Bladesinger

Chapter 21

The Year of the Serpent

(1359 DR)

Thunder rumbled among the storm-wracked sky.

Chill rain fell like a hail of arrows upon those tael still battling in the forest clearing. The senior apprentices fought hard, their bodies carried forward in a complex dance of deadly steel. Loud gasps of breath echoed in the clearing, cutting through the silence left behind by the harsh clamor of blades, the ring of steel upon steel.

Despite a bone-deep fatigue that threatened to slow and paralyze muscles worked hard to the point of failure, Taenaran was enjoying himself. An opponent's sword snaked toward him on his left side. Without breaking stride, he flicked his own blade in a downward stroke at the incoming attack. As the weapons met, he raised his right foot and twisted his hips, using the initial momentum of his parry to carry him into a sideways flip. The maneuver allowed him to avoid a second opponent's incoming sweep toward his legs. He slid to the left, and his two opponents attacked each other.

Such was the way of alu'dala, the water battle. Alu'dala was an ancient exercise, a group combat where each participant met and blended with the attacks of all others near him. The purpose of the exercise was not so much to vanquish opponents as to flow with the energy each attack created. Among masters, the alu'dala could last days.

Taenaran would be satisfied if he made it through the next few candle lengths. At first, the rain had been a welcome gift, cooling off his overheated body. Now the frigid water mixed with his own sweat, running into the half-elf's eyes and making it difficult to see the whole battlefield. He barely avoided the slashing attack of a long-muscled apprentice to his right. With an inward curse at his own lapse of concentration, he sucked down a lungful of air and rolled across the rapidly muddying ground, bringing his own sword up to attack the nearest opponent. It was a difficult maneuver, one that required a great deal of coordination. The fact that he executed it perfectly brought a smile to his face-and a grimace of dismay from the defending apprentice, who obviously hadn't expected the half-elf to succeed quite so spectacularly. Even though the apprentices' blades were not honed to combat sharpness, they could still do some damage. Taenaran's sword slipped beneath his opponent's guard and pierced the elf's skin. The wounded apprentice fell backward just as one of the masters called out his elimination from the exercise.

Taenaran had little time to worry about his erstwhile enemy, as two more swords whipped at him from behind. He spun quickly, knocking both blades away in a precise parry that brought a murmur of approval from the junior apprentices and those senior tael who had been eliminated from the alu'dala.

The half-elf felt his face begin to flush. For many years, he had endured the whispered comments, the biting insults murmured behind covered faces or concealed within seeming compliments or worse. It wasn't uncommon for some of the other apprentices to target him specifically during exercises such as the alu'dala, purposefully trying to overwhelm the younger but stronger half-elf. If the masters saw any blatant harassment, they were quick to put a stop to it. Much more went on, however, behind the el'taels ' backs. It was nice to receive the occasional acknowledgement of his skill.

It was even nicer, the half-elf thought, to have Talaedra witness it. Although he couldn't see the young elf maiden, and he didn't dare take a moment to look for her silver-haired beauty among those assembled, Taenaran knew that she was watching.

He didn't have too much time, however, to bask in the accolades. Both opponents, the only two remaining besides himself in the alu'dala, began to weave a deadly coordinated attack, seeking to draw his blade too far away during a parry so that the other could strike at his unprotected flank. He took a moment to gaze at the two enemies before him and cursed silently. Andaerean and his never-far-from-him companion, Nardual, were two of the most active antagonists during his time as an apprentice. It had been clear from very early on that the golden-haired, bronze-skinned Andaerean somehow took umbrage at Taenaran's presence among the tael. It didn't help that his Uncle Faelyn worked with the haughty elf apprentice privately to hone his skills. Nardual, however, never seemed to hold a personal grudge against Taenaran. He simply followed his elder companion-though out of a misguided sense of loyalty or a lack of imagination, Taenaran never knew.

He did, however, have his suspicions.

