Annise walked over to the table where Yeva, Jashal, Val, and Reg were eating lunch. She was covered in sweat and bark-dust from throwball practice. She slammed both her hands palm down on the table and said, “We’re going dancing tonight!”
Unfazed by the lack of response, she continued her spiel, “Oh, come on! We’re young,”—Yeva harrumphed—“beautiful,”—another harrumph—“and we’re not going to throw away another weekend doing nothing but practicing and studying. There’s more to life than work.”
Reg was about to object—he had a caravan’s worth of work to do—but he saw how Val’s face lit up at the suggestion, and changed what he was going to say. The small gnome had been morose since the morning’s archery practice. Going dancing wasn’t going to help her pass archery, but she seemed like she could use the distraction. He did his best to project enthusiasm to his voice, “We should! It’ll be fun. Even Instructor Mossgate was saying that we should make sure to have balance in our mental lives.”
Annise nodded, ”Exactly! You heard Reg, this is essential exam prep. Yeva, we could even go to that goat-steak restaurant you’ve been talking about. Jashal, don’t you want a chance to wear that tunic that you bought a half-moon ago? Val, dancing is the perfect practice for arms. It’d be irresponsible not to go out for the night!”
It took much less cajoling than normal to convince everyone that a night out in Ithilia would be fun. Annise wasn’t the only one craving an evening away from work. Reg had initially agreed to the evening out because it seemed like Val needed it, but as the time to leave the campus approached, he found himself getting excited; it would be good to get away from work and spend time with friends.
The trek into Ithilia was full of gossip. Nobody wanted to talk about classes or the upcoming exams, so they instead talked about fellow recruits. Two recruits—Nullac and Pifthor—had both been allowed to drop out. There were some rumors that they left to be together, but by the haunted expressions both had after that first practicum in the mist, Reg figured it was nightmares and the fear of going back down to the below. Apprentice Healer Zinnia had apparently broken up with her boyfriend. Grinnela and Fenjor had been caught sneaking away from their squad at night during the last practicum and both had been confined to campus. Jackoby had been trying to court Annise—he’d been coaxing flowers to grow for her every morning on their runs. Annise blushed heavily when Jashal brought this rumor up, and immediately changed the subject to something she’d heard about Dun secretly courting someone. Reg found himself thinking about Jackoby—what could Annise see in him? The stringy elf was awkward and quiet.
As they approached Ithilia, Reg could see the massive shipping platform descending on its last trip of the day, lit by the strange dark light from the massive black crystals that let it float through the sky, without ropes or anything holding it aloft. Seeing something a third the size of a throwball field piled high with trade-goods and people floating through the air was astonishing, but few in the busy evening crowds looked up to see it.
Reg was wearing a short tunic with pants so tight that only his friends’ encouragement at the clothier had convinced him to part with his rings. The pants were a struggle to pull on, and showed off his legs, now corded with muscle after the variety of squats, leaps, lunges, and sprints that the instructor of arms put them through every day. The tunic was simple—light blue and woven from wool—but the outfit as a whole made him fit into the cosmopolitan crowds much more than he had in his rough leathers when he first visited Ithilia. It was easy to pick out the hunters, herders, farmers, and laborers visiting Ithilia from the twigs by their outfits, and looking down at himself, Reg had the feeling that he was dressed up like a mummer in a play, just pretending to belong in the city.
On his left hip, attached to a new leather belt, he wore his doll and sling, and on the right, he tied the mask of the guardian hound. He’d brought both without thinking about it, and he noticed people in the crowd occasionally staring at both. It was novel to see a non-elf with an Achivian Guard mask, and Reg suspected the doll, still dressed in its leathers, made it even stranger.
The rest of his group of friends had dressed up as well, all of them using some of their wages to supplement their wardrobes. Annise looked natural in a red-silk dress. Val had started the walk to the city in a clean long green skirt and white blouse, but the walk to the city had been enough for her to cover the front of the long skirt with wet bark-dust from kneeling down near a burrow, and for the right shoulder of her blouse to be covered in some sort of sap. Jashal had a daring tunic that was even shorter than Reg’s; coupled with his tight pants, it made it clear that Jashal hadn’t been slacking off during the exercises in the Instructor of Arms’ cavern. Yeva looked dignified in men’s silks with her gray hair tied up and full of trinkets.
