by Robert Day
“A day and a half,” calculated Alric slowly, “taking into account keeping a wide berth on any patrols or sentries. The Haruken are becoming more comfortable underground than I had imagined. It is almost as if something is driving them.”
“Only their hatred drives the Haruken, but I agree they are becoming almost fervent in their attacks of late.” Jaelsen began to move again, forcing the Dwarves and Kyle to follow. “There is still hope, however, and we have never been one to give up without a fight.” This was said softly, whether meant for himself or the others Kyle did not know, but there was a new passion in the Commander's voice that almost made Kyle smile.
Almost. He had vowed he would do all he could to appease for his cowardice, and he would allow himself a smile only when Thorgast was rescued. He was suddenly reminded of the strange image he had seen at the Chamber of Light, and the image stayed with him as he followed Jaelsen silently to meet with Thorgar, King of the Urak’Hai.
Chapter 21
The single sharp command set the line of figures moving like a Drill Sergeant ordering a march. At least that is how Andrak thought of it as the twenty assembled Elves shifted through an array of forms. Twenty trainee Bladesingers, armed with wooden replica weapons and wearing padded leather armor, moved with the grace and perfection of dancers, weapons only seeming to give more poise to their moves. Booted feet scarcely scraped along the polished bamboo floor, while thin white clothing worn under the armor gave a frequent 'whisk...whisk' sound as the student's moves alternated between accentuated actions and sharp flicks and snaps.
In front of the line, moving so the elegant moves of the students looked like the drunken meandering of a sailor, Solantholas, Master of the Blade and Guardian of the Sylvaen, led his fellow Elves in the Dance of Death. That is how Andrak saw it, the precise, intricate movements of the Elves and their weapons.
The working of the forms took many entrancing minutes, criss crossing the floor in all directions, until Solantholas barked another order, this also an Elvin word Andrak did not know, though he guessed it was in the ancient tongue from which the current Elvin dialect had descended. 'Wayatanara'. He repeated it silently, committing it to memory, even as he had the several other commands used to direct the students.
The students shifted, forming up in two lines, paired together, swords facing. Solantholas walked between the two lines, silently searching, watching, while two lines of unblinking Elvin eyes stared from beneath leather skullcaps. He passed the first pair, and as he did, barked another command Andrak had already heard and guessed stood for 'action'. The two lines moved together to the clacking of weapons, one pass one strike or parry, then the step away, fluid and silent save for the echo of striking wood. Solantholas emerged unscathed; his pace unfaltering as he passed the second pair, and the command came again.
'“Hai'war'!”
“They are coming along well, since last I saw them.”
“Hmm?” Andrak was plucked from the awed spectacle and turned to Janantar, who had spoken. “Yeah, they are amazing.” It took him a moment to recount what he had heard and answer, something he had always done since childhood. People thought he might be deaf on occasion, but it allowed him the extra moment of thought necessary to formulate a thoughtful response, rather than an ill-conceived reply.
Janantar gave an unconvinced shrug of the shoulders and a wry grin. “They come along well. They are only fifth year students, however.” Such a statement made Andrak realize the difference between Elves and the other races. For him, five years of study would be enough to see somebody among the city guard or a member of a garrison in one of his father's cities, but here, these Elves were looked upon as little more than students.
“They look pretty good to me.” It was truth, for these were the most advanced students he had been lucky enough to watch in the two days since his arrival.
“It would be best if they did not look so good, and fought better.” Andrak had come to realize Elf humor was not what he was used to, and would have suspected Janantar had made some joke if not for the Elf's worried expression. It was not hard to guess the source of the worry, also. The Scouting party that had left to examine the 'Glade' had not returned yet, and the implications should they not return soon were such that the Elves would instantly go to a state of war like readiness.
Solantholas had made it to the end of the line, unscathed and without slowing, where he turned and retraced his steps, this time a little faster, forcing the pairs to increase their pace, though they seemed to accommodate the shift with practiced ease. Andrak knew they were only warming up.
