Fury Lingers: Book One of The Foreseen Trilogy

by Ethan Spears

  “Morning, sir,” Dorim called as Aoden emerged from his tent.

  “Morning,” said Aoden.

  “Morning,” said another elf. Aoden nodded back.

  Three weeks he had been in command of the squad and it had already surpassed all others in his mind. Dorim had whipped the elves into habitual respect for authority during his reign as the surrogate commander, and the effect was still strong even after Aoden made Dorim tone down many of his stricter practices. The men greeted him in the mornings, carried out commands without complaint, waited for him to be seated before they began their meals, even saluted when they were dismissed. While the feeling wasn’t unanimous, it was still the most respect he had received since he left the human military nearly four decades ago.

  In a moment of introspection, it seemed absurd that such basic politeness and respect pleased him, but his unfortunate history with the elven military made it so.

  Aoden, Dorim, and the other elf were the only ones awake, but the rest would be stirring shortly. Aoden checked the other elf’s face and recognized him. His face stood out in Aoden’s memory, for he had been the one that looked ashamed when the squad learned Valdon was pulling him away from the weapons demonstration. What was his name again?

  “Mendoro, right?” he finally said.

  “Yes, sir?” said the elf, pausing in his work.

  “Just, uh, keep up the good work.”

  The elf gave Aoden a nod and returned to his duties. Praising a job well done wasn’t standard in the military—the reasoning being that you issued commands, not requests—but the soldiers seemed to appreciate it even if they didn’t express it. Apparently, their last commander was something of a hard-ass.

  Aoden had only ever learned the names of his lieutenants and scouts in his previous squads, but he was making an extra effort to memorize the name of every soldier here while their mood was favorable towards him. It seemed they were still in high spirits over Keenas’s demonstration and would remain so at least until Keenas left the battalion camp.

  “Today’s the last day,” said Dorim, striding over to Aoden from his own tent. “Are you sure you’re not going to give the training a shot?”

  Aoden had heard much about what occurred during the demonstration since the soldiers couldn’t stop talking about it. They described swords moving untouched by elven hands and Keenas’s swift and brutal execution of the prisoners. Apparently, the large cage had held a giant demonic being of some sort, captured through advanced magics, but even alone and using only his blades, Keenas had made short work of it. Aoden’s disappointment only deepened the more he heard the unbelievable descriptions. Keenas had ended the demonstration by stating he was looking for apprentices and would be remaining in camp to review applicants, leaving the camp abuzz with excitement.

  Aoden shook his head. “I meet neither the age nor magic proficiency qualifications. From the signs I’ve seen posted, Keenas has made it clear what he’s expecting from those who audition.”

  “I still say any elf could learn to pull a blade from a scabbard with their mind in a week’s time given proper and rigorous training.”

  “Can you?” Aoden asked coolly.

  “Don’t change the subject,” Dorim said, though it gave Aoden the answer he was looking for.

  “Don’t think I haven’t tried to teach myself magic. I mean, who wouldn’t want such a useful ability? I just don’t have the same affinity for magic as a full elf.”

  “I think we hit on the real problem, there,” said Dorim. Aoden gave him the evil eye, but Dorim purposefully didn’t take notice. “I can’t blame you, sir. Not sure if Keenas is keen on taking a half-elf in as an apprentice. Not saying he’s the hateful sort, but he has a reputation to worry about.”

  “I’m not refusing to go because of some fear of rejection,” Aoden said heatedly. “What man my age would be worried about something so trivial? I can’t perform magic, end of conversation, so feel free to drop the subject.”

  “I’m just saying a try wouldn’t hurt.”

  “Wasuku,” Aoden sighed, invoking the nature goddess, and said nothing further. Dorim had broached the subject every single day since Keenas’s demonstration and he always had some reprimand for Aoden for his refusal to give the apprenticeship a chance. The reason Aoden gave for his refusal was accurate.

  For the most part, anyway.

