KRIDARNN

“Krid, I’ve been wondering for a while, how did you come to know Fenn such that you would follow him here? You don’t… well you aren’t at all interested in the Fae.” Galendria spoke over a glass of sweet fae wine, swirling the aromatic stuff in a delicately carved chalice.

“It was an expedition of mine. He helped me, and we became unlikely friends–” Fenn seemed to feel it was a question for him, but Gale had addressed Krid.

He cleared his throat, cutting off the Newt. If any had questioned it but Fair Gale, he would give only the short answer: a need for support, and Fenn’s answer. But this was Fenn’s betrothed. More than that, anyone with eyes and even a tooth of sense could see the agelessness of their friendship, the deepness of their care. It was why they bickered. There was too much they expected to not have to say.

“The only place to begin is the beginning. My people value the growers and shapers of this world more than any other peoples. Food and water support the lives of thousands, and the smiths and tradesmen provide them with the tools they need as well as the tools for the ones who protect. My bloodclan wished for me to follow in the steps of my fathers and become a shaper of metals. But Fate cursed me to be an enemy with the harmer and at odds with the forge. No number of years could train my hands for that battle. I sought solace in the comradery of men and women who, like myself, could better protect those who grow and shape than join them.

“It was among these men that I met Fennorin, for I rescued him on a scouting patrol. And as he bunked in our scoutpost, studying the colony of elves at our border, he and I became friends. He asked me many questions of our people and history, and cleverly avoided the question of family. In a year, I went from Recruit to Squadman, and in another I was Squadleader. And Fenn yet remained. One day, he was there when my father’s brother came to confront me. He crashed into the tents and harassed my squad until they sent him to me.

“‘Kirdarnn Bluescale, he said, your father commands you return by the first of summer. If you would not come, he issues the Duel of Rights. If I were you, I would return. Few are stronger than him.’

“Those were his words and such his advice before he left. I knew I could not meet my father in a duel alone. Though I had become skilled, fighting drakemen twice my strength and age, I held little hope. He was a man with thick hide, long spines, and great breath. To meet him in the duel, I would need a witness and second who would testify that I was in my rights to disobey him and to meet him with me in the duel, as he would also bring a second, any from our clan he chose.

“I tell you these things about my family. If any of you travels to Brikhvarnn, leave this knowledge behind.” Krid gave a hard look around the table, thankful that Syrdin had disappeared from the revelry and feasting some time ago.

“So Fenn was sitting in his cot near mine, and I thought he had not heard from the way he held his book still. But he set his aside. ‘Krid,’ he said, ‘I would not pry into your family. But if you need support, I would offer it.’

“His words touched a place in me I did not know, and with only the two of us there, I told him everything: of my desire to work only in the Scoutguard, and my bloodclan’s demands. He offered many words of courage and pain, sharing his own father’s demands from long long ago, and how he had left to be free of it. ‘Krid,’ he told me, ‘you were as built to lead drakemen as I am to learn. You protect. You save people, as you saved me. Your squad, many of them your seniors by age, admire you and would follow you to the end. Every day, they learn your compassion and strength. Your father is wrong. If you must duel him to be free, then you should.’

This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“I considered this, but could not imagine who I could ask. The squadmen? They would follow, but they would risk involving their own clans in a squabble of mine. ‘Fenn, there are none I could ask to go with me,’ I said.

“Then,’ Fenn was not done, ‘though there are many stronger blades than mine, I would offer it all the same, if you would take it. If it is allowed.’”

All grew quiet around the great table. No one ate or drank, all eyes on Krid, waiting. Only the jolly song of the partying fae beyond the trees desecrated the honorable silence.

“I tried to refuse, I thought he might come to harm, but that’s when he explained to me how he knew his way around a sword. I couldn’t believe it. But sure enough, as soon as I put in his hands a small, nimble blade, he went through some forms I didn’t know, and they were graceful and swift, suitable for a dainty race of elves. So we agreed to meet my father in a duel, and I had hope again. I took a leave and we journeyed together. On that journey, we spoke of many things of this world, of Fate, of magic, the realms. But it was not until the duel that we were forged as brothers.

“My father met me for the duel. When we faced off, circling, the Testimony demanded the calling of our Seconds, and I called first. When Fennorin stepped forward, my father laughed, long and powerfully. He called, then, as his Second, the youngest and weakest man of age in our clan, my littlest brother. He was barely of age. ‘Let him gain experience,’ my father said. He hoped to shame us.

“I had instructed Fenn that he need not defeat his opponent, only survive to allow me to defeat mine and rally against his. This was an opponent I judged Fenn could defeat, but true to my instruction, he did not do the lad this dishonor. He met him with crossed swords, parrying and dodging, allowing the lad no hits, but not hitting him, though I knew he could. For a drake to be defeated by an outsider would be a shame on my family. Even the clan could see what Fenn did for the boy.

“I battled my father, and in the strength of my youth, overpowered him, landing a second and third blow after his second one. For a moment, I thought he would accuse me of cheating, but he took his defeat honorably.

“I cornered my brother, and he forfeit, and we had won the day. I could not have freed myself from the rule of my bloodclan without Fenn, and I owe him everything for that. Not only did he do me this favor, but he respected my family and culture better than many dragonfolk would. That day, I swore to him the oath of a brother, that if ever he needed me, I would answer. So here I am.”

Fenn spoke from his place across the table beside Fair Gale, his head bowed. “I made it clear in my letter, Krid, that I would not use this occasion to call on the oath, that it was too great a favor for the little I’ve done for you.”

“Brother, you cannot ask too much of me for all the good you have done this drakeman’s heart.” Krid tapped his fist to his chest in a salute. Fenn always underestimated his value to others. Kindness and faithfulness may not be listed as valuable attributes often, but they were invaluable in a friend, a brother. While Krid might consider himself to now be a “shaper” of hearts, it was Fenn that he would call a grower of them, the most honorable calling of all; for when Krid had thought he had no heart left to give, Fenn had nurtured one to life.