SciFi and Fantasy Stories: Awakening: Chapter Eleven

The itch was back. Ariel could feel it niggling away, this time right between her breasts. A bead of sweat had escaped from the hair above her temples and had trickled its leisurely way down her neck to lodge itself under the leather she wore. She gritted her teeth and wondered whether the droplet had transformed itself into a large and furry caterpillar with a penchant for spinning cocoons in her cleavage. It certainly felt like it. And if it kept up much longer she was going to squash that hairy son of an orc into oblivion. In fact, if she wasn’t carrying this pile of logs, she’d tear off her vest and…

“So what do we need all this wood for, anyway?”

“Hmm?” Distracted, Ariel glanced up to see Sundil looking at her curiously. His pale face was also beaded with sweat as he struggled with the four largest logs he’d insisted on carrying. “Oh. I’m not sure,” she admitted. “But I suspect it had something to do with what the Master did to my sword this morning.” She still wasn’t sure she’d forgiven the arrogant bastard for shattering the weapon yet. A sword was a very personal thing, after all.

Glancing down at the oaken practice weapon riding in Sundil’s belt, she added, “You might want to be careful with that.” After the Lionar had so effortlessly shattered her steel it would be an easy feat to shatter Sundil’s wood.

“I was beginning to wonder if you were coming back at all,” the Lionar called out as the pair trudged into the glade, arms straining under the weight they carried. Ariel noted with a scowl that he, in contrast, looked perfectly relaxed, picking himself up from where he’d been reclining on the turf and brushing a few stray blades of grass from his breeches.

“And you looked so concerned too,” she retorted, as she continued to make her way over.

The Lionar appeared to smirk under his mask. “Well I’ve already saved you both once. You wouldn’t want it to become a habit, now, would you?”

Ariel’s blood began to boil. The itch that had been bothering her and the chafing of the wood on her arms disappeared from her mind, as she determinedly marched closer with her burden. Then, pulling up before her master, she simply let go, dropping the heavy load directly on top of his left foot.

If she’d been expecting some loud exclamation of pain, she’d have been disappointed. The Lionar never flinched. However, Ariel thought she caught a muffled sound— the hint of a groan, perhaps?— escape from behind the black silk mask and was satisfied.

“You two certainly have a… ah, unique relationship,” Sundil observed, one eyebrow raised in astonishment at the exchange.

“Don't get me started,” Ariel warned, speaking less to Sundil than to the Lionar, whose eyes burned with icy determination as they held hers. The challenge they promised never faded, but, strangely enough, the Lionar appeared to heed his student’s threat.

Glancing down, he eased his foot out from under the wood pile. The logs creaked ominously, but remained where they were. Ariel smirked.

With his limbs safe once more-- at least for the time being—the Lionar pointedly ignored his student, beckoning instead to Sundil, who was standing uncertainly some distance away with the last four logs still in his arms. The Lionar gestured for the student of the Rising Phoenix to place them beside Ariel’s, then took the young elf by the arm.

“Why don’t you set those up in the ground over there, Anariel?” the Lionar called over his shoulder, limping pronouncedly as he led her friend away. “Sundil and I are just going to have a little talk over here.”

Sundil actually looked excited, the traitor. “I knew they were conspiring against me,” Ariel muttered disgustedly to herself, picking up the first of the logs.

It turned out her master had in fact been busy while she’d been out collecting wood. In the centre of the clearing, eight holes had been dug in the ground in a square formation. Their even spacing impressed Ariel and she noted that the middle of the square was empty, leaving plenty of room for a person to stand. Beside each hole was a pile of dirt. Just what kind of lesson the Lionar intended to teach was beyond Ariel, but she obediently upended the log into the first hole and packed the dirt in tightly around it. Imagining what the Tower druids would think of her planting dead trees made her smile as she went back for the next piece of wood.

Within short order, her task was done. Satisfied, Ariel made her way over to where the two males were chatting away animatedly. Noting her approach, Sundil hurriedly broke off, blushing.

“Right, what are you two up to now?” Ariel asked suspiciously.

“Nothing!” they chorused, twin grins appearing on their faces—albeit hidden on one behind embroidered silk.

So it was to be war again, she concluded grimly. Well, in such a situation it was always best to target the weakest link.

She fixed her hard, amber gaze on Sundil. “You know I'll only tickle it out of you later, so you might as well confess now and save yourself the trouble.”

He flushed a gratifyingly bright red.

“You won’t have enough strength for that after today, Anariel,” the Lionar intervened.

“We'll see,” she demurred primly.

