Elowyn

Some of the songs claimed that victory had created the island nation of Avskild, but Elowyn knew the songs herself. It wasn’t victory that brought their people here. It was defeat. It was likely only a matter of time before monsters found their way here again, and then it would be all the more imperative for her to become a Grimnir. No matter how grave the risk. Magic was the one thing that would keep them safe. 

She sprinted hard, knowing that every bit of training she did would increase her chances of surviving when she entered Vanalf, the cave filled with monsters. This was the price one paid to gain magic. The prize was worth the risk. The ground practically glided away beneath her feet, warm wind carrying the scent of saltwater. She skimmed the edge of a short cliff, running parallel to it, a dark, sandy beach stretching out below. 

Her destination, a ruined heap of an ancient castle on the cliff, was just ahead of her. The castle was from another age, when war was common and the need for Grimnirs was much greater. 

The other Grimnir students from her age group raced behind her, all 24 of them. At the very rear of the group would be Arenda, the combat instructor. 

Elowyn passed beneath the crumbling archway of the old castle, slowing to a stop as the soft grass changed to pebbled dirt. 

“I win,” Elowyn said with a huff.

Hallik clomped up right behind her, coming in second place. “You cheat,” Hallik said through his panting, placing hands on hips as he walked toward her, gray eyes narrowing. He whipped his blonde hair out of his eyes and added, “You’re not even human.”

He wasn’t exactly wrong. Elowyn smiled. “I’m more human than you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“By the smell of it, your father was a troll.”

Hallik laughed with a shrug, white teeth flashing. “Seeing as I never knew my father, you may be right.” 

The two of them walked in circles around what would have been the castle courtyard to cool down as the other students filtered in. 

When the last of the students entered the wide space, Arenda came last, her face calm. Her large brown wings were folded behind her. She was a Valtyra, one of the four Grimnir classes, distinguished by the wings that always appeared on their backs after emerging from their trial in Vanalf. When a student entered the cave, there were only two outcomes: they’d emerge as a Grimnir, or they’d never emerge at all.

“You are one year away from entering Vanalf,” Arenda said, her voice steady as though she hadn’t been running for the last hour. “You must be prepared to face whatever challenge may confront you while inside. Feats of endurance and combat are not uncommon.” She withdrew the wooden practice sword from her belt. 

Arenda said practically the same thing every day, or some variation of it, as if they needed any reassurance for why her training was necessary. Elowyn respected combat training, but she had no desire to become a Valtyra, the warrior class. She couldn’t fathom the inconvenience of having large wings protruding from her back, though Arenda always appeared so graceful with them. 

Elowyn’s aspirations were different. She wanted to be a Voyager, one who could move between the realms. There hadn’t been a new Voyager for eight years straight. All the previous ones had disappeared. 

The students knew what to do. Each of them had their own practice sword they’d brought with them, and they started pairing off. 

“You’ll duel me then?” Elowyn asked Hallik. 

Hallik rolled his broad shoulders. “If you don’t mind losing.”

Elowyn shrugged. “The best way to learn is to practice with someone who’s better than you.”

“So does that mean my skill will degrade by practicing with you so much?” He smirked, thinking he was clever.

“I’m sure I could teach you a thing or two.” 

“Alright then,” he said, holding his practice sword out to the side. He loosened the lace of his plain brown tunic where sweat still glistened on his tanned chest. 

The sun was high. The air was humid, and a light breeze coming up from the bay did little to cool them off. 

Elowyn tucked a stray strand of her bright blonde hair behind her ear and pulled out her own sword, falling into stance. Other students around her started their duels as Arenda paced around them, watching and providing corrections. 

Hallik’s gray eyes were focused on Elowyn as she stared back at him. His lips pursed, square jaw tightening as he made a couple practice flicks with his sword. He was the best fighter among all the students, and whenever Elowyn didn’t rope him into dueling, he often practiced directly with Arenda, something Elowyn had only done a few times. 

Even if Elowyn didn’t want to be a Valtyra, she certainly wanted the skill to rival Hallik. Thankfully fighting was the only thing he truly bested her at. 

Elowyn let out her breath in short bursts as she struck at Hallik. He deflected three strokes from her before trying three of his own. Elowyn matched his rhythm, blocking each attack. She tried again, but he feinted a block and dodged instead, stepping in and striking low. Elowyn caught it with the tip of her blade, but Halik used his free hand to tap her elbow to taunt her before spinning away with a smile. 