The half-elf managed to catch the sly smirk that spread across Andaerean's face before the elf lashed out with a booted foot. Taenaran's instincts cried out for him to dodge the hasty kick, but years of training had helped him identify the real threat. Nardual's weapon slashed to Taenaran's right, perfectly aligned to strike the half-elf in mid dodge. Instead, he took the brunt of Andaerean's attack, catching the elf's boot with his free arm and wrenching his opponent off balance. Nardual's sword whistled about a hand's width from Taenaran's shoulder.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, but the half-elf barely heard it. From the moment that he had caught Andaerean's boot, the world seemed to slow. The sounds of the clearing faded. The patter of rain, the rustle of wet leaves in the storm-ridden wind, the explosive breath of his attackers-all of it settled beneath the first strains of the Song. He felt it grow within him, gradually crescendoing. Nardual launched a desperate attack to give his companion a few moments to regain his footing. The elf's longsword beat against Taenaran's defense, but as the Song grew, his opponent's blade began to move more slowly. As Nardual's sword cut downward, the half-elf watched it with a sense of dispassionate observation. His own blade touched the tip of Nardual's longsword then slid down its length, stinging the elf's hand with a light rap.

The sword fell from Nardual's grip just as Andaerean returned to the fray. The now-angry elf shouted something that Taenaran, enmeshed in his inner Song, couldn't make out. Despite his ever-present unease at the Song's power, the half-elf rode his fear, mastering it like a skittish horse. He knew that if the battle ended soon, there would be little chance of the Song turning on him. He had asked his father about the Song's dreadful demands, but on that subject his father, and the other masters, were stonily silent. "This was," they insisted, "a path that Taenaran would have to walk alone."

At that moment, his opponent's blade struck out, seeking the exposed flesh of Taenaran's throat. The half-elf ducked beneath the attack and rolled forward, executing a backward slash with his own weapon. Lightning lit up the stormy sky as their blades met. In the distance Taenaran could hear the braying of the training horn, signaling the end of the exercise. Instantly, the Song faded and he stood in the midst of the clearing, panting heavily.

Nardual bent down to retrieve his sword, but Andaerean simply stared at Taenaran, his own weapon still held in battle readiness. Taenaran returned the look, trying not to let his body's trembling, brought on by the rain's chill touch and the strain on his muscles, become too noticeable.

"You performed well, Taenaran," the elf remarked coolly before wiping and sheathing his blade.

Taenaran said nothing, thrown off guard by Andaerean's words. The haughty tael had never spoken a kindly word to him in all the years that they had trained together.

He did not disappoint now.

The elf sniffed the air, as if scenting something foul. "Proof that even an ape, with proper coaching, can imitate his betters," Andaerean said. "Perhaps one day they will teach you to sing and dance as well."

All pleasure that Taenaran had felt at his execution of the water battle shattered beneath the cutting edge of the elf's words. The half-elf felt his anger rise like a river swollen with spring thaw. He wanted to reach out and punch that smug, superior smirk off of Andaerean's face, or at the very least, send the tael back home with a few bruises. He might have done so, had another, lighter voice not broke in to their small circle of conflict.

"Taenaran," the voice called out. "Oh, there you are."

Talaedra stopped in midstride, her face flushed and her breath swirling in gray clouds blown by the rain-laden wind. Her silver hair, rare among the sun elves, danced wildly in the storm, tangling and twisting where the gusts tossed its curling strands. Where in others such an unusual coloring would be a flaw in an otherwise stunning beauty, Talaedra wore it like a crown. The silver-white tint of her hair set off eyes as gray as the mists of the spring-soaked Glades of Araenvae. The effect added to the elf maiden's beauty, making her seem even rarer, like a certain moonrise that occurs but once in a lifetime.

The effect was immediate-and not unexpected. Taenaran felt his breath catch and his tongue stiffen; he stood transfixed, as if caught by the gaze of a basilisk. Andaerean, on the other hand, straightened immediately. The half-elf watched enviously as the haughty, dour lines of the tael 's face were replaced by a gracious and open smile. Andaerean bowed low.

"Talaedra," he said, pronouncing the young elf maiden's name with perfect grace, "it is an honor to see you again. How fortunate for us that you chose this day to come and see the alu'dala."

Taenaran felt a surge of jealousy as Talaedra returned the tael 's bow.

"Andaerean," she replied. "The water battle is always a delight to watch. You performed well," she said, eliciting another wave of jealousy that suddenly stopped and turned to amazement when Talaedra continued with a sly wink toward Taenaran, "all of you."