“Well, since you feel you’re ready…” He gestured toward the centre of the glade, where the deadfall now stood tall. “How many foes do you think you can fell with a single cut?” The Lionar addressed the question to both students.

For a moment the glade was quiet as the pair considered. Then Sundil spoke up, slowly, as if still pondering the answer as he gave it. “Only one with a longsword, but perhaps two with a greatsword like Mistress…” His sentence cut off instantly, as he remembered the bad blood that lay between his current company and a certain wild elven princess.

“Three,” Ariel disagreed instantly, more focussed on the problem at hand. “Provided the conditions were right.”

“Hrrmm…” The Lionar gazed absently towards the centre of the glade, mulling over the answers. The silver embroidery on his mask twisted and writhed in a manner Ariel had never seen before. Could he actually be chewing on his lip, she wondered with fascination? She was about to step in for a closer look when he moved away, wandering over to the formation he was studying.

“How would you fight yourself out of here then?” he asked the pair trailing after him. “Even if you killed three you would still be flanked dangerously.”

“I’d like to think that I wouldn't be stupid enough to get caught in a situation like this,” Ariel replied wryly. Still, she could see his point. Anything could happen in a battle situation and even those with the greatest awareness could be surprised on occasion.

“Well, if you fight you way through three of them, you can turn back and fight the others,” Sundil pointed out.

Ariel nodded. “If you weren't surrounded—and depending on the terrain-- you could outrun them and kill each one as they caught up with you. Or you could use the feather step manoeuvre to pick them off one by one.” You’d have to be quick though, she realised with frown. Quicker than your opponents at least because if even one managed to catch hold of you, you’d be overwhelmed in no time.

“You are both correct,” the Lionar declared, with an eager twinkle in his eye that made Ariel wary. “You both however assume to be surrounded is a tactical disadvantage.”

“You can’t be serious!” Sundil interjected. “You can’t honestly be suggesting that you have the advantage with opponents at every angle.”

“No, he could be right.” Ariel considered the formation again. “If it is possible to take out three people in one cut-“ unsheathing her sword, she made a demonstration, quickly slashing a curving, horizontal line in front of her, “-then why not all of them? Provided you had the momentum of course.”

Banshee and Master turned to regard Sundil, who still looked disbelieving. “Sounds a little impractical to me.”

“No one ever called the Pryde of the Banshee's Loft practical,” Ariel reminded him with a smile.

An answering grin grew on his face and he seemed ready to retort when the Lionar interrupted.

“Again you are both right. Sundil, the situation is impractical. It is not wise to purposefully surround yourself and stand and fight them, even if you are capable of a technique such as Anariel has described. And Anariel, some are capable of the technique you have described. Would you like to see?” he offered to Sundil, whose eyes had gone wide with amazement.

“Bit difficult, since there is obviously no one here that can pull it off,” Ariel smirked. “Unless maybe Sundil can?” She looked hopefully over at her pale-skinned friend.

Determined, he unsheathed his wooden sword. The Banshees stepped back to give him some space. Then, gathering himself, he spun suddenly, his weapon moving in a wavelike pattern as he came full circle.

Ariel was impressed. Although the attempt clearly lacked the fluidity, speed and power to be effective, the surging movement of Sundil’s sword had enabled him to provide a momentum he couldn’t with brute force.

She applauded her training partner enthusiastically. “I'm really going to have to start watching my back around you.”

The Lionar said nothing. Sundil smiled, but she could see the disappointment in his eyes at the knowledge his attempt was technically a failure. Realising she might be starting to sound patronising, Ariel fell awkwardly silent. For a few moments the group remained uncomfortable in their stillness. Then, finally, the Lionar stepped forward once more.

“As you can both see, the difficulty in such a cut is predominantly in its continuity,” he explained. “A single slash has a beginning and an ending, close together but of varying lengths and types. However a cut which is to cover 360 degrees, must by necessity be of exceptional accuracy if it is to strike, and of great strength if it is to fell your opponent.”

“Guess that means I'm up then, since I'm obviously the muscle of the group,” Ariel teased the pair. Neither replied, but simply looked at her, waiting to see how she would pull off the technique.

She stilled herself and drew her sword, listening as the Song burst to life around her. When she finally heard her signal—a long, trilling note that gradually fell in pitch—she spun, body rising and falling as she imitated Sundil’s wavelike movement.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. She knew, without a word needing to be spoken, that her execution had been far stronger than Sundil’s. She’d always been the better warrior of the pair. Yet she also knew her technique had lacked the ferocity needed to decimate so many opponents. She’d been striking mere air, after all; there had been no parrying weapons or blocking bodies to resist her stroke. It was that resistance that would make the technique a truly formidable challenge, she realised.