In the crowds, Reg occasionally caught sight of other recruits from his cohort and full guards, all out for a night on the town. It seemed like their group wasn’t the only one that had decided to spend some time away from books and practice before exams. Belladonna—dressed up in a multi-colored spider-silk dress that exploded around her shoulders like a flower’s blossoms—waved enthusiastically to the group as she caught sight of them across a busy street, before she was pulled into a theater with her friends. It took a second for Reg to recognize Gullian when the older guard nodded to their group as he passed by; it was strange seeing the older elf without his fox mask. Jashal was the first to spot Dun lounging at a teahouse; the elf’s outfit was even more colorful than Belladonna’s. Dun tipped his tea mug to them as the group passed by, and Reg was shocked to see that Dun was sharing a table with Apprentice Healer Zinnia, who blushed when she noticed their group staring.
In a square where many branching paths met, a musical duo was singing a ballad about Erwa Arrowkiss and her lost Altagos. Reg pulled the group to a stop to listen to the singing. The man and woman harmonized beautifully as they finished the ballad, Erwa’s lines of longing and sadness at being confined to the heavens twining and overlapping Altagos’s promises to keep wandering the earth until he found her again. Reg clapped enthusiastically as they finished and pulled a few rings off his cord to drop into their hat. Four high-branch elves, in silks as flashy as Dun’s and Belladonna’s were strolling past, one them sneering and commenting loudly, “Pitiful. I suppose a herd of moss farmers can be impressed by anything.” Reg ignored the elves and dropped rings into the hat while smiling at the singers.
Small food stalls had come out for the evening, and the air was full of the scents of candied nuts, kebabs, fried breads, custards, and foods Reg still didn’t recognize. The temptation to stop to grab a mushroom pancake that was fried with an egg was almost overwhelming—it would have made an appropriate challenge for The Self and the Other.
Despite the alleys full of sizzling temptation, they made it to their restaurant, No Place Like Gnome. The restaurant was open to the air, only the grilling area covered by a roof. The seating was low backless stools that were set around low tables. The majority of the crowd were gnomes, but there were plenty of humans too, all digging into platters full of grilled vegetables and meats.
As they sat down around the low table, Val cleared her throat before saying, “I talked to Captain Merrin about whether failing the archery exam would really mean that I’d have to leave and she said it did. She was furious about it—you know how she gets about bad policies—but she said that it’s an issue for the Thornbound or for a Conclavic Decree and not something that she had any power over.” Val’s quiet voice was hard to hear in the loud restaurant.
There was a round of commiserations. It was so patently unfair.
“I have an idea.” Jashal said, sounding enthusiastic, “How about we dose Brilleye with a forgetfulness draught? And then write down a passing grade? Shouldn’t be hard to grab some of the juice from Instructor Mossgate’s office.”
Val laughed. “Putting aside the morality of assaulting an instructor, it wouldn’t work. Instructor Brilleye is a full guard—she’d know that she’d been dosed and she’d probably be able to hold on to her recent memories. Especially because she always wears her mask, I’ve never seen her without it. And even if we got her to forget, we’d have to dose Captain Merrin too—she said she’d be there watching when I talked to her. Can you even imagine trying to poison her?”
“Putting aside the morality? Any plan that involves poisoning Brilleye is obviously a moral one!” Annise objected. “But I don’t see that working regardless.”
There were a few more crazy suggestions—finding a powerful illusionist to impersonate Val; trying to find blackmail on Instructor Brilleye; enchanting each arrow and the target with attractive magic. But nothing that offered promise.
“When I do fail the archery exam,” Val eventually said, “Professor Ashsprocket is going to try and appeal on my behalf. I’ve been doing quite well in Enchantment and in Advanced Magical Topics, and he says it’d be a crime for them to lose me just because I’m normal-sized.”
“It would be a crime!” Reg said, pounding his wooden tankard down on the table. “You’re going to be a great guard, and trying to get you kicked out because you’re too short for a longbow is the muddiest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Whatever happens,” Jashal declared, “I’m gonna drop some nettles in Instructor Brilleye’s clean laundry. She deserves some suffering.”
“I’ll help you pick some good ones.” Reg said. “I’ve seen your bushcraft. Trying to pick nettles? I know you’ll get lost.”
“Not my fault the woods aren’t organized in blocks the way is proper. Ain’t signs on nothing. Val, you ever thought about trying to fix the forest? Get it laid out proper-like? Add some signposts? Not just everything growing every which way?”Jashal asked. “Anyways, you were only in my crew on the first one. I got strata better.”
Yeva laughed, “Jashal, last time out, you fought a blackberry bush.”
“Defeated! I defeated a blackberry bush. After it attacked me. And then I plundered its bounty.” Jashal sounded affronted.
