Shar’ran nodded his understanding. A wide grin fell across his face. “We may have to hold a challenge.”
X’all stared across the pool at the two. Kayla and Grit were nearly inseparable. Once she had made her intentions clear, the wool-headed wizard from the Keep had made sure that the other girls in the village knew that he was taken. Tie-lee pouted and tried her best to come between them, but when Kayla pulled a blade on her, she had reluctantly given up the challenge.
Of course, it had taken Kayla a long time to make this known. She had been stubborn and clung to the elf ways. During those weeks, X’all had witnessed more than a dozen elf girls make their way to Grit’s room and leave early in the morning with smug expression of conquest and gratifications spread across their faces. Grit’s reputation had spread throughout the valley causing young girls to blush and dream, and boys and men alike to use his name in vain.
“What if Grit were to win the competition?”
Shar’ran thought for a second and his face went serious. “I would consider raising him to Tala’fein.”
X’all’s head snapped around, but he didn’t say a word.
Shar’ran nodded to himself. “It would be the right thing to do. He has earned it, and my daughter would then be able to wed. Besides, I tire of leading.”
“Do you think that the spirit would accept him?”
“I believe the sprit already has and that it is us who are slow to accept.”
X’all grunted. Shar’ran may be right.
Shar’ran turned to X’all. “It is your job to prepare him for the challenge.”
“How much time do I have?”
Shar’ran shrugged. “A week.”
X’all snorted. “A week? That is an impossible task!”
“I have received a message from Toulereau. We don’t have the luxury of waiting any longer,” Shar’ran said. “His castle has fallen to a dark enemy.”
X’all paled. “I will start right after the morning meal.”
“That would be wise!” said Shar’ran, just before he swam across the pool to talk to three members of the council who had joined the baths.
After the morning bath and breakfast X’all pulled Grit to the side.
“We need to talk.”
X’all sat down and the ground adjacent to their practice area and motioned Grit to join him. Grit sat down and patiently waited for X’all to explain whatever it was that he needed to know.
X’all tried to think of a way to explain what was going to happen, but the words escaped him, so he just said it flat out. “There is going to be a contest and Shar’ran assigned me to train you.”
Grit’s eyes lit up. “Contest? What kind of contest?”
“It is an elf warrior contest to become Tala’fein.”
“Tala’fein? What is that?”
X’all thought a long time on how to answer before he replied. “It is a sacred elf sacrament. The spirit of our ancestor, Aaron, is said to fill the winner and make him into a powerful warrior, a leader of men.”
“Are you ta...whatever it was you said, Tala’fein?”
A sad look spread across X’all’s face. “No, but Shar’ran is. That is a big part of why he is our leader.”
X’all had twisted the truth a bit, but he didn’t wish to scare Grit. The actual facts of the situation were that leading the elves was part of becoming Tala’fein. If Grit won, he would, by default, become their leader. X’all swallowed hard. The notion didn’t sit well with him. Not that he didn’t think that Grit would be worthy of the title, but because Grit knew little of their ways and history. Being a leader wasn’t just about leading battles. Elf politics was subtle and cutthroat. He wasn’t sure if Grit had the stomach for it.
Grit nodded. “Who is this spirit Aaron?”
“Aaron was the first elf warrior to master magic. When he got very old, it is said that he turned into the wind and birds and that his spirit guides us.”
“How does one get this spirit?”
“There is a ceremony and prayers. Shar’ran will conduct it with the council. If the winner is worthy, he will be filled with the spirit. All will know—it can’t be faked.”
“Who was the last warrior to be raised Tala’fein?”
X’all’s face drew tight. “Shar’ran is the only that has ever been Tala’fein in my lifetime.”
Grit let that sink in for a while. “And he wants you to train me? Why?”
“Because he thinks you are worthy!” X’all jokingly groaned, and then he poked Grit in the ribs. “But we know better, eh!”
Grit shoved his had away and chuckled.
“No,” Grit said. “I mean why are you to train me and not him?”
X’all had hoped to avoid the question, but he could only avoid it for so long. “Because I have competed.”
Grit seemed to be satisfied with the answer. He picked up a blade of grass and placed it in his mouth while he thought. “Are there others he feels are worthy?”
X’all shrugged. “If he does, he does not reveal to me who they are.”
“Will Shar’ran be training me too?”
X’all nodded. “He has said that he would. The time will come when it is only he who can train you. I am not privy to all the knowledge needed to win the challenge and become Tala’fein.”
Grit stood up and paced the small clearing.
“When is this contest to be held?”
“A week from now.”
Grit stopped pacing and stood in front of X’all with his mouth wide open. “A week? How am I supposed to get trained in just a week?”
X’all’s voice got very quiet. “I do not know, but Shar’ran says you will either know how to win, or you will not.”
Grit’s head cocked to the side. “Isn’t that a bit cryptic?”
“It is what he spoke,” said X’all, looking away and shrugging.
“How many people will be in the contest?”
