She gazed out among the assembled tael. "What is the Song?" she asked.
For a few moments, no one answered. Taenaran could feel the tension among the tael mount. Every apprentice had heard the masters speak of the Song. Taenaran thought back, desperately trying to remember some of what Aelrindel had said to him about the subject. There wasn't a single apprentice who wanted to answer a question posed by Arvaedra with nothing but a blank stare.
At last someone called out, "The Song is the essence of bladesinging." It was a high-minded enough answer, Taenaran thought, something that he had heard the other tael mumble piously or haughtily to impress their friends and comrades.
"That is an answer that says everything . . . and nothing," Arvaedra replied with a sharp bark of laughter. "Good enough if our art were no more than wind and shadows. You." She motioned toward Taenaran with a scarred finger. "Come here."
Instantly, the half-elf sprang up from his kneeling position, fatigue and embarrassment momentarily forgotten. Much to his surprise, Taenaran found his sword already held in the First Form.
"Now," the swordmaster snapped, "attack."
For a moment Taenaran didn't respond, unsure if he had heard Arvaedra correctly. "What?" he asked finally.
"Attack," the swordmaster replied in an acid tone. "Since the tael do not know what the Song is, we will show them. Now, attack!"
Taenaran obeyed, driving his sword forward in the First Form's basic attack. Arvaedra parried easily then riposted an attack of her own. The half-elf quickly raised his blade and caught the edge of the el'tael's weapon. The ringing of their swords echoed in the clearing.
He attacked again, aiming a low horizontal cut at Arvaedra's legs. The swordmaster leaped easily over his blade and brought her own sword down in a sweeping diagonal cut. It continued like this, with the el'tael gradually increasing the speed and deadliness of her attacks. The half-elf soon found himself struggling to remember the correct parry as the elder elf swiftly moved through the Seven Forms, beginning to strike at random. Tired muscles cramped with fatigue, and the half-elf felt as if a giant sat on his chest. He was about to signal his defeat after a wicked sword thrust nearly pierced his shoulder, but as he spun desperately away from the attack, something began to happen.
Very faintly, on the edge of his perception, Taenaran heard the soft, melodic strains of music. As it intensified, he realized that the sound originated from somewhere within himself. Could it be that he was hearing the Song for the first time?
A sense of elation began to run through him, energizing tired muscles and sinew. The Song swelled within him. At first, he struggled against its rhythm, for it felt unnatural. In the midst of this inner wrestling, his form fell apart. Disciplined sword thrusts became off-balance swipes. He felt almost as if he were drunk. Several times, Arvaedra nearly disemboweled him with swift strokes of her gleaming blade, yet each time he managed to knock her thrusts away mere inches from his skin.
Finally, Taenaran began to relax into the Song's driving rhythms, matching footstep, slide, and sword thrust to the cadence of the inner melody. It was in that moment that Arvaedra's sword began to inexorably slow—or Taenaran's own attacks began to speed up; it was difficult to tell. All he could see was the deadly beauty of two blades meeting in the air. Time lost all sense of meaning. For the half-elf, there was only the silver streak of Arvaedra's sword and the answering ring of his own steel. He was enmeshed in a symphony of battle.
Without thought, he departed from the forms and slid his sword past Arvaedra's guard. The elder elf laughed wildly and raised her weaponless hand as she spun out of the way. Taenaran felt a ripple of power move through the air and strike him square in the chest. The force of the magic caused him to stumble, and he cursed himself for forgetting that steel is not a bladesinger's only weapon. He recovered his balance and advanced once more against the swordmaster. He feinted a high attack then summoned his own power. Fueled by the strength of the Song, the eldritch energy rose within him easily. He knew in an instant that this was somehow different than the spells he normally cast. As Arvaedra's sword rose to meet his attack, he released the power he had raised. Taenaran's sword, rather than presenting an obstacle, acted as a channel for his spell. Immediately, power poured forth from his blade and assaulted the elder elf.