“Don't let my brother get you down, Andrak. He is just sour at not being allowed to be with them.” He had all but forgotten about Janantar's beautiful sister at his other side, not because he did not like her, but instead because he did not want her to realize how infatuated with her he had become. For the past two days he had walked and talked with her when not with Janantar. He turned to flash her a grin and chuckled with her as Janantar scowled, though he felt his knees would buckle at the sight of her cat like emerald eyes and statue perfect features flanked by golden hair.
He was amazed Janantar was even up and mobile, considering his life threatening ordeal. From what Ashaella had told him, the taint of the cursed weapon the Shadowspawn had wounded Janantar with, was amongst the deadliest wounds imaginable. Naturally resistant to such taints and disease like effects, the shallow wound came to within a hairs breadth of killing Janantar.
“You cannot speak, my sister. You have barely been tolerable since Father decided you were not to be among the five Druids joining the Wish'kara. I could almost think you have been eating bad grapes if I did not know you as I do.”
That ceased Andrak’s chuckling and conjured some of his own, though the smirk had not left Ashaella's beautifully pouting lips. Andrak wondered how much more enjoyable it could have been if Janantar was correct. From what he had witnessed, Ashaella had shown no indication of any disapproval at her having to remain behind. It took him only a moment before he realized it was more Elvin humor, though it had sounded more like light hearted taunting to him.
Elvin ways are strange, but perhaps I will come to understand them one day!
Turning back to Solantholas and the students, Andrak found they were now formed up in a small square, five per side with Solantholas standing at the far end. Kneeling, each student had their weapon resting at their sides, leaning forward at the waist with palms pressed to the floor, head erect with eyes closed. Janantar had explained this strange ritual as being the quest for 'kenja'. Kenja turned out not to be an invisible person or spirit, as Andrak had instantly imagined, but a calm state of mind and body. 'Kenja' meant 'oneness' in the ancient tongue, or so Janantar had told him.
“You have eaten what I have eaten these past two days, my brother.” This brought a stifled laugh from Andrak. Wondering if he was beginning to come to terms with this strange idea of humor, he found himself smiling even more at Janantar's pained expression.
“My sweet Ashaella, how can you make fun of your poor brother so? At deaths door I lay, and you called me from it just to taunt me?” This only seemed to spur Ashaella to more laughter, and Andrak did not join in, though he knew the hurt on Janantar's face was forced. The gleam in his eyes showed he was already thinking of some other quip to get back at her.
“Ashaellarinar! Wayatanara!” Ashaella's laughter cut off so sharply as she gave a start and turned at the command, that Janantar chuckled softly, causing her blush to deepen. Andrak realized Solantholas had called her, ordering her as he had the students earlier.
“Ko nadara nar sikara sa'wai.” Ashaella's flush shifted to respectful calmness as she addressed her king.
“Karanaella, Sikar!” barked the Elvin leader. One of the kneeling students, a slender female with woven braids of dark hair hanging from beneath her leather skullcap, shifted to grasp her weapon and slide it into the square before returning to stillness, though Andrak saw all eyes were open and
waiting.
The brief silence let Andrak catch up with the byplay of words, and he realized Solantholas had ordered Ashaella into the square, and when she explained that she had no weapon, Solantholas had asked another of the students to give up her weapon. Andrak did not know what to expect, and was surprised when Ashaella shot Janantar a wry grin and strode towards the square. The look she had directed to her brother seemed to accuse him of being responsible for this, somehow.
“What is happening? Is she being punished for something?” This thought made Andrak's hackles rise suddenly as he wondered if he were the cause of something she was being punished for, because of his ignorance. Ashaella had entered the square and picked up the wooden weapon, a straight, slender replica of the single-edged blade commonly worn by the Elves of the city. As she did, Solantholas called out two names, and two students, a young male and a female, rose to flank her, weapons at the ready.