Sundil clapped her on the shoulder, startling Ariel from her assessment. “Far superior to my own… must be all the practice at tickling me that makes it so!”

“Perhaps I should make it my duty to let you catch me a bit more often then,” she joked, squeezing playfully at his arm and was pleased to see the warmth that had returned to his expression.

The Lionar rolled his eyes, and Ariel thought she heard him mutter, “Children.” It was possible she was mistaken, however, for the word came out somewhat muffled as he pulled his shirt over his head. The garment soon joined his white instructor’s cloak, already in a heap on the ground. Within moments he was wearing nothing more than breeches, mask and swords; the double-pronged Seldswiira, in its distinctive scabbard, remained strapped in its place across his lower back. Predictably though, it was the ordinary sword at his hip—a replacement for the one Ariel had taken from him earlier—that he drew as he stepped inside the wooden formation.

For a moment he simply stood there, breathing slowly. Then, with the speed of a striking viper, he leapt into the air. As if to counterbalance the movement, his sword flashed down towards his feet, glinting silver in the sunlight, then began to move in a circle around his body. With her own weapon still in her hand, Ariel could hear the Song building—strings and pipes that played scales, rising and falling like the coming of the wind. Beneath her master’s feet, she began to notice a physical manifestation of that wind. Specks of sand and dirt, broken blades of grass and fallen leaves began to rise into the air with the fury of his swinging sword. The Lionar too continued to rise into the air from the power of his jump, his sword still spiralling up and around his body until, at the height of his jump, it came to a stop above his head.

Perhaps Labelos himself chose to look down upon them at that moment, for the world seemed to freeze, holding its breath for a fraction of a heartbeat. Then the spring’s catch was released. The Lionar began to descend, his sword uncoiling and spiralling down in a circular blur. Chips of wood flew from the posts, but even the noise of their wounding could not conceal the crunch as the Lionar landed on one foot. His left foot.

He stumbled forward slightly, his blade flashing down and into the earth as he steadied himself with it, wincing in pain.

Ariel rushed to help him, Sundil close behind, but the Lionar simply waved the pair away.

“Nandil’s going to love you,” she jibed him, watching with hands on hips while he massaged the ankle. “He’ll think you’re good for business.”

“Not when I finish off the rest of his fey wine he won’t.” The corners of the Lionar’s eyes crinkled, indicating he was smirking under his mask. They quickly smoothed away though, as he looked seriously at his student. “So do you understand what your lesson is Anariel?”

Unable to resist, Ariel smirked back. “Was it don't break your ankle trying a ridiculous manoeuvre?”

Anger flashed hot and bright beneath the ice blue of the Lionar’s eyes. Although visibly in pain, he straightened, drawing his sword from the ground. He levelled it at his student briefly, before leaping into the air one-footed. That was all Ariel saw of her master, who seemed to disappear in a flash of silver light at the apex of his jump. Less than a heartbeat later there was an explosion and all eight of the wooden posts blasted into splinters. Ariel ducked the debris and saw her master reappear in a second flash of light on the ground where he’d started. He staggered a bit as the last of the split poles hit the ground.

This time Ariel made no move to help. “Okay, okay, I get the point. But you could at least have left me something to practice on.” She gestured toward the ruined targets.

“I did,” he replied. He turned his wintry gaze on Sundil, who was looking at the destroyed poles and trying to hide his shaking hands. Hearing the Lionar’s words, he turned sharply to look at the Banshees as if they were indeed some kind of demon. It pained Ariel deeply.

“I think I'm starting to understand the reason you don't have many acquaintances left hanging around,” she said, unable to completely keep the anger from her voice.

For the second time that day, the Lionar’s expression grew distant, as if reliving some memory. This time, however, he quickly snapped out of it, retorting, “That and my charm makes all pale in comparison.”

“Oh yeah, absolutely,” Ariel agreed sarcastically, before surveying the ruined formation once more. “Well, I suppose that I should try and find some more wood, unless you have something else to teach me.”

“There is a lot I have left to teach you, Anariel, even if you don't think that's the case,” he replied, massaging his ankle once more.

If she didn’t know better—and it weren’t for the obvious differences in their colouring--, Ariel would have sworn he and Nadriel were clones. At least they were sounding remarkably similar, she thought, recalling almost identical words from her Rising Phoenix instructor with some bitterness. Quickly, she shook the memory away.

“I don't doubt that in the slightest, Master. But I feel you should know that it is simply your dazzling wit that keeps me coming back for more.”

The Lionar snickered in response.

Seeing the Lionar’s good humour apparently restored, Sundil moved closer. His fear had disappeared imder waves of eagerness that were so palpable even the Lionar looked at him with curiosity.

