Chapter 10 - The Tuning Fork

The forest breathes, the waters sing,

A blade may dance on echoed string.

When rhythm binds both hand and soul,

The Songweaver begins to learn her role.

Raven and Elanor moved quietly along a westward forest path, the early morning light filtering through pine and mist. Even the animals barely stirred as they passed.

After several hours, keeping the looming mountain to their left, the two came upon a small pond fed by a waterfall from far above.

“Let’s rest here for a few minutes,” Raven said, “and have a snack to regain some energy.”

Elanor nodded silently, and Raven thought he could see her wincing in pain as she used her arm to balance herself when she lowered herself down onto the grass.

He took out a stack of flatbread and split a piece with her.

As she ate, Elanor raised her eyes toward the waterfall, dropping over a hundred feet into the pool below. The morning sun shone through the trees, creating small rainbows in the spray as the water spilled over the edge of the mountain above.

Elanor took a deep breath and let it out. She could smell the fresh mountain water and the wet stone. The forest around her was alive with the scent of pine, oak and wild grasses.

Cool mist hit their faces, soothing the heat after the exertions of traveling.

Without thinking, she reached over and took her flute out of its case.

Bringing it to her lips, she began playing a soft, willowy melody. Raven leaned back and closed his eyes, letting the improvised tune wash over him.

The notes from her flute matched and mixed with the rhythm of the water splashing at the end of its fall, joining the rush of water above to the small pond on the edge of which they now sat.

When he opened his eyes, he spotted a fox and rabbit peeking out behind a tree, watching the two of them. Their ears were pushed forward, trying to capture every note coming from the instrument.

After a few minutes, Elanor stopped playing and the two animals scampered away into hiding again.

“That was beautiful,” Raven said. “Your melody and tempo seemed to match the waterfall perfectly.”

Elanor blushed, putting her instrument back into the case.

“I just let the scene guide me,” she said softly. “It felt… right.”

Raven stood and drew his daggers, causing Elanor to raise her eyebrows.

“I wonder if you can feel the same tempo in battle.”

She also stood, tentatively reaching her hand toward the dagger still stowed within her traveling clothes.

Raven took a forward fighting stance.

“Your official training will be done at The Widow’s Shroud. But I don’t see any harm in a few lessons while we travel.”

Elanor followed suit, holding her arms up. One held the dagger and the other was balled up in a fist.

“Ah, I see you’re left-handed,” Raven said. “I hadn’t realized that when I saw you playing.”

She smiled. “I can basically use both, but this just feels right.”

Raven chuckled. “When it comes to combat, going with your gut will serve you well. Especially for someone like you. You seem very in touch with such things. More so than most, I would say.”

He stepped over and corrected her stance a bit.

“Keep this arm up a little bit higher. It will help you block a blow from your right. Now step forward with your leading foot just a bit… There.”

Raven took one more look at her stance and nodded, satisfied.

“Okay, I’m going to come in with a few strikes. I’m not going to harm you, but try to block and defend as well as you can.”

She nodded again, ready to go.

“While we fight,” he said, “try to sense the rhythm and flow of combat.”

Then, without further warning, Raven lunged forward and swiped his right arm in a wide arc, easily telegraphed but not slow.

Elanor raised her own blade to block and pulled her arm back quickly before Raven twisted his hand, trying to cut her wrist.

“Well done,” he said, kicking out in an attempted leg sweep.

Elanor leapt over his leg, and punched with her right hand as she landed, connecting with Raven’s shoulder.

He raised his eyebrow.

“I guess I can pick up the pace a bit, then.”

For the next hour, they sparred. Raven would give her tips here and there, but mostly tried to stay silent so she could sense the flow of the fight.

The only sounds were those of water crashing into the pool, echoing off the rock face of the mountain. And the clashing of blades and grunts of two half elves battling in the soft grass.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

About halfway through, he noticed her responding faster to his moves. Her eyes hovered around the top of his chest, where she could see both his facial expression and his body.

“Good, very good! Your focus should be right there. A man’s face betrays his emotions, and during combat you must watch his limbs, but never let your gaze wander too far from his face.”

After an hour, the sun was nearing its apex and Raven stepped back.

“So,” he said, “how did that feel?”

Elanor looked thoughtful for a minute.

This felt… familiar somehow. Not necessarily the violence, although it seemed she was becoming rapidly accustomed to that.

No, it was the pattern beneath it all. The way Raven’s movements followed a tempo, and the way she could almost predict his next strike by reading the subtle shift in his stance, and timing her reaction with his.

Is this what it means to be a dual-class? Could my musical instincts truly translate into the art of survival?

“I see what you mean about the rhythm,” she mused. “It took a while, but I began to sense it. Then I focused on matching the beat before you could strike me.”

“That’s… impressive,” Raven replied, looking at her as he caught his breath. “That’s something most fighters take years to learn. Decades, even. You picked it up in an hour.”

She blushed again, wiping her sweaty brow with her sleeve and placing her dagger back inside her robes.

“It must be my musical training.”

Raven scoffed.

“Heh… It’s more than that. You’ve got a natural talent. I’ll have to be sure the trainers at The Shroud know about it so they don’t waste their time teaching you things you already know.”