  While it was true he had no affinity for magic, there was another nagging part of him that silently decided that, even if he could, he simply did not want to learn Yasiden, a piece of his brain that stubbornly refused to explain itself. That had always been a problem with him, where his brain came to some conclusion on its own and refused to be changed or explained. But it didn’t matter what that reason was if he couldn’t produce the magic necessary to learn it in the first place, did it? Yasiden seemed important, just not where he was concerned.

  Several more soldiers had awoken and taken to bundling their supplies and food. The main camp’s move was delayed for three days due to Keenas’s visit, but tomorrow it was to relocate further east, away from the former human kingdom and closer to the forests of the elves. After a few weeks there, they were going to break again and move further east through the forest and to the base of Doddin’s Line. That mountain ridge separated the continents of Nilriel—home of the elves, humans, and other civilized races—and Astran, the eastern continent that was home to the orcs and other servants of Kenta, and would serve as the front line when the Fury began.

  These camp moves would take Aoden farther east than he had ever been. He’d only once traveled through the elven forests, and even then, not to any of the major cities. He hadn’t even come close to Lunorom, the forest at the heart of the elven kingdom, passing instead through the human-named Chordwood far to the north. It was there that he enlisted in the elven military at a place that would scarcely qualify as a town.

  “Have you ever been to Doddin’s Line?” he asked Dorim.

  “During Kenta’s Fury eighteen years back, yes. We were one of the many battalions assigned to deal with any orcs that broke their god’s promise to leave our forests unharmed. Based on how much damage they inflicted anyway, command should have tripled the detachment.”

  “Anything worth seeing over there?”

  Dorim shrugged. “Lots of rocks and trees. There are a couple places where likenesses of men were carved into the mountains, but they were left unrecognizable by dwarven miners long ago. If you know where to look and squint your eyes, you might be able to make out one or two of them. No major rivers, few streams, mostly lakes and ponds filled with mountain runoff. Doddin’s Line is nothing special to look at.”

  “If the dwarves were still along the line, there might have been something to see.”

  Dorim grunted, but Aoden couldn’t tell if he agreed or was dismissive of the idea.

  An overpowering smell blew past them. Aoden turned to see a masked elf, freshly awoken, stirring up a stew. Half a dozen others had woken up and were giving the fire a wide berth.

  “I thought you were going to ease up on the garlic,” he accused.

  “The further east we move, the closer to the orcs we are. Can’t be cooking up such a potent meal within snout distance of the grasspigs, can we? I figure once more here and once more before we break our next camp.”

  Aoden couldn’t agree out loud without annoying any eavesdropping soldiers, but a good meal would be appreciated. If Dorim’s barren description of Doddin’s Line was accurate, they’d soon have months of nothing to eat but salted meats and hard bread.

  “I still think you should try the training,” Dorim said.

  “Wasuku,” Aoden snapped, “enough with that already! You’ve been droning about it for near a month. There are soldiers in this squad far more qualified for it than I am. Why do you care whether I try?”

  “It just seems such a shame,” Dorim said placatingly. “One of your four commanding arts is swordsmanship. That’s rare! Why squander the chance to learn Yasiden
when the chance might never come again?”

  “It’s clearly more about magical ability than swordsmanship. Putting that aside—and leaving it aside this time—we’ve both heard the descriptions of amazing displays put on by rejected applicants. What chance would I have?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I get it. What about my other suggestion? About taking a personal hand in training the men in melee combat?”

  That suggestion had been coming up every day as well. Seeing Keenas in action had sparked some unquenchable excitement for swordplay in the Lieutenant and more than a few of the soldiers. “That one’s also a bit sensitive.”

  “Do you ever plan on using that sword of yours? Might as well go home and hang it over the fireplace.”

  “I’ve no issue using my sword,” Aoden said testily. “Rather, the problem lies with swords themselves. ‘The bow is the heart of the elf’—”

  “Yeah,” cut in Dorim, his voice rising, “‘and the sword is the soul of the human.’ I know that Fellami saying as well as any elf. The hell do poets know, anyway? I can already see where this is going because it’s the same half-elf woe-is-me crap all over again. I get it; you don’t want to appear more human than elf. I ain’t a halfy, so I can’t judge on that—”

  “That’s right, because you don’t know.”