“Excuse me, Lionar,” the young elf addressed the Banshees’ master earnestly, “but where did you learn such a technique?”

The Lionar raised a golden eyebrow in surprise at the question and Ariel found herself holding her breath, wondering whether she might finally learn something of her master’s past. But he was silent. The glade remained still for many minutes, before finally the Lionar sketched an apologetic bow to the young elf addressing him.

“I am afraid that is something of a long story,” he explained, “and one we do not have time for at present.” He pointed and the two students turned to see Nandil of Corellon, looking distinctly out of place as he picked his way through the forest with his white robes hitched around him.

“But I would warn you both first. Speak not a word of what either of you have seen this day, and do not try it unless you are alone.” He looked pointedly at his apprentice.

She sniggered. “After all, we would not to destroy the Master's carefully planned aura of mystery.”

“Aye!” agreed Sundil with a smile.

At last Nandil reached the glade. The priest looked around disapprovingly, frowning down at the destroyed deadfall, before approaching the group and bowing politely.

“Anariel and Sundil, if you please, the hour of dusk approaches and Master Duskflight awaits your initiation tests,” he announced formally. “Please bring your training weapons, and water, but little else, and await me at the temple of Corellon.”

Then, with a stiff nod to the Lionar, he turned and walked away.

Ariel fought to keep the butterflies in her stomach from flying any higher. It seemed she was going to take the Adverse… at least for the Rising Phoenix. She glanced at Sundil. “Any last words?” she muttered.

“Wish me luck?” He looked hopefully at his training partner, then shrugged nervously

Ariel made a rude noise. “You won't need it,” she assured him.

“Luck is for those who lack skill and intelligence,” the Lionar broke in. “Neither of you are guilty of such a flaw. Do your best and that will be enough.”

Although his voice sounded confident, Ariel noticed he would not meet her gaze. Her eyes narrowed. “You know if you actually looked at me when you said that it might have a greater effect,” she told him pointedly. Then, shrugging, she turned to Sundil. “Ready?”

“As ready as I can be,” he replied. “And thank you for your lesson, Lionar.”

“It’s nice to see that not all the youth of this generation of lost their appreciation and reverence,” the masked master of the Banshee’s Loft remarked dryly. “Now make a move, you two, and do not keep your master waiting.” Too quickly for Ariel to react, his sword flashed out and smacked both her and Sundil on the bottom.

Shooting him her most withering glare, Ariel stalked after Nandil.

The Lionar watched as the trio disappeared into the forest.

“Good luck all the same, Anariel. That little bit extra never hurts.”

A cry of pain burst forth from high above and was followed by a quick succession of dull thumps and sharp cracks. The noises of battle were ringing out from the Phoenix Nest. It sounded just like any other day, Ariel thought ruefully to herself, except it was perhaps a little quieter today. When the cacophony ceased abruptly, however, she looked up.

The immense platform that made up the training ground was rocking ever so slightly between the two great snow pines that held it aloft. Yet there was no sign of anyone up there, no students reclining against the railing above, as there usually was during a typical class. But there was the catch, Ariel knew. This wasn’t any ordinary class.

She swallowed, trying to quell the sudden nausea she felt, and trudged after Nandil and Sundil. They entered the bole of the giant tree and began climbing the stairs inside. Halfway up, they met a pair of their classmates limping the other way. Despite their obvious bruises, they smiled at Sundil and Ariel, lifting their hands in greeting.

“Good luck, Stardancer!”

“You too, Orcstep!”

Ariel caught Sundil wince at his unfortunate nickname. Although their classmates had meant no harm—quite to the contrary, actually—it seemed cruel to her to address him in such a way. Fortunately, their well-wishers never noticed.

“Thanks, guys,” she replied, grateful for their good will, nonetheless. “See you on the other side!”

Grinning they gave her the thumbs up, then resumed easing their way down the stairs.

Ariel turned to begin her climb once again and almost ran into Sundil, looking back at her.

“At least, despite their trials, they have their camaraderie to rely on. Pass or fail,” he said.

“I think that is something none of us will ever lose,” she replied, smiling warmly. And perhaps it was that camaraderie that was the most valuable thing she’d obtained while at the Towers. Sword skills and tactics were all very well for survival, but it was friendship that made life worthwhile.

Thus absorbed, she almost didn’t notice when Nandil stood aside to allow the two younger elves to pass one more out of the bole of the tree, his task accomplished. The canyon opened wide around her, but it was only the slight rocking of the bridge that connected tree to platform that bright her back to herself. Then she noticed the canopy once again soaring high above her—albeit a little closer than last time. A few lower branches sheltered the platform, though the chance of any ill weather penetrating the lush foliage above was remote. Around her, the massive networks of tree roots and swathes of lawn had disappeared, to be replaced by thick tree trunks and plenty of empty air.

