Talla

“Beautiful,” Talla muttered in a quiet voice. It surprised her to hear her voice trembling. “Beautiful.”

Mastery is as beautiful and fleeting as youth for most.

You may have it for a time, yes, but it is not an ornament to be forever held over your fireplace as a trophy. Skill is not eternal. If you do not practice it every day, you will become less proficient. A mere few weeks without practice has precise strikes that once found their target nine times out of ten now only finding eight. Two months afterward, that number drops to seven. It is most cruel that such a hard-acquired ability can be so easily lost. After that arduous climb to the top, you still must dedicate yourself to your craft to keep your skills where you want them.

This is most difficult.

There are days when you do not wish to exert yourself. Nothing has gone wrong in your life, nor are you particularly exhausted. Yet the thought that graces your mind when the first rays of sunlight touch your face is, ‘Please. I want a warm drink, bedsheets, and a good book. Nothing else.’ No one will raise their voice if you wish to pause your pursuit of mastery for a day. This is, after all, your path and nobody else’s. Yet a pause invites another, and before you know it, your skill has decayed like a rotting corpse.

Humans do not live particularly long. Seventy, perhaps eighty years.

For a human to become a master of something, they must spend dozens of those limited years in pursuit of their mastery. A repetitive, exhausting task that asks for just as much strength of mind as it asks the body. Many can exert their bodies beyond their limits for one moment. Few can do it as a matter of habit.

Talla had always been impressed by mastery, and she had to admit that there was something rather intoxicating about human mastery especially. Watching someone flawlessly perform their skill amazed her beyond what the act itself. What truly inspired her was that singular thought that came to her upon bearing witness to it all.

How many hundreds of thousands of hours did you spend perfecting yourself?

It was enough to bring a tear to her eye.

Because she knew, as a student of the sword herself, how difficult it was to dedicate yourself to your craft to that extent.

This was why she could not stop herself from muttering it, as she witnessed Von fight the wolf, “Beautiful.”

“You—you are back,” the lobisomem uttered, hand over the hole in his chest. “How—how amazing…it hadn’t occurred to me that you could…yes…how long? Three days? That—”

The Lord of Stormkeep did not wait for the man to finish speaking. It was not fury that drove his blade, but a practiced sort of tranquility. Von’s face was as still and cold as the Stormlands’s winter. Not a touch of emotion, not a single wasted movement. Every attack had a purpose, every step was calculated. Yet even mastery of this level could be dismissed with a single touch. If the wounded lobisomem managed to hit him even once, then his Heartbeat would trigger once more. Familiar with Romulo as this version of him might be, he would not know the specifics of the Royal Heartbeat. “Von—!” Talla called out. “Be careful, a single hit from his blade will—”

“Silence, elf!” Von thundered. His voice was commanding, boisterous and it echoed loudly in the twilit forest. When he turned to face her, Talla flinched at the expression on his face. There was an annoyance there she had never seen before. A second later, after their eyes met, it was gone—replaced by yet another expression she had not before witnessed. “Silence, beautiful elf. There is much I do not know. My reason for standing here, blade drawn. That this blade of mine is different from my weapon of choice. Why, I do not even claim knowledge of where we are. Yet that is no excuse. An opponent is in front of me, and he shall fall. That is enough.”

“But his ability—”

Von stomped on the floor angrily. “You think me craven enough to dishonor myself? I will not be given information I did not earn about my opponent. It matters not, so long his steel cannot break my skin.”

But you are the one who figured it out, Talla thought, though she dared not say it.

“Three days,” Romulo repeated slowly. He stumbled to his feet, dragging mud across the ground and lowering his blade. His yellow eyes sparkled, and even from that distance Talla could see the moonlight reflecting off them. “You will remain like your old self for three days. We should not waste a single second. Why, we ought to dance for—”

“Silence, pup.” Von’s voice was not merely commanding, it was mocking. “Ah, still up to your old tricks. Trying to unnerve those you cannot outfence. It is most sad. Mayhap the barking bitch thinks that he will be able to distract me for long enough to best me.” His grin prefaced his dare. “Allow me to outline your plans. You appear to be two-handing your blade, despite having enough strength to hold the longsword with one for most engagements—perhaps because you have lost so much blood.” A false innocence touched his voice now, as if he was wondering who was responsible for that. “Judging from your stance and the distance between us, you will likely try to beat my blade out of the way and then go for a direct strike. Am I correct?”