X’all shrugged. “Ten, maybe as many as twenty. I do not know. They will come from all the elf clans. It is a high honor to be selected. Many have waited and trained a lifetime for this moment.”
“Do I stand a chance?”
X’all searched Grit’s eyes, “Shar’ran thinks you do.”
“Do you?”
X’all was silent.
Grit stared at him. “Well, do you?”
X’all sighed. “It is…possible.”
Grit picked up a rock and threw it out across the lake and watched as it skipped before sinking. “Does somebody always win?”
“They do, but they have not been deemed worthy by the spirit of Aaron.”
“What is the contest all about?”
“…Survival.”
By the end of the day, Grit’s head was spinning with all the information that X’all had given him. He knew that the valley where they tested was rigged with traps, that he would enter wearing only a bakree, that he would have a knife and that the contestants were not allowed to kill each other. But…
Deaths sometimes happen to those who push too hard, or miss the traps. The idea is to out-fight, and out think the other contestants. The contestants are observed from the rim of the canyon by watchers and the council members who walk to the valley floor. Contestants cannot work in pairs or form alliances. Doing so meets with swift punishment and banishment from the contest and all future contests.
Grit had been so busy over his months visit learning how to walk, fight and use his magic, he had not spent any time learning the elf ways. X’all had spent the better part of the day teaching him how to hide, track and hide his tracks. Grit was told to expect a visit from Shar’ran this evening.
Grit wasn’t very talkative at dinner. He was in a reflective mood. He ran through the days lessons in his head, visualizing each until he was clear what their purpose was and how to apply them. Kayla caught him waving his hands as he tried to walk his way through one of the exercises.
“Is something wrong?” Kayla asked, taking a sip of elven wi
ne.
“No, I’m just preoccupied with my new training.”
“New training?”
Grit nodded. “Your father has X’all preparing me for some contest amongst the elves.”
Kayla’s eyes narrowed. “Do you remember the name of the contest?”
Grit shook his head. “I can’t remember the name, but the winner is supposed to be filled with the spirit of one of your ancestors, an elf named Aaron. I guess he was a famous warrior a long time ago.”
Kayla couldn’t contain her surprise. “The contest for Tala’fein?”
Grit nodded and smiled. “Yes, that is the one. I only have a week to prepare. I’m a little stressed.”
Kayla knew about the contest and what it was for. She had heard her father and X’all discussing Grit and his progress over the past two weeks and knew he was routinely besting X’all with both sword and staff. It felt somewhat frightening to hear her father use the words ‘war-wizard’ in reference to Grit. Kayla knew that her father was the last elf war-wizard. She knew what that meant, she just didn’t see Grit that way. Of course if Grit did become Tala’fein, she would be able to marry him. Otherwise, she would have to leave the clan to do so.
“I’m sure you will do fine,” she stoically said, lying. She had heard horror stories of elves that were gravely injured in competition. Her stomach sank, and suddenly she was no longer hungry.
“I hope I don’t embarrass myself. The other elf warriors are just looking for another excuse to torture me and give me a sound whipping…”
Kayla flashed a thin-lipped smile. “I’m sure you will be prepared. You have the best teacher.”
Grit reached across the table and grabbed another small quail. It was roasted to perfection and covered with a sauce made of honey and berries. He placed it in the center of his plate and contemplated how to eat it. The others used their knives and forks, but to him, it seemed like they were missing out on most of the meat. He grabbed it in his fingers and tore off a leg.
Grit nodded. “Apparently, your father has agreed to teach me too. I’m supposed to meet him after dinner.”
Kayla’s face couldn’t hide her surprise.
“What?” Grit asked, seeing her expression.
“Nothing,” she said. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. Father hasn’t trained anyone else in the village that I know of. X’all was the last, and that was many centuries ago.”
“X’all told me he wasn’t Tala’fein.”
Kayla shook her head and lowered it while speaking quietly, not wanting to be overheard and bringing shame to X’all. “He won the trials twice, but the spirit wouldn’t descend upon him. We have not had a contest since his last win almost five-hundred years ago. Don’t tell him I told you.”
“I won’t.” Grit promised, but deep inside, he wondered why X’all hadn’t mentioned it. It seemed curious to him that a warrior could win the contest once, let alone twice and still not have his spirit accepted by the elders. Grit wondered why. Did X’all hold some dark secret, possibly a character shortcoming? What could it possibly be such that his own ancestors rejected him? If so, what possible chance did he have to win? By all accounts, Grit figured he should just aim for surviving. That would be his goal.
The fact that X’all won the contest twice made him feel better, because he knew he could beat him in mock battle. Grit became preoccupied with wondering why he had not been deemed worthy by the spirit of their ancestors. He hoped that X’all could train him well enough in such a short time. It seemed that everyone had more confidence in him than he did.
That evening, he met Shar’ran in the small hut off the clearing where he had first used magic. Shar’ran entered the small hut and took a seat across from Grit.
“How is your training coming along? X’all has high praises for you.”
“I’m making progress, I guess. I just wish I had more time to prepare.”
