Nightfall (Book 1) (11 page)

“Oh.”

One shelf of the cabinet was scattered with the silver globes, each one a little different, and varied in size. Another shelf held an assortment of daggers laid out, and it was one of these that Ganix next pulled from the cabinet. The dagger Ganix had chosen was a masterpiece in and of itself, but as a weapon it was cruel and would deal a painful death if someone chose to use it for that purpose. I was captivated by the sight of the dagger, and even after the ogre had replaced it, drawing out a large sword, my gaze kept returning to its sinister form. Ganix pulled the enormous sword from its plain black sheath, it was nearly as tall as me, but for the ogre it was a good length; he swung it about as easily as I would a sword only half its length. He brought it before himself, holding the flat of the blade upon the palms of his hands. “Would you like to hold it?” was his simple question.

“Sure.” He offered the hilt and I took it. I expected the sword to be incredibly heavy, considering its size, but it was only about as heavy as the ones I had used dueling with Eskarne. I clenched my jaw, thinking of my friends I had left in Caernadvall. “Is it hollow?” I asked, returning the sword to its owner.

The ogre laughed wholeheartedly. “No. Many people have asked that question, though.” The ogre returned his sword to its sheath. “Ogres normally use this particular metal for armor because it is both light and very strong, and we have a certain fondness for our armor, which would get excessively heavy
with normal iron. I found that the metal works fine for blades as well, though it can be tricky.” He returned the sword to its place on the top shelf, then hesitated for a second, after which he pulled the sinister looking dagger back from its shelf. The ogre held the dagger out to me.

“You have already shown me this.”

“Take it.” I hesitantly did so. “It will be safer in your hands than some others I could think of.” A smile crossed his face as if he were thinking of a joke. “I think it wants you to have it, anyway.” He rummaged for a minute through a pile of sheaths of all different shapes and sizes, chose one, and handed it to me. I slipped the dagger into the sheath and tied the straps to my belt.

“Thank you.”

“And thank the both of you for coming,” Ganix said, dismissing us. “Come again, when you can.”

Izar and I each raised a hand in farewell as we walked from the smithy. “What did you think of him?” Izar asked me as we walked back down the path.

“I would not like to find myself his enemy, though I do believe he would make a great ally if I truly am meant to fight the King.”

Izar and I sat next to each other on a large stretch of thick, soft, grass, scrying our pasts for one another. It was an unusually warm day for the season and a large pool of sunlight streamed down on us through the treetops above, bringing a thin mist from the cool ground. I heard a set of footsteps approaching from behind me, but gave them no heed. “Basajaun wishes to see you both,” Koldobika announced, interrupting the scene I had been scrying only for my sister and me.

“Now?” I asked, turning my head and upper body just enough so that I could see the wizard’s face. He gave no reply other than an impatient look that said he was still waiting for us to come. Izar and I stood and fell into step beside the wizard. “What does he want to talk about?” I had been in Baso Argi for two weeks, and since first meeting Basajaun on my arrival I had only seen the elf Lord once.

“Do you really think I should tell you?” Koldobika asked.

“If you tell me I will be able to give you an answer to that,” I said evasively. He chuckled. “So…?”

“I was not instructed to give you any information, so I am afraid that you will have to wait.”

“I think I might die from the suspense,” I replied sarcastically. If I was anything, it was impatient. Though Koldobika could not tell me the reason for Basajaun wishing to speak with me, it did not mean I could not speculate on my own; the last time I had seen the elf I had been with my sister and she had mentioned my desire to return to Caernadvall, in order to extricate my three closest friends. I could only hope that he had decided to let them come to his haven and that it was safe enough for me to go.

We met Basajaun on the East side of the river, near the bridge. He inclined his head in greeting as we approached. The uncomfortable look on his face had disappeared by the time his head was raised. Koldobika greeted the elf Lord who politely acknowledged the wizard’s words before turning to face me. “Not long ago, you inquired concerning the possibility of bringing a few close friends of yours from Caernadvall and into the remaining safety of this domain.” I nodded. “I have spoken with a few necessary entities and it has been decided that once you have spoken with the Council regarding those who will accompany you on this venture, you will be free to go.”

I had expected that it would be necessary for me to argue the point that my friends were like family and I could not leave them behind when one was likely to end up a brutish slave of my new enemy. I was quite satisfied with the decision already being made in my favor. “When will I meet with the Council?”

“Next week—at the latest.
I will make sure that you are informed if they are able to meet with you before that time.”