The half-elf's heart leaped in his chest. She had noticed his skill today. The thrill of it was almost enough to restore his earlier feeling of contentment.

Almost.

What came next, however, damped Taenaran's enthusiasm like a torrent of freezing water on a fledgling fire.

Andaerean cleared his throat. "Tonight is the Feast of First Planting," the elf said with great formality. "I was wondering if you would grant me the honor of accompanying you to the celebration."

Taenaran winced at the elf's words, despite himself. He knew what was to come, yet even though he saw it, like an arrow speeding toward his heart, it did not hurt any less, which was why he spluttered and choked violently at Talaedra's response.

"Thank you for your offer," the elf maiden said formally, her rich voice lilting and even, "but I already have a companion for the celebration." She reached out a slender, smooth-skinned hand and laid it gently upon Taenaran's shoulder.

The half-elf nearly burst out laughing at the look of consternation and disbelief that passed across Andaerean's face, soon followed by a piercing stare full of hatred. The elf tael bowed low again.

"Well," he said in clipped tones, "since I have done my duty and am now assured that you would be spared the indignity of attending tonight's feast alone, I ask your leave to retire."

He spun around quickly and grabbed Nardual. The two walked briskly toward the waiting tree line, but not before Andaerean turned to look once more at Taenaran. The half-elf felt the tael 's hatred, like spears thrown from the angry cast of his eyes.

Taenaran groaned once the two companions moved out of sight. "Now you've done it," he exclaimed. "Andaerean is truly angry now."

"Andaerean is a pig," Talaedra spat, "whose manners, however cleverly disguised, would be more appropriate among orcs than elves. I cannot believe what he said to you."

Taenaran felt the tips of his ears burn with shame. "Then you heard what he said?" the half-elf asked. "Well," he continued, not waiting for a response, "thank you for coming to my rescue." He gave the maiden a quick bow then started to walk toward his pack.

"Where are you going?" Talaedra asked. "We haven't talked about tonight."

Taenaran stopped suddenly, as if caught in a spell. He turned to face the elf maiden, afraid that she would disappear and he would come to realize that this whole day had been nothing but a dream. "Th… Then you were serious about this evening," he stammered when Talaedra didn't fade from existence.

Her smile lit up the storm-clouded clearing. "Of course I was serious," she replied. "Where shall I meet you?"

"But your father," Taenaran began, "won't he be-"

"My father," Talaedra interrupted, "will be far happier knowing that I am spending the evening with an honest and good-hearted tael, no matter his bloodline, than if I were accompanied by a conniving and spiteful apprentice who barely conceals his own venomous heart behind a web of lies."

Taenaran simply stared, unable to respond.

"Good," Talaedra said, "I'm glad that it's settled. Why don't I meet you at the Verdant Pools and then we can walk to the celebration together?" She smiled once more then bent forward to kiss Taenaran lightly on the cheek before leaving the clearing.

The half-elf still stood there, honestly confused by what had just happened. Perhaps, he thought, this really was a dream.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, as if in answer.

Drops of water fell from rain-soaked trees, spattering Taenaran's cloak. Absently, he wiped away the few errant droplets that ran down his face. Despite the arrival of spring, the night air held a fierce chill. Above him, thick clouds shrouded the moon's illumination in a mantle of silver-gray luminescence.

None of it mattered to the half-elf. In fact, another Time of Troubles could have fallen upon the world and he would scarce have noticed-for Talaedra waited just beyond the next bend in the forest path. Friendships had been hard to come by, living as a half-blood among the elves of Avaelearean. Taenaran's friendship with the young elf woman meant that much more to him because of such difficulties. Now, however, the half-elf felt as if they stood upon the brink of something more, something deeper than friendship.

Taenaran smiled in the darkness as he scrambled up the last rise leading to the Verdant Pools. His smile turned to a curse as the worn leather scabbard he wore banged against an out-thrust expanse of rocks. Not for the first time, he wished that he could travel without the weight of his sword dragging at his side. As a student of the bladesinging art, however, he was expected to wear his sword always-as a means of being prepared for anything that might occur, as well as to remind him of his essential duty to the elf people.