He watched in amazement as the el'tael absorbed the arcane attack, dissipating its force. The half-elf wanted to follow it up with another blast, but suddenly the Song shifted in to a different key. It swelled within him once more, but this time Taenaran felt it pull at him, as if it were demanding something. He had managed to settle into its rhythms previously, but this time it wanted more than just his cooperation. This time it pulled at the deepest parts of who he was, tugging at the core of his spirit. Fear ran through him like a cataract and something within cried out against the Song's terrible need. He clawed for freedom against its power—then silence filled his mind.
Taenaran stood there for a moment, stunned, then Arvaedra's sword cut toward him almost too fast to see. With surprising force, she knocked the half-elf's sword out of his hand and slammed the flat of her blade into his face.
Light exploded behind his eyes. When at last it finally cleared, Taenaran found himself lying on the ground with blood trickling from his nose. He heard Arvaedra's voice, as if from down a long tunnel, speaking rapidly to the gathered tael, as he struggled to his feet. A strong arm stabilized him when at last the half-elf managed to rise. It took Taenaran a moment to realize it belonged to Arvaedra. The elder elf said nothing as she motioned for him to return to the line of kneeling tael, but Taenaran could see the pride burning behind her eyes.
The half-elf wiped blood from his nose as he knelt once more. Fear and satisfaction warred within him, but even in the midst of that battle, Taenaran could not quite keep the smile from his face.
* * * *
Aelrindel watched his son battle Arvaedra—and winced several times as the master nearly caught the beleaguered tael with a swift stroke of her blade. Centuries of battle and mastery of his art allowed the First Hilt to sense the moment when Taenaran discovered his own Song. He was surprised, at first, by the power of it—especially when he nearly managed to land a blow against Arvaedra. Tears threatened to blur the elf's vision, but he fought them back. It would not do for the leader of the bladesingers to show any overt reaction to his son's performance.
His resolve was tested, however, when he sensed Taenaran's inner struggle. Aelrindel felt, rather than heard, the moment when his son's Song fell apart, making him an easy target for Arvaedra's attack. He would have taken an involuntary step forward as Taenaran pitched toward the ground, but the sound of a voice behind him stopped the First Hilt in his tracks.
"Hmm," Faelyn mumbled as the half-elf struck the ground hard.
"He did well, Faelyn, even you have to admit that," Aelrindel said, not sparing his friend a backward glance.
"He did," the bladesinger agreed, "until the end. It is his human half, Ael. It struggles too hard against its death."
With that, Faelyn spun on his heels and walked away, leaving Aelrindel alone with the bitter turn of his thoughts.
Chapter 17
The Year of Wild Magic
(1372 DR)
Death stalked the cavern.
Taen could see it clearly in the newborn light—razor-sharp teeth, a powerful, scaled hide, and a hideous cartilaginous tail that whipped around the confines of the high-ceilinged cave. It moved slowly, its broad, ridged head casting from side to side, peering down at the party with burning orange eyes. The creature's nostrils flared, sucking the fetid odor of the cave in with short snuffs.
The half-elf moved slowly, careful not to spook the beast. He watched as the creature tracked his movements, its tail weaving slowly, undulating like a charmed serpent above its head. When Taen caught sight of the barbed stinger gleaming wetly in the arcane light, he let out a curse.
"Wyvern," Roberc whispered. "Very dangerous." Were they not i
n such a precarious situation, Taen would have laughed at the fighter's all-too-unnecessary comment. Though not as massive as their draconic cousins, and quite a bit more dull witted, wyverns were powerful beasts whose massive teeth and razor-sharp claws could easily eviscerate the best-armored opponent. Its poison-tipped tail, however, presented the clearest danger to them all. Assassins all across Faerun coveted the dread creature's poison; it could kill a human in mere heartbeats.
The half-elf glanced around at his companions. Borovazk stood with axe and warhammer held steady. Taen watched as he tracked the wyvern's movements, obviously looking for a vulnerable spot in the massive beast's thick brown-scaled armor. Roberc had already dismounted and stood easily by the half-elf's side, his sword and shield ready. Marissa stood behind them, raising the Staff of the Red Tree in the air. Above them in the darkness of the cavern's heights, Rusella flapped noisily as she circled the site of impending battle.
The wyvern stopped moving and hissed again, the high-pitched noise reverberated in the massive chamber, echoing and folding in upon itself, sounding to Taen's ears like the screams of a thousand children.