The wolf did not respond. He did not, for the first time that night, appear terribly interested in conversing. Instead, his eyes glared at the lord, and his mouth let out a loud growl. Romulo trembled, but not with fear. His muscles tensed and the fury was plain.

Von did not care. “Your beat will not be enough against me,” he said, as if lecturing him. “I will recover faster than you will be able to finish your step and will disarm you.”

“A mere rapier is not capable of besting a longsword in a contest of strength,” Romulo barked.

“Mayhap not, pup.” Here Von relaxed his posture as if his opponent did not even warrant it. “But I am capable of besting you.”

This was too much of an insult, and the wolf leaped forward, blade lifted above his head coming downward against Von’s rapier. To Talla’s surprise, there was not even an attempt to dodge the move. Von did not even attempt to compete against the wolf’s power, loosening the grip on his sword instead. The elf recognized the move at once, but that he dared use it still surprised her.

Rather than try to compete with power, one approach is to loosen your grip and allow the blade to bounce around one’s hand upon contact. Minimizing your contact with your own blade reduces how much of the impact transfers to you, and allows you to quickly squeeze the grip tight to regain control over the wild blade. It was a difficult defensive technique, however, because after regaining control of your blade the tip of the sword could be pointing just about anywhere—and you needed great skill to be able to redirect it before your opponent’s attack was completed.

Von had no trouble bringing his sword back in position and using an absurdly sharp angle to sink his blade into the wolf’s hands. His elbow to the right of his body and his wrist curved inward, the blade did more than merely graze Romulo’s hand, it went through his wrist and came out of the top of his palm.

The wolf cried out in pain, dropping his sword immediately, then retreating backward in a panic, pulling his hand from the blade and leaving a trail of blood that dyed his fur red. Von laughed eerily, and at this sound the wolf realized he needed his weapon, dropping low and leaping with one hand stretched forward to grab it. He managed to grab the grip, yet he stopped when Von placed his right foot over the flat of the blade. When Romulo looked up, Von placed the tip of his blade underneath his chin, grazing it lightly, caressing it like a lover’s touch.

“More like it,” Von said, in a boastful tone. “It is this stance you should assume when speaking to the Second Lord of Stormkeep, Von of Redgrave. On your knees, with your blade offered to me.”

Romulo growled. “This is not the duel I want. Do not disrespect me, Redgrave.”

“You killed my men,” Von said coldly. Then, he spat on him. “You deserve no respect, pup.”

Yellow eyes widened, and the lobisomem pushed Von’s blade aside with one hand, letting go of his blade and leaping forward, claws reaching for the lord’s neck.

Von did not even flinch. “Freeze,” he commanded, and the wolf flinched. For just long enough for Von to cut him. Once, then twice, then three times.

Talla lost count of how many times he had wounded him. For a long while, Von was a conductor, and he created a symphony with the sound of his steel, the wolf’s screams, and the jets of blood spilling from the man. There was a twisted sort of beauty to it, a rhythm of carefully executed destruction, a dance of death to the tune of his own Heartbeat, practiced to allow for no counterattack. A finishing move.

When it was done and the wolf fell, Von did not scream victoriously, nor did he pump his fist. He let out an exasperated sigh, as if annoyed. “We will bury the men who are dead,” Von declared, as if someone other than Talla could hear him. “They deserve a burial in the storms. The others, we will take to the nearest city. Elf! Your wounds?”

“I have been worse, Von.” When he looked at her strangely, she shook her head and said, “I am mostly unharmed, my lord.” This appeared to appease the man, who nodded at her. “We were enroute for the Waterfalls, for the Dragon Tower tournament. It was our plan to skip Stormhaven entirely for speed’s sake, but—”

Von held his hand to silence her. “Then we shall set forth for Stormhaven. My men need to have their wounds seen to. The coachman?”

Talla hesitated. You brought no coachman, you had a soldier act as one. The last incident still plagues your mind. “Among the dead.”

The Lord of Stormkeep nodded once more. “Very well. I will guide the carriage, then. Upon arrival you will explain to me the state of things—I believe something has been done to my memory. Three days, Romulo said. I assume I do not have long to act then, before whatever sorcery he placed on me is undone.” He connected his boot with the underside of the bleeding wolf. “Still alive, this bastard. Wolves are tough. Stab their first heart and they yet live.” Von laughed, and kicked him once more. “Doubt this one is waking up for a few days, but we will chain him up. Lobo is going to love an excuse for executing this one. Always hated this bastard, he did.” He laughed once more, almost amused. “Oh, wonder what favor he will owe me for this.” He shook his head, and the lordly tone returned to his voice. “Are there any others?”

