Chapter 20
Fighting Memories
Coral warily crossed the threshold of the cave, sword drawn. He stood a moment, listening to the depths, then calmly sheathed his sword, but remained wary. Although somewhat sheltered on the side of the mountain, there was still enough of a breeze to ruffle his hair. The view he had his back to was quite spectacular. He was near the top of the tallest of a jagged chain of mountains, near the edge of a steep sided valley. On the other side was a similar chain, but with one peak that was slightly higher.
Satisfied at last, Coral turned and looked out over the valley as he tightened the straps on his armor and harness. His eyes lingered on the highest mountain and he broke out into a wry grin. At once he turned and strode deeper into the cave.
As he progressed, it became darker and darker. But just when the darkness threatened to become total it gradually started to become lighter again. Outcroppings of blue crystal sprouted from the walls. They glowed slightly, and as he felt his way along, they were slightly warm to the touch. He didn't know what they were, but they meant he had the right cave.
They grew more and more frequent, until over half the surface of the tunnel was covered in them. He could see the cave open wide ahead, and there was a white ring of crystal around the entrance. Coral slowed down and put his hand out. Once there had been some sort of magical force screen here. To keep away those who were not meant to be here. Most probably the giants of the valley. But nothing blocked his hand, so he continued in.
It was impossible to tell if the chambers within were originally natural, or originally crafted. Certainly the delicate twisting ramps that lead from one level to the next had been added. The blue crystal was everywhere here as well, both growing out of, and into the rock. The furniture was minimal, and hard to tell if purely decorative, or functional. When he finally found the right room, she was as she always was when he found her; standing, staring at nothing in particular.
“Welcome Sir Valkyr,” said Gwendolyn.
Coral bowed deeply, if a little awkwardly. “It is always a pleasure to see you.” He straightened up, wincing. “Would that your doormen were as welcoming.”
“They are useful at keeping away unwanted visitors,” said Gwendolyn, smiling. “Shall you be refreshed?”
“Yes, I think I would like that,” said Coral, looking around for a chair.
Gwendolyn made a slight gesture. Coral felt something like either the wind, or a multitude of little, plucking hands. In seconds his armor had been undone and removed, replaced with a soft garment, and sandals on his feet. All the aches and strains of the long, contested climb vanished and he felt wide awake.
“Well,” he said, fairly startled, “that was... refreshing.”
“Please, be at ease, and tell me why you have come visiting?” said Gwendolyn.
Coral looked for a chair, again, but then decided he didn't feel that he needed one anymore. “The Queen sends her greetings, best wishes, and some information she thinks would be of interest to you,” he said. He felt he garments, but they were all of once piece with no pockets.
Gwendolyn smiled and gestured to a five legged table nearby. The neatly tied scroll lay there. “You must thank the Queen for me,” she began. “It is, indeed, most interesting that Rose has returned her attention to the world. Rose! In times past she was the last of the Elves to form pacts with us.”
“You've read it?” asked Coral.
“No, no,” said Gwendolyn. “Such information is so rare; I would not wish to consume it all at once in haste. I shall savor it. For now I review the memories it brings.”
“Did you know Rose?” asked Coral. “Back then.”
“No,” said Gwendolyn. “None did. Save the Princess, the Queen, her Father, and so on back up the line.” She stood in thought for a while. “But it is more complicated than that. I drew Queen Winifred once, in a tournament, when she was a Princess. Every pace, every turn of her head. Even the way she would stand perfectly still.” Gwendolyn shook her head. “It was all Rose. Her training. Her coaching.”
“What was the difference? Were they just techniques you had never seen before?” asked Coral. “Like fighting someone left handed.”
“No,” said Gwendolyn. “That would just be a different take on what we know. This was... Imagine having to fight someone who built you. Who designed every bone, every sinew, you moved with. Who drafted every thought you might ever think. Who knew exactly how you would react to anything you might do.” Gwendolyn nodded. “She was not as good as that, but the shadow of that was on her.”
Coral contemplated it. “It doesn't sound much of a fair fight.”
“If it had been a fight, it would not have been. But it was a tournament,” said Gwendolyn, less serious. “One could never have a fair fight with your monarch anyway. It was all in how well you deported yourself.”
Coral laughed. He stretched out his arm at the remembered stiffness. “I'm afraid I did not deport myself all that well against your friends, the giants.”
Gwendolyn nodded. “I think you did well enough. You arrived in one piece and I did not feel any of their spirits pass.”
“I tried to avoid any real fighting,” said Coral. “Although I didn't realize you kept track of their Souls.”
“They have spirits, not Souls,” said Gwendolyn. “Only the giants of Norsland had souls.”
“Oh?” said Coral, intrigued. “Why the difference?”
“The local giants are just part of the fauna of the world. Created by the Elves as part of their design. To amuse, challenge or interest us. As with all but the five races, they have spirits not Souls.” She waved her finger at him. “The giants of Norsland were created by Othr and Grigjar after they took godhood over their lands. They saw how Sky Father made much of battling the giants here and reasoned that it took a great enemy to make a great people. So, lacking any local enemy of sufficient mettle, they just took an outlying tribe and enhanced their stature magically,”
“So they were really just twisted humans,” said Coral.
“Exactly,” said Gwendolyn. “No one other than the Elves has ever been able to create a unique living creature that would attract or generate a Soul.”
“Hmmm,” said Coral. “Intriguing, but not really my department.”
“And your department is?” asked Gwendolyn.
“Well, thank you for mentioning it,” said Coral, bowing slightly. She smiled and returned the bow with her eyes. “It is felt that a confrontation with the gods, your old comrades in arms, is immanent.”
“Fractious though they are, enough of them will eventually join to take action,” she confirmed.
“You are the only one I know, the only one anyone knows, who has firsthand knowledge of how they fight. You have fought with them in tournament. You have fought beside them in war. Now,” said Coral, “I know this is our fight, not your fight. I'm not asking you to take up arms with us... Well, actually, I'd love to... but I'm wondering if you have any tips? Advice? Flaws in their combat styles?”
Gwendolyn canted her head to one side. “It has been rather a while. My knowledge is not recent. They forget anything more than a few hundred years old.”
“Well, the gods haven't ridden to battle since the The Black Hole. That's a few thousand years, at least. I don't think they've forgotten how to fight.” He raised his hands. “There must be something for them to fall back on. Instinctual. Like with Queen Winifred and Rose. It's hard to forget your first trainer.”
“I have memories,” said Gwendolyn distantly. “Iowerth favored the tall sword. Same height as him. Very graceful he was with it. You do not fight with a sword of that size, for it will fight back with you. You dance with it. He said that to me.”
Her eyes still distant, Gwendolyn assumed a fighting stance, one foot forward, both hands back holding, two handed, what would have been the haft of a tall sword next to her head. Her eyes focused again, and she dropped her hands.
“I do remember,” she said.
“Possibly enough to be of use. I shall create a pattern of it, extend it to fill in the gaps. Then let that guide my Animus with as close a reproduction to his style as can be.”
“I have this feeling I'm about to get my skinny Elfin butt kicked,” said Coral.
She smiled and laughed, uncharacteristically deep in her throat. “Afraid of learning something?” she said, loudly.
Coral found a sword in his hand, and saw her back in that fighting pose, with a great, tall sword held high. He swallowed hard.
White Mage Page 21