She refused to let that slide. She lunged in toward him, breaking the rhythm to find her own stride. The sound of clattering wood filled the air as their weapons clashed again and again. She swung at his shoulders, once from one side, then the other in quick succession, then she went for a jab. He jabbed as well, his blade poking the top of her chest as her blade caught him in the ribcage. 

“Either you’re getting rusty, Hallik, or Elowyn has finally become a fair match,” Arenda said, folding her arms as she stood beside them. 

“I’m not rusty, Arenda. You’ve said so yourself. I can’t expect to win every fight. Every soldier gets injured eventually.” He withdrew his weapon.

“Oh, let her compliment me, Hal,” Elowyn said. “I still have more to teach you.”

“You’re fast, Elowyn,” Arenda said. “Use your advantage. Keep with the quick strokes. When battling someone like Hallik, focus less on killing blows. A blade to the wrist, elbow, or knee can still ensure a victory when using a real weapon. A stab to his liver would do you no good if he pierces your lung at the same time.” She gave Hallik a narrow-eyed glance. “Don’t go easy on her.” 

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Hallik nodded his acquiescence and readied his weapon again. 

Arenda turned her attention away, providing advice to another pair nearby. 

Elowyn took the advantage and stepped toward Hallik, taking a quick jab. He deflected it easily and threw in his own swings, wielding his wooden weapon as though it were a longsword. Eloywn kept up, trying to take Arenda’s advice to use faster strokes, but Hallik matched the rhythm. If speed was supposedly Elowyn’s advantage, then Hallik certainly wasn’t letting that show. 

She attempted several more strikes but Hallik only smirked, which annoyed her more than it should have. This was her choice after all. Didn’t she want to train with somebody who was more skilled than her? In one quick flash, Hallik deflected Elowyn’s attack and struck her across the forearm, wooden sword batting at her flesh. 

Elowyn groaned and stepped back. 

Hallik shrugged at her. “Something like that,” he said. “Take the easier hits where you can get them.”

Arenda had since moved on to instruct other students, but she nodded in their direction. 

Hallik and Elowyn sparred for another hour, and, true to his word, Hallik didn’t go easy on her. An accumulation of bruises slowly built up along her arms and shoulder. She’d at least been able to strike Hallik once on the ankle, but he’d otherwise held the advantage. 

“That’s enough for now,” Arenda said. 

The students all sighed with relief. Except for Elowyn. She was still determined as ever to strike another blow against Hallik. 

But they weren’t in the clear yet. They still had to run back to the castle, not that Elowyn minded that at all. Endurance was another of her strengths. Rather than place her wooden sword back through the loop at her waist, she held onto it as she took the lead, starting at a light jog back towards the castle. 

“You’re getting better,” Hallik said as he jogged behind her. 

“Don’t patronize me,” Elowyn said. 

Hallik laughed. “I’m not one for patronizing, El. You know that.” 

When she didn’t respond, he went on. “Really though. I’m sure if you sparred with any of the other students, you’d be more than a good match for them. I wouldn’t be surprised if you come out of Vanalf a Valtyra.”

“Nature’s rays,” Elowyn cursed. “Let’s hope not. The last thing I need is a set of wings.” 

Hallik laughed again. He knew how much she feared the idea of emerging as a Valtyra. So much for not patronizing. 

She shook her head, instead focusing on her breathing, and on the salty scent near the ocean. They were too far away from the beach to feel the misty air as waves crashed on the sand below the cliffs to her left. A long plain of short grass stretched out before her with a thick, dark forest to the right, mountainous peaks rising above the treeline. 

After jogging for a while, she switched the wooden sword to her other hand, wiping her sweaty palm on her pants. The path ahead curved away from the cliffs and back towards the forest. On the other side of it was the city of Dalstava. Home. 

Even from the distance, the great Tower of Tarn rose over the edge of the trees, its dark gray surface blending against the mountainous backdrop. 

As Elowyn passed beneath the branches of the old forest, the air cooled, and a humid stillness surrounded her. Ancient magic resided here. It was embedded in the very fabric of Dalstava. 

A set of small fairies darted across the path ahead of her, disguised as a leaf, a feathered seed, and a butterfly. Elowyn always found their choice of disguise as humorous. Because of their inconsistency, their disguises were too obvious. 

In her eagerness to get home, the rest of the students fell farther behind as her pace increased. Something about the forest itself invigorated her, filling the tired muscles of her legs with renewed strength that added to the euphoria of exertion. She was positive that at such a rate, she’d be able to run to the other side of the mountains and beyond. 

