To Claim the Elvin Princess: Apprentice

by Jack Bessie

  “I understand you wished to keep Rasten from being alone last night?” Amein quietly asked.

  “Of course! We wanted so much to be in his bed, and to be instructed by him! But grandmother had other ideas, and made us leave!” Narimein pertly declared, neither mean, mouthy nor timid. She sounded much like this had been the greatest tragedy to have befallen any elf since the dawn of history. In spite of her own feelings, Amein could not help but feel akin to the young ones, her memories of her own desperate urges still sharp and clear.

  “You will someday likely have your turn, whether it be with Rasten or another. Until then, I would suggest you address your studies with more attention!” Amien calmly suggested, trying not to sound excessively bitchy; in spite of her own jealous feelings, she dearly loved her nieces.

  “Of course! We begged our tutor this afternoon, and he took care of both of us!” Leinien gushed. Seeing Rasten’s furrowed brows, Narimein quickly added. “Well, we couldn’t even think, we were so desperate! We did much better after he took care of our urges!” She looked at her sister a moment, before sighing and looking amused. “He took care of a few of our urges,” she corrected, looking cute and surprisingly innocent, while eyeing Rasten dreamily.

  24

  Rasten had thought his conditioning and training to be harsh, but he soon had to reconsider, as he began several new undertakings. He had been at Master Roein’s all morning and hoped he might finally get to go eat. Instead, another of the endless seeming elves appeared, grinning, and dragged him off to a new location.

  Going inside, he discovered a large array of targets and devices, useful for instruction with the various Elvin bows. He was taken to a tall elf, a male holding a long bow, and having a large quiver of arrows slung so he could grab them by reaching over his shoulder.

  “Lord Rasten, this is Master Chaneiri, who will impart mastery of the bow to you!” his guide declared. Rasten looked less sure, which his new teacher noted.

  “What do you consider mastery?” Rasten asked, having exchanged a firm handshake with the elf.

  “Something like this!” the master suggested. “Targets!” he called loudly, and Rasten noted several moving suddenly, apparently hung on wires, and being pulled by assistants well out of the way. The master swiftly retrieved an arrow, which he nocked as he turned, drawing, sighting and firing in one precise, swift motion. The arrow hit the midpoint of one swiftly moving target, and was followed by four more in blinding fast sequence, each hitting a different target. All had hit dead center of their targets.

  “When you can do that, I will consider your training sufficient!” The Master suggested, eyeing Rasten, who looked as discouraged as he felt.

  “Great...more work!” he muttered under his breath.

  After two hours, he was more hopeful, having learned to string a bow, and how to properly nock an arrow. He had at least managed to hit some part of a target, as long as it was stationary, several times. He had been presented with both the Elvin long bow, used by warriors on the ground, it having great range and killing power, and the shorter bow used by the flyers on a terranak. He had also forgotten to properly protect his forearm from the lash of the string twice, much to his regret.

  He would have likely been more pleased had he not watched several young Elvin hit all manner of targets with an astounding amount of precision.

  “How long have they been at this?!” he grumbled.

  “Six months to a year...you have a month, before you begin practicing on the back of a terranak!” his instructor informed him, grinning wickedly.

  When finished, Rasten found his guide still waiting. “Do I get to eat now?”

  “No...you’ll be glad you don’t too!” his guide suggested, leading him away.

  Rasten was hopeful he was being teased, as they headed straight for the Citadel, but instead of heading for the main entrance, his guide took him towards the side, and into a long corridor, that went deep under the towering Citadel. He soon found himself at a nondescript doorway, and when they slipped in, they were greeted by much yelling and seeming chaos. Rasten’s first impression was of it being a sort of martial arts studio, and he soon discovered he wasn’t far off. He was introduced to a strong and moderately tall elf female who named herself Master Misari.

