by Mark Anthony
"It was in the unsettled times in the early centuries after the Cataclysm. Bands of brigands were not uncommon on the highways. But Arelas assured me that we'd be safe in the small group that we traveled with."
Miral dipped his head and seemed to be struggling to breathe. Tanis was fascinated by the narrative, yet he wished he had not asked the mage to relive what was obviously a painful experience.
Finally, the mage sighed. "Arelas was wrong. We sailed safely from Caergoth to Abanasinia, and we traveled inland without incident for a week. Then, a day's ride out of Solace, near Gateway, our small group of fellow travelers was attacked by human brigands. We killed one of the highwaymen, but they slew the guards who traveled with us."
"Arelas?" Tanis asked. Through the door, he heard impatient footsteps; he could only guess it was Tyresian, come to get him for archery lessons.
"There was an . . . an explosion," Miral said softly, stepping back another pace as the door began to open. "Arelas was badly hurt. I did what I could. He told me to come here, that his brother would find a place for me in court. You see, even Arelas, fond friend that he was, knew that I wasn't a good enough mage to find a position on my own."
At that moment, Tyresian crashed through the door, shouting, "Tanthalas Half-Elven! I have waited . . ." He saw the two and stopped, then evidently dismissed the mage as beneath his notice. "You are late!" he snapped at the half-elf.
Tanis ignored the angry elf lord for the moment. "And so you came here," the half-elf said to Miral.
Miral nodded. "And I've been here ever since. I've been happy—happier than I would have been in Silvanesti, I suspect. I do miss Arelas. I still dream about him."
As Tyresian fumed silently behind him, Tanis watched in sympathy as the mage padded back up the steps.
* * * * *
"Keep your head up," Tyresian snapped. "Hold this arm straight. Plant your feet thus. Don't look away from the target while you're aimed at it. By the gods, do you want to kill someone?"
Off to one side, Lady Selena laughed. She was a regal-looking elf lady with violet eyes and dusky blond hair, but there was an unsettling hardness to her features. Still, the great wealth she would inherit upon her parents' death added a great deal to her attractiveness in many elf lords' eyes.
Tanis had spent two hours firing arrow after arrow into several bales of hay that Tyresian had ordered set up in a block against a blank wall of the huge courtyard. "That way, we'll be relatively sure you won't send an arrow into some passing courtier," Tyresian had said, prompting more laughter from Litanas, Ulthen and Selena. Porthios sat on a bench, watching his half-elf cousin with an intensity that almost guaranteed Tanis would miss the target nine out of ten times.
"Can't you ask your friends to leave?" Tanis had asked Tyresian, whose blue eyes narrowed.
"Do you think they'll clear a battlefield for you someday, half-elf, just so you'll feel at ease with no critical eyes upon you?" the elf lord retorted loudly. Litanas snorted, and Tanis felt his face go red. With the exception of Porthios, the group seemed to find Tanis's performance remarkably entertaining.
Tanis's arm ached, and his fingers were numb. Nerveless hands dropped an arrow on the ground, and he flushed as the crowd behind him found merriment in his efforts to pluck the arrow from the moss with fingers that refused to do what he wished. Actually, what his fingers wished to do was wrap themselves around Tyresian's corded neck and tighten, and Tanis fought to hold his temper in check. Lady Selena had a particularly irritating laugh, too—a giggle that trilled up the scale and gurgled back down to the starting note. It was enough to make his hair curl, but Litanas and Ulthen seemed to find it enchanting.
"It does little good to be skilled in defending yourself against an enemy in the distance if you are vulnerable to an enemy standing before you," Tyresian said self-importantly.
No kidding, Tanis thought, but grimaced as the elf lord thrust a heavy steel sword into his hand. The half-elf was forced to lift it in a hasty parry against a fiercely grinning Tyresian. Deftly, Tyresian edged one foot behind Tanis's and shoved his adversary's chest with the flat of his sword; Tanis fell over backward in a flurry of arms and legs, narrowly missing his own sword as he landed.
He lay there, panting, stinging from the shrill laughter and the force of his fall but refusing to look at the elven nobles chortling on the stone bench.