“Yes,” said a weak, new voice. “My—my lord.”

Alayne of Milvidas walked from the fire. She was dressed for sleep no longer, instead wearing a regal blue dress, so light it bordered on white, adorned in jewels of a darker shade of the ocean’s color. Talla had seldom seen her wear it in Stormkeep, too beautiful for this dirty terrain, and it dragged across the ground without the proper footwear to elevate her height.

At once Von dashed toward her, bowing his head lightly. “My lady. I do not know your name, but I will see to it that you are safe. Fear not.” His voice was gentle, nearly a whisper. He took her hand in his and beneath the moonlight, appeared less like a lord and more like a noble knight of the Ironlands. Suddenly he turned to Talla. “Elf, you have a sword, yes? Guard this devilish woman.”

Kai

The wounded elf calmly walked down the chaotic streets, knowing he would not be touched by the rampaging crowd. Power, he thought, grinning, has many forms. Once, he had been strong, handsome, and well-respected by all. Still, even mighty young men died every morning now, be it from quarrels or attempts at theft. Kai was weak now, yes, but he was also Elder. The golden-green of the Elderguard flanking him from either side guaranteed him safety. Ky of Mosqueiro and Rico of Salinas stood tall, their age meaning little compared to their height and arms.

It had been only three days since the siege had started, yet panic had taken ahold of Bosque. It was no secret they could not fight off the dwarven army, and their supplies lines to the east had been cut off. Every day more soldiers abused their steel to steal bread and drink from those they swore to protect. Fighting was no fantasy of theirs, they only meant to have enough food stocked up in their houses to survive when the dwarves stormed the city.

Green Hall’s gates seemed almost a sad sight. There had been something invigorating about watching the same people who once pitied him scurry about in a panic while he remained untouched. “My Elder,” Rico of Salinas said, bowing deeply. It has been so long since someone bowed to me, Kai thought, his twisted lips curving into a facsimile of a smile. “I wish you luck in the war council.”

“Bring us victory,” Ky of Mosqueiro said.

“We will defend you to the last,” Vawin of Museu declared, his hand falling on his sword.

All meant their oath. The elderguard was different from the common soldiers, they would hold their word to the very end. It was just a matter of quality. Fine breweries created fine wine, and cheap distilleries created diseases that barely got you drunk. “I will, my elderguard.” He smiled when Rei took his arm to lead him inside.

Only Rei would be allowed inside the Green Hall, and even this already broke tradition. There had been some objections at first, but it had been decided that Kai needed someone to protect him at all times in consideration for his injuries, and Rei was the obvious choice. A part of Kai was disgusted that a member of the elderguard was allowed on his hallowed grounds. Another took a sort of pleasure in Rei’s wonderment as he looked around this place his kind would never be allowed in.

“I do wonder,” Kai said slowly, as they walked down the tunnel, “why the dwarves are here. Even leaving aside their reason, I wonder how we didn’t hear of their approach. You would think we would have heard reports of their advance from Museu.”

Rei did not respond immediately. They both knew their father was behind it, yet neither could say it. “It matters little. Sieges do not become of their kind, sunlight will see to it. We need only hold on until they reach their limit.”

“Ah, yes, holding on…and you believe our battered remnants of an army can hold off those marvels? Have you seen their siege weaponry? It is beyond what any other princedom can come up with.”

“And why have they not taken over the Woodlands before then?” Rei snapped. Ah, how angry…that is not the tone you should use with your elder. But Kai was too interested in his words to raise the objection. “Angry cave-dwellers can’t deal with the sun all the same.”

Dwarves were weak to the sun, yes, but they had long solved that problem with their weapons, mobile covers and expert logistical warfare conducted at night. “Perhaps you are right,” Kai said slowly. “Yet, if someone helped them sneak past Museu unnoticed…by the Chain and the Fire, how have they achieved that? You think no one in Museu saw anything?”

“Mayhap, Elder of Mine.”

He did not call me brother. That made Kai smile. “I think they did. Most unwise to assume not a soul saw sign of an army. More likely they simply did not tell us.”

Rei turned to his elder sharply. “Why would they not warn us?”

“Because they couldn’t,” Kai offered, “they were attacked first and all ravens were killed before they could report back. The other option is that they didn’t want to.”

“You would accuse them of treason, elder of mine?” Rei’s voice was sharp, but not entirely lacking in respect. “Museu is a noble elven city. They swore an oath of loyalty to Bosque, to the Elders, to you, my elder.”

