Bladesinger - Keith Francis Strohm [80]
It was even nicer, the half-elf thought, to have Talaedra witness it. Although he couldn't see the young elf maiden, and he didn't dare take a moment to look for her silver-haired beauty among those assembled, Taenaran knew that she was watching.
He didn't have too much time, however, to bask in the accolades. Both opponents, the only two remaining besides himself in the alu'dala, began to weave a deadly coordinated attack, seeking to draw his blade too far away during a parry so that the other could strike at his unprotected flank. He took a moment to gaze at the two enemies before him and cursed silently. Andaerean and his never-far-from-him companion, Nardual, were two of the most active antagonists during his time as an apprentice. It had been clear from very early on that the golden-haired, bronze-skinned Andaerean somehow took umbrage at Taenaran's presence among the tael. It didn't help that his Uncle Faelyn worked with the haughty elf apprentice privately to hone his skills. Nardual, however, never seemed to hold a personal grudge against Taenaran. He simply followed his elder companion-though out of a misguided sense of loyalty or a lack of imagination, Taenaran never knew.
He did, however, have his suspicions.
The half-elf managed to catch the sly smirk that spread across Andaerean's face before the elf lashed out with a booted foot. Taenaran's instincts cried out for him to dodge the hasty kick, but years of training had helped him identify the real threat. Nardual's weapon slashed to Taenaran's right, perfectly aligned to strike the half-elf in mid dodge. Instead, he took the brunt of Andaerean's attack, catching the elf's boot with his free arm and wrenching his opponent off balance. Nardual's sword whistled about a hand's width from Taenaran's shoulder.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, but the half-elf barely heard it. From the moment that he had caught Andaerean's boot, the world seemed to slow. The sounds of the clearing faded. The patter of rain, the rustle of wet leaves in the storm-ridden wind, the explosive breath of his attackers-all of it settled beneath the first strains of the Song. He felt it grow within him, gradually crescendoing. Nardual launched a desperate attack to give his companion a few moments to regain his footing. The elf's longsword beat against Taenaran's defense, but as the Song grew, his opponent's blade began to move more slowly. As Nardual's sword cut downward, the half-elf watched it with a sense of dispassionate observation. His own blade touched the tip of Nardual's longsword then slid down its length, stinging the elf's hand with a light rap.
The sword fell from Nardual's grip just as Andaerean returned to the fray. The now-angry elf shouted something that Taenaran, enmeshed in his inner Song, couldn't make out. Despite his ever-present unease at the Song's power, the half-elf rode his fear, mastering it like a skittish horse. He knew that if the battle ended soon, there would be little chance of the Song turning on him. He had asked his father about the Song's dreadful demands, but on that subject his father, and the other masters, were stonily silent. "This was," they insisted, "a path that Taenaran would have to walk alone."
At that moment, his opponent's blade struck out, seeking the exposed flesh of Taenaran's throat. The half-elf ducked beneath the attack and rolled forward, executing a backward slash with his own weapon. Lightning lit up the stormy sky as their blades met. In the distance Taenaran could hear the braying of the training horn, signaling the end of the exercise.