The Legacy of the Ten: Book 03 - Darkhalla

by Scott D. Muller

  Grit moved his blade back and forth in front of himself, looking for an opening. Grit lunged and the elf stumbled back. Grit tried to take advantage, but the crafty elf had only faked his stumble and had already balanced himself and countered. Grit felt the blade slice along his leg and looked down to see a thin ribbon of blood forming at the sharp cut.

  “First blood!’ the elf called out.

  Grit grimaced and chanted a quick spell to stem the flow.

  “Ah, you have magic!” the elf said, frowning. “Isn’t that cheating a bit?

  Grit shrugged. One does what one can…”

  “I like you, Grit!’ said the elf. “After I win this, I think we will become good friends.”

  “What? You aren’t going to kill me?”

  “Why would I? I can win without killing you. If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be a very worthy elf, now would I?”

  Grit smiled. “I mean you don’t hate me because I am human?”

  The elf smiled. “No, my mother was human.”

  The elf dove for Grit as he finished the sentence. Grit blocked his blade and within seconds the two were flashing blades and taking swipes at each other, each countering the other. The sound of steel on steel rang out. They both danced the Dance of Spin, their blades were a blur. The watchers looked on with approval, amazed at the display of dexterity and craft.

  They stepped back and caught their breath.

  “You do very well,” the elf said, “but you have limitations; you fight like X’all.”

  “You have met X’all?”

  “X’all has bested me twice,” the elf said. “I have beat him once. We will have to see how well he has taught you.”

  The two stepped toward each other and their blades flashed in a blur and the two engaged each other once more. After several seconds, they both stepped back again. Each had ribbons of blood across their middles sections and down their arms.

  Grit quickly healed himself—as did the elf. “You have magic?” Grit stammered.

  The elf laughed. “What? You think that you are the only person to have command of the arts?”

  “N..No,” Grit stammered. “I just didn’t expect it, that was all.”

  “Ah, you have underestimated your opponent.”

  By now, several more watchers had gathered and a group of ten were watching the knife play, giving the men plenty of room to battle.

  They began their attack anew. The blades flashed and Grit saw a very small opening, dropped to the ground and ran his blade across the back of Val’aer’s hand, causing his grip on his blade to weaken. Before Grit could counter, Val’aer had picked transferred the larger blade to his other hand and was already to defend.

  “I guess I will need to fight with my left-hand,” Val’aer mumbled, placing the smaller in his mouth while he cast his spell to heal the skin.

  The next round of blades caught Grit across his arm. Grit grabbed at his arm as it started to bleed and felt his hand go numb. The wound was deep. Grit chanted, but knew that the best he could do was to heal over the skin, the damage below would take several weeks to heal. Grit switched hands and now faced Val’aer as a right-handed fighter...

  “I see the gods have a sense of humor,” Val’aer laughed.

  “I’m not sure the gods are involved at all,” Grit grumbled.

  Val’aer attacked. His blade narrowly missing Grit face as Grit leaned over backwards, feeling the blade cut the air in front of his nose. Val’aer lunged several times in quick succession. The third lunge found flesh and a thin stream of blood slid along Grits cheek. Grit stumbled backwards and Val’aer followed. Grit caught his foot on some loose dirt and flung it into the face of Val’aer, who instinctively closed his eyes and raised his hand.

  Grit rushed in and pressed his blade to the elf’s stomach, while holding his blade arm up.

  “I..I surrender,” Val’aer said.

  Grit removed his blade. “Good! I would hate to have to injure you.”

  Val’aer’s shoulders slumped. “Ah, well…beaten again.”

  Grit collapsed on the ground, rubbing his injured arm. “It was a worthy fight!”

  Val’aer smiled. “It was worthy. I didn’t expect that last move. Very clever!”

  The watchers moved in and clapped the two on their backs. “Never witnessed such a battle. Unbelievable!”

  “Wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself!”

  The girl watcher came up to Grit. “I was hoping you would win.”

