funny indeed.” He stood up and waved the four assassins to spread out. “My minions; dedicated of course, but not the same way as your shadow. They shall take enough of you away so I can finish you off at my leisure, then I shall take that sword and make a name for myself in my homeland.”
“You already have a name in your homeland.” She uttered a foul obscenity.
Seltonas’ face turned dark with anger. “Enough pleasantries, let us finish this once and for all. I have really had enough of your ugly face.”
The four men drew their swords and stepped forward. Seltonas remained at the rear, his sword loosely held, watching the developing melee. Faer stepped back, her sword in her right hand, held up before her face; she was slightly crouched, her eyes shifting from side to side. The four stepped forward in unison, intent clear on their faces. This time there would be no darkness and no detecting movement by air.
This was also no practice session; this was a fight to the death.
SEVENTEEN
Coming closer, they started to get in each other’s way. Only two would be able to hit her at once. Faer allowed her body to free her inner powers. Her left hand opened out and she squeezed her stomach muscles. A wall of force struck the two in the middle, knocking them backwards six feet, stumbling, their arms flailing. Spinning quickly she now closed her fingers, sent power flowing through her veins and flames shot out, striking the one closing in on the left. He screamed and span round, beating at the flames.
Immediately Seltonas raised his hand and the flames died. The assassin straightened and looked surprised that he wasn’t being burned. Faer ignored that and turned fast on her heels. The fourth assassin was raising his sword to decapitate her.
The blade came down. Faer’s sword met it high, the force sending her down on her haunches, but she then tightened her limbs and pushed back. Her sword was incredibly light, and easily swung through the air. For every blow from a normal sword, she could do three.
Cut, slash. Two blows impacted on the assassin, one across his middle, the follow-up down from his collar bone to his sternum. She turned and slid sideways, leaving the assassin to sink to the ground in a puddle of his own blood.
The two who had been knocked back now came at her again, separating slightly. Faer went at them, sword whirling. As she deflected the down strike of the one to the right, she shot flames into the face of the one on her left. She didn’t intend killing him at that moment, just to put him off. It wasn’t a huge flame, just enough to momentarily blind him. The other grunted and lifted his sword, as a preparation to chop her in two. Faer slid her blade deep into his stomach, and a feeling of something dreadful shook him. Something evil and foul, that began sucking his very life force from him. Terror gripped him and he opened his mouth to scream but his strength left him and he fell, Faer jerking the blade from his guts.
Spin. Sword raised before her, she blocked the attack of the nearest opponent. The one who had been saved from burning now closed in, his expression grim and determined. No playing; this was kill or be killed. Faer stepped to her left and her sword sang through the air, cutting through the third assassin’s stomach. Another strike took his right arm off at the shoulder. Leaving the dying man to topple over, she faced the last assassin. He came at her, sword striking up and down, left and right. It was a desperate set of blows, hoping to knock her back, but the half-elf wasn’t having any of it.
She was also aware Seltonas was coming closer. He knew his assassins were out-matched and he had to step in now. Faer pushed at him and the assassin took two steps back, his arms splaying out wide in an attempt to keep his balance, and she followed fast, cutting down across his chest and then across his abdomen, sending him to whatever eternal torment awaited him.
“So it’s just you and me,” she said to the elf who stood before her.
“As it always was going to be,” Seltonas replied. “It’ll be an extra feeling of satisfaction disposing of you. That sword is far too good for the likes of you. You dishonour it.”
“Do I detect a feeling of fondness for a Dark Elf creation?” she asked.
“A sword is a thing of beauty, of honour, of status, particularly those elf-forged. Dark Elf or White Elf, it matters not. Possessing one of the five Royal Bloodswords will mean so much to my people.”
“And most likely start yet another war.”
“Probably – but that should be in the hand of someone who knows how to use it, not in the grip of a bumbling amateur.”
“Shut up and defend yourself.”
Seltonas sneered and sent a blast of ice at her, surprising the half-elf. The icicles flew harmlessly past but the shower momentarily blinded her. Seltonas came out of the ice, his sword raised to decapitate her. She flung up her blade and was moving to the right as the blade came down.
The blow shook her but she had blocked it. Seltonas struck again. By the gods he’s fast! she thought, deflecting this one away to her right. Her riposte went in along the line of his arm, seeking to open up his ribcage but her sword was stopped a hand’s width from his body. Cursing she stepped away. She should have known he would have a body shield. How had she dispersed it originally?
She called up her dark half. A sense of power and excitement filled her. Seltonas, his face fixed and determined, came again, a flame wall battering about Faer. She waved her hand from right to left, slashing the fire wall aside and ripping his body shield apart, finger
s curled into talon-like shapes.
“Bitch!” Seltonas growled.
Faer projected blackness before her. An impenetrable darkness surrounded her. Seltonas screamed in fury and cut through the middle of it, holding nothing back. His strike struck thin air. Faer had already moved.
She jumped left and then forward, her sword already beginning its cut. The blackness dissipated and Faer was there right by Seltonas’ right elbow. He flung up his arm to ward her off but she was already inside his reach and slashed hard, ripping through his sleeve and cutting deep into his forearm.
He roared, lashing out in a reflex. He summoned up his diminishing power and sealed, then healed his wound. The blade had left something within his being; a cold, terrible feeling. He had felt his power drain as the blade found his flesh. That whore-spawn!
He shook his head, dispelling the lingering feeling from the blow, and faced the sweat-streaked girl. “I can see you’re getting tired,” he said.
“I’m getting tired of your voice,” she countered. She attacked again. Both were feeling drained, and now it was getting down to the most skilled blade wielder, and both knew that was Seltonas.
Faer was being driven back across the hall, desperately blocking blow after blow, but her arms were tiring. As Seltonas closed in she sent a push at him, sending him staggering back three paces. She regained her impetus and followed, slashing down. He blocked, then kicked out viciously, catching her in the stomach. As she gasped, trying to cope with the pain that shot through her body, he send in a crosscut that went for her neck. She somehow deflected it up but Seltonas had her measure and sent his left fist into her face, sending her head snapping backwards, and she overbalanced and landed on her behind close to the wall.
Seltonas came over slowly, looking down at her. “This is it,” he said ominously. “You’re not the first Dark Elf piece of filth I’ve dispatched, but you’re certainly the most irritating.”