To Claim the Elvin Princess: Apprentice

by Jack Bessie

“Tell me where I should have such a meeting!” she replied, picking up an expensive pair of ear rings. “I am fond of these!” she spoke louder, so any about might hear, and assume they were haggling over goods.

  “Come to the third abode on the smith’s lane, just past the corner tavern at the ninth hour. Take the stairs up to the second floor, and seek out the second door on the right hand, and knock boldly four times. We have much to speak of! If you are prompt, I shall reward you with these...since they please your eye! And don’t wear the livery of the Citadel!” he added. Gishari nodded, and looked a bit longer, before going off.

  The light was rapidly fading, as she approached the appointed place a bit before the ninth hour. It had taken nearly an hour of walking to reach her destination, and her eagerness was wilting, by the time she climbed the stairs. The corridor was well lit, and she had no trouble finding the proper door. Four sharp raps brought no response, and Gishari was debating whether to knock again, or simply leave, when a small metallic sound reached her ears. The door suddenly swung open, and Coudrien waved her in, grinning fully. He said nothing, until the door was shut and latched.

  “Come, join me for a drink!” he suggested, his mood festive. He took her hand, and led her further, coming at last to a second room. He bade her sit, and retrieved two glasses and a bottle, from which he poured wine.

  “It is seldom that one such as you graces my humble dwelling!” he suggested.

  “I can’t imagine you’d have difficulty finding an elf in such a city as this!” she laughed. “There must be a million here!”

  “But not near as many are as you are!” Coudrien insisted, taking a drink.

  “You act as though I’m special!”

  “You are...you are no elf,” he quietly declared, having placed his hand on her upper arm. Gishari felt his hand grip her arm tightly, as she sat, scarcely able to breath.

  “What might you imagine I am?” she asked, trying to stay calm.

  “What I am...a Coumaderini!” he said, suddenly having his face shift to it’s natural state. “Please, be yourself! Your secret is safe here!” he declared. Gishari sat, open mouthed, and utterly mesmerized, before she put her glass down, and likewise transformed.

  “How is it you know my secret?”

  “Someone long ago became aware of it, and eventually passed the knowledge to me. Have you ever wondered how you managed to be chosen to be in the Elvin Citadel?”

  “My friend, Elaria suggested I try to...you know her?!” she demanded, seeing things in a new light.

  “We wished to have friendly eyes within such a place...friendly to our people!”

  “I though almost none were in existence! All I know are my close family!” she hissed, angry.

  “So it has been, as we seek to avoid the scrutiny of the Elvin...perhaps you’d like to help our friends, and maybe help free our people?”

  “Who are our friends?” Gishari wondered.

  “The Eridians...there are ways you may seek to aid them!”

  “Dangerous ways?”

  “Not so bad...” he said, reaching into his pocket, and pulling out the ear rings Gishari liked. He turned her hand over and placed them in her palm, then put a half dozen coins therein also.

  “You would find that the Eridians pay better than the Elvin!” he insisted. “What do you think? Are you willing to help us?”

  Gishari stood, and turned, and slipped onto Coudrien’s lap. “I am tired of pretending to be an elf! Tell me what I must do!” she whispered, and closing her large eyes, she leaned close to touch her lips to his.

  26

  Rasten had begun his day at first light, moving from one practice exercise to the next. He had first gone for a run with Amein, whose Elfish stamina had been hard to equal, when he first began. She had been delighted to tease and motivate him, running in front of him so he could chase her cute behind, and even running backwards occasionally to taunt him when he complained overly about being tired. She stopped this after tripping and landing on her butt, accompanied by Rasten’s loud laughter.

  As his conditioning improved, he found keeping up with her easier. In addition to this, he had a session of other training, to develop his strength and agility. The first few sessions of this had been brutal, but he soon overcame it, much to his own amazement.

