by M. M. Whan
She smiled, but the temperature of that smile hadn’t quite reached full spring thaw. “Until you prove otherwise, you are nothing more than a little boy with a big name. Do not make the mistake of thinking that you can use his name and get any special treatment!” Came the terse reply. Eferath stared at her for a long moment, trying to discern the source of the sudden anger.
“Did I wrong you in some other lifetime?” He dared to ask, and she smiled.
“I knew General Eralon,” she answered calmly. “He saved my life many times.” Before she continued, she turned on him sharply.
“Through my years in this military, many young men just like yourself pretend to be a relative of his for the sake of getting admitted into the Guard. None of them proved to have anywhere near the potential of one of his lineage, and I doubt that you are any different.” She stared at him hard.
“How are you so certain that I am not who I say I am?” Eferath demanded icily. This had moved beyond the realm of goading, and was getting increasingly insulting.
“I know because Eralon has no children!” She replied with a superior tone. That was surprising to Eferath.
“It appears you didn’t know him as well as you thought, if at all!” Eferath shot back and he drew his sword with an angry jerk.
Her left eyebrow twitched and her sword leapt to her hands. Eferath went on the attack, determined to prove her wrong. She was elite, though, and he knew that his chances of defeating her were slim to nil, but he had to try if for no other reason than to remove that smug grin from her face.
Syline twitched her sword in her hand, making it appear that she was going to try to bring her blade up under his attack. Eferath knew it was a feint. He knew it but fell for it anyway. Syline brought her blade up short, then stabbed forward suddenly, aiming for Eferath’s exposed belly. The young man barely had time to react and somehow managed to bring his blade back around to swat her lunge aside. The parry seemed to surprise her as much as it did him, but that surprise evaporated quickly as Syline sent a flurry of attacks his way. Dodge, dodge, parry, dodge, counter! Eferath had waited for the right moment to strike and very nearly scored a hit on his opponent. Nearly. Syline twirled and knocked aside his attack when it came to within a hair’s breadth from touching. Eferath accepted the parry, and turned his blade down and out to the side, forcing her to retract her arm. Syline took a step back before thrusting forward, aiming for his mid-section.
Eferath was expecting that, and immediately brought his sword down hard against hers, using her forward momentum to drive the tip of her sword into the ground. The elite, trained to always anticipate her adversary simply let go of her weapon and drew a small dagger. Syline’s dagger darted forward like an angry snake, moving with incredible speed as if moving by its own will. Eferath frantically parried the blurring strikes while back stepping out of range of her darting movements. Syline quickly retrieved her discarded blade while her other hand worked independently to keep Eferath busy.
By the God’s she is good. Eferath thought to himself but then he realized something. Her attack routines had a familiar rhythm. Similar to the effect that it felt to Eferath that he was fighting his father. The half-elf suddenly charged in, swatting his sword out wide before wrapping him tightly in a clinch. Her face was so close to his that he could feel the warmth of her breath. She smiled, and he returned the grin.
“Tired already?” Eferath asked between breaths.
“No,” she replied sharply then winked. “I’m just getting warmed up!” Before he could reply, she snapped her head forward. Though the move caught the young man off guard, he retaliated the only way he could think of.
With his own head.
Eferath saw nothing but stars the moment their heads connected, and by the time he opened his eyes, Syline was nearly ten feet away and was still smiling ear to ear. One thing he did notice, however, was that she held her dagger in a throwing position. A half heartbeat later, she let fly. The dagger flew through the air as an indistinguishable blur, whistling fiercely on its trajectory. Eferath spun a deft circle to regain his balance, while at the same time he swung his sword upward into an uppercut to swat the spinning dagger right out of the air, and right back at the thrower. Syline ducked to the side just in time for the dagger to buzz past her ear and bury itself hilt deep into a nearby tree. Once the threat was eliminated, Eferath assumed a fighter’s stance and smiled at her surprised expression.