Suddenly, Selena's screech rose above the clamor. "He's split his breeches!" she shrieked, and dissolved in giggles. Tanis looked down; his sword had, indeed, slit the right side of his breeches, and his fall had split it wider, leaving an expanse of unbecomingly hairy thigh exposed to the gaze of Porthios's friends. Finally, a new voice joined the others, and Tanis saw Porthios wipe tears from his eyes as he rose and, shaking his head, led his friends back into the palace through the steel doors. Tyresian leaned over and, with one easy movement, swept up Tanis's sword, saluted the fallen half-elf with it, and stepped after his friends. He paused at the door, however, holding it open with one strong hand. "See you tomorrow, half-elf," he said, and grinned.
From inside, Selena's laughter trilled back at Tanis.
Chapter 5
A Battle of Arrows
Laurana was waiting in the courtyard the next morning when Tanis arrived with his bow and arrows, his mood matching the glower of the overcast skies. Miral had given him the morning off, and he resolved to practice his weaponry until Tyresian could find nothing to criticize.
But there was the Speaker's daughter, attired in a hunter-green gown with gold-embroidered slippers, her long hair loose except for a thick braid on each side of her face. She sat, legs swinging, on the edge of a stone wall, managing both to hint at the alluring woman she would become and to show the indulged child she was now. Tanis groaned inwardly.
"Tanis!" she cried, and hopped down from the wall. "I have a terrific idea."
The half-elf sighed. How to deal with her? She was only ten years old to his thirty, a mere baby compared with him; the age gap was similar to that between a five-year-old human child and a fifteen-year-old.
He was genuinely fond of the little elf girl, even though she was a touch too aware of how her cuteness affected people. "What do you want, Laurana?"
She stood, arms akimbo, in front of the half-elf, her chin pert and her green eyes sparkling with fun. "I think we should get married."
"What?" Tanis dropped his bow. As he stooped to pick it up, the child tackled him and, giggling, pulled him to the moss. Gravely, he kneeled, set her on her feet again, and then stood. "I don't think it would work, Lauralanthalasa Kanan."
"Oh, everybody uses my full name when I'm in trouble." She pouted. "I still think you should marry me."
Tanis prepared to aim for the mutilated target, which still leaned against the high stone wall, but Laurana danced before him, getting in his way. "Do you want to get hurt?" he demanded. "Sit there." And he pointed to a bench off to his left, the same bench that Lady Selena and the others had used yesterday. Laurana, amazingly, obeyed him.
"Why not, Tanis?" she chimed as he released an arrow that missed the target, clinking against the stone two feet above the padded hay and falling harmlessly to the ground.
"Because you're too young." He nocked another arrow and squinted at the target.
She sighed. "Everyone says that." This arrow hit the hay bales, at least, though it was about three feet to the right of the dragonseye. "How about when I'm older?"
"Then maybe I'll be too old."
"You won't be too old." She spoke with stubborn force, her lower lip puckered, tears threatening like the thunderclouds overhead. "I asked Porthios how long half-elves live, and he told me. We'll have plenty of time."
Tanis turned. "Did you tell Porthios you wanted to marry me?"
She brightened. "Of course."
No wonder the Speaker's heir had grown especially chilly of late. Didn't want the Speaker's daughter running around telling people she wanted to marry the palace's bastard half-elf, Tanis thoug
ht bitterly. He released the arrow without thinking, and it thunked into the canvas-covered bales mere inches from the dragonseye. Another arrow bit into the cloth between the first arrow and the dragonseye.
Laurana had been watching carefully. "Pretty good, Tanis. So, will you marry me? Someday?"
Tanis walked forward to gather his arrows. When he came back, he'd made up his mind. "Sure, Laurana," he said. "I'll marry you someday."
She clapped her hands. "Oh, hurray!" she chattered. "I'll go tell everybody." She scurried out of the courtyard.
The half-elf watched her go. That's right, Lauralanthalasa, he thought; tell everybody. Especially Porthios.
* * * * *
Later that morning, as rain still threatened, Tanis encountered his "future bride" again as he neared the Hall of the Sky, seeking to clear his head after four hours of archery practice. "There you are!" the small, breathless voice said, interrupting his reverie. The half-elf turned with a start to see Laurana scurrying across the square, hiking up her green-gold dress about her knees so that she could run toward him. The shiny material contrasted with the grayness of the midday light.
