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“You are still favoring your right side,” Lin Lill said, twirling the tip of her sword in Venick’s face. “And you could be quicker.”
“I’ll never be as quick as an elf.”
“Not with that attitude you won’t be.”
Venick pushed Lin Lill’s blade away, then used his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. They’d spent the past hour like this, sparring and bickering in turns. After four days of “freeloading my horse tack,” as Lin Lill put it, she had finally named the price of the trade. Venick was to be her new sparring partner.
Venick had been quick to agree to this condition. He understood that while he had things to teach the elves about battle, they had things to teach him about swordplay. And who better to learn from than Lin Lill? As a former legionnaire and an elite ranger, she was one of their best fighters.
She was also, he learned, utterly merciless.
“Also, your draw is pathetic,” Lin Lill went on. She was around his height, with a square jaw and a straight-nosed profile. Her skin was porcelain-smooth, except for a thick silver scar cutting through her left cheek.From a knife fight with a southerner, she’d told Venick the first time she’d caught him staring. He might have believed that, had he not later heard her tell someone else that she’d gotten the scar from a wanewolf. “Who taught you to draw your sword across your body like that?”
“That’s how everyone does it.”
“That is not how I do it.”
The first time they’d sparred, Lin Lill had used her green glass sword to reflect the sun into Venick’s eyes, then slashed open the buckles of his breastplate. He’d stood in stunned silence, not sure whether to be angry at the dirty tactic and ruined gear, or impressed.
“That is the problem with humans,” she had said, clicking her teeth in irritation. “You are sopolite.”
Venick hadn’t understood what she’d meant until they sparred again, and Lin Lill had executed a ruthless combination of feints that ended with Venick in a chokehold, their swords forgotten in the dirt. That time he had gotten angry, but Lin Lill remained unfazed. “I won.Howdoes not matter.” She spread three fingers, an elven motion meant to emphasize a point. “When your life is on the line, there are no rules.”
“Tomorrow, we will practice with spears,” Lin Lill said now, sheathing her sword. “In the meantime, you should work on your footwork. You are as clumsy as a—”
“Alright, Lin.” Venick pressed two fingers to his temple, grinning in a way that felt more like a grimace. “I get it. I need work.”
“At least you know how to take criticism.”
“Almost as well as you know how to give it.”
She might have chuckled at that had she been anyone else, but Lin Lill was classic granite-hard elf, blunt, humorless. Venick doubted she’d spent much time around humans. Doubted she’d ever even spoken to a human, before him. Lin Lill reminded Venick of how Ellina had been when they’d first…
He shut down that thought.
“Well,” Lin Lill said, making a different hand motion now, one Venick didn’t recognize. “Until tomorrow.”
The sun dipped behind the horizon. Around Venick, the rest of the camp was settling in for the night, unloading horse packs and polishing armor and counting their meager stores of food and supplies. The elves worked smoothly, none in each other’s way, like petals floating down a river. It was nothing like the hive of human wartime preparation, everyone crawling over everyone else, elbows and fists used if needed. This way, Venick knew, was better. Still, as he moved back towards his own tent, he found himself missing the fervor of home.
A few fires down, Rahven could be heard telling a story to a group of soldiers. True to his word, the elf spent most nights regaling tales by fireside. Sometimes, Venick stopped to listen.
He did now. Rahven was a practiced storyteller. It was his voice, Venick thought: the dips, the drawn-out pauses. Though Rahven’s expression remained composed, his tone moved freely, weaving meaning into the words. His voice brought his stories to life.
“The currigon hawk has eight tailfeathers,” Rahven was saying. “It is said that every feather bestowed the currigon a unique virtue. One for strength, one for cunning, for bravery, wisdom, loyalty, honesty, grace and hope. Long before elves roamed these lands, the currigon hawk was the king of beasts. He possessed these most prized qualities, and was revered.
“But the currigon had a weakness. For his feathers, though virtuous, did not prevent certain evils: arrogance, for instance, and vanity. One day, the currigon hawk came upon a young creature unlike any he had seen before. It was Vilguard, the first elf.What beautiful feathers you have, Vilguard said.I would love to borrow one, just for the day. I wish to know what it is to be as wise as you.
“The hawk, knowing better than to lend away his wisdom, refused. Yet young Vilguard was persistent.Please, hawk. I promise to return the feather to you. Surely you could be without your wisdom for only a day? You have so many other virtues. Grace and honesty and loyalty. You are the envy of all others.Pleased by the elf’s praise, the hawk agreed, and handed over his feather of wisdom.
“Vilguard returned the next day, as promised.Hawk! Your feather of wisdom is brilliant. I have never felt so clear of mind. Please, I must know how it feels to be brave as well. May I borrow your feather of bravery?And the hawk, who was no longer wise enough to sense the trap, agreed.
“And so it went, the elf returning each day, asking for the next feather and then the next: strength, cunning, loyalty, honesty and grace. Vilguard took these feathers for himself, leaving the hawk only with the feather of hope, which the elf could see no value in.What need have I for hope, Vilguard thought,when I have all the other virtues?He kept these qualities for himself, and passed them to his offspring, and so on, into the generations of today.
“The hawk, without his feathers, was no longer brave enough or strong enough to take back what had been stolen. He did, however, keep the virtue of hope. That is why to this day we use currigon feathers in our fletching, in the hope that the wind will calm and our arrows will fly true. And when we see a currigon hawk in the sky, we know it as a symbol of hope.”
Soon after Rahven’s story was finished, the elves dispersed. Venick, however, lingered. Overhead, the night sky was clear and cloudless. The stars seemed to dance.