Elanor looked down at the ground.

“No,” he said. “It’s a good thing. Learning the tempo of combat is part of the curriculum that usually takes years to master. If they know they can pass over that, your training regimen can be streamlined.”

They packed up again, and Elanor suddenly realized something.

“My shoulder… It didn’t bother me at all while we sparred.”

“I had wondered about that,” he responded. “The Witch added some special herbs to the traveling breads that help rebuild stamina and health. You’re not fully healed yet, but I’m glad to see you’re doing well. She’s good at more than just curing venom, you know.”

They headed out again, tracing the outer banks of the pond and out into the open. It was mid-day, and the road was relatively busy now. Which, Raven had told her, was a good thing. Safety in numbers.

Six more hours of walking, and they came upon a small town.

The settlement before them was larger than any village Elanor had seen, though still modest by the standard set by Myrrindel. But that was a capital city.

Smoke rose from dozens of chimneys, carrying the mingled scents of cooking fires and forge work. Beyond the stone walls, she could see the peaked roofs of what looked like proper two-story buildings, and hear the distant sounds of commerce: hammer on anvil, the creak of wagon wheels, voices calling out prices and greetings.

High stone fences surrounded the town, and a massive iron-reinforced double wooden gate stood open. Four guards with spears were there as Raven and Elanor walked through.

She saw Raven nod to one of the guards, who wore an extra banner on his right shoulder.

Must be the guard captain, she thought.

The guard captain's nod wasn't the casual acknowledgment of a traveler. It was the subtle recognition between allies.

Elanor noticed how the man's eyes briefly flicked to the instrument cases, then back to Raven's face with something that might have been understanding. No questions were asked about their business or destination, no inspection of their belongings.

As they passed into the town proper, Elanor wondered just how extensive Raven's network truly was, and whether this quiet organization that had rescued her reached into every corner of the realm.

They passed through the gates and headed straight for the tavern.

A central beam at the peak of the roof extended beyond the front of the inn, and a wooden sign hung from it.

THE TUNING FORK – TAVERN & INN

Elanor smirked. “I love the name. Very clever.”

Raven laughed and led her inside.

The hostess also seemed to recognize Raven, and gestured to a hallway to the right of the main hall after simple pleasantries.

Elanor followed him into a long, darkened hallway, and knocked on the last door at the back of the building.

He knocked in a strange pattern, and the door swung open right away.

Amelia Starweave ushered them inside before closing the door behind them. She was an elegant woman with silver-touched auburn hair and the kind of polished demeanor that suggested she'd once moved in far grander circles than a small-town inn.

Raven spoke first.

“We’re just passing through on our way to The Widow’s Shroud,” he said. His voice was low, barely above a whisper.

The innkeeper looked Elanor up and down, then noticed the instruments Raven still carried, slung over his shoulders.

“Would you like to perform tonight, darling?” she asked.

Before Elanor could answer, Raven cut her off.

“I’m sorry, Amelia. Her music is powerful, and I’m afraid she’s not yet learned how to control it. But I’ll bring her back in a few years. I promise it will be worth the wait.”

“Very well, then.” Amelia made a note in her book. “That’ll be three hundred quills for the food, drink and rooms. And for the discretion, obviously.”

She held out her hand. And Raven sighed as he pulled out the silver coins, counted them and placed them in Amelia’s open palm.

She pocketed them without counting, and then smiled at Elanor.

“You, my dear, are going to love tonight’s entertainment. Finn Sweetvale is with us all week, and he brings ballads and news from the highlands. It should be quite the show.”

Elanor sat back in her chair as Raven and Amelia whispered for a few minutes. He must have been talking in some sort of code, because although she understood the words, they meant nothing to her.

After they finished, Raven stood.

“Okay, let’s relax in our rooms for a bit. We have enough time for baths before dinner and the show. It will be good for you to see a renowned bard perform. Small towns like this don’t get people of his stature often.”

He glared back at Amelia.

“I guess that’s why she charges so damn much.”

She laughed at him.

“Oh shush. Not like you can’t afford it. Now go. Enjoy your night. Be refreshed. As tomorrow’s journey won’t be as easy as today’s was.”

A look of concern passed across Elanor’s face, but Amelia reached out to brush a wisp of hair from her face.

“Don’t you worry, child. Raven will keep you safe. And when you’re done training at The Shroud, you will be the one who’s feared in the night.”

The sinister look on the otherwise demure innkeeper’s face stayed with Elanor for hours as she bathed, dressed, and headed down to the dining hall.

What am I about to become?

From the dining hall below, the warm sounds of evening revelry drifted up through the floorboards. Elanor noted the clink of tankards, bursts of laughter, and the first tentative strums of Finn Sweetvale tuning his lute.

For two years, she'd performed for crowds that leered and commanded, in rooms thick with cruelty and power. This honest merriment, these simple folk enjoying music for its own sake, this was what she'd been longing for all this time.

But Amelia's words continued echoing in her mind, and Elanor couldn't shake the feeling that her path forward would take her even further from this innocent world than her captivity ever had.