"Ready," he whispered to his companions. When they all nodded, he continued. "Wait for my signal." Carefully, he reached into his belt pouch.
"Now!" he shouted and flung out his hand. Light bloomed once again from the fingertips of the half-elf's hand, this time leaping from his outstretched fingers to the creature's eyes.
With a mighty hiss, the wyvern reared up on its hind legs, unfurling nearly fifty feet of leathery, cracked wings and shaking its head to dislodge the glowing ball of illumination that pulsated between its eyes. At that moment, Borovazk let out a deep-throated cry and sprang forward. His gleaming axe cut deep into the beast's scaled hide, unleashing a flow of steaming blood that pulsed hotly from the wound, spraying him with its dark, crimson hue. The explosion of fluid did little to slow the ranger's attacks. The Rashemi gave another cry and brought the solid weight of his warhammer down upon the wyvern's left hind leg. The sound of splintering bone echoed in the cavern, soon overpowered by the beast's screaming hiss.
Not wasting any time, Roberc barreled toward the creature, whirling his short sword in a deadly arc. His first cut rebounded off the wyvern's hardened scales, but the second pierced the creature's armored hide and parted the soft skin underneath, puncturing muscle and tissue.
Though blinded, the wyvern lashed out with a sweep of its massive head. Powerful jaws snapped sharp-edged teeth mere handspans above Borovazk's head. The now-chanting ranger ducked belatedly beneath the attack, as if just realizing his danger. Taen would have called out a warning, but the wyvern's powerful tail struck downward, forcing the half-elf to skitter backward; it struck the very stone where he had just been standing with a shower of earth and pebbles.
"Are you all right?" Marissa called out.
Taen stumbled to his feet and nodded affirmatively. The half-elf knew that his light spell wouldn't hold for much longer. If they had any chance of emerging from this battle alive, they would have to finish off the wyvern fast.
Just then, the beast shifted its body, turning quickly to its left. The sudden movement caught its attackers by surprise, and Taen watched in horror as both Borovazk and Roberc fell beneath the shifting bulk of the wyvern's torso. Still blinded, it extended its wounded left leg slightly, as if searching for its attackers.
Borovazk rolled to his feet with surprising speed, avoiding the taloned claws of the wyvern. Roberc, however, couldn't quite escape. Within a heartbeat, the creature had him pinned beneath the wicked curve of its talon. The wyvern's tail rose up for a final strike.
With a ragged cry of denial, Marissa lifted her staff and cried out a prayer. Instantly, a whirling column of flame appeared above the wyvern's head and fell upon it like burning rain. The beast gave a long, bellowing hiss of pain and beat its scarred and burning wings, carrying it out of the divine flames.
Freed from the pinning talon, Roberc rolled out from beneath the massive form of the wyvern and returned to the battle. He gave a quick wave to signal his condition then advanced on the monster.
Seeing the light spell almost completely gone, Taen reached into his pouch and pulled out a small clump of fur. Grasping a thin glass rod in his other hand, the half-elf chanted the ancient words to a spell. As the power swelled and grew within him, he pointed the rod at the retreating wyvern. A bright flash of blue-white light erupted from the glass as a bolt of ragged electrical energy sped toward the beast. It struck the wyvern with a sizzling burst of power. Small tendrils of electricity spattered and arced across the length of the wyvern's dark brown torso; it shuddered briefly beneath the force of the spell before falling to one knee.
The odor of burned flesh filled the cavern. Taen nearly gagged from the acrid stench, but he pressed on. The wyvern hissed once more, fanning its giant wings in a furious fashion. Dirt and small pebbles flew up from the cavern floor, tossed wildly by the force from the beast's buffeting wings. The storm of debris stung eyes and skin, making it difficult for Taen to track his enemy's movements in the shadowy cave. It grew in intensity, fueled by the wyvern's bestial rage, the endless slapping of its wings against the dank cavern air.
The half-elf squinted against the assault, peering into the dust-filled cave. In the swirling chaos of the turbulent atmosphere, he could barely make out the shadowy bulk of the wyvern, moving to the right.