The sight of such a long drop had never bothered Ariel though, even if the railings around the Phoenix Nest hadn’t been there. What worried her was the handsome elf that awaited them on the platform, white Instructor’s cloak fluttering slightly around him. His black hair was tied neatly back and his sapphire eyes watched them approach with patience.

Ridiculous, Ariel admonished mentally. Nadriel Duskflight had never made her nervous before and she wasn’t about to let him start now. Besides, although she had great respect for his leadership and fighting skills, the head of the Rising Phoenix was a tame little sparrow compared to the Lionar. Or so she told herself.

“Sundil, Anariel,” he greeted each, as they stepped on to the platform. “Are you prepared, or do you have any questions or declarations before we begin?”

“I presume that the nature of these tests will be revealed before we begin them?” Ariel asked, as usual focussing on the task at hand.

“Yes,” he replied. “There are two phases of initiation tests. Each shall be explained in turn. Did you want to say anything Sundil?” Nadriel’s tone was formal, but not lacking in kindness.

“No, Master. I am ready.”

Nadriel turned his questioning sapphire eyes back to Ariel.

“There is just one thing,” she said with a smile. Taking a step back, she drew her sword and saluted her training partner. “From the Stardancer to the Phoenix. May the Allfather guide your steps, my friend.”

“And may Luna guide yours, dear Ariel,” Sundil replied, drawing his own sword and returning the salute.

Side by side, the two friends turned to face their instructor.

He looked at them with pity. “May Lord Fenmarel watch both of you this night. A single duel,” he declared the nature of the first test, raising a hand as he did so, “until one of you concedes, or cannot stand.”

Nadriel’s hand dropped.

The first test had begun.

Beside her, Ariel saw Sundil go deathly pale. They both knew this test meant no holding back, and in her hand lay a razor sharp sword. To tell truth, Ariel had not anticipated a duel with a fellow student—she’d been under the impression the Adverse was all about teamwork.

She sheather her sword and addressed her instructor. “My apologies, Master Duskflight. It appears my thoughtlessness strikes again. May I?” She gestured to the wooden training sword he wore.

“Nandil should have forewarned you!” He frowned, but tossed her the sword.

She caught it and bowed her thanks. Shifting her belt, she transferred her ordinary blade to her right hip, so she could still draw it with her off hand, should she need it. Then, finally, she was ready.

Ariel turned to face her opponent on the training ground. He was gone. Now there was only empty space where he had stood, not five feet from her, a moment ago.

She ignored the butterflies multiplying in her stomach and immediately dived sideways, dropping in a protective roll and coming up in a crouch. This was bad, Ariel acknowledged grimly as she surveyed the length of the empty training ground. It was bad because it was new. Sundil had never pulled off anything like this on her before. Suddenly she was hard pressed not to grin. This could be fun.

With her ears attuned to the Song, Ariel continued to stalk the training ground in a defensive position, moving erratically, but gradually toward the railing, where she suspected he may be hanging out of sight. But despite her precautions, it was, in fact, sheer luck that Sundil’s falling form missed tackling her to the ground. Caught by surprise, she turned sluggishly, hearing his wooden blade wiz past her ear and shoulder. Sundil landed in silence, then performed a manoeuvre Ariel recognised as a reverse Feather-step, enabling him to leap almost instantly back up to the branch he had fallen from. As he rose, his blade struck the underside of her forearm, connecting with bone in a loud crack that almost had the Banshee dropping Nadriel’s sword.

Any possible thoughts she’d had about going easy on her friend instantly disappeared from her mind. Sundil was obviously giving this test his all—she could do no less. Lightning fast, she drew her real sword with her left hand and leaped into the air. Her jump fell far too short for her to land on the branch as Sundil had, but that was never her intention. Instead, she swung her metal blade down as hard as she could, and was rewarded when it cut cleanly through the wood, sending both branch and Sundil tumbling to the training ground.

Keen not to lose the advantage, Ariel closed on her opponent, smashing her training sword under his ribs in a strike that would have disembowelled him, had she used the sharp sword in her other hand. Sundil’s face contorted and Ariel saw desperation rise to meet with pain in his eyes.

He leaped forward at her, swinging wildly. Yet the Song Ariel heard made that wildness seem predictable. Its melody rolled off her lips, strengthening her attack as she countered with a series of dodges and jabs, lessening the pain to her bruised forearm each time her strike connected.