  The watchers pulled out dried meats and goats skins filled with wine and the two competitors ate while the old elf healed their wounds.

  “I don’t suppose I can convince you to go best of three?” Val’aer said.

  Grit punched him in the arm and they both had a good laugh.

  “Now what?” Grit asked.

  “Now we head back to the village and celebrate. You are the victor!’ the older female elf said.

  Val’aer grinned. “The young elf girls will fight over us…”

  Grit’s face turned a little pale. “I’m pretty sure that Kayla will have none of that…”

  “Kayla? Shar’ran’s daughter?”

  Grit nodded. “The same. I guess we are kind of…courting.”

  “Ah, well then…congratulations are due! And you know what that means?”

  Grit shook his head side-to-side.

  Val’aer slapped him hard on the back. “More for me!”

  Grit rolled his eyes and pushed Val’aer over to the ground. The two started wrestling and laughing.

  “Men!” the young elf girl Gwyn groaned, rolling her eyes.

  When Grit and Val’aer entered the city, people lined the streets and shouted at them, calling them victors and heroes. They both smiled widely and waved at the crowds. X’all ran up to Grit and grabbed him with both arms and stared into his face before giving him a warm embrace. He whispered into his ear, “I hope the spirit of Aaron is accepting of you.”

  Grit nodded as he hugged the small elf. He pulled back and saw tears in the old man’s eyes. They were tears of pride.

  Grit saw Kayla and Shar’ran standing on the steps of the council chambers. Kayla was crying and had her hands over her mouth. Shar’ran had one arm around her and was motioning him forward with the other.

  Grit climbed the steps and Kayla ran down to meet him, throwing her arms around his neck and wrapping her legs tight around his waist. Kayla kissed him warmly and buried her head in his neck.

  “I thought I had lost you,” she sobbed. “I heard about the traitors and their lecherous attack.”

  “I am well. I was lucky that one of the watchers saw the attack and helped me fight back.”

  Shar’ran waited patiently for Kayla to finish with Grit. When he finally got his chance, he shook his hand and pulled him in for an embrace. “I have talked to Aaron. He is pleased. He has said that he has been guiding you for weeks.”

  The look on Grit’s face was priceless.

  “You didn’t think that the voice in your head was just a random someone did you?” Shar’ran asked.

  “I…I…I don’t know what to think.”

  Shar’ran burst into laughter and slapped Grit hard on his back. “You’ll be glad to know that Aaron thinks you are worthy.”

  Grit nodded numbly trying to understand what had just transpired. He followed Shar’ran into the council room and they sat while the others paraded in and offered their congratulations.

  Next, drinks and food was brought in on large platters. Grit’s stomach growled. It had been a long time since he had eaten a proper meal. He could barely contain himself while Shar’ran gave a speech. When he finally dug in, Kayla had to set a hand on his and tell him to slow down. The feast was to last all night. The elven wine flowed like water and soon Grit’s head was spinning.

  The young maidens entered the room dressed in silks so sheer that every curve of their perfect bodies could be seen as they danced. Their hips thrust in time to the music and they arched the
ir backs and twirled with abandon. Grit looked over at Val’aer and saw the smile on his face. He looked at Grit and winked. Grit knew exactly what he was thinking. Kayla caught the glance and smile and gave Grit a good-natured poke in his ribs.

  Grit leaned over and whispered into her ear. “You have an obligation to pleasure me tonight, or I may be tempted to bed one of the dancers. If I recall correctly, Tia-lee enjoys my company. And the blonde elf over on the other side enjoys using her tongue in many creative ways.”

  Kayla’s face turned to a frown and she poked him hard in the ribs.

  “Ouch!” Grit complained seriously, right before he broke into laughter.

  After hours of eating, dancing and celebrations, Shar’ran quieted the crowd and led Grit into the center of the room.

  “Grit is the first human to be offered the chance to become Tala’fein,” Shar’ran said. “I wish him luck in the lodge!”

  “The lodge,” came a toast from the room.