"Can you see it?" Taen called out to his companions. A chorus of voices exclaimed their frustration. "It's moving toward the right rear wall of the cave," he shouted.
"Borovazk see," the ranger returned the shout and charged toward the brown-scaled beast.
The triumphant ringing in his voice faded, soon replaced by a breathless curse. Taen ran toward the Rashemi and let out his own string of invectives. Standing to either side of the wounded beast were two smaller wyverns, their red eyes whirling in obvious agitation. Before them lay the half-eaten carcasses of a thick-furred brown bear and two unclad humans. Blood and gobbets of flesh hung loosely from their gaping, sharp-toothed jaws.
Taen had little time to process the presence of the two dead humans, as the largest wyvern took that moment to still its wings and pounce forward. Still moving forward by the force of his own momentum, Borovazk could do little except swipe at the creature's ridged head with his double-bladed axe. The wild swing struck the wyvern at an angle and bounced harmlessly off its thick scales. Untroubled by its attacker, the beast struck out and clamped its jaws down upon the ranger's shoulder. Sparks flew as the wyvern's teeth scraped across the Rashemi's chain mail. Borovazk grunted loudly as the creature's bite ripped through his armor, tearing at the unprotected flesh beneath.
Without thinking, Taen unleashed a string of arcane words and pointed his index finger at the monster. A single glistening arrow appeared out of the darkness and sped toward the wyvern, striking it squarely in the eye. The beast hissed as its eye socket bubbled and burned from the arcane acid attack. It released Borovazk and advanced upon Taen.
The half-elf leaped backward just as the monster's jaws snapped powerfully closed. He reached to his side and drew forth his father's blade, weaving it before him like a steel serpent. Taking a chance, he gazed to his left in order to see how the others fared. Roberc and Marissa stood side by side, battling the twin wyverns. The halfling bled from several wounds, and Taen could see several trickles of blood soiling Marissa's cloak. Still the druid did not retreat; she fought bravely at Roberc's side, laying about her with spell and staff to keep the beasts off balance.
One of the smaller creatures, whose left wing hung torn and ragged at an awkward angle from its body, turned swiftly and brought its needle-sharp tail to strike at its enemies. As he continued to weave his own defense, Taen watched with admiration as Roberc brought up his rounded shield to deflect the stinging attack. The point of the wyvern's barbed tail struck the shield soundly, nearly punching a hole through its metallic body with a dull ring. The halfling swayed benea
th the blow, nearly losing his balance as the pointed cartilage impacted hard against his shield.
Taen had no further time to spare for his companions, however. The largest wyvern, driven beyond rage at the burning touch of the half-elf's arcane acid, launched an all-out assault against him. The half-elf ducked once beneath its snapping jaws and dived forward, curling his body into a ball and springing to his feet in order to avoid the sweeping dart of its poisoned tail. Off balance from his defensive maneuvers, Taen could not avoid the creature a third time. He cried out as the beast's stinger plunged deep within his chest. Before it could withdraw it, however, he slashed down hard at the extended tail, severing it with a single swipe.
Taen stumbled back, the tip of the wyvern barb still embedded in his breast, pulsating as it spewed its deadly toxin. The half-elf's veins ran with poison, and he could feel the cramping of his heart muscle. It was as if hot acid flowed through the pathways of his body, searing away tissue and life. He gasped once for air, trying to force his lungs to work, but they would not obey him.
He stumbled and fell to his knees just as Borovazk ducked beneath a wild snap of the wyvern's jaws and brought his own axe down on the creature's neck. The enchanted blade cut swiftly through its scale and skin, biting deeply into tissue and bone. The wyvern gave a strangled, gurgling hiss, then collapsed to the floor in a ground-shaking heap.
As the ranger turned to see what had befallen Taen, the half-elf could see the light of victory dim then disappear from the Rashemi's eyes. He wanted to see more, to tell the ranger that he would be all right, but a shimmering gray haze began to gather at the edge of his vision. The pain of his wounds floated away beneath a growing lassitude. Twice now he had come to the doorway of death. It was unlikely that he would pass this way again. A part of him raged against the unfairness of it all—that he had survived so much, only to fall in a dank wyvern cave at the edge of nowhere. Another part, however, had already begun to let go.
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