Sundil reeled back under the onslaught, and when Ariel placed a final kick to his knee he almost tripped over the branch she had cut from beneath him moments ago. As he caught his balance, she saw him slip a hand into his pouch, and immediately dove aside.

Ceramic shattered behind her, releasing a tan-coloured goo that stuck solidly to all it reached. Fortunately, that didn’t include Ariel. She recognised it as a kind of volatile glue alchemists produced for traps and often used by those unfamiliar with combat techniques. Sundil must be reaching the bottom of his bag of tricks.

“Will you yield?” she called to him, watching carefully for any further deceptions and taking the opportunity to sheathe her usual sword.

“I’m sorry Ariel, but you know I won’t. But all the same I will offer you the chance as well.”

She smiled and shook her head, a trifle regretfully. Sundil made the most of her temporary distraction, pulling free a grappling hook and rope from where it had been hidden alongside his belt. With a deft flick of his wrist, he sent it soaring into the branches above. He never paused to check the anchoring—knowing it would provide the chance to finally dispose of him for good—but climbed the cord with the agility of a spider, disappearing into the foliage above.

Ariel smiled again. So this is how it was to be. Well, no matter; she had faith that her hearing would be enough. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the Song. With her full attention focussed on the music, she was able to hear the bass murmurings of the two great snow pines that formed the Phoenix Next, and the immense platform that hung between them. High above, she heard the shrill twitterings of pipes as birds moved restlessly among the branches, and beside her she heard a few brassy, but clarion clear notes as Nadriel shifted his weight and looked on.

The came the sound she’d been listening for—the chime of bells growing louder and deeper. They seemed to strike some instinctive reaction within her, for without conscious thought, Ariel found herself falling forward, her arms reaching out towards the wooden floor of the training ground to soften her landing. Once down, she quickly rolled away and saw Sundil’s foot come down where her sword had been clutched in her hand. He was trying to disarm her, she realised. It was a smart ploy, for no sword meant no Song, and no advantage for Ariel.

She got to her feet, but was quickly forced into a retreat as Sundil closed the distance between them. His sword rose in an upward strike that came perilously close to smashing her hand. She retracted it to avoid the blow, and it hit her borrowed training sword instead. The shock sent tingles through her injured arm, but she kept a firm grip on the weapon, determined not to lose this battle. If this was the way he wanted to play the game, then so be it; she’d fight fire with fire.

She listened carefully for her opening and when Sundil made a low feint at her shins, she lashed out, aiming for his wrist. Then suddenly, he was gone, leaving her sword to swish harmlessly through the air. If she hadn’t been listening so hard, she would have been astonished at the feat and puzzled as to where he had gone. The Song, however gave the answer before she could ask it. Raising her sword high, she turned and brought it down with all the force she could muster on the place where she had heard the bells peal—directly behind her.

Sure enough, Sundil was there, completely unguarded as he made a stab for her kidneys. Ariel’s blade connected hard with his collarbone and he crumpled to the ground. There was no exhalation of air as he hit, no attempt to break his fall; there was only the sickening crunch of bone on wood. Releasing the sword, Sundil could do no more than curl in a ball and whimper.

“Hold,” called out the Master of the Rising Phoenix, as he stepped forward onto the battleground. “He has let go his blade and thus forfeits.”

Ariel barely heard him as she dropped the practice blade she’d borrowed and hurried forward to crouch at her friend’s side. Gently rolling him over, she lifted his tunic to inspect his condition. Across his abdomen one enormous welt was rapidly blackening, and several ones were sketched in red across his ribs and chest. Nothing too serious then, she concluded. She’d given and taken worse amongst the Banshees. Somehow, though, she felt no relief.

Soon Nadriel was beside her, white instructor’s cloak pooling about him as he crouched. He took a quick glance at Sundil’s chest before moving on to examine Sundil’s shoulder. He kept his fingers light as he explored his student’s collarbone, but Sundil inhaled in pain, nevertheless.

“It’s not broken,” Nadriel finally declared. “Just dislocated. Sit up and hold your left arm away from your side please, Sundil.”

Gingerly, the young elf obeyed his Master. Tilting Sundil’s head carefully to the right, Nadriel then slammed an open hand into Sundil’s armpit. Ariel recoiled in shock and Sundil cried out, tears springing to his eyes. He quickly blinked them away, but not before they were noticed.

“You have done very well, Sundil.” Nadriel helped his student rise.

“Thank you… Master,” Sundil replied, still wincing at the pain.

Ariel watched the pair guiltily. How many times was she going to have to hurt a fellow student before she learned some restraint, she wondered? Sure, this was the Adverse where she was expected to fight to the absolute best of her abilities. The thought held no comfort, however and had to ring of an excuse to Ariel’s mind.

