A/N: I wrote most of this while listening to Homestuck music (). A lot of it's really good, and the story itself is fun to read too.
Disclaimer: The idea of the stranger at the end is mostly from Ranger's Apprentice: The Lost Stories, which, when I last checked, belonged to John Flanagan.
Thwap! Whap! Crack!
"Ow!" I exclaimed. Istalir had hit my shin with his stick.
"Guard yourself better! You cannot expect your enemy to only defend himself."
We had set up camp on the edge of the Hadarac. As promised, Istalir was sparring with me. I had not yet managed to last more than three seconds in a duel, and I only managed three by tripping over a rock, accidentally avoiding his swing.
"But not all my enemies will be elves. I hope none."
"True." Istalir considered for a moment. "I shall, as you would say, 'go easier on you.'"
I resumed my stance, with my right hand holding my stick diagonally in front of me, and my left near my chest.
"Move your legs further apart, and bend your knees. Also do not stand so straight; you do not want to give your opponent an easy target," Istalir instructed.
I followed his instructions. Istalir himself was very close to the ground, with one leg far behind him. He looked like some sort of ancient god, with the flowing white robe he had donned, and his elven features.
"You may begin," he said.
I tried to circle to his left, the side without the stick, but he turned gracefully so he was always facing me. I feinted to my left and spun to attack the right, but his stick was already there, and my feint hadn't even caused him to twitch. He blocked my strike, almost contemptuously, and thwacked my head.
"Ouch!" I jumped back, nursing my skull. My pride in my fighting skills had been destroyed quite a while ago. "How long have you been training to fight?"
"Nearly a two hundred years. I am a hundred ninety-two years old. I began at the age of 15."
"How am I supposed to beat you, than?"
"You're not. I doubt you ever will. But you can still become better. When you feinted, the intent was obvious in your eyes. It would be helpful if you did not decide it was going to be a feint until after you are almost committed, but that is difficult. It is easier, and usually just as effective, to learn how to not show your intent. I find it difficult to put into words how to do that, though. May I instruct you through thought?"
"Alright."
I felt the still unfamiliar sensation of another's mind. This time, I noticed that Istalir's consciousness had an eerie, haunting melody in the background, and asked about it.
Do not reach to deep into the mind of an elf. It would mean insanity for a human.
I felt a strange memory that was not mine. Istalir was right; it was hard to put into words how to conceal your intentions. Thinking of it was considerably easier, just hard to understand.
Istalir withdrew from my mind. "Resume your stance," he said. "I shall attempt to imitate a human soldier's fighting style, strength, and such."
I took my position again. This time, I waited, allowing Istalir to attack first. He leapt at me, raising his stick to slice downward. I quickly stepped forward to attack his unprotected legs, and make it hard for him to effectively hit me, but his leap had been a feint. However, I managed to block his strike to my knee, and countered by rapidly spinning to the right and jabbing my stick at him. He jumped back out of the way, and I continued forward, attempting blows to his head, chest, and legs, but none of them landed. He thrust his stick towards my abdomen, but I evaded the weapon. As he was withdrawing the stick, I did a fancy twirling maneuver he had used in our first round, and succeeded in disarming him. I pointed my stick at his neck and said "Dead."
He smiled. "You should be able to defeat the average human soldier, but you still cannot vanquish an elf. You've made plenty of progress today. Let us move on to magic."
He sat down on a stone, staring into the fire, and I chose a tree stump a bit further away, in front of him.
"The ability to use magic is not something I can teach. Either you will discover it, or you will not. Until you do, or we reach the Varden, I will instruct you to defend your mind, and perhaps, if you show promise and seem trustworthy, how to attack the mind of another." He paused. "To defend your mind, just focus on something. One thing, to the exclusion of all else. It doesn't have to be important or physical; it could be a grain of sand or an emotion. Often, magicians recite random scraps of poetry to help them focus. I will teach you one such piece now.
There was a man in Lamboray,
Who sat and talked to himself all day.
Cackled and giggled and laughed did he
As he leapt of the bungalow tree.
It is obviously nonsense, but helpful in mental struggles. Remember it. If you cannot recall a poem, you can make something up, preferably something short and simple. Just repeat it many times. When you are ready, tell me."
I spent a while reviewing the techniques in my head. When I was done, I said "I'm ready."
I focused on a small piece of rock and began to recite the poem.
A massive force was smashing against my mental barriers!
No! Must focus on rock!
Rock, rock, rock, rock, rock, rock, rock!
The fire crackled and popped.