  Shar’ran presented Grit with a set of twin scimitars and a staff of elfwood. The staff had bands of elvenelle embedded and sunstones embedded in each end, which could be used to create piercing blasts.

  “Grit is the first to receive a staff such as this in over a millennium,” Shar’ran proudly shouted. “We will see if he gets to keep it!”

  Shar’ran grabbed a goblet off a tray that Tia-lee carried and offered it to Grit. “Here, drink! This will help guide the spirits to you while you meditate in the lodge.”

  Grit gulped down the bitter drink, choking to keep it down.

  “What is this? It’s horrible!”

  “The drink is of herbs and mushrooms. It will help you see visions…or kill you. It depends on the will of the spirits.”

  Grit swallowed hard and a lump formed in his throat.

  Shar’ran held back the deer skin and Grit entered the sweat lodge.

  “I’m sorry,” Shar’ran offered. “I cannot join you. This is your journey, and yours alone.”

  He entered the lodge and was almost knocked over from the heat. The steam filled the room and he had to feel his way around until he found the mat he was supposed to sit on. He sat down and crossed his legs. His mouth was dry and he took a big swig from one of five gourds that had been left for him. The room spun and he closed his eyes to keep from vomiting.

  Several minutes passed as the mushroom herbs made his vision float. One by one, he saw ghosts—or what appeared as ghosts. The spirits of elf warriors filled the room and floated about. They welcomed him.

  He talked to the ancients and spirits of past war wizards and Tala’fein. They explain his purpose and his gift. He talked to Aaron, who finally presented himself to the lad.

  “You were the voice in my head?”

  Aaron nodded. “You belong here. This is your place and you have much work to do.”

  “Work? What kind of work?”

  Aaron sat on the mat next to him. “A dark mage rises. We must battle again. The Keep has been attacked.”

  Grit’s face paled. “W..were many killed?”

  “Yes…and no. Their paths are cloudy.”

  “What am I to do?”

  “You are to lead us in battle.”

  Grit nodded as Aaron taught him the history of the people and told him what the role of Tala’fein meant. Grit wasn’t sure he wanted the honor, but Aaron assured him that it was his destiny.

  Grit pushed the skin open and stepped into the morning light. X’all was sitting with his back against a tree, his blades resting on his lap.

  “Good morning,” Grit said.

  X’all stared at the lad. There was something different about him. “Did you talk to the spirits?”

  Grit nodded.

  “We shall see. I was beginning to think that you would not survive.”

  “Why would you say that?” Grit asked, placing his hands on his hips.

  “Most of the challenges in the lodge do not last two days…”

  Grit mouthed, “Two days?”

  “Come, let us go meet with Shar’ran. They wait in the council for your return.”

  “Who waits?”

  X’all’s face cracked a thin grin. “Why, everyone waits, the entire village.”

  Grit entered the room and saw the concerned faces of the people. They were staring at him.

  “Why are they staring?” he asked.

  X’all pointed a Grit’s chest. “You are marked!”

  Grit looked down and saw the symbols written on his chest and the tribal marks in the shape of a sun that surrounded each nipple. “What are these?” he asked, trying to rub them off.

  “Those are the marks of Aaron,” X’all said, as he bowed deeply.

  “What are you doing,” Grit asked out of the side of his mouth. “Stand up!”

  One by one, all the members of the room bowed until only Shar’ran was standing. A shirtless Shar’ran walked to his side and handed him a sword. It was the most ornate sword Grit had ever seen. Grit stared at Shar’ran’s chest and saw that he wore the same tattoos. When he took the sword, it glowed and music filled the room. Shar’ran knelt and bowed his head.

  “I…I...don’t understand.” Grit mumbled.

  Grit heard the voice of Aaron come out of his mouth as he bade Shar’ran to stand. “You have served me well.”

  Shar’ran bowed deeply.

  “I relieve you of your responsibilities as the war wizard of the one people.”

  A single tear slid down Shar’ran’s cheek. He had been carrying the mantle for so long, he couldn’t remember when he had not.

  Grit’s eyes focused. “What just happened?”