  On this day he had worked at both allowon riding and flying on a terranak, before going to Master Roein’s for more sword work. By mid afternoon he was beat, and eager to go have a bath, the smell of sweat and allowon strong. Instead, he was met at the door to the Master’s place by a young and adorably cute Elvin female, who had other ideas about where he needed to go.

  “Greetings Lord Rasten! I am Kyieria; The Princess wishes me to guide you to meet the Sage, Amin Hareiastin! He will instruct you on matters of great importance, that being your special powers and abilities!” the young elf gushed, clearly excited to be given such a task. Rasten merely sighed, and offered her his arm.

  “I don’t smell all that good, after all my training,” he complained.

  “It does not bother me!” she exclaimed, looking like she would agree to being had even were he covered with mud or manure.

  Their long walk took them far up into the heights of the city, into the part on the west side of the Citadel, and almost above it. The view, as Rasten paused to look out over the city was astounding, the large lake to the south of the city beautiful and a rich blue in the late afternoon sun.

  “Forgive the long hike to reach me, but I am partial to the view!” A voice rasped behind him. Rasten turned to find an elf that looked older than any he had yet seen. Compared to beings who all seemed ridiculously young, this one was ancient.

  “As you surmise, I am the Sage Hareiastin. I have witnessed the passing of over twenty melliennia, and hope I’ve managed to learn a thing or two in all those years! Come, my young friend, you have much work to do!” the old elf suggested, his eyes bright with many bits of secret knowledge and much wisdom.

  Kyieria perched herself in a cushy chair inside the Sage’s entry, and produced a small book from under her garments, preparing to pass the time while waiting for him to be finished.

  Rasten followed the Sage into a bright, airy room, and they seated themselves facing one another, close enough that The Sage might touch Rasten.

  “What might you be inclined to help me with...I’m not sure I understand what Amein even means when she speaks of powers and abilities?”

  “Hmmmmm...Amein reports that you have an amazing level of truthsense, for one, far more than the average elf might possess. Amein’s is stronger than most, but she has already fallen prey to your superior one!” the Sage chuckled. “She’s also witnessed what we call farsight...the ability to know things far away. Your father possessed them and others in large measure, and they were supremely useful to him. He chose your mother in a fashion, so as to insure that you would also have such abilities!”

  Rasten frowned at this, the pain of his mother’s loss still sharp and hard. The suggestion that she had been picked, solely as one might choose an animal to be bred for some arcane purpose, was unpleasant.

  “Do not fault your father’s choice, painful though it may seem...greater things were at stake. What you most regret is that you are bereft of both of them, mother and father alike absent from your life. The child within you wishes to be better acquainted with who they were. You will learn more, in time, but do not surrender to bitterness, over what you think you’ve lost; your future is filled with many more things then you might imagine.” Hareiastin suggested, shocking Rasten with his ability to know, or at least guess his deepest feelings.

  “How might you understand so much of me, things I am unclear about even on my own?” Rasten wondered.

  “You are an open book, young Rasten, your emotions plain and easily seen. You are in many ways quite innocent, which is nothing to be embarrassed about; it will make it easier for you to accept and learn. Your father began his journey when he was quite young, and tha
t boyish innocence allowed him to delve deeply, and become a remarkable master of the powers within.”

  “Where should we start?” Rasten wondered, suddenly excited to begin, his fatigue already well forgotten.

  “You must learn to control the ceaseless chatter that occupies your mind; only with that done, will you be able to reach for the other abilities.”

  Rasten assumed this would be easy, but quickly understood the error of his thinking. No matter how much he tried to stop the words, the thoughts, the constant barrage of conversation they flowed through his mind like a rain swollen stream, he seemed unlikely to succeed. It was only when he managed to sit, imagining a large rock, sitting in the wilderness, and he concentrated on staring at it, that his random thoughts seemed to subside.