“Well done, Eferath.” She said at length, her wide eyes slowly resuming their natural shape. “But how do you fare in two-handed combat?” She asked with a sly grin. With a nod to one of her companions, she was handed another sword.
A sharp whistle drew Eferath’s attention to his right, and he turned to see Edward holding his sword out for him to take. Eferath nodded his thanks to his friend but had to turn his attention back to Syline as he heard the sound of footsteps.
Their blades met with a sharp clash and bright sparks. Suddenly, four blades began whirling and spinning, connecting solidly before springing apart only to come back together a heartbeat later. Soon, the ringing parries came so quickly, they sounded as one long continuous note. Sparks flew wildly as both combatants ducked, dodged, and weaved as strikes missed by mere inches. Some were so close, sparks flew from their armour. All four blades moved as if through their own will, darting to and fro with fantastic speed. They moved as one, and if it weren’t for the jarring, ringing impacts, and razor-sharp weapons whizzing through the air, it would have looked like the two were dancing.
Eferath was surprised by her strength, speed, and especially her endurance. Her technique was perfect and her skill was incredible. She always seemed to be one step ahead of him, and he couldn’t help but wonder whether or not she was toying with him. But none of that mattered to him, now. His only concern was doing his very best against such a skilled opponent.
Skilled though she was, Eferath’s blades were always there to parry her strikes, and always kept up to her every sequence. He was tiring, though, and she knew it. Soon, every one of her attacks seemed designed to take as much effort to stop them as possible. It was at that moment that Eferath knew he was defeated.
He fought on, though, using what energy he could muster to keep pace with her. Eferath brought his sword down into a right to left diagonal slash while he brought the other up into a left to right diagonal uppercut. A bold move as the attack left both sides open to retaliation, which Syline was happy to oblige. Eferath was hoping she would, and immediately stopped his blades mid-swing, and stabbed forward. Syline gave a yelp of surprise before bending over backward to watch both swords pass barely an inch apart right in front of her face. As part of the same movement, she dropped onto her back, then swept the feet out from under Eferath by spinning her body around.
Before he knew what was going on, he was lying on the flat of his back staring at the tip of her sword. After a moment, Syline reached down to offer him some help getting up. He clasped her hand as she hoisted him to his feet.
Eferath looked around him, surprised to see so many people staring at them. So many of his peers, including many of the elites had stopped mid-swing to watch the spectacle.
“Did I do something?” Eferath whispered to her a moment later, and she smiled at him.
“You surprised them.” Came the simple answer, then she turned to face him fully. “And you surprised me, son of Eralon.” She added quietly.
As Eferath took a moment to catch his breath, he spotted the elite commander walking over to him.
“What is your name, soldier?” She asked, but it was Syline who answered for him.
“Eferath, son of Eralon, commander.” She said respectfully, staring at him as she spoke. The commander’s face took on a blank expression.
“Eralon?” She breathed, incredulously at first until Syline’s expression, coupled with the incredible display of skill she just saw made her think twice.
“Eferath, was it?” She asked as sh
e walked up to him to stare into his eyes. She stared at him for a long moment before glancing over at Syline. She nodded, then turned back to regard him.
“Syline is one of our finest swordsmen.” She said softly before resting her hand on his shoulder.
“When your training exercise is complete, you may consider yourself recruited to the Elite Crystal Guard.” As soon as she finished speaking, the entire group of soldiers and trainees alike were completely silent.
Eferath couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The most reputable and skilled militia in all the realms wanted him to be in their ranks! One thing that surprised him, was that he heard no insults, and no one seemed to object to the commander’s offer.
“Do you accept?” She asked him, and he turned to her and smiled.
“With all my heart.”
Chapter 8
DORIEN DISMISSED THE TRAINEES TO THEIR BARRACKS. He returned to his quarters shortly after night had fallen. He slumped down onto his bed quite exhausted, and considerably upset. The Elite Crystal Guard had selected five of his group of trainees, Eferath among them! On a positive note, Corbin, his nephew, for whatever that title meant, was publicly humiliated. But in witnessing Eferath’s skills against someone as gifted as Syline, Dorien wondered if an ambush of mountain orcs would be enough to do the job.