  “So this is Lord Rasten? I have been instructed to teach you weaponless fighting skills, especially how to use your feet and legs as weapons, alone or to enhance your sword fighting. I understand you have no experience at any such skills?” the elf demanded, her voice stern and a bit harsh.

  “No, Master...on my old world I took some lessons in a style of defensive fighting they called Judo. It is one where you use your opponents mass and weight against them, to throw and pin them!

  “But not to kill them? Useless! We will give you more useful skills, with which to survive!”

  “Did you train Princess Amein?”

  “Of course...she was quite good, and a devoted student...once she matured a bit!” the elf suggested, her sudden grin leaving Rasten with few doubts as to what had distracted Amein.

  “You can teach this in conjunction with sword play? You are skilled with a sword?”

  “I can beat the Princess with my sword, and hold my own against Master Roein...I’m sure I can handle you...at least until you better master your weapon!” she declared, smugly. “Come, let us begin. You will be bruised frequently, so don’t be shocked!” she warned. “Take off your shirt and boots!” she insisted.

  Rasten made short work of pulling off his boots, but just as he had his shirt halfway off, Master Misari leaped and launched a wicked kick at him, hitting his shoulder, and almost tossing him end over end. She landed astraddle of him, and pinned him instantly.

  “Lesson number one; never trust another so as to leave yourself vulnerable to them!” the Elf declared, grinning wickedly. Rasten grimaced, his right butt cheek aching where it had hit the hard and polished wooden floor.

  Two hours later, Rasten wasn’t sure he had a single thing that wasn’t sore or bruised. His instructor seemed to have the speed of a striking serpent, and the agility of a small monkey, able to leap and spin without even touching the floor. He had been kicked, had his legs swiped out from under him and had been well pummeled by the lithe Elvin female. He had managed to catch a couple of her lightening fast kicks, but both stops had deeply bruised his hands. When he was last on his back, barely able to raise his head, soaked in sweat, two of Master Misari’s assistants had helped him up, and had him sit, where he could watch her fight against three of her best students simultaneously. Her skill and flexibility was awe inspiring, she being able to literally leap over the others, and deliver wicked kicks as she passed by. When she stopped, and came over, she was not half as sweaty as he had been.

  “You will not come here tomorrow...run and do your conditioning exercises instead...no matter how much you cry! We will continue the next day!” she advised him, smiling wryly at his pain.

  “How long have you done this?” he wondered.

  “Somewhere between three or four centuries...you think you might die now, but your body will get stronger, and become like mine, able to do what you might ask of it! Tell the Princess I apologize, for rendering you less than eager! But she understands why this is needful!”

  Rasten had his doubts if he could even reach his rooms, his body in so much pain. When he managed to reach his destination, he was not the least inclined to turn down the help of their servants. He let them pull his boots, and strip him. A glance in the mirrors showed him well bruised. He soaked long in the warm pool, before climbing out. When he was dry, he was eager for the Elvin ones to massage his aching muscles. Amein arrived during this, and noted the bruise on his hip and several others.

  “I see you had your introduction to Master Misari today?” she asked, barely able to contain her mirth.

  “I apparently had my first session as a punching bag!” Rasten moaned. “Were you this sore and battered when you started?”

&nb
sp; “Maybe worse...the first day when I last hit the floor, I was so sore and exhausted that I peed myself while I cried! I thought I would die, either from embarrassment or my pain, but I survived. You will too! She is our best instructor...I got good, but could never quite master her! She’s wicked with a sword too!” Amein insisted.

  “Great...just what I need, another to make me look terrible!” he sighed. Amein giggled and patted his butt, before going off to bathe and change for dinner.

  Rasten’s exposed forearms well displayed his day’s effort, several wicked bruises adding much color to his pale skin. “You’ve begun with Master Misari!” he heard a dozen times, those being experienced with her training easily knowing what he had been through. Kalida had grinned, delighted to give him a hard time.

  “Did you endure this?!” Rasten demanded, in no mood to be teased by the tall elf.

