by Lee Dunning
“What is it?” To K’hul’s eye, the thing had the appearance of something the now extinct Ice Giants might have used as a beast of burden.
“The gnomes called it a furry long-nose.” Historian paused to snicker. “I have since learned those not infected with insanity refer to it as a mammoth. They died out along with the giants nearly ten thousand years ago. I’m told, a smaller, less hirsute version of them lives south in the jungles these fellows call home.” He pointed at the vicious-looking biped with the terrifying claws.
K’hul gazed once again on the unsettling reptile and suppressed a shudder. “What nightmare did that thing step out of?” he wondered aloud.
“They’re a type of lizard which hunts in packs,” Historian said. “They’re intelligent enough to cooperate with one another. A group of five can easily take down a much larger and stronger creature. Despite their small size, only a fool would take them lightly.”
“Agreed,” K’hul said, vowing silently to avoid ever traveling to the southern jungles.
“And yet,” Historian said, drawing close so he could lay a hand upon K’hul’s arm, “you have done just that. This Exile calling himself Lord W’rath may wear the appearance of an elf but I assure you he has more in common with this forest raptor. Your failure to finish him off during the fight with Oblund leaves us in grave peril.”
“I wasn’t trying to kill him,” he snapped.
Historian snorted in derision and drew his hand back as if he’d caught himself stroking a leper. “So … it’s true, you nearly killed him through ineptitude,” he said.
“My only choices are incompetence or attempted murder?” K’hul countered. Historian’s long legs carried him down the crimson carpet bisecting the room. For the first time K’hul noticed the scholar wore hunting leathers. Curious. He couldn’t recall seeing Historian in anything other than robes for hundreds of years.
Historian swung back around. “You’re not ready to lead,” he said with icy disdain. “You have little practical experience and you’ve spent nearly your entire life playing soldier on First Home.” He paused to purse his lips. “I suppose I mustn’t hold you entirely to blame.”
“Well, thank the First for that,” K’hul said. “I was about to break down in despair.”
Either historian chose to ignore K’hul’s sarcasm or it simply didn’t register. He spun and swished away, waving for K’hul to follow. “Today we start the tedious task of properly educating you for your role as our family's leader.”
K’hul traipsed after his old teacher, passing spotless, orderly shelves displaying gleaming books and exotic artifacts—everything military straight and well balanced. A tiny, manicured tree with flame red leaves sat on the desk crouching at the end of the room. “You’ve served as my teacher for my entire life. Any gaps in my education are entirely your fault.”
Historian perched on the desk and poked a finger into the tree’s soil. He frowned and whispered a quiet spell, splaying his hand at the last. A cloud, a match for the tree’s wee size, blossomed and wept upon it. So, he does have Sky Elf blood in him.
Apparently satisfied he’d seen to his tree’s needs, Historian turned to face K’hul’s growing frustration. “Today’s lesson doesn’t get passed on until a new family head takes over. Your father had lived a little over a thousand years when he and I had this talk. Your grandfather before him had passed his third millennia. Both of them spent at least some time exploring the continent—that is where they earned much of their leadership experience. Each generation takes over at a younger age than the last. At this rate, I’ll expect a visit from your sister in a year or two.” He wrinkled his nose as if anticipating that meeting and finding it not to his liking.
K’hul knew none of this, including the fact Historian had lived long enough to instruct several generations of K’huls. He’d never known his grandfather as more than a painting hanging in the Hall of Ancestors. His father had seldom spoken to K’hul, and then only to quiz him on his knowledge of some battle strategy or story from their glorious past. Oh, and of course to criticize. Or to remind K’hul he had nearly killed his mother during his birth. Bastard.
Historian sighed and K’hul’s head shot up as it had so many times during his youth. “Some things don’t change. I try to teach and your mind wanders,” Historian said. “If I didn’t know better I’d suspect I was boring. Never mind that, grab up a bow and quiver.”
Historian slid from the desk and proceeded to do the same as he’d instructed his pupil. “I’m already an excellent shot,” K’hul said, but picked up the equipment Historian hadn’t claimed. It looked as though Kiat would have to tend to the human problem for at least another day.