  His fatigue had well returned, by the time they stopped, and he was sent off, instructed to practice this exercise every moment he could. His Elvin guide hopped up when he appeared, handily tucking her book out of sight, and smiling invitingly, she took Rasten’s arm, to guide him to the Citadel. It seemed absurd that he might require such guidance, being able to see his destination plainly only a half hour’s walk away, Yet when they descended into the maze of streets, he was quickly lost, the massive Citadel lost from sight down among the buildings. His guide was talkative even by normal Elfish standards, determined to be cute and desirable, clearly hoping to get invited into Rasten’s bed at some time. He found her somehow more tempting than usual, but was determined to resist any such inclination to give in.

  They arrived at the clan home to another shock, at least for Rasten, there being several hundred new Elvin present, leaders of distant worlds come to consult with Amein, and likely eager to meet Sayarin’s son. Kyeiria found his panic amusing, but quickly lead him around to a rear entrance, where he could attain their apartment unnoticed, and avail himself of a bath.

  The attendants were over eager to assist him, as usual, and he was soon spotlessly clean and shaved. As much as he hated shaving, and envied the Elvin for having no facial hair, he had been sternly warned by Amein against growing a beard, and looking much like an Eridian warrior.

  In spite of being in a hurry, he gave in to the ones who were offering to give him a massage, his aching muscles eager for such attention. He worried only a moment, afraid Amein might come looking for him, and find him being so well attended to, but he soon moved on, and tried practicing his mind clearing exercises while relaxing, more to keep from being aroused that anything; the ones massaging him had no more reluctance to massage his maleness than they had to avoid touching Amein.

  Rasten was soon well dressed, and on his way down to the main floor. He was wearing high leather boots, and skin tight brushed leather pants, which left little to the imagination, regarding his now well defined muscles. He wore a loose, long sleeved shirt, suitable for formal occasions, and wore his sword, as all Elvin fighters, including Amein, were inclined to do. As he moved down the stairs, into view, the noisy room became quite still. Noting this, Amein hastened up a few steps, and waited for him to join her.

  “My dear guests and fellow Elvin! May I present my greatest accomplishment and find, Lord Rasten, son of Sayarin! Our lost one has been well found!” she loudly declared. The applause was near deafening, touching Rasten in an odd way. It seemed to display how deep and true Amein’s assurances of his importance really were; if she were crazy, apparently she had much company.

  Had any wondered how Amein felt about him, seeing her helpless and awestruck gaze, as she looked upon him, appearing much like a very young elf suffering her first crush, would have ended their doubts. Many smiled knowingly, finding her probably infatuation delightful; all knew she was due for a mate, and her insistence that such was nonsense was now revealed for the wishful thinking it had been.

  Amein, knowing this was likely true, merely smiled at Rasten, bracing herself for the expected barrage of teasing she would get; elves delighted in poking anyone’s foolishness when they got the chance, and she was not considered above such a fate.

  Rasten felt himself overwhelmed quickly, the endless stream of introductions and the complex Elvin names blending together into a blur. Still, he was eager to know as much as possible about all the other worlds, asking as many questions as he could, and hoping he might remember much.

  Since this was in a sense a state function, more than a family or clan event, it had a more formal air to it. Dinner was served properly, by a large group of devoted Elvin servers, and as the evening progressed, there was entertainment and music. Still, there was much time devoted to simply wandering around, engaging the guests randomly.

  At one point Amein gave a short speech, more to outline what she hoped they might discuss the next day. At the end, she stood waiting, having asked for any questions of general interest. Someone stood, and asked a question that made Rasten cringe.

  “Dear Princess, what has come to pass with your Eridians? Will you ever resolve that issue?” The speaker sat down, and the silence was amazing, as everyone sat, wondering how Amein might respond to such a leading question. She looked thoughtful a moment, and then replied.