  Shar’ran stood. “You are now the leader of the elves. You are Tala’fein. You are a war wizard.”

  Grit pointed at Shar’ran’s chest, which was no longer covered with the sun tattoos around each nipple, but he now had three letters etched across the top of his breast.

  Shar’ran glanced down, reading the symbols. “It roughly says—thank you for your service.”

  Grit stared. “That’s it?”

  Shar’ran grinned. “Well, it means more than that, but it loosely translates…doesn’t really translate well.”

  Grit ran a hand across the marks on his chest. “I guess these blend in pretty well with the others I have.”

  “You wear it well,” Shar’ran said, back to him.

  Shar’ran gripped Grit by the forearm. “My time is past. This is your time. I pledge my services to you.”

  Grit felt a calming as he squeezed Shar’ran’s arm. His demeanor changed and his voice bellowed. “You have served me well, Shar’ran, third slayer of the house Rama.”

  Shar’ran turned and faced the crowd in the chambers. “You may rise. Long live the Tala’fein.”

  The crowd rose and smiles broke across the faces. “Tala’fein,” they chanted.

  Grit waved at the crowd and quieted them. “I thank the people. We have much work to do. Aaron has informed me that a dark mage rises. We must join once again to fight and defeat the evil.”

  Many around the room nodded. “We must train, or our way of life will be no more.”

  The room burst into cheers and celebration.

  A voice came from the back of the room. “But we have sworn to never again get involved in the affairs of men.”

  “These are not the affairs of men,” Grit answered. “This is an attack on magic by the darkness.”

  “Where did this dark mage you speak of come from? I thought they were all killed during the times of Ror.”

  “As did I. All of my life I have studied in the Keep…and I have been told that all of the dark wizards were killed. Apparently we were wrong.”

  “So, where did this one come from?” the same elf asked.

  “I do not know, but I will try to find out. But in the meantime, we must train to defeat this threat.”

  An elf in the front shook his head sadly. “Many will die…”

  Grit nodded, “True enough, but many more will if we
do not join the fight.”

  “I will join you,” said the man.

  “As will I,” another shouted.

  “I appreciate that,” Grit replied. “Look, I don’t know what the future holds for us, but together we stand a better chance of surviving.”

  A few more heads nodded.

  The spirit of Aaron rose out of the flame and stepped across the chambers to stand with Grit. “We need to work together,” he said. “I have foreseen this.”

  Grit turned and nodded. He raised his glass. “Together then…”

  “Together,” came an echo throughout the hall.

  Shar’ran stood next to Grit. “They have accepted you. You have given them hope.”

  Grit’s face twisted. “Hope? I thought my message was depressing.”

  Shar’ran chuckled. “Depressing? You have declared war. You have given them a named enemy. Elves profess to be peaceful, but inside…they love a good row. They have trained for centuries without purpose. The elves rise again to defend the world and man!”

  “Purpose? Now you have…purpose?” Grit shook his head in dismay. “I am not sure that I will ever understand your people.”

  “Not my people…your people,” Shar’ran countered.

  It was at that moment that the enormity of the responsibility he held sunk in. “I need a drink!” Grit mumbled.

  “As do we all!” Shar’ran shouted. Bring us food and drink. Tonight we celebrate!”

  Grit shook his head, wondering what he had gotten himself into. Already men and women were dancing and twirling and platters of food had appeared out of nowhere.

  “I…I don’t have time to celebrate.”

  “Do not worry Grit,” X’all said. “I will train you, as will Shar’ran.”

  “But I need to get to my friends and help them. They don’t even know I’m alive. They are probably worried sick about me being gone.”

  “Then they will be happy to see you!”

  Grit nodded. “They are either in Three Rivers or Five Peaks. We are supposed to be Ja’tar’s eyes.”

  “If they are in Three Rivers, they fight with Toulereau. The city has been under attack by creatures of the underworld. Toulereau has written me and stated that wizards of the Keep battle at his side, but their quarters are cramped and many still trek to their walls for safety.”