  “—but you can’t go living your whole life cowering from the issue.”

  “I’m not cowering!” Aoden had to restrain himself to keep from shouting. He was becoming angry, and it wouldn’t do to let the men see their officers getting in a shouting match. He took a deep breath to collect himself and continued. “You don’t mind my being half-blooded and I appreciate that, truly, but even you must realize that that makes you the odd man out.”

  “Pah!” Dorim spat. “A pointless distinction. An arm is an arm, regardless of who it’s attached to.”

  “Yet it exists, Dorim. You may think elvenkind would benefit from utilizing the strengths of our neighbors, but you hold an opinion so deep in the minority it may as well not even exist. To most elves, I’m an outsider, a danger. Except for attacking me outright, most elves do everything they can to make me feel unwelcome. I’m surrounded by people but effectively isolated. I was locked up during the Fury, for Wasuku’s sake, just in case the gods demanded the execution of all half-humans as well. I’m only alive because of the whim of the gods. Do you know what it’s like being rounded up like you’re a criminal for the simple act of being born the wrong thing? I don’t believe you do, so you’ll excuse me if the last thing I want to do is remind the squad that I’m not like them.”

  Aoden began to walk away, but a hand gripped his shoulder to stop him.

  Aoden turned sharply. “Dorim, I swear—”

  But Dorim was still standing where he was. Instead, Aoden found himself face-to-face with another elf. “Mendoro? What are you doing?” His voice was still harsh with anger.

  Mendoro pulled his hand away. “Sorry, sir. I did not want to call after you. I figured you would not want attention drawn to you while you were angry.”

  “While I’m…?” Aoden’s face flushed. “Gods, you’ve heard everything, haven’t you?”

  The elf nodded. “May I offer my two cents, sir?

  “Just say what you want, Mendoro,” said Dorim, but the soldier waited for his commander’s permission.

  Aoden nodded assent. “It’s alright. Speak your mind.”

  Mendoro looked Aoden squarely in the eyes. “If you think the little bit of respect they have for you now is special enough to last,” he said in a low voice, trying not to be overheard, “then you are delusional. It will wear down, slowly but surely, until all they see is a mutt. I know the minds of my comrades better than you, Commander, and every day they see they can outshoot you with the bow and outrun you on the field. You will never win trying to be an elf in their eyes. Please let me finish,” he said, holding up a hand as Aoden tried to speak. “You will not beat elves on their own terms, but you can invite them to yours. Show them in what ways a half-elf is superior to a full elf, and maybe you earn a bit of grudging respect for yourself. Or you can bask in this mild glory until it fades in a few weeks. The choice is yours to make.”

  Aoden was shocked by Mendoro’s extreme candor. He looked at Dorim, who shrugged at him. “You think I haven’t tried exactly that?” Aoden managed to say.

  “I do not know, sir. Have you?”

  Though his face was flushed with anger, Aoden kept himself from getting defensive. He had tried to prove his superiority with the blade long ago, back when he was new to the elven lands. He was only a soldier then, fresh from human lands and unsuspecting. Though he was well past the age where he should have known better, the fact that he was so young compared to his squadmates made him act the child, proud of trouncing his peers who cared so little about their blades that they let them fall to rust. They didn’t respect him for it; at best, they thought he was cute, like a boy whose papa let him win at wrestling. Even thinking back on it made the scarlet anger on his face mix with red shame.

  “I’m not hearing an answer,” said Dorim, sounding like he was enjoying the moment.

  “I did try it, though it could’ve gone better.” Aoden felt his anger coming back down. “Happy?”

  “If you agree to take control of sword practice with the men,” Dorim said, “I’ll be downright delighted.”