Before he could get comfortable, a sharp knock on the door brought him from his contemplations. With a great sigh, he rose to his feet and walked to the door. He was not surprised to see Syline standing there.
“Ah, my dear Syline, I am glad you are here.” He greeted warmly, then stepped to the side and gestured for her to come inside.
“What have you found out about our young friend?” He asked excitedly as she shut the door and leaned against it with her arms folded across her chest. She still wore her sparkling silver armour, and though its expert craftsmanship fit her shapely figure perfectly, Dorien wondered if she ever took it off. In the years he had known her, he had never seen her wear anything else.
“Eferath is most definitely the son of Eralon, and judging by our duel, he is every bit as capable as his father, maybe even more so.” She answered softly as if she wasn’t really paying attention to him.
“He should be dealt with in short order.” Dorien remarked dryly, tap-tapping his chin thoughtfully.
Syline stared at him hard, her tone cold and even. “He would be a powerful enemy, Dorien, too powerful.” He glared at her angrily, as if silently accusing her of not believing in him.
“He is just a boy!” He growled defensively and she turned on him fiercely.
“A boy with the skill to more than match any sword fighter in this army!” She shouted at him to deflate his swelling ego. “Mind your foolish condescension, you are nowhere near as capable with a blade as he.”
“Just a boy.” Dorien muttered to defend his injured pride.
“He could kill you with little effort!” She snapped even though she returned to leaning casually against the door. The honesty seemed to calm him somewhat, but his expression was still stubborn.
“Do you know what you are going to do to proceed?” She asked him, as much to clear the awkwardness as to save some of his dignity.
Instead of answering, Dorien moved to his desk and produced a very quickly drawn map and handed it to her. She stared at the map and scrunched up her face. “Some children scribbled on some parchment as a gift to you?” Her amusement clearly wasn’t shared as Dorien snatched the map from her.
“It is a map!” He growled. “A map leading to the mountain cave of Rugarkavatimilian the Stone Wyrm.
Syline’s expression hardened then and she leaned heavily against the wall. She had lost two of her best friends to that particular wyrm. Back in her academy days, they had thought they were good enough to defeat any foe. They were wrong. Like hundreds before them, the price of their arrogance was paid with their lives. Stone wyrm’s only resided in mountainous terrain, yet no one knew where such a creature originated. Their hide was as tough as their name implied, but toughness alone would not have kept such a creature alive for long. Dragon scales were just as hard, but a stone wyrm’s hide was nearly a foot thick!
A shudder coursed her spine as she thought about going up against such a beast. She would not fight that one again, even if she were followed by her fellow elites.
“What is your plan, then?” She asked him a moment later, genuinely intrigued this time.
“I have too much at stake for this patrol to succeed. If, by some stroke of pure luck, any of the patrols survive the ambush, they must not be able to return. I have paid a very generous amount of gold to a wizard of great stature to cast greater illusion spells on each group that will inexorably lead them to the stone wyrm’s cave if they survive the ambush.” When he finished speaking, Syline tilted her head thoughtfully as she stared at him.
“And what happens if they retreat at the first sight of orcs, or - if any of them survive the ambush - simply run away?”
“A good question, my dear.” He replied as he leaned against his desk. “That is why I had to pay so much for the wizard. His spell will always lead them back toward the cave no matter which direction they go, the illusion will make it seem as though they are leaving.” Dorien explain, a grin widening on his face.
“It seems as though you have prepared this well.” Syline nodded deferentially to him. “Which wizard did you bribe?”
“A very capable man by the name of Lethaniel.” Syline chuckled while shaking her head, and Dorien glared at her.
“Lethaniel Xance is as loyal as a pit viper, and about as trustworthy as one at that!” She explained, still laughing.