“As I am well aware,” Historian said. He pulled his pale yellow hair over one shoulder and twisted it into a braid. One strand managed to escape and he scowled, undid the entire braid and redid it so it lay in a perfectly symmetrical rope. “I hate hunting, but it is my turn to help put food on our table. With your help, it will go faster. And perhaps the activity will make it easier for you to pay attention to what I have to say.”
The day after Raven met Lady Earthfire and sparred in front of her with Lady Culna’mo, the smith sent word to Raven to meet her at the smithy once again. When Raven arrived, Linden’s mother welcomed her and presented her to two Sky Elves Raven didn’t know. No introductions were made, but at a nod from the newcomers, Lady Earthfire instructed her daughter and Raven to take up their swords and spar for the strangers.
Linden’s excitement grew, and if anything, he urged Raven on to even greater efforts than the previous day. He’d already shown off for his mother, so Raven couldn’t fathom why the newcomers meant so much to him. Even after the match ended with Raven helping Lady Culna’mo up from the ground, Linden didn’t calm. Butterflies erupted in Raven’s stomach and she fidgeted like a halfling caught stealing sweets.
The two Sky Elves scrutinized her. Raven gulped.
The pair strode forward and paced about her, missing nothing. Raven threw a distressed look to Lady Earthfire, but the smith simply gave her a mischievous wink. Lady Culna’mo joined her mother, settling next to her with a wistful sigh.
When the two Sky Elves finished their intrusive inspection, they paused in front of Raven and tilted their heads at one another, nodding in some silent exchange of agreement. “Come to our dojo tomorrow at sunrise,” the male said.
“We’ll begin then,” the female added.
As one, they turned on their heels and marched off, faces no more readable than a block of ice. Lady Culna’mo trotted over and punched Raven in the shoulder. “I’m so jealous,” she said.
Linden’s giddiness brought a grin to Raven’s face, though she had no idea why she vibrated with happiness. “Thanks?” she said, turning her baffled eyes from her friend to Lady Earthfire.
The smith chuckled. “Congratulations,” she said. “I brought those two in to see if they would take you on as their apprentice. They head the School of the Ice Blade. Theirs is a more physical technique than most Sky Elf combat styles. Since your size and build put you somewhere between a Sky Elf and a First Born, I thought you might benefit from their knowledge. They don’t take on students blindly, though. You had to audition for them and I didn’t want to make you nervous by forewarning you.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Raven’s jaw had started to ache from the grin stretched across her face. This opportunity obviously meant the world to Linden and she was grateful she could help him experience it.
Lady Culna’mo gave her another poke in the arm. “It’s a huge honor,” she said. “I’d kill to get them to notice me. Which they didn’t, by the way.”
“I just got lucky,” Raven said. “I could have just as easily lost today’s match.”
“Bah!” Lady Culna’mo said in mock disgust. She shrugged helplessly at her mother. “What an innocent. She doesn’t understand at all.”
“It’s not about who won or lost,” Lady Earthfire said. “It’s about your natura
l ability, the way you adapt to situations, terrain, even the lighting. You possess good instincts. They allow you to transcend your basic training. That, combined with your body build, make you a perfect candidate to learn the Ice Blade technique.”
Now, a week into her training, Raven picked herself off the ground for what seemed the hundredth time. The stone-faced Sky Elf, who had systematically disarmed her and sent her crashing into the dirt, merely nodded and strode back to where his female cohort stared just as impassively. They looked like bookends in their matching blue leather armor. Their striking scalemail gorgets and gauntlets of silver and blue competed with their mirror bright hair. Their beauty was that of a honed blade, though—sharp and likely to leave admirers bleeding out. “Again,” the male called back to Raven, sheathing his weapon. His companion drew hers.
Raven suppressed a groan and reached for her practice sword. She found it entirely unfair they alternated who beat on her while the other watched. Judged, more like. Sweaty and coated in filth, she longed to take a breather while some other poor sod met with humiliating defeat.