“How is she expected to fight them?” Not realizing his voice had become worried, and hoping Janantar hadn’t noticed, he turned to the Elf for answers, though his eyes returned quickly to Ashaella, who, if surprised and afraid of the sudden turn of events, did not show it.
“Just watch, Andrak.” Surely Janantar would have sounded at least a little concerned if his sister was being unduly punished for something, but the Elf sounded more jovial than worried, so Andrak forced himself to calmness and waited in tense anticipation.
Seeing Ashaella was more calm than he, and trying to convince himself she could not be brother to a Bladesinger and not know a little about how to defend herself, Andrak never the less readied himself to rush to her aid, though he knew he would not have any excuse for his protective action.
The previous day's class had been filled with first and second year students, novices in the critical art of the Bladesong, yet even the sparring he had seen was even more fantastic than the working of the forms, but as the two students flanking Ashaella converged without warning, weapons flashing, Andrak realized after his moment of breath stopping anxiety, that not only need he not have worried, but what he had seen previously paled against the skill of these three.
Flowing between the two, Ashaella twisted while parrying a slashing cut from the male student, while her twisting spin carried her to the side of the woman's rising thrust. The two attacks were performed with both speed and power, and even had she been wearing their leather padding, Ashaella would still have been hurt badly.
Spinning again, this time faster, Ashaella raised an arcing kick at the man's head, which he evaded easily yet by the barest space before flowing back like a wave on the ocean, sword darting forward in a double handed thrust. Ashaella's rapier like weapon met the replica Al'katar, forcing it and the man off to the side with the softest of flicks. Her sword did not stop there, rising in what seemed a precursor to a killing blow, but it continued as her arms bent and slid along her unprotected back in time to clash with the woman's replica sword that would have sliced horizontally across her back.
Not knowing whether to gape or cringe, Andrak knew Ashaella was in trouble, caught between the two, but Ashaella did not seem to mind, aiming a snap kick at the man's stomach. Arms still wide from the parried thrust, the man loosed a hand from his weapon to block, locking his arm to meet the kick, but Ashaella's second kick caught him in the chest even as his sword met hers, scant inches from her stomach. He fell away from the force of the blow, rolling to his feet, but Ashaella was forced to turn back to the woman, the closest threat.
A flurry of cuts, kicks and parries at close range concluded with Ashaella spinning away from the other woman who retreated several steps, weapon lowered in obvious defeat, though Andrak had not seen any blow land against her.
The male elf proved to be a more cunning foe, remaining more apart as he closed on Ashaella, to use his reach and height effectively. Their sparring spiraled around the square, only heartbeats long but containing more moves than Andrak could follow. It ended as the man landed heavily on his back, tripped after attempting a kick too close, and he accepted defeat as Ashaella laid her sword across his throat momentarily before rising.
“Incredible!” breathed Andrak, turning like a child towards Janantar, who was softly applauding, though his smile was still twisted as if he knew some joke and would not share it. “I did not expect her to be as skilled “
A sudden clacking of wooden weapons snatched his gaze back to Ashaella, only to find her locked in melee with none other than Solantholas. The Elf King looked merciless in his attack, though calculated and composed, giving no ground as his great weapon spun and twisted, forcing Ashaella back, though not through strength alone. It was retreat or defeat for Ashaella, because here she fought an opponent obviously more skilled than she. Still, she did not seemed concerned, and worked for any opportunity, but eventually, she accepted defeat after a flurry of blows from Solantholas, all except the first and last Andrak had barely been able to follow.
After a few soft words, Solantholas gave Ashaella a thankful smile that dismissed her, but as she tossed her weapon back to the student who had given it up, her face showed displeasure at the outcome of the fight. Andrak saw no shame in what had transpired; even he had enough sense to see Solantholas was a Warrior of unsurpassed skill.
Even Janantar gave her a soft clap, a slightly mocking feel dampened by Andrak's newfound grasp on Elf humor, and he smiled and gave a soft chuckle as Ashaella aimed a soft kick at him, intentionally pulled short.