Laurana had taken to dressing less like a child lately and more like an elven woman, abandoning the soft, gathered playsuits that elven children wore. Perhaps her new mode of dress reflected the strictures of court decorum, though Laurana, to be honest, seemed to be less concerned with the intricacies of etiquette and social protocol than were elves of lesser birth. She'd probably lose that naturalness as she grew up, he thought with a sigh, feeling terribly old all of a sudden.
"We've got to go," she chirped. "Gilthanas said he saw him heading for the square!"
"Saw who?" Tanis asked.
"Master Fireforge!" Laurana said, as if this should have been terribly plain.
Tanis groaned inwardly. Watching another session of the children and the toymaker was not what he wished to do right now, but Laurana's grip on his hand was firm, and he had no choice but to stumble along beside her.
Sure enough, the dwarven smith was there when they reached the square, surrounded by laughing children; Laurana promptly dove into the fray. Tanis sighed and hung back among the trees as usual. Soon the crowd began to break up as children ran off to experiment with their new toys. Laurana was caught up in the gift the dwarf had given her, a small, paper-winged bird that really glided. Tanis shoved his hands in his pockets and turned to leave.
"All right, lad, hold it right there!" a gruff voice said behind Tanis, and he jumped, startled, as a heavy hand fell on his shoulder. "You're not getting away this time."
Tanis spun around and found himself looking at the dwarf. Master Fireforge's eyes glimmered like brightly polished steel. Tanis didn't know what to say, so he remained silent, though he felt his heart jump.
"Now," the dwarf began carefully, "I know that—for a few folks, anyway—a simple toy isn't enough to make them forget their cares." He cast a wistful glance back at the merry children. "I wish it was that easy for everyone." His eyes met Tanis's again. "But be that as it may, I want you to have this all the same." He held a small parcel forth, and Tanis found himself taking it with uncertain hands.
Not knowing what else to do, he fumbled with the string, but finally the knot loosened and the parchment fell away. He gazed at the object in his hand, and his throat grew tight. It was a pair of wooden fish, carved in perfect detail. Each hung by a tiny golden thread from a small crossbar mounted over a wooden base that was carved to resemble the rocky bed of a brook.
"Here," the dwarf said softly, "let me show you." He touched the crossbar gently with a stubby fingertip and it began to spin. The fish traveled round and round the base, bobbing gently on their strings. It looked as though they were swimming, graceful and free, there on the palm of Tanis's hand.
"If you're embarrassed at receiving a toy, perhaps you can call it a 'wooden sculpture,' " the dwarf suggested, and winked.
"It's wonderful," Tanis whispered, and a smile crossed his face.
* * * * *
Tanis was waiting at the courtyard, the fish sculpture perched on a stone sidewall, when Tyresian arrived that afternoon, once again trailed by Selena, Ulthen, and Litanas. Porthios stepped through the double doors a few moments later. Just at that moment, a drop of rain splattered on one of the paths that crisscrossed the area, and Tyresian, wearing a knee-length tunic the color of storm clouds, glanced irritatedly at the leaden sky.
"I think we'd best cancel today's lesson," the elf lord said, and his companions—minus Porthios—groaned. The Speaker's heir merely looked somberly at the group, his light eyebrows drawn together, his face wearing its characteristic frown.
"Now what'll we do for entertainment?" Tanis heard Litanas mutter, and Selena covered her mouth with one gloved hand and trilled. Tanis cringed.
But he hadn't spent most of the morning slinging arrows into hay bales to be put off now. He nocked an arrow and drew aim on the target. His tone was intentionally mild. "I'm not too frail to stand a little dampness, Lord Tyresian. If you are, you're welcome to retreat inside. Perhaps one of the servants will light a fire for you. As for myself, I will remain."
The short-haired elf lord flushed from his square chin to his hairline. "We will continue," he said flatly.
The rain held off as Tanis sent arrow after arrow toward the target, blue feathers, then red, flashing as they sped across the courtyard. A few arrows clattered against the wall, but more and more consistently he hit the hay bale. He even struck the round target itself once in four or five tries — but never the dragonseye at the center. Tyresian offered his usual litany of criticism. "Hold that shoulder steady. Keep that elbow back! You shoot like a gully dwarf, half-elf. Keep both eyes open. You want to be able to tell how far away the target is, don't you?"
