Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
Convincing the humans to train with two elves and eventually a horde of barely in control demi-elves went about as well as Alvara expected.
Rav had joined her, offering not only his ability to somewhat speak their language, but his own training with his father.
But really, she missed the positive energy of Lilja and Kat, who were too busy with their own tasks to take part in her training like they had in Ilmanir.
The humans’ angry voices repeatedly punched through the peaceful morning air.
Alvara leaned her head to one side and shared a look of exasperation with Rav.
How were they going to win a war when the two sides refused to even work together?
Many of the demi-elves in the Eskenti settlement still weren’t willing to set foot in Gosibik knowing the state of affairs, and the humans were suspicious of even their own people who had only discovered they possessed magic a few weeks ago.
“I’m going to make what is probably a very terrible speech, but I need you to translate,” Alvara said.
Rav inclined his head. “I’m not as fluent as Boden, but I’ll do my best.”
Alvara’s voice rang out through the clearing, earning some, but not all of their attention.
“You don’t have to like each other. You don’t have to agree.
You do have to work together, or we have no chance of winning this.
This is exactly what King Einar wants and expects us to do.
To turn on each other, unable to overcome our differences enough to stop him.
So, stop your whining and pick up your weapons or leave.
We have work to do.” She rammed the shaft of her spear into the ground.
It was a poor replacement for the one she had left behind in Malva, but better to be equipped with a stick than nothing at all.
Rav translated, his voice thundering with an authority she had yet to feel, and the faces of those listening hardened. But none left. Maybe they were debating whether they should just impale the both of them for fun.
A quiet voice speaking in the human tongue emerged from the crowd, and every head followed the sound. The humans made way for the one responsible, a wiry man with short, ice-blond hair whose steps were followed by the hushed whispers of those around him. As he came closer, Alvara held back a gasp.
Silver scars, large and small, marred his pale face from forehead to chin. But it was his green eyes that held the true horror—they were lifeless, as if whatever had caused the marks on his skin had stolen away his very will to live.
As the man spoke, the faces of every human fell, their hatred dissolving into something soft and fragile. Rav didn’t translate, likely too afraid of breaking whatever spell this man’s words held over the crowd.
And when silence reigned over the clearing again, a woman as well built as many of the men, with red hair woven into long cascading braids, stepped forward to join the speaker. As her gaze swept over the crowd, a handful of humans groaned and trudged to join her.
She gave Alvara a curt nod and tapped her chest. “Gerdavir.”
“Thank you, Gerdavir,” Alvara said. Rav relayed her orders as she spoke. “We can start here. Have them pair off and show me their fighting techniques. I want to see what we have to work with and what we might be able to teach our own people.”
The man who had spoken addressed Alvara, in Elvish no less. “I am Erun. Frigar’s brother.”
Alvara did her best to swallow her surprise. She hadn’t heard anything of the chief having a brother. “Thank you, Erun. For whatever you said to convince them to stay and train.”
They watched together silently as the warriors sparred with each other, their fighting style violent and aggressive in a way that the elves’ wasn’t. Hopefully it would be a slight advantage.
“I hear you helped my son,” Erun said.
Alvara’s brow wrinkled. “You mean the chief’s son?”
He made a small sound, like his heart had lodged in his throat. “He is mine by birth. But I suppose Frigar’s by choice. He raised my son in my absence. Frigar believed I had abandoned him for the elven realm, but it could not be further from the truth. My wife was an elf, from—”
“Valo,” Alvara finished. She could still feel the boy’s flames devouring her leg.
Erun shook his head. “Her mother was Valonian, but her father was Elan. She grew up in Tasírath.”
The very mention of Ela’s capital flooded Alvara with mind-numbing fear and dread. Dread of the nightmare she knew would come from the man’s lips.
“That is where she fled from when she came here, looking for a more peaceful place to call her own.” He rubbed his chest, as if even speaking of her caused his very heart to bleed.
“We had a son, a beautiful son. But only a year after he was born, her family found her and forced her to return to Tasírath. They refused to allow their daughter to associate with a human man.”
Alvara knew what would come next—she could feel it in her bones. And yet it did nothing to soften the agony of his next words, the anger that set her gut aflame on his behalf.
