Disclaimer: This is not the final version as it will be available from the usual e-book sellers and eventually, bookstores. Rather, it should be seen as an (almost) final draft. If you are interested in becoming a beta reader, or you have any comments, suggestions or thoughts that you feel I should consider before publishing please drop me a line using the contact form.
Revanche
Matt was thrown in the dungeon together with the remaining hired man, a still unconscious Abe, and the moustached thief. Myrthe made sure he was in the least uncomfortable cell and that he wasn’t with the other prisoners. She decided to stay with him to make sure things didn’t go wrong. Ala was left to her own devices. She found Gladiuth in the practice yard, doing his own exercises with a few advanced students.
“May I join you, Master Gladiuth?”
“Of course Lady Alagariel.”
He too addressed her as a noblewoman, she realised. She was armed of course, but not with one of the tiny daggers noblewomen used to communicate rank. She was going to have to ask about it, she decided. She felt so out of her depth in so many matters. At least she could drown in the moment that sword practice offered for in a few moments. She pulled off her cloak and bag, and laid down her scabbard and belt on top of it. A student offered her a practice blade.
“You address me as if I were of noble blood. I don’t know if that’s correct. I have very little idea who I am descended from. I’ve never had reason to assume I was descended from nobility.”
She stepped into the ring.
“Well, even if it isn’t, some of us are ennobled by our actions. I asked my mother though, apparently elves do regard all fire elves as noble, embodying the spirit of the elves or something. That’s what she says anyway. Also, I cannot imagine that whoever wielded that sword was not only a noble among the elves, but a very powerful one.”
“I don’t know that whoever that was was related to me.”
“The blade appears to accept you, Lady Alagariel, and you are a Fire Elf. It seems exceedingly unlikely to me that you are not of an elven noble line, even if there were such a thing as a fire elven commoner.”
She banished the conversation from her mind, slipping into the moment as they started circling one another. She ran the things Gladiuth had said about her technique last time through her mind once more, quickly remembering the movements that went with them before she banished the thoughts from her consciousness, trusting that her subconscious had taken note.
“I still mean to visit your mother, if that’s alright.”
“More than alright. She is keen to meet you. I visited her yesterday, but I will accompany you later today, if you have the time.”
Then he lunged, with no warning whatsoever. They practised for half an hour, basking in each others skill. It went well, so they switched to live weapons. Her blade seemed to understand it was practice, it was almost like it was less sharp than it was normally. The pace increased and increased and a crowd gathered to watch them again. Basking in the interminable moment that was swordplay, she moved each position flowing logically from the previous one. She went into a kind of trance. Time passed without them knowing it, the spar continuing, on and on.
Eventually, their blades rang together in a ringing blow, a perfect symmetry, neither one of them having any advantage over the other. In that perfect balance, they realised they had finished their practise. There was nothing to be gained by continuing. They both backed away and traditionally saluted one another. She discovered she was soaked in sweat, and the sun had moved quite a ways through the sky. The crowd she had noticed gathering was still there and had grown larger still. People had made themselves comfortable, making her wonder just how long the practice had gone on. She spotted an old, impressive looking man seated in a high backed chair that had clearly been brought out for him to observe their sparring. Ala suddenly knew that this was the Duke himself. A table with beverages and fruits had been placed next to him. Ala turned away from the Duke and looked around and at Gladiuth.
“Have you ever practised like that before? I never have.”
“Once. In Amahle. With an elven sword master.”
Ala looked around again, glancing at the sun, attempting to judge how much time had passed.
“How long were we busy?”
“I’m not sure,” he too looked at the sun’s position, “several hours, it seems.”
Ala glanced back at the crowd, breathing in deeply before she said anything else.
“It was… an incredible experience, Master Gladiuth.”
“As it was for me. Thank you.”
“And you. What was it though? It was… like a trance.”
“The elves call it the Battle Dance. Are you honestly telling me you’ve never experienced it before?”
“This was the first time. Though perhaps I understand, a little, how elves have fought off all those hordes of orcks in the stories of old. But to answer your question – I’ve never practised like that before.”
“Yes. It is… special. I didn’t think I’d ever experience it again, truthfully, after Amahle. Thank you.”