“Thank you.” I almost reached out to shake the elf’s hand which—for me—was customary, but instead I bowed, as that—and the inclining of heads—was far more commonplace with the people I now lived amongst.

“Of course.” Basajaun then excused himself and asked the wizard to accompany him.

“That happened in a rather timely manner and went quite smoothly,” Izar said, a slightly puzzled look clouding her face.

Izar and I gave up on the scrying that had been interrupted and decided upon a bit of fencing at the dueling arena that she had already introduced me to. We ducked around merchants’ stalls and wove through the thinning crowds that filled the roads as we raced toward the open fields that were the training grounds for the warriors of Baso Argi’s own army. I barely beat Izar to the arena, where we were met by the disapproving glance of the elf that was on duty, keeping an eye out for any serious injuries that might happen.

We each called a sword from Lietha, mine much, much, heavier than the ones I had normally called while dueling the three humans in Caernadvall. “To the death,” Izar said darkly.

“I think not,” I said indignantly.

Izar laughed and our duel started with a bone jarring clash of blades, but continued in a more controlled manner. Every once in a while one of us would cast a spell at the other and I would deflect Izar’s, or duck them, since I could sense when a spell was being created, while Izar would occasionally be frozen midair before either I would claim triumph, or she would manage to release the spell and we would continue the duel. Only in our first match had I been caught unexpectedly by a few of Izar’s frequent spells, but since then I had begun to recognize the signs of the spells’ creation.

Throughout the duels with Izar and the few others who had agreed to do battle against me, I was coming to suspect that the ability to sense magic, and therefore the creation of spells, was uncommon. Everyone else reacted later to my spells than I did to theirs and it was rare that I would actually get caught within the net of anyone’s magic. Without my spells though, the only way that I could assuredly beat Izar was by tiring her out without letting her get in an extra attack. Usually, either I won, or we would wear each other out and lay on the ground, gasping for breath and nursing what bruises we had sustained.

I jumped up and over Izar, blocking a spell that would freeze me midair. “Show off,” she said as she moved to block my overhand stroke.

“I try,” I said with a saccharine smile.

After another half an hour of practicing new blocks and thrusts, Izar called for a break. “I have been wondering; how did you manage to get so strong if you have only had your elfstone for a short number of weeks?” she asked, after draining the water skin she had brought.

I shrugged as I drank deeply from the fountain located at the center of the grounds, the water of which flowed through a tunnel feeding off the river running through the haven. “Before I got it, I always practiced with a heavier sword so I could build up my strength and stamina.” While my sister filled her flask I added, “I presume that it just enhanced what strength I already had.”

“You must have spent a lot of time practicing.” I nodded. “That is good.” I cupped my hands together and dipped them into the small pool surrounding the rising fountain waters and splashed the cool water on my face, letting it drip down my neck and wash away the sweat that was collecting beneath my shirt. After we had satisfied our parched throats we returned to our unfinished duel.

~ ~ ~

Izar and I skirted the other pairs of dueling swordsmen, aiming for a less populated space where we could fight without having to worry about running into anyone else. Halfway to the place I had my eye on, our path was interrupted by an elf named Mattin. He was tall, with a largely muscled build, he had two years on me and more pride than was due any one person. I had the unfortunate chance of meeting him on my first visit to the dueling arena and at the time I had naively thought he was just being nice and giving me the chance to fight with someone whose skills I was unfamiliar with. The fact was that he knew a number of fancy moves which he would play after giving his opponent the idea that they were actually better than him and so would secure an easy win against anyone.

From what I had been told, I had taken the humiliation a bit better than some others and that seemed to infuriate a number of Mattin’s friends, so whenever we crossed paths they made a point of ridiculing and laughing over my skills with a blade. Mattin would ask if I wanted a rematch and when I declined he would mockingly praise my wisdom for not wanting to embarrass myself a second time. The only reason I endured the sneers and jeering was because I planned to have the opportunity to defeat him, and then he and his comrades would figuratively die of shame.

“Hey, Izotz,” Mattin called, with a smirk on his face. I ignored him and called my sword back to continue dueling Izar. The elf did not appreciate being ignored, unless—I had noticed—he was alone and then he did not mind it much. One of his shadows, a hulking creature who seemed to be half goblin, grabbed my shoulder and turned me around to face them; I let him.

“Hey, dwarf, he was talking to you,” one of the others said, which was ironic since the friend was a number of inches shorter than me—and Mattin, the tallest of their group, was only barely taller than he.