  “As Lord Gehderin knows, we have been plagued by the Eridians for a thousand years. You all know our history, and why we are unwilling to simply do away with them! While I was away, retrieving Lord Rasten, they attacked Alarinad, an amazing affront, and a sign that their Princess is willing to think new things! We have allowed ourselves to become complacent, to assume we knew and understood our enemy. Speaking with a captured female warrior, we learn that most of what the Eridians believe regarding us and our intent is utterly wrong. But we are also guilty of failing to know who and what they are. I have taken steps to better evaluate them, to know for certain how many there even are now. This is a good lesson for all of us, and one we will discuss more deeply tomorrow; how many of our enemies do we truly know and understand?” She paused a moment, to let this sink in.

  “Enjoy your evening...we have much to do, beginning at first light! And welcome, my friends, to our clan home!”

  This confession of sorts shocked the ones less well acquainted with her, and touched the ones who did deeply, they finding it a sign of her supreme honesty and lack of arrogance. Rasten noted this as well, and as they headed toward their rooms later, he thought to comment.

  “How hard was admitting you had no clue about some aspects of the Eridians...how was that?”

  “Less hard than lying would have been. There is no shame in being honest, in admitting your errors! No true leader can be considered well or respected if they are not.”

  Rasten grinned at this. “On earth they would say you have some serious gonads!” he teased. Amein jerked his arm and he found himself nose to nose with her. She also had a firm grip on his male items.

  “Are you suggesting that being brave and honest are only male things...male strength?!”

  “Of course not. You’re one brave pussy!” he sighed.

  “Good! You’re about to discover how strong pussy is!” she insisted, taking hold of his arm and almost dragging him along. “I think mine is inclined to make you beg tonight, and worship it too!” she informed him, eyes sparkling.

  27

  Among all the things that kept Rasten busy constantly, none were as welcome or aggravating at times as his instruction on all things Elvin. He enjoyed it because he was able mostly to sit while being lectured. It was aggravating in its complexity and convolutedness. The Elvin seemed to delight in having dozens of subtle rules for proper social interaction, from those regarding what titles to use to address another, which all varied by who was being addressed, where the meeting was taking place, and the relationship of the parties involved, to all other aspects of living.

  “Doesn’t anyone just say hello!” he demanded, during his first week of instruction.

  “Of course not! One must be at least somewhat proper!” the older elf, a female and one of the family’s resident staff of long standing declared, sniffing disdainfully at Rasten’s c
rass suggestion. Madam Clinarien had taught young Elvin proper manners for decades, and had rather firm rules for what was acceptable. That she had taught both Amein and her father seemed to Rasten quite amazing and not a little daunting.

  “Now, what do you do upon meeting someone that you are unsure of, as to their rank or title?” she repeated.

  “Declare yourself and your title, if you suspect you are the younger?”

  “Show me!” the Madam insisted. They were standing, facing each other. Rasten pulled himself up straight, and bowed his head slightly, then extended his right hand, palm up.

  “Lord Rasten, pleased to meet you!” he declared. The Madam reached out, laying her hand on his upturned on, nodded and declared,

  “Madam Clinarien, Keeper of Traditions. I am pleased to meet you!” she replied. “Now that is the public greeting with a stranger. What might you do if meeting someone well known to you?” she asked.

  “Ummmm...hug them, after the touching of hands?”

  “Are you sure?” she asked slyly. Rasten nodded.

  “Sit! It’s not that simple!” she declared an evil grin showing.

  An hour more of instruction made his head hurt, but he hoped he had some idea what to do. That he now realized he had likely appeared a barbarian to most of the keep’s residents did little to make him happy. When he complained to Amein, he was laughed at.

  “Of course you seemed a bit...primitive...but the Elvin are amazingly wise and flexible, understanding how hard it is for a stranger to come among us, and not be themselves. If you act that way after the Madam has trained you, you will get peed on!”

  “I assume much of this has accumulated over time?

  “Thirty million years of time! But the Elvin seem more inclined to cling to traditions and ritual well...if you read personal tomes from a million or so years back, you’d likely spot nothing different, in how elves act. We don’t just change for the sake of change!” she insisted, amused at Rasten’s dour expression.