Finally, Tanis, his face damp with sweat in the heavy air, placed one arrow only two inches from the dragonseye. He turned triumphantly to Tyresian and the chattering crowd of commentators. Selena, dark smudges visible under her violet eyes, was draped like a cloak against Ulthen, giggling helplessly. Ulthen's medium-length, light brown hair swept against her shoulder as he attempted to stifle her laughter by placing one hand over her mouth. Litanas's brown eyes crinkled into slits as he snickered. By contrast, Lord Xenoth, the Speaker's adviser, stood by the door, his face impassive. Off to one side, Porthios looked unimpressed; he picked up Flint's toy and idly twirled the crossbar, sending the pair of fish whirling.
"There!" Tanis cried desperately. "What's wrong with that? It's almost a dragonseye!" He found himself fighting off tears, to his horror. If I cry now, I might as well move to Caergoth, he said to himself.
Porthios set the fish carving on a deserted bench and moved forward to take Tanis's smooth ash longbow. Pride battled with unease in his face, and for a short moment Tanis thought his cousin was embarrassed by the turn of events.
"Here." The elf lord's voice carried a ragged edge.
Seemingly effortlessly, Porthios swung the bow up and placed an arrow into the target, splitting Tanis's arrow with a thunk of steel arrowhead against wood and canvas. Wordless, he handed the bow back to the half-elf and began to turn toward the steel double doors. Again for a moment, Tanis saw discomfiture show in Porthios's deep-set eyes.
"But you didn't get any closer than I did!" Tanis protested, and Porthios swung back. Several raindrops splashed on the two, and Tanis heard Selena order Litanas inside for her oiled-cloth cloak. Off to one side, Tyresian snorted.
With his back to the onlookers, an expression of sympathy crossing his features for the first time, Porthios reached toward Tanis and gripped his upper arm. "I aimed for your arrow, little cousin, not for the dragonseye," he said softly. His green eyes, so much like the Speaker's, flashed a warning.
"So you say now!" Tanis said loudly, despite himself. He felt his hands clench into fists at his side. A raindrop plopped on Porthios's head, flattening a lock of the dark blond hair. "I say you missed the dragonseye!"
He felt, ra
ther than saw, Tyresian appear at his elbow, and heard the elf lord say smoothly, "That sounds like a challenge, my lord. Let's see how our hotheaded half-human friend can do against you, Porthios."
The sympathy flew from Porthios's face. "You challenge me?" he asked softly.
They were all looking at him. Tanis decided quickly. "I do!"
"It's hardly fair, Lord Porthios," Ulthen called "from the bench. "The half-elf has barely begun his lessons. You do have a bit of an advantage."
"I can outshoot you, Porthios," Tanis cried recklessly.
Porthios watched Tanis carefully, then moved close. "Don't do this, Tanis," he murmured. "Don't force me to do this."
But the half-elf's temper had heated to boiling. "I can defeat you under any conditions, Porthios!" he said. A steady drizzle now began to mist the area. "You name them."
Porthios sighed and surveyed the moss at their feet. "Four arrows apiece," he finally said. "We will use your bow, Tanis."
Servants scurried to bring small pavilions that could shelter the silk-clad young nobles under their striped canvas. Lord Xenoth vanished, and returned with a hooded cape.
Tyresian appointed himself referee and, hair by now plastered against his angular skull, his pointed ears drooping slightly in the steady shower, took a stance between Porthios and Tanis. "Porthios Kanan names these conditions: Tanis Half-Elven will go first, shooting four times." His military voice boomed off the damp stone walls. "A dragonseye brings ten points. Hitting any other part of the circular target brings five points. Striking the hay bales outside the target carries two points. Missing the bales completely—" He smiled snidely—"loses the bowman ten points." He coughed. "Catching pneumonia in this gods-forsaken weather costs both archers fifty points, but we all hope that won't happen." Litanas, who had returned by now with two extra cloaks, applauded the jest. "Scarlet arrows for Porthios, cobalt for Tanis. Let the contestants begin."