But she wouldn’t need to go that far. She’d already reached the other side of the short strip of forest that stood between the cliffs and Dalstava. The gray stone of Dalstava’s walls stood as a massive blockade. It had been centuries since the city had ever been attacked, but even in the stories of old, even the greatest of trolls could not penetrate them. 

A stretch of land, bursting with green grasses, lay between her and the city wall, but she steered to the right toward a stout fortress embedded on the side of the wall, two thick, rounded towers breaching the edge. Castle Vrodr. 

The stocky fortress was set apart from the rest of the city, though their walls connected. One thick keep stuck out from the middle, its slanted roof protected by dull, red shingles. The other smaller structures of the castle were hidden behind its walls. 

Elowyn slowed her pace as she jogged toward the open gate. A single sentry, Latshal, stood outside the gate, armed with an iron spear, her brown hair jutting out the back of her leather helmet. Latshal functioned less as a warrior, and more as a lookout, waiting for the various classes to return to the keep if their lessons took them outside the castle walls. She was a Watcher, one of the four classes of Grimnir, with sharpened, supernatural senses. Latshal’s counterpart, Khanak, would be somewhere atop the ramparts. He too was a Watcher. 

Latshal nodded to Elowyn as she drew close, though her narrowed brown eyes looked over Elowyn’s shoulder as if she were seeing something else. Elowyn glanced back, though she knew she wouldn’t see whatever Latshal sensed. 

“Welcome back,” Latshal said, her voice tinged with a subtle rasp. “Everyone survived today’s training?”

Elowyn let out a huff, looping the wooden sword into her belt as she reduced to a walk. “Mostly. Can’t say they’ll all run back safely though.” Pride flavoring her tone.

“They’re your team, Elowyn. Your greatest strength is standing together.” Latshal’s eyes locked with Elowyn’s as she passed. 

“Yes, Latshal,” Elowyn said, absorbing Latshal’s wisdom. It was something all the instructors often reminded her of as well. 

She proceeded through the open castle gate, its double portcullises hanging overhead like two rows of sharpened teeth. The walls were thick, and the cold shade offered a bit of respite from the warm exertion of her run. As she emerged on the other side, the scent of thick pine and forest receded and was replaced with that of moist clay and fresh berries. A cobbled path led from the gate to the opening of the keep, a moderate courtyard stretching between, interspersed with the manicured, bushy foliage of a well tended garden. 

A black and gray banner hung from a low parapet of the keep, bearing the crest of the Grimnir, all four classes represented. Wings and sword for the Valtyra, an eye for the Watchers, an open book with a flame set on top for the Vitugr, and a compass for the Voyagers. 

She needed to become a Voyager, one of those gifted with the ability to travel. They had the ability to activate the portals… Their island, Avskild, was built of magic, secluded in its own realm, safe from most dangers. The Voyagers were meant to be able to maintain the security of the portals and enchantments that kept Avskild alive, but all the Voyagers had disappeared, and new ones were too rare. It was a strange phenomenon, since Voyagers were once the lifeblood of Dalstava. Where had all the Voyagers gone?

Elowyn did not like mysteries. Especially not one that hung so cryptically over their heads like a dark cloud that none wanted to acknowledge. 

Her fellow students, and even the instructors, all suspected she’d become a Vitugr, one of those blessed with a sharp attunement to arcane spells and magic. Though she hoped that wouldn’t be the case, it was rumored that Vitugr’s still had a means of opening the portals, but such a spell would take years to master. 

Years she didn’t want to lose. 

On the topic of Vitugrs, Lind Hjordis emerged from a low building protruding from the side of the wall, thick brown hair bouncing just above his shoulders, face grizzled with a rough beard. Lind was the instructor who oversaw much of the coursework regarding both magic and creatures. Arenda would hand the students off to him for the afternoon. An axe dangled from his waist, his broad shoulders bouncing as he walked toward Elowyn. She suspected him of being a greater warrior than he was a wizard, but she never questioned his knowledge. His brown eyes lingering on her for only a moment before he nodded and redirected his gaze at the gate. 

The other students were returning, Hallik at the head. 

She knew he could have run much faster to keep up with her, but he hadn’t. It was always his intuition to stay with the others. Something she felt less inclined to do. Perhaps that was what Latshal meant by standing together. 

She let out a breath. One more year before she could enter Vanalf. One more year before she could become a Voyager.