“He will do his job!” He shouted angrily, which only made her laugh harder.
“Oh, I am sure he will!” She confirmed. “Just do not be surprised when he charges you another fortune in gold after the deed is done!” Dorien opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed his mouth as the futility of arguing with her became obvious.
“What is it you need me to do?” She asked somewhat absently after she had calmed down enough to speak. She was staring out into the night sky from the room’s only window.
“It will be your job to ensure that there are no survivors.” Dorien replied coldly and without hesitation as he joined her at the window. He noticed her glance his way.
“We both know there are several gifted students with magic, not to mention none of them are slow-minded. If any of them are smart enough to recognize the illusion spell for what it is, it might be dispelled.” Dorien paused, and looked over at Syline. “That is where you come in. Syline, Corbin and Eferath must not survive, no matter the cost!”
Syline turned to meet his gaze, then touched his hand with hers. “I will not fail you, Dorien.” He nodded to her, then the two-continued staring into the night sky.
* * * *
Eferath sat bolt upright in his cot as the trumpets blared early in the morning. As per usual in the morning, he, as well as the other soldiers sharing the barracks, donned their uniforms, belted on their weapons, and formed into ranks. It was very early morning, fog was still thick in the air accenting the illumination range of the torches with a flickering orb-like glow. Eferath yawned and shivered, he thought he would never get used to the unpredictable weather and temperature that seemed to only change in his area. When he was certain no instructors were around, he stretched the cold out of his limbs while his peers did likewise. Today was the day of their patrol, and one look at the soldiers around him, he could tell they were all nervous.
In the weeks that passed since his duel with Syline he had gained a considerable amount of respect. Some even respected his rank of Patrol Leader by addressing him as “sir.” Never again were any insults cast at him for being from a frontier town. No, Eferath proved he was capable to lead them, not through family lineage or wealth, but through hard work, skill, and dedication. Though he had their trust, and their respect, he did not treat them the w
ay they first treated him. He treated them with the utmost respect, and he trusted every one of them with his life.
Eferath never thought he would be in charge of so many people. His patrol was only fifteen soldiers, but he considered himself lucky that his men were quite gifted in intelligence as well as weapons handling. One of his men, Faerwin by name, was by far the best bowman he had ever seen. Once, he shot a humming bird right out of the air while in mid-flight! It was no surprise to him that Faerwin was one of the selected to join the Elite Crystal Guard. Another of his men by the name of Carlisle was simply incredible with two-weapon fighting. And of course, Denara was in his patrol group. She was the best tracker and stalker Eferath had ever seen by a fair margin. Not to mention she was gifted with weaponry and magic as well. She was an asset to any team and the young man was grateful to have her along. Yes, Eferath decided as he looked at his men, he was lucky indeed.
Just as he finished stretching, one of the instructors appeared from behind the flap of the officer’s barracks. Before his eyes settled upon them, Eferath gave them the command to come to attention. The power of the command seemed to make the instructor jump in surprise, and the resounding whump! sound as their feet struck the ground made Eferath shudder slightly.
“Soldier!” The instructor shouted as he stood in front of Eferath. “Is your patrol ready for the field training exercise?” Eferath took a step forward, then turned to his left.
“Are you ready?” He roared, and their answering yell was deafening. Eferath turned to the instructor, who was known as Bergen SwiftBlade, not even trying to hide the pleased grin on his face.
“Outstanding!” Bergen remarked happily, then turned to face him directly. “Make me proud, son of Eralon. Make me proud.” Eferath nodded solemnly, then saluted Bergen, which was returned a moment later. Eferath had always liked Bergen. The man wasn’t the common type of officer who believed that volume and insults were the basis for good leadership. Bergen was a retired infantryman who had fought in over a half dozen of Escoran’s wars. As soon as Bergen recognized Eferath, the instructor immediately became harder, and stricter with Eferath, demanding no less than the very best.