Feeling the need to atone, Ariel cocked her hands into a healing spell-stance. “May I?” she asked timidly.

“Are you sure you wish to expend your magic before the final test, Anariel?” Nadriel smoothed Sundil’s hair lovingly, but the compassion in his voice was for her alone. “Sundil’s wounds only need time before he will be ready.”

“Sundil?” She turned to her friend, needing his forgiveness.

As always, he gave it readily. “It hurts Ariel, but I will be ok in a few minutes, if Master says so.” His smile looked closer to a wince and he seemed a little unsteady on his feet, even with Nadriel’s aid. “Please keep your spells, but thank you.”

“I’ll make it up to you later, then,” she swore, wrapping an arm around his waist in support. Perhaps she was overreacting. Even after all these years, there was still a part of her that was anxious when she fought another student. But she’d learned much since then and was using wood not steel. She hadn’t killed anyone this time.

Nadriel ceded his injured student into the Banshee’s care. “You have several minutes if you wish, while I prepare,” he told the pair before continuing with rare praise. “You both did well, and I am quite impressed by each of you.”

He left the training partners together and walked over to the railing surrounding the training ground. Ariel saw him collect a long strip of black fabric and a second training sword before Sundil reclaimed her attention.

“Is your arm okay, Ariel?” he asked, tracing the welt with chilled and shaking fingers.

“I'm sure it will be fine,” she assured him, covering her hand with his. “But if that was what the first test was like, perhaps the second one will be easier.”

His jade eyes brightened as he smiled at her oblique compliment. Already, he seemed to be regaining strength, needing to lean on Ariel less and less with each passing minute.

“Ready?” she finally asked and he nodded, a determined gleam in his eyes. It made Ariel smile.

The pair turned to find their instructor blindfolded, training blade in hand. Nadriel faced the direction of their voices.

“If you’re ready then, you may both attack at any time you wish, but you will only get one chance,” he promised, sounding confident, not cocky, certain, but not arrogant. Had it been the Lionar it would have sounded both certain and arrogant, Ariel thought to herself, amused.

“Strike when you will, I await thee.” With that archaic phrase, Nadriel crouched, three fingers of his free hand steadying him against the wooden floor of the training ground while his other hand held his blade low. His head swung slowly from left to right and back again, like a hound searching for a scent.

The challenge took Ariel by surprise. In all her hears at the Towers, she had fought the Lionar many times, but never Nadriel.

She threw a questioning look a Sundil and gestured to each of her swords—wooden training blade on her left hip, sharp metal on her right. Without hesitation, Sundil pointed to her training blade and raised his own.

It was a wise decision, though Ariel was a little disappointed. She felt more confident with the heavier steel and knew that with it she’d have a better chance of making her one strike count. But at least with wood no one was likely to get seriously hurt.

Which left just one more question. Ariel pointed to her throat. Sundil simply looked at her confused, then slunk away like a shadow towards the nearest tree.

A compromise then, Ariel decided. She’d create the distraction and let Sundil make the surprise attack. It was the best way to make use of their diverse abilities, particularly since Sundil remained relatively weak in direct combat, while Ariel was hopeless with stealth.

Closing her eyes, Ariel concentrated on the music playing around her. Once again, she heard the deep sound of strings which stood for the snow pines of the Rising Phoenix, and the piping note of the birds in the canopy. Not far away, she heard the trumpet that represented Nadriel holding a long tone, waiting. In amongst all these sounds, Ariel wove her own music, singing a wordless song that set her veins humming with the power it held.

Ready to make her move, she opened her eyes and looked up. Sure enough, she found Sundil had already climbed the tree he’s been heading towards and was padding as silently as any jungle cat along a branch directly above their instructor’s head. Catching her glance, he threw her a concerned look, clearly wondering whether her singing was the wisest idea. Ariel tried not to smile.

Attempting not to change her song in any way, Ariel took a wisp of wool from a pouch at her belt. She brought it close to her lips on the flat of her palm and sang to it, allowing her breath and the power around her to catch it and blow it from her hand. It wafted leisurely down to land by her boot.

Ariel burst into action as it hit the wood of the training deck. Taking care to step on the piece of fluff, she charged in at Nadriel. On the opposite side of the instructor, a set of sounds came to life—the soft hint of leather creaking and the slight scuff of footsteps trying to hurriedly sneak forward.

Nadriel took the bait, whirling on his knees, his blade arcing out in a low sweep towards where the ghost Sundil charged, thanks to Ariel’s spell. The real Sundil gave her a nod and leapt off his perch, soaring downwards, weapon raised above his head.

