Bladesinger - Keith Francis Strohm [60]
Finally, Taenaran began to relax into the Song's driving rhythms, matching footstep, slide, and sword thrust to the cadence of the inner melody. It was in that moment that Arvaedra's sword began to inexorably slow-or Taenaran's own attacks began to speed up; it was difficult to tell. All he could see was the deadly beauty of two blades meeting in the air. Time lost all sense of meaning. For the half-elf, there was only the silver streak of Arvaedra's sword and the answering ring of his own steel. He was enmeshed in a symphony of battle.
Without thought, he departed from the forms and slid his sword past Arvaedra's guard. The elder elf laughed wildly and raised her weaponless hand as she spun out of the way. Taenaran felt a ripple of power move through the air and strike him square in the chest. The force of the magic caused him to stumble, and he cursed himself for forgetting that steel is not a bladesinger's only weapon. He recovered his balance and advanced once more against the swordmaster. He feinted a high attack then summoned his own power. Fueled by the strength of the Song, the eldritch energy rose within him easily. He knew in an instant that this was somehow different than the spells he normally cast. As Arvaedra's sword rose to meet his attack, he released the power he had raised. Taenaran's sword, rather than presenting an obstacle, acted as a channel for his spell. Immediately, power poured forth from his blade and assaulted the elder elf.
He watched in amazement as the el'tael absorbed the arcane attack, dissipating its force. The half-elf wanted to follow it up with another blast, but suddenly the Song shifted in to a different key. It swelled within him once more, but this time Taenaran felt it pull at him, as if it were demanding something. He had managed to settle into its rhythms previously, but this time it wanted more than just his cooperation. This time it pulled at the deepest parts of who he was, tugging at the core of his spirit. Fear ran through him like a cataract and something within cried out against the Song's terrible need. He clawed for freedom against its power-then silence filled his mind.
Taenaran stood there for a moment, stunned, then Arvaedra's sword cut toward him almost too fast to see. With surprising force, she knocked the half-elf's sword out of his hand and slammed the flat of her blade into his face.
Light exploded behind his eyes. When at last it finally cleared, Taenaran found himself lying on the ground with blood trickling from his nose. He heard Arvaedra's voice, as if from down a long tunnel, speaking rapidly to the gathered tael, as he struggled to his feet. A strong arm stabilized him when at last the half-elf managed to rise. It took Taenaran a moment to realize it belonged to Arvaedra. The elder elf said nothing as she motioned for him to return to the line of kneeling tael, but Taenaran could see the pride burning behind her eyes.
The half-elf wiped blood from his nose as he knelt once more. Fear and satisfaction warred within him, but even in the midst of that battle, Taenaran could not quite keep the smile from his face.
* * * * *
Aelrindel watched his son battle Arvaedra-and winced several times as the master nearly caught the beleaguered tael with a swift stroke of her blade. Centuries of battle and mastery of his art allowed the First Hilt to sense the moment when Taenaran discovered his own Song. He was surprised, at first, by the power of it-especially when he nearly managed to land a blow against Arvaedra. Tears threatened to blur the elf's vision, but he fought them back. It would not do for the leader of the bladesingers to show any overt reaction to his son's performance.
His resolve was tested, however, when he sensed Taenaran's