Unfortunately, no other students currently trained at the Dojo of the Ice Blade.
Raven dragged her sword from the dust and rose to face the mistress of the Ice Blade. She couldn’t help but wonder if this weren’t some elaborate ruse—a practical joke. Even Linden’s spirit had grown subdued now that he’d had the chance to train under the two statuesque sword masters.
If mother and daughter snickered over Raven’s predicament, they did it in private. Neither had shown her face since Raven’s lessons had commenced.
Further contemplation would have to wait. The sword mistress had grown impatient waiting for her pupil to recover. She sped toward Raven, sword held out low and to the side.
This is new.
No time to analyze the new move, Raven spun sideways. She brought her sword into a downward side sweep. Vibrations shivered up Raven’s arm as the edge of her practice sword connected with the Sky Elf’s weapon. Both elves continued their pivot until they stood in opposite positions from where they’d started. “Broken Wing,” Raven’s teacher said in her monotone voice.
“An obvious feint,” Raven said before she could stop herself. Bloody Linden still had no restraint.
“Perhaps,” came the cool reply, and Linden’s smugness faltered. Was that a shadow of amusement flickering in the sword mistress’ inscrutable gaze?
The attack came without even the slightest shift in expression to warn Raven. One. Two. Three. Quick, successive cuts sent the young warrior twisting, hopping and twirling to escape the stinging kiss of her opponent’s sword. In desperation, Raven reversed the direction of her blade and sent it spinning in a counterclockwise deflection attempt. She rolled her wrists and the spiral blur of her blade caught up the tip of her teacher’s sword and sent it down and away.
Raven bulled into her teacher.
The Sky Elf crashed two body lengths away from Raven in a boneless heap. She didn’t stir.
Gods! I’ve killed her! Raven dropped her sword and rushed to the prone elf’s side. She fell to her knees and reached to cup the still face in a trembling hand. Raven froze. A long knife, very similar to the straight blade W’rath used as a sword, licked at her throat. A voice chill as glacier runoff drifted to Raven’s ears. “That was a feint.”
From behind, the soft tread of the male’s booted feet sent a shiver up Raven’s spine. In her foolish panic, she’d left her back completely exposed. His breath, a touch of winter, brushed her cheek as he bent over to whisper in her ear. “Tomorrow. Sunrise. We begin again.”
Raven didn’t think she’d ever heard five more terrifying words.
Once in the forest, K’hul altered his usual heavy tread so he could pass through the trees without alerting the wildlife they stalked. Historian passed through the needles and leaves just as quietly. K’hul had never encountered this side of his teacher. In fact, he now grasped, he knew little about his strange family member.
After they passed a half hour without finding even a nibbled leaf to show deer had traveled through this part of the woods recently, K’hul grew impatient and broke the silence. “Are you really a K’hul?”
Historian lurched to a stop and gave a great huff. “Now you’ve done it. You’ve scared all the animals away.”
“My sister’s hounds probably accomplished that weeks ago,” K’hul said with an impatient toss of his head. “So, are you?”
“Yes, yes, I am,” Historian said. “My mother, as you obviously deduced, was a Sky Elf, but my father was your great grandfather.”
K’hul’s eyes widened. He’d had no idea anyone so old still lived on First Home. “Then you’re the eldest member of our family. Why aren’t you the head of household?”
Historian gave up pretending to track nonexistent game and headed back toward the green fields surrounding the forest. “I’m shocked you have to ask that,” he said, a tinge of bitterness entering his voice. “Surely you realize how unseemly it would be for the head of the K’hul clan to appear so much like a Sky Elf. My father chose a more suitable mate to produce your grandfather and encouraged me to swear off any claim to the head seat. Instead, I took on the role of household scholar and teacher. Perhaps, more importantly, I became the custodian of our family’s secrets.”
Secrets? Once again, Historian implied something dark, forbidden even, clung to their family. K’hul tired of Historian’s game. “Stop playing coy and explain. I’ve neglected my responsibilities at your request. In return you’ve done nothing but drop mysterious hints and drag me out on this useless hunting trip.”