“I see,” said Shar’ran. “I do not think that you need more practice. I think you just need some confidence and a couple spells to help you along.”
“I hope you are right!”
“This contest isn’t about being the fiercest of warriors. It is about survival, knowing when to fight, and when to hide. It is about seeing motives and then using those to your advantage. It is also about seeing traps and avoiding them.”
Grit listened. “But others have trained their entire lives for this.”
“That is true, but one must take into consideration one’s core, and at your core I believe you are a war-wizard.”
Shar’ran placed the small whisper box on the table. “Do you remember this?”
Grit smiled, remembering the first time he used magic and didn’t hear the Zylliac talk. “Good, I see you remember. Well, tonight I’m going to teach you new magic, but it will not be as you expect.”
Grit raised a brow.
“The most powerful magic is surprise. Any mage can blast his way into battle. The cunning ones find a way to outwit and surprise their opponents. If they can’t see your plan, they can’t defend against it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Grit said, “I think I do.”
“Good. Now let’s get started. The first spell is one that allows you to throw your voice and sounds.”
By the end of the evening, Grit’s head hurt. Shar’ran had taught him several spells. They were deceptively simple. The hard part of the evening was when Shar’ran had taught him how to send out feelers and made him practice what was real and what was imaginary. At first he was always wrong, but by the end of the evening, he was correct more often than wrong. Shar’ran promised him that he would be back to practice with him every night of the week.
Over the next few days, Shar’ran had kept his promise. Grit continued his studies with X’all by day and then practiced the magic by night. X’all had made him work with the bow, his least favorite weapon. He was getting better at using his knife and staff to defend against the bow. His reflexes were improving and his ability to call on his spells at will bolstered his confidence.
In the village, there were new faces as elves from the surrounding clans arrived. The warriors often adorned themselves with brightly colored clothes, headbands and precious metals. More than one was surprised that a human was among their midst. He suspected that they knew he was to compete, but none spent any time checking him out to see if he were a worthy opponent.
Grit studied them carefully, as Shar’ran instructed. He watched the way they moved, the way they walked, and how they showed off to each other. He began to hear their gate as they ran. Inside his head, he could picture the way they moved.
On the third day he heard a voice in his head. A forceful whisper. “Watch the one in yellow. He is good with his knife.”
The voice went quiet.
Grit turned to see the thin elf tossing his knife and using it to whittle. He saw Grit staring at him and nodded curtly and continued with his work.
“See his leg…”
Grit looked down and saw that it was shorter than the other and his foot was turned out.
As he walked across the village on his way to morning exercises, he studied and the voice talked to him. Today’s exercise was with the staff. Shar’ran led the start of the movements, but when he got to the end, he called Grit to the front and asked him to lead.
There were murmurs from the crowd until Grit took the staff. The voice in his head called out the movements and Grit spun as fast as he could, trying to keep up with the movements; jab, forward lunge, Bao’s ankle-sweep, Mi’s retreat, Ja’s block, Ta’rule’s roll, Top’s twirl, axe chop. One movement followed after another so rapidly, his staff was but a blur. When he stopped and looked out across the group, he saw that only two were moving and that the other’s faces were blank and their jaws slack.
Shar’ran walked to his side wiping the sweat from his brow and patted him on the back. “That should keep them talking the rest of the week. You did a fine job.”
Kayla met him half-wa
y to the baths, sweat dripping from her hair. “What was that?”
Grit looked at her, “What was what?”
“The movements you did with the staff. Only X’all and Shar’ran could keep up and they were struggling. I have never seen someone use the staff the way you did!”
Grit shrugged. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”
Kayla’s eyes rolled. “Are you kidding me?”
Grit shook his head. “No, I was just trying to keep up with the voice in my head.”
“What voice.”
Grit frowned. “This whole week I’ve been hearing this voice in my head telling me what to study, how to move and what to do.”
“What else does the voice say?”
Grit shrugged and they reached the pool. “It doesn’t say much of anything else. Every word has been about my lessons and the contest.”
Grit removed his bakree and slid into the piping hot water.
Kayla did the same and followed him across the pool toward the waterfall. They talked for well over an hour until he became lightheaded from the heat.
That evening at dinner, Kayla sat with her father. Midway through the meal, she leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Father, I’m concerned about Grit.”
Shar’ran smiled. “I wouldn’t worry about him. I think he will do just fine in the competition. He is quite good!”
“No, not that…he hears voices in his head that tell him how to fight and move. I think the stress is causing him harm.”
Shar’ran’s eyes went wide and he fought hard to contain his grin.
“Do these voices of his have names?”
Kayla shook her head. “Not that he’s mentioned…”
“Well, they seem to be giving him sound advice.” Shar’ran said, taking another bite of roasted duck.
“You aren’t taking me seriously…” Kayla pouted.
Shar’ran patted her on the back and stroked her hair. “Oh, contraire my daughter. I just think he may be talking to the elders.”
Kayla’s eyes narrowed. “But that would mean…”
The Legacy of the Ten: Book 03 - Darkhalla Page 35