  “Of course...and I got my ass beat by Master Roein well too! I spent a century as a warrior, before becoming interested in other pursuits...you’re traveling well walked ground, Dear Rasten! Just tough it out...you’ll amaze yourself in time. You have the very best instructors in all the Elvin worlds teaching you!” This gave Rasten pause, enough to stop his complaining.

  Later, when they were alone, he thought to mention this to Amein.

  “You know he told no lie! The finest are drawn here. Those young Elvin whom you see daily with Master Roein...they are from the farthest of the Elvin worlds; the best of the best, who had to compete against all others to win a place here! Many of them are destined to someday rule their home world, should they prove worthy!”

  “Was Kalida...where is he from?”

  “From a distant world in another universe. He was offered the Governorship of his home world, but turned it down! He was a brilliant swordsman and warrior, a natural leader, but he has a deep interest in the study of ancient history, and a passion for a certain Elvin female, who refused to leave here!” Amein laughed.

  “Really? Who?”

  “Mother. Kalida is most responsible for helping her recover from the loss of our father, and he became quite attached to her in the process. She is equally fond of him!”

  “But they have no formal relationship?”

  “They are both healthy and naughty elves, and much enjoy others. But that is why he is still here! He teaches at the Institute for Advance Study, and babysits new recruits when needed!” she suggested, and laughed as Rasten frowned at her humor.

  25

  Elaradan had made the journey many times to the Elvin city and was reasonably familiar with its arrangement, especially as to where the markets and traders might be found. The great market was enormous, and a place where a thousand merchants might have spacious room to display and sell all manner of wares. The place known as the lesser market was more utilitarian, selling all manner of foods and produce, baked goods and other staples, but little in the way of clothing or hard goods.

  The wandering merchant seldom came here, except to get candies and other items that would travel well, or something for himself, while in the city. Even so, it took only a bit of roaming to find the one named Coudrien, at a stall where he sold and traded all manner of valuables, especially jewelry.

  “Ah, what brings you to me, this fine day? Coudrien wondered, when Elaradan approached him.

  “I have journeyed far, and been among friends, who asked me to seek you out. A certain one has words she wished me to convey,” Elaradan quietly whispered.

  “And who might this one be?” Coudrien wondered.

  “She calls herself...Shocara...perhaps you’ve heard of her?”

  “You are free to travel to such a distant place, but yet enter in here unhindered? My friend! We have much to speak of! Let me finish my affairs, and we will go to a place where no prying ears might hear us!” Coudrien suggested, winking.

  The merchant left his helper in charge, and guided Elaradan down the street and up a flight of stairs to a small cafe, where they could have a drink, and sit near the railing at a table far from any other. There were few in the place, it being mid-afternoon, and little prospect of any arriving for a time.

  “What is new among the Eridians?” Coudrien wondered. His companion shrugged.

  “Little seems different. They attack the Elvin, and the Elvin attack them. Shocara has seemed eager for new things...”

  “Her attack here was quite shocking, and caused much upset. It made me quite proud!”

  “How long since you left your homeland?”

  “Nearly ten years...I do well enough, but miss my old life among the people. There are others here, but all who are have abandoned our way of life, being well corrupted by the Elvin! What brings you to me?”

  “Shocara wishes you to help her...to gain information that might aid your people, and believes you can find such! She knows I am willing to carry such to her, if you can acquire it!”

  “That is the hard part. But I may have a way. I have managed to get one into the Citadel, within the Princess’ own staff. She is only a maid, but I can use her to subvert another, who would know more; that one keeps Amein’s affairs in order, and is privy to much about what is happening. That could help our friends!”

  “And how might you bend such a one?”

  “She holds a secret, that she would be loath to have revealed. Faced with such a possibility, she will do as we wish!”

  “What secret?!” Elaradan demanded, suddenly curious

  “It is her nature...she is not what she appears!”.