What was tha—No! He's going to break in! Rock, rock, ro—Dammit, he's in my head!
Istalir's mind left. "That was pretty good for your first time. Beginners are typically distracted easily, and when it's you're mind is first assaulted you typically notice too much about the attack itself. Prepare yourself again."
The rest of our session went mostly like that. He would attack me, I would defend for up to seven seconds, and once he defeated me he would give me new tips. After an hour of this, he produced some strips of meat. After we had eaten it, and drank the remaining water from our skins, which Istalir had filled at the stream from this morning, which had a tributary nearby. Realizing that we were low on supplies, Islalir left to hunt and refill our skins. He did something he called 'placing wards,' and told me I could go to sleep. I settled down into my blanket and drifted off into the land of dreams happily for the first time in months.
The next morning, I woke to find Istalir packing up our bags and erasing all signs of our passage.
"I hope to reach Furnost by the end of the day. We can rest and purchase supplies there, and from there we only have to cross a relatively small portion of the Hadarac to reach the Beors. Once we reach the Beors, it will be pretty easy to contact the Varden."
I got up and rolled up my small bundle of blankets, thin enough to fit in a small pouch on Istalir's belt, but very insulating. We mounted our horses and rode in a southerly direction, keeping the Hadarac in sight until we reached a large, gently sloping hill, close to which we found Furnost.
We dismounted three miles from the town, and Istalir changed into his leather tunic and pants. We decided I would pretend to be his servant, since I was already wearing rags. I smeared some dirt on my face, and Istalir used a spell to alter both our countenances. We walked toward the town on a small dirt path, which eventually led to the main gate. The place was not very well fortified, just a small wooden fence around a bunch of run-down buildings, surrounded by farmland.
Inside, I noticed a few wanted posters. My name and face was on a smaller one, with an insignificant reward, even for a poor farmer, of three crowns, but Istalir's was the largest besides someone named Brom. The reward for capturing Istalir was 15,000 crowns, and Brom 50,000, an unimaginable amount.
Istalir found the marketplace, four times larger than the one in Daret, my home. He purchased enough provisions for a week, two sets of clothes for each of us, a few packs, and another horse, to carry all the stuff.
We were among the only visitors to the town's one inn, the Purple Acorn. It had enough stable room for three horses, but ours was the only one. The bar felt crowded, with a low ceiling and eight tables. Two were occupied, one with a solitary hooded man, the other with four bulky soldiers of the Empire, obviously drunk. We rented one of the two rooms and sat down for dinner.
"Hey, you!" called one of the soldiers, seemingly more sober than the others. "What're you doing here? This little place rarely gets visitors."
"We're from Bullridge," Istalir responded. "We're on our way to Surda to trade."
"Trade, eh?" A particularly nasty looking soldier. "Shounds like traitor to me."
"I assure you, we are loyal citizens of the Empire."
"And whadda ya do?"
"I am a merchant, and my companion here is a farmer who decided to make a living in trade."
"Still seems sushpicious. Should we turn 'em in?"
"You're just drunk," said the soberer one. "There's nothing suspicious about them."
"Well, I wanna have some fun. Rough 'em up. Only way they'll larn resshpec and shtuff." He and two other soldiers advanced on us. To keep our cover, we backed up.
"I think you should mind your own business," said the man in the hood, who had a surprisingly deep voice.
"Don' talk ta me tha' way. Ah'm on offishal duchy, followin' ordahs from the king 'imself."
"It's your official duty to annoy people while drunk?"
"Wha—why ya little piece o' scum!" He advanced on the stranger, while his two companions kept us backed up against a wall.
In a smooth, practiced motion, the stranger stood, pulled out a massive longbow, put an arrow on the string, and tugged it back. The soldier backed up warily. Suddenly, a soft target to toy with had become a dangerous enemy.
"We'll report cha ta the king!"
"Hiding behind other people, are we?"
The soldier gave a snarl and charged. Twang! The arrow flew from the bow, piercing the soldier's arm. In less than a second, the stranger had another arrow loaded and ready to fire. The three soldiers not wounded fled. The remaining one took a look around the room, warned us to watch our backs, and ran after his comrades.
"Hello," said the newcomer, who had a lean build. He was wearing a cloak that looked like good camouflage, and at his feet was a quiver of arrows. On his belt, he wore a short sword. "I presume you are Istalir and… the rescued prisoner?"
A/N: I use cliffhangers too much, don't I? If you think so, you can tell me in a review. And I wish to thank , my only reviewer as of yet.