When the shadows along the trail suddenly surged and shifted, resolving into several heavily cloaked figures, Taenaran prayed silently in thanksgiving that he had not, for once, shirked this discipline. The half-elf spun to his left, eliminating the possibility that his enemies could surround him by pressing his back against the rock. One of his assailants stepped forward and swung a thick-boled length of wood at him. He ducked beneath the blow and tried to draw his weapon, only to find himself caught beneath a press of bodies. Punches and kicks rained down upon him. He tried to cry out, but the violence of the attacks knocked the wind from him. When the weight bearing him down to the muddy earth disappeared, it was all he could do to crawl on all fours, gasping for breath.

"Get up, you a Tel'Quessir scum," a voice barked from somewhere above him.

Taenaran gazed up at his assailants, who stood around him in a loose circle. They each wore thick black cloaks and most of their faces were covered with a thin black veil, leaving only their eyes to stare coldly back at him. The half-elf wiped blood from his nose with the back of his hand before struggling to rise. His mind spun rapidly as he fought to stand. Had they discovered Talaedra? Was she safe? By the sound of their leader's comment, this wasn't an attack from outside the elf community.

"I said rise," the voice shouted again.

It was followed by the sharp strike of a booted foot against Taenaran's ribs. He doubled over in pain but refused to fall to the ground. Carefully, he tried to calm his mind and gain control of the fear that ran through his body, leeching his strength. The mind was a warrior's greatest weapon. His masters had said that often enough, and now he intended to take advantage of their wisdom.

"Stand before your betters, ape," the leader spoke again.

This time Taenaran clearly identified Andaerean as the speaker, despite his attempts at camouflage.

"Andaerean, stop this at once!" another voice cried- Talaedra's.

Taenaran cast around for the elf maiden and found her struggling to free herself from the hold of two of his attackers. She looked unharmed; fire burned within her gray eyes. Relief flooded through the half-elf. At least she hadn't been hurt.

"I wish I could stop it, Talaedra," Andaerean responded, "but I can't. This one must learn his place!"

"When my father hears of this-" Talaedra began.

"Go ahead, run to your father, Tal," Andaerean spat. "Who would believe that I had anything to do with this?" The elf looked around at the other cloaked figures. "Besides, I spent the evening before the celebration training," he continued with a harsh bark of laughter, "and a master will confirm it." Andaerean stared right at Taenaran as the others carried on his laughter.

"You filthy piece of troll dung," Talaedra shouted. "I'll-"

"Shut up!" the elf demanded, as he raised a fist and brought it down hard upon the elf woman's face. "If you want to be an ape-lover, I can't stop you, but I'll be damned if I'm going to listen to you mewl about this piece of filth!"

As the elf's fist smashed into Talaedra and she sagged against her captors, something burst deep within the half-elf. All of the anger and shame he had felt his entire life welled up within him like a magical storm. It wasn't enough that they hurt him, now they chose to hurt someone he cared deeply about.

It would end here.

With a snarl of rage, Taenaran quickly drew his sword, ducking easily away from the hands that grabbed for him awkwardly. His blade sang from its scabbard with a terrible, metallic keen. In his white-hot rage, he could not see Talaedra plant a wicked jab with her elbow into the stomach of her captor. Nor could he see her kick herself free from another of the elves and lunge forward, toward Andaerean.

All that Taenaran held before him was the sight of Andaerean's eyes-eyes that mocked and belittled him with their dismissive gaze. The multiverse slowed to a single heartbeat as the half-elf screamed his hatred at his tormentor and plunged the length of his sword directly at the elf's cold heart.

A woman's cry brought Taenaran back to reality.

Standing before him, impaled on the edge of his sword, Talaedra gazed at Taenaran with eyes widened in shock and surprise. Her mouth worked to form words but none came. Only a red stream of blood poured forth, spilling down her chin. She hung there for a moment, arms outstretched, before light fled from her eyes and Talaedra's body fell backward.

Taenaran looked at the fallen woman then at Andaerean, whose own face registered shock and horror. He tried to say something-anything-but grief stole his voice.

Moments later, a sharp blow crashed down upon him, and Taenaran fell headlong into darkness.