R. Salvatore: The Witch_s Daughter

The whispers did come, but less than the couple had expected, and it did not take long for the northern elf to carve out a place for himself and his soon-to-be-growing family among the kindly farmer folk of Corning.

And then Bryan had come into their lives, had brought to the small cottage on the western edge of town more joy than the couple would ever have believed possible. That baby smile, Bryan’s whole face lighting up at the sight of mother or father, surely washed away any of the fears either of them had ever felt. If any believed that the union of the two races was against some unspoken laws of nature, one sight of Bryan would surely change their stubborn minds.

But then Deneen had gone away, taken in the pain of her second birthing, with the tiny girl who would never see the world beyond the womb.

“Are you all right?” came a voice that shook Meriwindle from his memories. He turned to find Bryan, now a fine young lad of fifteen years, standing in the doorway to the little kitchen.

“Yes, yes.” Meriwindle brushed away his son’s concern, and sniffed away a final thought of Deneen and the unnamed baby girl.

Bryan took a moment to consider his father’s position in front of the window, and the view such a seat gave to him, and he understood. “Thinking of Mother?”

“Always,” Meriwindle replied, and Bryan did not doubt that his father spoke the truth. A sadness touched the corners of the elf’s gray eyes, a sadness that would endure through the centuries.

“Are you still planning to go?” Meriwindle asked, needing to change the subject.

“Yes,” Bryan replied, but he quickly added, “unless you would like me to stay. I can change my plans. The others would understand.”

He would do that for me, Meriwindle thought, and without regret. What a fine young man his son was growing into! “No,” he said to Bryan. “I gave you my word, and you certainly did more than your fair share of the spring planting. But all of the work is done now, and summer nears its high point. As we agreed, you may go.”

Bryan’s face lit up. He would indeed have remained beside his father without complaint if he believed that Meri-windle needed him. But he was thrilled to be going. He and his friends had been planning this expedition for the whole winter.

“But…” Meriwindle said, stealing a bit of the smile. The elf paused for a long, teasing moment. “You must take this.” He spun and tossed sword and scabbard to Bryan.

Bryan’s eyes popped wide at the gift. So long he had admired the crafted blade hanging over the mantel in the sitting room. His father had trained him in the use of a sword-all fathers taught their children in this land, so close to the wilds of the Baerendel Mountains-but never had this blade been used in those practice sessions. It was a family heirloom, a magical blade from the elven valley, the sword Meriwindle had wielded during the Battle of Mountaingate, when he had fought beside Arien Silverleaf himself.

Bryan slid the slender blade out to feel the perfection of its balance and to witness the soft glow of blue light that held the magic of the fine edge.

“The Baerendels are a wild place,” Meriwindle explained. “It is best to be prepared.”

“I fear I might break it,” said Bryan, so obviously overwhelmed, his hands trembling.

“I have trained you myself,” Meriwindle reminded the lad. “And your talents exceed any I have ever seen of your age and experience. Few understand the dance of the blade as well as you, my son. And that sword is elven make, hardened by the magical fires of the Silver Mage and far stronger than its slender size would lead you to believe. No, you’ll not break it, nor will you break the armor and shield.”

“Armor and shield?” Bryan could hardly speak the words.

“Of course,” answered his father. “If you wish to act the part of an elven warrior, then you must look the part of an elven warrior.”

Bryan mocked a quick inspection of himself. “But I am not true elven,” he said skeptically. “Half my blood is human.”

“So it is,” muttered Meriwindle, but the disappointment in his tone was feigned, and Bryan knew it. If Bryan was an example of the offspring of elf and human joined, then more would be wise to consider the formula. He was possessed of the best of both worlds, slender and handsome as an elven lad, yet with the hardened muscles and strength more common to the humans.

“You decline the gifts, then?”

“Oh no!” Bryan cried, hoping his father would not rescind his offer. “Truly I will wear them as best I may. Truly-”

Meriwindle stopped him with an outstretched hand. “No need to plead your case, my son,” he assured the boy. He walked over and put his hands on Bryan’s hardened shoulders. “Never has a father been more proud of his child,” he said, moisture rimming his large eyes. “You have all my faith. You will wear the outfit more finely than ever I could.”

Bryan responded in the only way he possibly could. He gave his father a hug.

Meriwindle answered the excited knock on his door with a mixture of pride and sadness. He recognized the unique pattern to the knock-that of Bryan’s best friend-and he knew what that meant.

“Good morning, sir,” greeted the diminutive lad at the head of a column of twelve, every one of them outfitted for the road.

“Welcome, Lennard,” Meriwindle replied. “Do come in.” He called out to Bryan, who was getting ready in another room, while the adventuring party, boys and girls of Bryan’s age, marched into the sitting room.

“Are you all gathered and prepared?” Meriwindle asked them.

“All except for Bryan and Jolsen Smithyson,” replied Lennard. He drew out a narrow blade, a foil, for Meriwindle’s inspection.

“Fine weapon,” the elf commented politely, though he had reservations about the wisdom of carrying such a blade into the wilds of the mountains. In trained hands, the whipping speed of a foil could be a great advantage against an armed opponent, poking through defenses before one’s enemy ever brought his heavier blade to bear. But the dangers the troupe would likely encounter up in the Baerendels, bears and boars and giant lizards, would better be fought with a heavier blade such as a broadsword or an ax.

No matter, Meriwindle reminded himself. All of the youngsters carried bows and knew how to use them, and Bryan would certainly be prepared to handle anything that came his way.

“Bah, you should have brought the spear,” remarked Siana, one of the girls. “That little blade will snap the first time you strike something bigger than you.”

Meriwindle tried to hide his agreeing smile. He liked Siana perhaps best of all, and was pleased that she was wise enough to see the logic.

“Never it will!” Lennard shouted back. “In and out.” He accentuated his point by snapping off a quick back-and-forth stab with the foil. “Before anyone-or anything-even knows what hits him.”

“A bear will know soon enough when it looks down and sees half the silly thing broken off and sticking out the front of its hide,” Siana replied without missing a beat. The others, Meriwindle included, shared a laugh at Lennard’s expense, but the diminutive lad just shrugged and joined in.

“Should have known better than to match wits with Siana,” the defeated Lennard reminded himself under his breath.

“Let the day begin!” came Bryan’s call as he entered the room. Meriwindle tried to hide his satisfaction as a general gasp rolled through the group, stealing their laughter. And when the elf turned and looked upon his son, he, too, caught his breath.

The elven sword hung easily on Bryan’s hip, hidden by the jeweled scabbard, but from the rest of Bryan’s outfit the others could well imagine the sword’s incredible workmanship. Bryan wore the chain-mail armor common to the elven folk, yet rarely seen outside of Illuma Vale, a fine mesh of interlocking links so perfectly crafted-and so perfectly fitting Meriwindle’s son-that it bent and formed to the contours of Bryan’s body like a second skin. The shield was of a shining silvery metal, inlaid with the quarter-moon crescent of Lochsilinilume. A wide-brimmed hat cunningly inlaid with strips of protective metal, high but supple leather boots, and a thick forest-green cloak completed the trimmings over Bryan’s normal clothing.