Historian’s gaze went flat and serpent-like as he unstrung his bow. He stalked ahead of K’hul, his voice floating back. “You belong to a council comprised of several members. Let a few of them deal with the humans. You have only one family and the burden you’ll carry after today should be approached with delicacy.” The heaviness that entered Historian’s voice sent a tendril of dread down K’hul’s spine.
Until this moment, K’hul had felt certain the terrible secret would entail nothing more than some sordid tale involving inappropriate relations with a Shadow Elf, perhaps even Lady Reaper. “Tell me.” The words left his throat as little more than a rasp.
Historian paused where the forest ended and the grasslands flowed into the distance. The light turned his form into a backlit silhouette. “At last I believe you start to comprehend the gravity of what I have to tell you. I’ve only dragged it out because I know how it will change you. No one is ever the same after hearing this tale.”
Ten days had passed since K’hul abruptly left and Kiat had found himself in charge of representing the elves’ interests among the humans. Fortunately, no further misunderstandings like the one with Ambassador Trelawny had occurred. Lady Winterdawn had finally convinced Kiat to poke his head out of his room and face the rest of the court. Chalice Renoir, true to his word, reapplied himself to the task of providing assistance in dealing with foreign delegations.
Ten days passed with no word from K’hul or sign of any other members from the High Council. Kiat’s terror shifted to mere fright tinged with boredom. And a gnawing aggravation that only he had enough sense of responsibility to keep to his post.
Except for the arrival of a small group of dwarven officials, the days passed with few surprises. Well, the smell the dwarves brought with them was eye opening, as well as eye watering. Kiat didn’t think even magic could rid the throne room of their stench. Even so, it couldn’t compare to the gag inducing fetor he now experienced.
Already, Kiat missed the boredom of the endless line of diplomats. Even the unkempt dwarves lingered at the edge of his memories as a pleasant diversion now. Ah, how he missed those dwarves.
The enemy mage had finally awakened, and Kiat had no idea what he should do.
The healer left to tend the mage delivered the news, assuring Kiat the human had managed to hang onto his sanity. Of course, that implied the mage was fit for interrog
ation. It was time to find out what he knew concerning the attack on Second Home, and by default, Kiat was expected to do the questioning.
“I thought he was completely healed. Why does he stink so?” Kiat asked.
“It’s not him, it’s the place,” the healer, Lord Northwind said. “This is Castle Teres’ dungeon. Hundreds of prisoners spent their final days here. The stones have absorbed all those years of blood, waste and despair. You do get used it after a while.”
I doubt that very much. Kiat raised the heavy sleeve of his robe to his nose in an attempt to block out the worst of the dungeon’s foulness. To his right, his apprentice, Lady Winterdawn, kept vigil. As much as he hated subjecting her to such unpleasantness, her steadfast presence comforted him.
“The sooner we speak to the man, the sooner we can leave,” Lady Winterdawn said.
Lord Northwind obliged her by opening the cell housing the Tassilian mage. The three entered, the healer stepping through first as if to assure his companions they faced nothing more than an ordinary man and not a demon-summoning fiend.
The minute Kiat laid eyes on their captive the healer’s assurances were for naught. While Kiat wasn’t sure what exactly he had expected, the wild-haired, unshaven visage his eyes fell upon was almost unrecognizable as human. In his struggles to free himself, the man had managed to throw off the thin blanket his captors allowed him.
Lord Northwind retrieved the blanket and draped it back over the mage but not before Kiat saw the pale, hair-covered body and the thrashing, grub-like legs that ended at the knees. Kiat started to turn away as his breakfast threatened to make a reappearance.
Lady Winterdawn laid a gentle, steady hand on his arm and he flinched away from the too familiar touch. Too late, he realized his reaction would hurt her. He tried to make up for his blunder by giving her an apologetic smile. Like always, she accepted what he gave her with quiet grace. It only added to his sense of inadequacy. At least his queasiness had lessened. His wits recovered, Kiat turned to face the human.