Thunder rumbled in the distance, as if in answer.
Drops of water fell from rain-soaked trees, spattering Taenaran's cloak. Absently, he wiped away the few errant droplets that ran down his face. Despite the arrival of spring, the night air held a fierce chill. Above him, thick clouds shrouded the moon's illumination in a mantle of silver-gray luminescence.
None of it mattered to the half-elf. In fact, another Time of Troubles could have fallen upon the world and he would scarce have noticed-for Talaedra waited just beyond the next bend in the forest path. Friendships had been hard to come by, living as a half-blood among the elves of Avaelearean. Taenaran's friendship with the young elf woman meant that much more to him because of such difficulties. Now, however, the half-elf felt as if they stood upon the brink of something more, something deeper than friendship.
Taenaran smiled in the darkness as he scrambled up the last rise leading to the Verdant Pools. His smile turned to a curse as the worn leather scabbard he wore banged against an out-thrust expanse of rocks. Not for the first time, he wished that he could travel without the weight of his sword dragging at his side. As a student of the bladesinging art, however, he was expected to wear his sword always-as a means of being prepared for anything that might occur, as well as to remind him of his essential duty to the elf people.
When the shadows along the trail suddenly surged and shifted, resolving into several heavily cloaked figures, Taenaran prayed silently in thanksgiving that he had not, for once, shirked this discipline. The half-elf spun to his left, eliminating the possibility that his enemies could surround him by pressing his back against the rock. One of his assailants stepped forward and swung a thick-boled length of wood at him. He ducked beneath the blow and tried to draw his weapon, only to find himself caught beneath a press of bodies. Punches and kicks rained down upon him. He tried to cry out, but the violence of the attacks knocked the wind from him. When the weight bearing him down to the muddy earth disappeared, it was all he could do to crawl on all fours, gasping for breath.
"Get up, you a Tel'Quessir scum," a voice barked from somewhere above him.
Taenaran gazed up at his assailants, who stood around him in a loose circle. They each wore thick black cloaks and most of their faces were covered with a thin black veil, leaving only their eyes to stare coldly back at him. The half-elf wiped blood from his nose with the back of his hand before struggling to rise. His mind spun rapidly as he fought to stand. Had they discovered Talaedra? Was she safe? By the sound of their leader's comment, this wasn't an attack from outside the elf community.
"I said rise," the voice shouted again.
It was followed by the sharp strike of a booted foot against Taenaran's ribs. He doubled over in pain but refused to fall to the ground. Carefully, he tried to calm his mind and gain control of the fear that ran through his body, leeching his strength. The mind was a warrior's greatest weapon. His masters had said that often enough, and now he intended to take advantage of their wisdom.
"Stand before your betters, ape," the leader spoke again.
This time Taenaran clearly identified Andaerean as the speaker, despite his attempts at camouflage.
"Andaerean, stop this at once!" another voice cried- Talaedra's.
Taenaran cast around for the elf maiden and found her struggling to free herself from the hold of two of his attackers. She looked unharmed; fire burned within her gray eyes. Relief flooded through the half-elf. At least she hadn't been hurt.
"I wish I could stop it, Talaedra," Andaerean responded, "but I can't. This one must learn his place!"
"When my father hears of this-" Talaedra began.
"Go ahead, run to your father, Tal," Andaerean spat. "Who would believe that I had anything to do with this?" The elf looked around at the other cloaked figures. "Besides, I spent the evening before the celebration training," he continued with a harsh bark of laughter, "and a master will confirm it." Andaerean stared right at Taenaran as the others carried on his laughter.
"You filthy piece of troll dung," Talaedra shouted. "I'll-"
"Shut up!" the elf demanded, as he raised a fist and brought it down hard upon the elf woman's face. "If you want to be an ape-lover, I can't stop you, but I'll be damned if I'm going to listen to you mewl about this piece of filth!"
As the elf's fist smashed into Talaedra and she sagged against her captors, something burst deep within the half-elf. All of the anger and shame he had felt his entire life welled up within him like a magical storm. It wasn't enough that they hurt him, now they chose to hurt someone he cared deeply about.
It would end here.
With a snarl of rage, Taenaran quickly drew his sword, ducking easily away from the hands that grabbed for him awkwardly. His blade sang from its scabbard with a terrible, metallic keen. In his white-hot rage, he could not see Talaedra plant a wicked jab with her elbow into the stomach of her captor. Nor could he see her kick herself free from another of the elves and lunge forward, toward Andaerean.
All that Taenaran held before him was the sight of Andaerean's eyes-eyes that mocked and belittled him with their dismissive gaze. The multiverse slowed to a single heartbeat as the half-elf screamed his hatred at his tormentor and plunged the length of his sword directly at the elf's cold heart.
A woman's cry brought Taenaran back to reality.
Standing before him, impaled on the edge of his sword, Talaedra gazed at Taenaran with eyes widened in shock and surprise. Her mouth worked to form words but none came. Only a red stream of blood poured forth, spilling down her chin. She hung there for a moment, arms outstretched, before light fled from her eyes and Talaedra's body fell backward.
Taenaran looked at the fallen woman then at Andaerean, whose own face registered shock and horror. He tried to say something-anything-but grief stole his voice.
Moments later, a sharp blow crashed down upon him, and Taenaran fell headlong into darkness.
Chapter 22
The Year of Wild Magic
(1372 DR)
She was gone.
Taen knelt on the hard stone floor of the bridge and wept silently. Tears just barely held in check glistened wetly around eyes red with grief. He had failed once again. His own deficiencies had once more caused harm to someone for whom he had cared deeply. It hadn't mattered that the Song had come to him like an old friend instead of a bitter enemy, strengthening his arm and bolstering his swordplay, rather than stealing his strength with the fear of its presence. The half-elf knew that he had stood on the threshold of everything that he had trained and striven for in his life-and it hadn't been enough.
He hadn't been enough.
Marissa was gone-likely dead-and their mission in shambles. The knot in his chest confirmed what he already knew in the cold, dispassionate part of his mind. It was his fault. He should have seen the danger from above, should have anticipated the attack. Instead, he had allowed himself to get so caught up in the joy of finding the doorway to his art that he hadn't even heard her scream for help.
Taen saw her in his mind's eye, her skin sallow and puffy from the spider venom, withdrawing into the darkness. In that moment, Marissa's face blurred, became the face of another woman, wrapped in burial silk instead of spider webbing-but just as dead.
He felt a hand rest gently upon his shoulder. "Borovazk is sorry, little friend," the ranger said, and Taen could hear the grief hanging heavy upon the Rashemi like a great gray burial stone, "but we must push on. Is not safe for us to remain on bridge."