  “I would, as well,” agreed Mendoro. “I have long been fascinated by swordplay, but this is the first time I have seen my comrades show any interest. They have wished to try in earnest since they saw Keenas, so if you were looking for a chance to prove yourself to them, you will find no better time.” He leaned forward. “You are better than this lot with your sword, aren’t you?”

  The concern on his face was so genuine that Aoden laughed at the question. “They don’t just call anyone an expert, and I’ve watched the men in training. They have a long way to go.” He turned to find Dorim nodding in agreement and smiling like the argument was already over. It felt unreasonable to resist anymore. “Damn it all, fine. As their commander, it’s only fitting I make sure they can actually do something with those blades. We’ll start tonight if it will get you two to stop badgering me about it.”

  Mendoro smiled broadly. “Thank you, sir.” With that, he turned and marched off to find some duty to occupy himself.

  Aoden turned to Dorim. “I’ve never had an elf smile at me like that before.”

  Dorim looked at him strangely. “That’s… actually quite sad, sir.”

  Aoden flushed again. “Shut up, Dorim. At least you got what you wanted. Maybe now you’ll stop being a pain in my ass.” He stared at Mendoro’s retreating back. “I can’t tell if he likes me or hates me.”

  “I’ve known him for a hundred years, Commander. I can’t rightly say if he thinks well of you, but he sure doesn’t hate you.”

  “Does he not mind my heritage? One person in my squad is unbelievable, but two would be a godsend.”

  Dorim chuckled. “You have a low threshold for miracles, Commander.”

  “And yet that threshold has never been crossed.”

  Dorim shrugged. “I don’t know what the lad thinks, but he’s generally polite and quiet. As you can imagine, I don’t ask people how they feel about half-elves. Not exactly dinner conversation.”

  Aoden wondered about Mendoro, and at length said, “Go tell the men that we’ll have a special practice tonight before dinner.”

  “With pleasure.”

  Aoden left him to it and returned to his tent to stew and think. He would have to let the topic go, however, as he had a report to finish concerning their last scouting assignment, already days overdue thanks to all the recommendations he had to write. No less than seventy soldiers he used to command had tried for Keenas’s apprenticeships, the requests for recommendations pouring in. To many of these elves, he was one of only two or three commanders they’d had in their career and they were just desperate enough in their race for Keenas’s apprenticeship that
they would conveniently forget that he was a half-elf and how they had treated him in the past. To Aoden, however, they were a forgettable bunch of soldiers from any of his dozens of commands. He only recognized the names of two lieutenants—one of whom was a commander now—and a scout, the others being utterly unmemorable to him. He wrote vague praise for the subject’s sense of duty and honor, then went about copying each recommendation from that template.

  He skipped breakfast to finish his report and would have skipped lunch too if he didn’t smell the garlic sausage. A tad spitefully, he made Dorim promise in front of the entire squad to not use the garlic baste for dinner before he went back to his tent.

  In truth, the report shouldn’t have taken him so long to finish, but his mind kept wandering back to the impending swordplay. He had to comport himself correctly during the training. He wouldn’t act childish like last time, seeing as he’d grown and matured enough where that wasn’t even a possibility, but he mustn’t be too brash or condescending or imperious, either. Why was he thinking about it so much? So long as he acted like he always did, he would be fine. There was no reason to assume he would degenerate into a jackass once the training began.

  It was already early afternoon when he signed the report and handed it to his scout to carry to Archonite Valdon. He picked up his ralat and pulled it from the sheath. Just seeing the glint of the steel reminded him how long it had been since he had last used it. He hefted it and tried a test swing, his body quickly remembering the weight and balance of the blade. He tossed it from hand to hand and within minutes felt confident again in his control.

  It wasn’t his favorite sword, but he felt comfortable enough swinging it about. He always preferred the straight swords the humans favored. They were longer than the ralat by a hand or two, sharp on both sides, and designed with a point perfect for stabbing. Ralat were narrower, lighter, and curved, not quite a Telmarine katana, but not quite a Gardeshi scimitar either. The back of the blade had no edge, but the edge it did have could cut like nothing else.