CHORUS
The knight espied a lady who admired his staff of oak. They'd scarce begun their gentle joust before the staff had broke. The knight sought out the wizard, who replied when brought to task, "Your wish bespoke how long it was, and not how long 't'would last."
Repeat Chorus if possible, run if necessary… Originally published in Realms of Infamy Edited by James Lowder, December 1994
There's quite a bit of distance between Evermeet, the island realm of Queen Amlaruil, and the Branch Davidian compound in Waco, Texas, but this story started in both places. After the debacle at Waco, I got to thinking about the fragility of an unexamined, all-encompassing world view. Some of the people who died in that fire came from a religious background very like my own. I've seen what can happen to people who were raised to think of their philosophy as Sole Truth, accept without question the "package deal" it presented. All too often, a single crack in this paradigm can bring the whole edifice down like a crystal castle. Strangely enough, many people who experience a break of this nature tend to seize upon the next all-encompassing package that comes along. And there doesn't have to be a religion on either end of the process: some people break free of super-controlling parents only to join a cult, kibbutz, or a corporation that demands eighty-hour work weeks. If the only life you know involves functioning within a strictly defined set of rules and mores, finding your own way isn't easy.
This is not the sort of thing easily translated to fiction-unless, perhaps, you're talking about elves and magic swords.
Elaith Craulnober excelled in the role of elflord of Evermeet, but when his expectations were confounded, his opinion of himself and his understanding of his place in the world shattered. He utterly abandoned the life he knew and the values he held. But the more things change, the more they stay the same; he threw himself with equal fervor into the next role that came along. The distance between elflord and crime lord is shorter than it might appear. Many years passed before Elaith began to understand the dangers inherent in the unexamined life. When he entrusted the training of his daughter Azariah, heir to the Craulnober moonblade, to Arilyn, he gave the half-elf this advice: "Teach her the rules, and then tell her to question them."
THE MORE THINGS CHANGE
Whenever Elaith Craulnober wished to find his future wife, he knew precisely where to look. He knew also what she would be doing. Although he didn't entirely approve, he'd long ago abandoned any notion of taming the fierce elven lass.
The young elflord hurried through the palace gardens and down a path that took him deep into Evermeet's royal forest. He made his way to a grassy clearing shaded by a canopy of ancient trees. As sure as sunrise, Princess Amnestria was there, sword in hand and skirts kilted up around her knees. Her blue eyes blazed with concentration as she faced off against the finest swordmaster in the kingdom, and her pale face shone like a damp pearl. With both hands she clung to her practice sword-a long, broad blade that looked far too heavy for her slender strength. Her knuckles were white and her arms shook from the strain of balancing the oversized weapon.
Elaith's jaw firmed. He strode forward into the glen, determined to have a few words with the princess's instructor.
When Amnestria caught sight of the handsome, silver-haired elf, she dropped her sword and flew into his arms like a delighted child. Elaith caught the elfmaiden and swung her off her feet in an exuberant spin, delighting in the playful mood she always invoked in him. Theirs was an arranged marriage, but in this as in all things, Elaith considered himself the most fortunate of elves. He was extremely fond of the princess, and justly proud of the brilliant match.
Even without her royal lineage, Amnestria was remarkable. She possessed rare spirit and fire, and a pragmatic intelligence. Her beauty was not yet in full flower, but already minstrels had begun comparing her to Hanali Celanil, the elven goddess of love. She had blue eyes flecked with gold, and the rarest hair color among moon elves: a deep, vibrant blue-black that poets likened to spun sapphires. Her features were delicately molded, her form exquisite. Amnestria was the very embodiment of moon elven beauty.
Yet something about her often struck Elaith as too… human. That was the only word for it. Despite her merry nature, the princess displayed the intensity of purpose and singular focus usually associated with that vigorous, shortlived race. Battlecraft was her passion, and she divided her spare time between her swordmaster and the war wizard who tutored her in battle magic.
Remembering the source of his ire, Elaith set Amnestria down and prepared to castigate her swordmaster. The older elf, however, had discreetly slipped out of the clearing and was heading down the forest path, sympathy and nostalgia etched on his angular face.
Amnestria noted his departure and wrinkled her nose. "My teacher is deserting me before I'm ready to stop," she said. "Let's have a match!"
"It is not fitting for the captain of the king's guard to cross swords with a princess," Elaith said in the patient, gentle tone he used rather frequently with the girl.
She dimpled, and her eyes mocked him. "You're just afraid that I'll best you, and then Father will turn your job over to me!"
"The guard exists to protect you, my dear princess, not employ you. No member of the royal house has ever served in the ranks, and you're not likely to change things," he reminded her. "The king has too much regard for tradition."
Amnestria responded with an inelegant snort. "Tell me something I don't know!"
"You misread me, damia," Elaith said earnestly, using an elven endearment directed to sweethearts or children. "I meant no disrespect to the king."
"Of course not." Amnestria sighed heavily, but her dancing eyes still teased him. "That would be hoping for too much."
"What do you mean?" His tone was sharper now.
"You're a dear, Elaith, but sometimes I worry for you." She paused, reflecting. "It's the hardest thing to explain."
"Make an attempt," he requested coolly.
"You're always so proper, and you follow the rules as if they were graven in alabaster. You're-" Amnestria broke off, clearly at loss for an explanation. Her slender hands milled in small circles as if she could create an air current strong enough to draw out the right words. "You're… you're such an elf."
"Of course, damia," he agreed, a little amusement creeping back into his voice. "What else would I be?"
"But don't you ever think about all this?" she persisted with the earnestness of the very young. Her slender hand traced an arc in the direction of the nearby palace, the wondrous moonstone castle that was the very heart of Evermeet. "I've never heard you wonder why, or question, or challenge anything. You just do whatever's expected, and you do it better than anyone else. You're the consummate elf," she repeated. Her natural effervescence asserted itself, and the golden lights in her eyes danced like giddy fireflies. "An elf's elf. The very epitome of elfdom," she elaborated, then bubbled over into giggles.
With another lightening change of mood, the girl snatched up her sword and whirled on her betrothed. "Fight with me!" The words were half request, half demand.