I looked behind me. “What dwarf?” I asked, feigning curiosity. Mattin scowled at his friend. “Oh, there was no dwarf? Why did you say there was, then?” I asked and the boy made no reply.

I looked over at my sister. “Am I going deaf, or did he not say anything?”

“I never said there was no dwarf,” he growled.

“You are one grumpy individual,” I said, as if with disappointment. Izar started chuckling, as did some of the crowd that was gathering to watch the row that would undoubtedly begin.

“You would not be so cocky after a duel,” Mattin replied, finally coming to the defense of his friend.

“Are you willing to bet on that?” I laughed.

“Our daggers.”
I hesitated; I was not about to risk the chance of losing either of the two daggers I now owned. “You scared?” I had grown up with the act of questioning someone’s courage being an ultimate insult; this was amongst the many traditions that had been ground into me since I was just a small child, so I was not going to let it pass. I brought the sword I held out before me in a welcome to duel and one of Mattin’s shadows took a step back at the look in my eyes.

“Izotz,” my sister reprimanded, but I ignored her, knowing that she was just going to reiterate my knowledge that I was being a fool for betting on something I was not willing to risk losing. She sighed, knowing she could do nothing about my rash decision and stepped away from Mattin and me. Mattin’s group and the few spectators followed her example.
As Mattin and I circled each other, each watching our opponent’s every move, a larger crowd of curious elves, dragonfolk, centaurs, and others gathered around the original circle.

Behind me I heard someone whisper, “Do you think he will finally beat
Mattin today?” I never heard the answer because my opponent had launched himself into the air. I leapt up after him and our swords clanged as we flew past each other. Once on the ground we closed in for the heat of the duel. I blocked a spell from Mattin and barely had enough time to block his sword from cutting my head off. I felt a droplet of blood slide along my jaw where his blade had cut me.

I blocked an underhand cut as I summoned sharpness to the edges of my traditionally dulled blade. A thrill ran through my body as the surface of my sword shimmered, leaving the edges sharper than broken glass. My first duel without dulled blades had just begun. I sensed Izar trying to contact me through Lietha, so I sent a complex spell at Mattin, keeping him tied for a few short seconds; the spell seemed to make the elf flicker in and out of sight while he was fighting it off.
 
Do not do anything stupid.

Thanks.
 A small smile lifted the corner of my mouth as I lifted my sword to block the path of Mattin’s, as he landed just in front of me. I shoved him backward and before he could completely regain his balance, he began to fall over; at the last minute he used the momentum to flip himself completely over and back onto his feet. He twisted his face, giving the impression that he would snarl at me, but the sound never passed his lips.

From past experience I knew that gaining the upper hand against Mattin was a sure way to lose, so I let him take the lead.
That’s it, tire him out and you may just beat him,
 Izar said. Technically her input was cheating so I blocked her voice from my mind and wholeheartedly returned to the fight. Even without Izar’s input I likely would have tried to outlast my opponent, since it was folly to try and win with speed—I already knew that Mattin could win if his opponent went straight for the kill. Whenever he would pause to assess the situation, I would move in to keep him busy and whenever he backed off for a quick breather, I followed right behind him. I gave him no opportunity to rest and each time he tried to withdraw I would bring the fight straight back to him.

There was no option of relief in this battle, no time for an extra breath for wanting lungs, or an extra moment to sooth aching muscles. I was used to seemingly endless duels—I found myself in the middle of them multiple times nearly every day—but Mattin was used to a quick triumph over his unsuspecting rival and he began to tire quickly. I could tell this, as there was an almost imperceptible loss of control over his movements and his blade, though he did a wonderful job of masking his fatigue. I gave his sword a good blow which sent it flying out of his grasp and I heard it sink into a tree trunk fifty or so feet away. Mattin dropped to his knees, knowing he had been defeated. I swung my sword as if to behead him, but stopped it just before it could slice the skin of his neck. He barely flinched, but still there was that small reaction of fear. I had gained triumph and it had come much sooner than expected.

“I really ought to kill you now,” I hissed (it was only fitting since he had not forewarned me about his sharpened blade). I returned my sword to Lietha. “But I am feeling rather considerate at the moment.” I held my hand out to help him up, and clenching his jaw in bruised pride, he took it and gave me his dagger and its sheath. That was the bargain. “Do not forget your sword.” I turned and started walking toward Izar, but kept my senses open for any hints of treachery from Mattin.

I sensed his movements just in time; quick as lightning I spun around and sent a spell flying toward him. It pinned him in an invisible wall of magic, the new sword only a yard away from the hand that had just released it.