“No thank you. I’ve never experienced its like. It was wonderful.”
“You drew me in to it, not I you, milady.”
“What? No. You’ve done it before!”
“Never on my own. This was you, I’m certain. So again, my thanks.” she could see he was emotional.
He collected himself, pulling himself out of his reflective mood before he spoke again.
“The Duke himself came out to watch, we must go and introduce you, it would be impolite not too.”
“Like this?”
She was dripping with sweat, and covered in grime, because she had rolled through the dust countless times. Gladiuth smiled at her.
“Relax. He’s an old soldier. He knows this isn’t a ball.”
The Duke rose as they walked over to him. He was in his seventies, but still straight backed and powerful looking with a full but neatly trimmed grey beard. Gladiuth spoke.
“Your Grace, may I present the Lady Alagariel?”
“A pleasure indeed, Lady Alagariel,” said the Duke, inclining his head before he continued.
“This unannounced display of martial prowess was most pleasing to observe. The fire was a little disconcerting, but my Court Wizard says it has something to do with your heritage. But then he’s a bit of an idiot. Next time, I would like to know beforehand so as not to miss any of it.”
Fire? Had she been using her ‘little trick’? She didn’t recall it. Gladiuth looked a tiny bit puzzled too.
“I am sorry, Your Grace. For the fire and practising unannounced, neither was planned, I assure you.”
The Duke smiled at her.
“I was only joking, Lady Alagariel. Master Gladiuth, swordsmanship such as that is the stuff of legend. I have never seen anything like it, except once maybe at the Battle of Vanidil. There were some elves there, who moved like that. But then, you would know, you were there too. Cut a swathe over the battlefield, didn’t they? We were engaged in our own fights at the time so there was little opportunity to watch. I was a little too busy. The piles of orckish and goblin corpses left in their wake told of their contribution afterwards though. I do not think we would have prevailed without them that day. Is this an elven discipline? I didn’t realise you commanded it, Gladiuth.”
The battle of Vanidil was the one she had missed because Bernard had needed her in the Westmarch, she realised. Gladiuth responded, pulling her attention back to the conversation.
“I’m not sure I do your grace. Like this, in practice, it requires highly advanced students of the blade to do. I’ve only experienced it once myself, when I was at Amahle. Lady Alagariel tells me this was her first such experience too. I’m not sure I could reproduce it, even with Alagariel, let alone on a battlefield. To me, it feels more like a condition that occurs than a skill. The elves call it the Battle Dance and I’m certain it’s Lady Alagariel who drew me into it.”
“Well, it has been a most welcome distraction. It is a pleasure to see artists at work. Lady Alagariel, I understand you will make an appearance at my court tomorrow? Gladiuth has told me more or less what to expect. I will see you there. Till next, Master Gladiuth.”
“Your Grace.”
With that the Duke turned and strode off. Alagariel and Gladiuth inclined their heads as he passed.
“Well, I think we have deserved some refreshment, don’t you? Let’s go and see my mother.”
“Like this?”
“Oh get over it. She’s used to me coming in off the practice field.”
They left the castle, walking down to Duilhac. She had managed to remove most of the dust from the tabard she wore over her mail and was thankfully mostly dried up by the time they reached the town. On the way down they talked.
“What did the Duke mean by the fire?”
“Well, I saw it too actually, now that I’ve thought about it. Though I thought it would be something that only exists to the participants in the battle dance. The world of the battle dance feels… a little like another place to me. I thought the fire was something that belonged in that other place and that it was there because you are a fire elf. Apparently it isn’t confined to the participants of the battle dance.”
“I didn’t even realise I was doing it. What did it look like?”
“You leave a trail of flame behind all your movements, like a torch in the wind. That’s the best description. Sword too. It didn’t burn me though. I’m willing to bet it burns orcks and the like when you want it to though.”
“So much for that little secret then,” she mumbled.
“Oh, so you’re not completely surprised?”
“No… Well. I didn’t know I was doing it while we were training. I know I can call the fire, and manipulate it to some extent. I assumed it was something all fire elves can do.”
“Hmm. Something to ask my mother. I’m pretty sure she can’t do the same with earth though.”
If you wish to receive the weekly installment to this story in your inbox, please subscribe to the newsletter below.