  “She is a Coumaderini? Shocara tells me such exist, and are hidden among the Elvin.” Elaradan whispered, after looking over his shoulder. Coudrien looked nervous, but nodded.

  “Such is true. Guard well that knowledge...it is a dangerous secret. The Elvin have no idea any of them still exist. The one I wish to subvert is such, and will no doubt wish to keep herself unknown! The Elvin are not fond of being deceived!”

  “I would hope so. If she were to speak to the Elvin, that would be unfortunate!”

  “She is young, and likely to be too afraid. What knowledge might help our friends?”

  “The Princess is most interested in knowing in advance what the Elvin are intending. Where and when would be greatly helpful, if you understand me,” the trader suggested.

  “That is reasonable. I will see what I can do to gather such. But how will you get such information to our friends in a timely fashion?”

  “Are you familiar with the Eridian village of Azarkitan? It is the closest one to this city. Shocara has caused a couple of flyers to stay there, so that such bounty might reach her sooner than by travel such as I might effect. A rider on a horse could reach there in a day...might you know someone reliable to convey it there?”

  “I know several who might do so...I could even attempt it in dire need. I may also know one inclined to relay such, who is close to the Citadel, where our spy might easily go to pass on such good gems, and garner no suspicion, should any watch her.”

  “Your plan seems sound. I would hate to have to face the Elvin, being known as an enemy! Their powers are wicked and unbeatable!”

  “Ah, but not endless. You would be shocked to know that fully ten thousand Coumaderini live here, appearing as Elvin, unknown and unknowable by the Elvin?” Coudrien suggested slyly. Elaradan’s expression well displayed the truth of this.

  “How can such be possible?” he whispered. His companion shrugged.

  “I have no idea. Few of them now know any of the history of their own people, they having hidden successfully for two centuries!”

  “How might you be so well informed of this...unless...”

  “Of course...I am one of them. I went from hiding among the Eridians, to being here, hidden among the Elvin. Our people are tired of being trapped as we are. Should you manage to undermine the Elvin, we might at least be free ourselves, to shed our pretence and walk as we are!”

  “And thus you are willing to aid the Eridians!”

  “Of course. What motiva
tes you to take these risks?” The trader shrugged.

  “Maybe I’m fond of helping what seems a lost cause? Honestly, I’d like to own myself an Elvin female...” he sighed, as Coudrien laughed loudly.

  It was three days before Coudrien had a chance to see the one hidden in the Elvin Citidel, Gishari, who seemed a normal elf, but was in fact a shape shifter like Coudrien. She had wandered into his market stall, seeming eager to look at the shiny wares displayed there. She was carrying a bag slung over her shoulder, like one fondly used by most elves when they went shopping for things. Hers had accumulated all manner of sweets and treats, such as the typical elf might favor, along with a couple of items of clothing to wear, when not wearing the dress required of her as a servant. She was accorded much free time to recreate or engage in such play as any elf might wish, spending only part of each day working to keep Amein’s private areas tidy and well ordered.

  “Ah, the young elf girl likes pretty things!” Coudrien declared, approaching her. He gave no sign that she was other than a normal, random visitor to his place.

  “I am fond of such, you are correct, but am not wealthy!” she laughed.

  “But you are well employed in the Citadel, are you not?” the merchant asked, seeing the subtle marks on her dress which so declared her.

  “I am gratefully so, but only as a lowly servant. I will never have huge riches as such!” she laughed brightly.

  “But you dream of such, do you not?” Coudrien asked quietly, so none might hear. “Perhaps you’d like to aid some friends, and thus be better rewarded?” he asked. Gishari glanced around, before answering.

  “Of course I would, but is it dangerous? I imagine one might be well compensated for taking a risk, would they not?” she asked, whispering.

  “I should enlighten you more in private! Perhaps you would visit a lonely merchant, and hold his hand, while telling him amusing tales?”