“I followed her with every intent of bringing her home. But King Einar discovered me first.” His chin quivered. “I spent ten years in his palace. Ten years at the service of a monster. I only escaped a few months ago.”
“How?”
Erun looked her in the eye now. “At the cost of my soul.”
Alvara resisted a shiver and pulled her spear closer to her chest. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I am telling you what I told the others to convince them to train, so your friend has no need to translate. I want you to know from my lips why they fight. I know the evil we face…” He raised his scarred eyebrows.
“Alvara.”
Something much too close to terror took hold of his gaze. “Alvara. Alvara Himren.”
“How did you…” She closed her eyes. “Noma.” What had she endured, what had Erun and the others endured because of Alvara’s escape?
“She was a good woman.” Erun turned back to the warriors, to the sparring that somehow seemed even more important now, and a heavy responsibility settled between Alvara’s shoulder blades.
“I’m sorry for the pain I caused all of you.” Her voice cracked, and Erun laid a hand on her shoulder.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Alvara. We all do what we must for those we love. The king would have found another reason to hurt us all the same.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but she wiped them away with her sleeve. “Thank you, Erun. I’m glad you made it out. Made it home.”
“I am too. And I will do what I can to persuade as many as possible to join. Nice meeting you, Alvara…” He took a small breath. “Himren.”
Erun joined the others, who lapsed into silence at his approach. They must have all known who he was and what he had suffered because of King Einar. Because of an elf.
Whose kind they were now forced to work with and live beside.
Alvara occupied her restless mind with cataloguing the unique combat tactics of the human warriors. There was no denying that they were skilled, leagues beyond the elves who had abandoned any form of combat after their youngling years.
But in a battle of steel against magic, one was more likely to win, at least on the surface. And their movements were slower and even clumsier than the elves’, something that became apparent in her regular dealings with humans. Even the humans’ horses lagged far behind their elven counterparts.
Most of all, they needed to train with the demi-elves and other wielders to understand how to grapple with elements they had likely only ever heard of in stories. If they could catch King Einar’s soldiers off guard, they might have an opportunity in sheer numbers to overpower them physically.
As the sparring finished and more humans begrudgingly joined the training, Alvara demonstrated the basic elven fighting forms, which focused more heavily on defense and countering.
The humans observed her with skepticism, but with a combination of withering looks from Rav and Gerdavir, they followed along, even as their bodies struggled to keep up with Alvara’s lithe movements.
“Did Boden ever mention a human named Erun? One of King Einar’s servants?” Alvara asked as she and Rav watched the humans practice, her eyes drawn to Erun’s scrawny figure. He had probably starved for years in the palace, among other horrors.
“No,” Rav said. “Boden keeps most of it to himself. Don’t ask him, Alvara.”
“Why?” The trust that lay between her and Boden—it made her feel like she could ask him anything under the sun, and he would answer without guilt or hesitation.
“He’s out. Out of the palace. Don’t drag him back in. Please.”
Alvara chewed on his words. It was the only time she had ever heard Rav use the word please, and she knew that counted for something. “I won’t.” She pointed her spear in the direction of the warriors. “You think it will work?”
“It has to.” He crossed his arm over his body and scowled at the stump protruding from his shoulder. The sight pained Alvara, but she said nothing. “Thank you, by the way.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “This is the second time you’ve thanked me for something. Should I be concerned?”
“Very funny,” he said as he stretched his arm in circles. “Thank you for letting me help. If one more person tries to get me to rest or sit on my ass, I’ll choke them.”
“I don’t doubt it. But you’re more than your loss, Rav. I can see that clearly, and the ones who matter can too. Prove all the others wrong, or choke them, your choice. Not the most pleasant experience, I’ll give you that.”
He shrugged. “You did almost kill Kat.”
A fair point. “Why haven’t you two ever…?”
“My father. A plan for an arranged political match,” Rav said, before barking an order at one of the humans and running off without another word.
The day of the meeting with the other local chiefs, Alvara bounced on her toes at the edge of the shore—as if staring at the lapping waves would summon more than the three leaders who had shown up so far.