He and Ariel arrived at the same time, both aiming for the side Nadriel had exposed when he’d turned to deal with the fake Sundil. But suddenly it wasn’t exposed anymore. Ariel felt her sword shatter in her grip for a third time, as Nadriel’s sword swept around, destroying both students’ weapons as it came. It had been a ploy the whole time, Ariel realised too late. He’d read their bluff and had been bluffing in turn. It was a trick almost worthy of the Lionar.

Sundil tumbled and landed, rubbing his wrists as he backed away from his instructor. With the sound of shattered wood signalling the end of the fight, Nadriel removed his blindfold and smiled at his students.

“Congratulations on your ascension and the completion of your initiation, Anariel and Sundil. I am impressed by your martial skills respectively, by your honour to each other and ingenuity betwixt.” He reached out and clasped Sundil’s forearm in a warrior’s greeting before turning and repeating the gesture with Ariel.

“Your final lesson tonight is this. Never assume an opponent’s strength—or their weakness.” With that, Nadriel handed Ariel the blindfold.

She placed the blindfold over her eyes and found the material was able to be seen through. Evidently he could see everything both she and Sundil were doing the whole time, and was thus truly able to judge your skills in this your final initiation test at the Phoenix Nest. A trick worthy of the Lionar indeed.

Night fell over the Midnight Towers, soothing its nocturnal denizens into song. Crickets and frogs chirped together in symphony, supported by the quiet thunder of nearby waterfalls and punctuated by the occasional cheep as bright-plumaged birds settled in for the night.

Above the distant song, Ariel set the knee-high grass to sighing as she skipped through it. Trailing behind, Sundil smiled indulgently, happy to watch her dance. The habitual lines of worry had eased from his face and Ariel felt pleased that her friend finally looked at peace.

The pair wandered together amongst the trees in easy silence, simply content in each others’ presence. They’d come so far throughout the years that they no longer needed words. And now they’d passed the Adverse together. What would happen now, Ariel wondered? Sundil had finished his training with the Rising Phoenix, so unless he chose to stay on and teach he’d have no cause to stay at the Towers. Ariel herself remained bound until she’d completed her training under the Lionar.

Ariel felt sorrow’s shadow cross her heart at the thought of parting from her friend, but quickly banished it. Tonight was for celebration and joy; parting and sorrow would come soon enough.

Overhead, a flock of birds suddenly took flight, swarming into the sky. Ariel glanced up to track their progress and saw a dark figure leap down from the branches above. There was a flash of silver and a yelp of surprise as Sundil found a dagger to his throat.

“Drop your blade, Stardancer, or I will see a graduation gift of sweet crimson on your hands.”

The elvish voice broke through Ariel’s shock, transmuting her frozen horror into red-hot rage with an alchemist’s deft touch. Whoever the dark-cloaked figure was, he or she must think her stupid if they thought she was going to voluntarily render herself helpless.

“What assurance do I have that I won't be so gifted, even if I comply?” she demanded.

The blade pressed closer to the now panicked Sundil. His face shone an unearthly white in the darkness as the stranger maliciously played with the dagger, sliding it lightly along Sundil’s neck.

“I need give you no assurances, only one chance. Take it, or you will have one friend less, Anariel You will pay for your injury to our honour.”

“Don't, Ariel,” Sundil yelled defiantly. “Don't sacrifice your weapon for this coward.”

It seemed there was no choice. Although the lack of a weapon took much of her power from her, however, she knew she was far from helpless. She’d make sure her blade remained close enough so that she could cast a spell or tumble over to retrieve it, should she need to. And she still retained one of her most important weapons of all—her words.

“I see that Amaralia has managed to miss beating the sense out of one of her students,” she remarked disgustedly, slowly unsheathing her sword—her real, metal sword and the only one she carried habitually—and tossing it to one side. She knew it didn’t matter whether her guess as to the identity of the assailant was right or not because their reaction to her words was bound to tell her something, adding to the clue she’d already been given.

Cruel laughter echoed in Ariel’s ears. “You choose loyalty to your friends before your own life. Had your blood been more pure, you could have been one of us. Fool.”

Suddenly the figure released Sundil, shoving him aside and coming toward Ariel, sword drawn. Never one to be caught off guard, Ariel dove to the side, picking up her own sword and lashing out.

But it was too late. The first of the stranger’s rending strikes bit deeply, sending her nerves dancing in searing agony. Blow after blow fell, too swift and accurate for Ariel to parry. Whoever the stranger was, he or she was an expert swordsman, she realised dimly, struggling to draw breath.