“She still thinks to one day match him,” whispered Janantar to Andrak, though easily loud enough for his sister to hear, and by his testing glances past him towards her, he was hoping for some response, though it did not come. “Only one warrior has ever been able to match Solantholas, his half brother Llewellyn, and then only a handful of times.”
Andrak gasped. “Half brother?” He knew Llewellyn had been originally from Lloreander, but the one time Court Bard and Innkeeper had never mentioned his nobility. “Was Solantholas bitter?”
Janantar's eyes opened in shock, but he smiled at Andrak's nervous look towards the Elf King, just to make sure his question had not been overheard. “Absolutely not. The two were inseparable since their youth.” Janantar's face did darken then, however. “The trouble began, not surprisingly, when both fell in love with the same woman.” This did bring an arched look from Ashaella, who had turned from straightening her clothes and wiping a thin sheen of sweat from her pearl smooth skin.
“The Queen?”
Janantar nodded ruefully. “It is a tale of woe, and although Llewellyn left on bad terms, the bitterness has long since faded. Llewellyn was not so naive as to think he could make Mayeserana love him, when her heart yearned for Solantholas.”
So that is why Kalandar had greeted him with a stony silence at the mention of Llewellyn's name on the day Andrak had arrived. He began to mention this to Janantar, to see what link there was, but Solantholas' sharp command interrupted him again.
“Janantar!”
If Janantar was surprised at his summons, Ashaella was more so, but only momentarily before a pleased grin lit up her face. Obviously she was thinking it was now her turn to see him embarrassed.
Looking from Solantholas to his sister, Janantar gave a resigned sigh and straightened with mock stiffness. “As my sister and healer, you should know this will only impede my recovery.” The even wider smile that greeted him made it known she was well aware of what he was capable of. With another sign and a wry grin to Andrak, Janantar strode slowly into the circle.
“He cannot be recovered yet, can he?” asked Andrak, concerned for the pale Elf's health. The sickness he was recovering from had all but killed him, and any form of strenuous activity could not be healthy until he recovered fully.
“He is fine!” Luckily for him, Ashaella was watching Janantar, or she may have noticed how closely he was watching her, admiring her, and with a start he tore his gaze from her, back to Janantar.
“Though maybe a little stiff and sore.” This
was said with obvious delight, and Andrak guessed Ashaella wanted to see her brother lose every bit as easily as she had, though she showed no other signs of jealousy or resentment. Obviously such mirthful rivalries were common between the two.
Janantar soon stood as his sister had, unarmored but clutching two wooden weapons, four-foot long Al'katar replicas. Four students were called to surround him by Solantholas, who stood apart as he had before.
“Hai'war!”
If Janantar was suffering any ill effects of his recent illness, it was not evident, at least to Andrak, as the four students closed on him. Fast and smooth, but straight out of the Bladesong manual, it seemed Janantar's response was both practiced and methodic.
Spinning to face two of the four students, Janantar's left weapon chopped at a low thrust while his right weapon arced to catch and push a darting chop from the right student. His weapon continued as if not slowed at all, continuing with the spin to catch the student on the left in the side of the head. He fell as if drunk, and if he was still conscious, he did not move.
To the side, Andrak's shock at the explosive start of the display passed quickly as he saw the first Elf drop, even as Solantholas' command seemed to linger, but the other two students were closing quickly, and to all appearances, Janantar would be overrun. Instead, Janantar reversed the sweep of his swords, the right blade angled high as it came around, to all intents looking to parry a second chop from the student, and as the student braced for the contact, his sword met nothing as Janantar stepped to the side, turning so the weapon missed him by no more than a hair. His right weapon spun in his hand until it was reversed, point low, and his left Al'katar rose to connect solidly with the off balanced student's side, a blow that would have killed him also had the weapons been real steel.
Yet even as this occurred, the third and fourth students were into their attacks. The third, at Janantar's rear, was aiming a crushing blow at Janantar's unprotected head while the fourth rushed forward with sword low, looking for a thrust.