Kai would have shrugged if his body allowed him the motion. It was a difficult day; his muscles ached greatly. “Tell me, Rei.” He did not use his title, and not out of love. “Would you rather we discover Museu to be intact or razed to the ground?”

“What kind of question is that?” Rei’s tone was such that he felt the need to add, in a calmer tone, “My elder.”

This was no mere taunting. Kai was uncertain as to Rei’s answer, though he hoped his father was right about the matter. It would save much trouble in the near future. “Two options,” Kai declared, stifling a laugh. “Museu might have been noble, they might have fought valiantly…and they might have died. The dwarves will have stormed the gates, killed every man, raped every woman, and drank the blood of every child. Thousands of years of elven history will be destroyed, ancient buildings burned down to their very last brick, our fields set ablaze. Not a single one of our kind will remember it. Elves born beneath this moon that graces our skies tonight will never have existed in a world where the noble city of Museu or its people existed.”

Rei stopped and Kai nearly fell. He had been helping him walk down that narrow, dark path, yet now that they reached the end he stopped suddenly. It was painful and aggravating, but Kai did not raise an objection. This was more important. “And if they merely broke their oath,” Kai muttered, “then they are likely safe. No one was harmed. To be certain, they might lose some grain and coin, but their lives will be spared. Mayhap they will even thrive under dwarven rule. Ah, but they would have broken an oath. Would you call that a fair exchange? Such a light price, for so much life.”

“Betrayal and oathbreaking are not light,” Rei said, appalled. “My elder, you cannot suggest that. Our oaths, our laws—they mean everything.”

They did. It pained Kai that oaths would have to be broken. Yet, to proclaim Cywin as the Lord of Bosque oaths would have to be broken and reforged regardless. So long as we don’t touch our traditions, it will be fine, he told himself, in a reassuring thought. More confidently, he said, “Betrayal and oathbreaking weighted against the razing of a city. What do you prefer, Rei?”

“What do you prefer?” Rei whispered.

I care not which. “I think you know,” Kai told him firmly. “Now, listen here. You understand our situation?”

“My elder, perhaps this is a conversation you should have with the council, not a mere elderguard.”

Kai shook his head, ignoring the pain it caused him to do so. “Rei, listen to me. Our only unsieged gates are to the southwest, toward Stormhelm. Do you understand what this means?”

“Elder of mine, I—”

“Listen, damn you! I want to speak to you about this, and you are not allowed by law to open your mouth inside those halls.” Kai wanted to strike him then but he promised his father he would not. It was his duty to be kind, if only for today. “I will propose that I go to Stormhelm and ask the Lord of Stormkeep for aid. Talla is their guest, and she has that cursed man’s ear. The Elders will understand that I am the best envoy for the mission.”

Rei did not appear convinced. “You think Talla has that much influence on Von of Redgrave?”

He did not question Kai’s influence on her, at least. That was as much a relief as it was a disappointment. He had rehearsed that argument for hours in his head, knowing how he would explain how Talla used to swoon over him as he bested duelist after duelist. “She has considerable influence on him. Whatever she says, Redgrave will listen.”

“How?” Rei asked. “How does she possess so much influence over a lord?”

Kai drew a deep breath. He did not like what he was about to say, and he did not believe it. But his father had told him he had to convince Rei of Talla’s influence on Redgrave. I will eat your heart one day, human,Kai told himself. The thought and promise of violence appeased his disdain at what he had to say. “She whores himself to him every night,” Kai muttered, trying to sound cold. She does not. She would never show a human her body. “Talla has him captivated.”

“You are certain?” Rei’s eyes widened. “I thought the two shared some feelings, but both appeared entirely too proper to ever engage in them. Von of Redgrave crossed blades with me, I thought I got a measure of him at that point.” He narrowed his eyes. “I cannot imagine him dishonoring a woman like that. Especially not Talla.”

“I am certain, yes, damn you. Do not make me repeat myself.” Kai would drink heavily to forget he had accused his dear friend of such a sin. “Once I am off to Stormhelm, I will see to it that the right things are commanded, do you understand?”

Rei nodded. “And when you bid your farewell,” he said slowly, “will Father accompany you?”

“No. He has more soldiers and supplies inside his manor than the city itself does, and running does not become of him.” The implication was clear. Cywin had been preparing for this. “He will remain. You will have to do your duty then.”

The young elderguard brought his right fist to the left side of his chest. “I will be the shield that protects the elders. Even if the dwarves break down our gates.”

Kai smiled at him. I wonder if you will see that as your duty.