As food arrived, the conversation veered off, Jashal arguing strongly for “fixing” the forests, laying them all out in nice orderly lines like in the city and putting all of the poisonous plants into “plant prison.” Annise backed up Jashal, seemingly for the joy of the argument. The food itself was delicious, mounds of fresh grilled vegetables and thick cuts of goat flank that were cooked to order. Yeva was the only one to go for the chevon o’ burg—minced raw goat, lightly cured in lime juice, and mixed with spices. The rest of them went for thick flank steaks.
Reg was so full after dinner that dancing sounded like torture, but Annise and Val dragged the group to the first tavern of the night anyways. The Pixie’s Price had a bar staffed by brusque bartenders who served overpriced wines, meads, and beers. A lutist plucked a quick beat as three circles of dancers spun and laughed. Night had fallen outside, but strong crystal lights made the inside of the tavern bright. Annise, Val, and Jashal jumped into the circles, but Reg hung back.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Yeva gave him a shove, “Get yourself over there and dance. You ain’t old enough to be resting your knees with me.”
Reg shook his head, “Don’t know how to dance this one.”
“Well that’s a blighted shame. Suppose I’d better fix that. Come on.” Yeva said, grabbing Reg and hauling him near the dancers to show him the steps. Yeva wasn’t the best teacher—most instructions were things like “stop moving your muddy feet like that. Do it with the misty beat.”—but she was patient enough and got Reg moving with the music in the right direction and then shoved him into the circle before returning to the bar to sip on a mug of wine.
They only did a few songs at the Pixie’s Price before Val decided that they were moving on. Yeva waved them off and said that she’d head back to campus after finishing her wine. The next tavern, The Spicy Spider, was dim enough that it was hard to see the throwball memorabilia hung up on all the walls. A full band—lutist, drummer, and singer—played in a corner. The music’s volume, magically increased by an array of carved glyphs, was loud enough that it was hard to talk. The wooden dance floor was sticky in spots, but it was still full of enough people that it was hard to find a place to join in.
Reg’s lack of dancing skill didn’t seem to matter; the songs here seemed to involve lots of hopping to the deep drumbeat and moving around in small circles. Their small group had a portion of the dance floor where they shouted conversations back and forth while moving their bodies to the energetic music. It was surprisingly fun.
It felt like they’d been dancing for hours when Belladonna tapped on Reg’s shoulder and yelled in his ear, “Can I join?” He shifted aside to let her into their small circle. She then yelled “Thanks! Avoiding an admirer.” Reg didn’t understand what she meant, but he followed Val’s and Annise’s eyes as they flicked towards a high-branch elf who was glowering at them. It was hard to tell in the dim light, but he looked like one of the high branch elves who’d sneered at the singers earlier.
Belladonna danced with their group for a few minutes before yelling that she was going to head back to campus.
Annise grabbed her arm and asked, “Are you headed back with anyone?” When Belladonna shook her head, Annise looked around, “Anyone feel like heading back now? Probably not a good idea to walk back solo.”
Reg and Val joined Belladonna for the walk back. Reg was surprised how tired and sweaty he was from the dancing, and he was ready to head to bed.
The night air was surprisingly chill on their sweaty skin after the atmosphere inside The Spicy Spider. Reg’s voice was hoarse from the shouted conversations in the tavern, and it was a relief not to have the frenetic music pounding in his ears.
As they wound through the narrow alleys, headed back to the guard campus, Belladonna thanked them again for walking her back, “He didn’t listen when I told him I wasn’t interested and my friends had already headed back. It was stupid of me to stick around by myself.”
“Happy to do it.” Reg said, as they entered a square where a few food-carts were waiting around for the midnight rush. “No way we’d let that fop bother you.”
“A fop?” The drawling question came from behind them. Reg turned around and saw the exact elf he’d been talking about, lounging in the square with five of his upper-branch friends. The elf was talking around a cigarillo in his mouth that burned blue and smelled of one of the hallucinogens that Instructor Mossgate liked to use in his class.
Another elf, this one with lace around his throat and a nasally voice, said “Oh, Aelor, this is delicious. I thought your father’s trip down to the twigs would be a total bore, but some more entertainment has stumbled into our lap.” The other elves laughed, carefree and easy.
Reg noticed the nearby fried nut saleswoman wheeling her cart away from the group, and the proprietors of other food stalls carefully ignoring the confrontation. He took one step forward and said, “We’re done with dancing for the night. We’re just headed home.”
“Oh, the moss farmer is headed home?” The question came from a third elf, this one with broad shoulders and the light step of a circle duelist. “A moss farmer with a doll? And a fake Achivian Guard mask? My, oh my, the dung is reaching far beyond their station.”
“It’s good we’re here to remind them of their place, isn’t it?” The first elf said, taking a few steps forward, before taking a long drag on his cigarillo and passing it to one of his friends. “It’s noble of us to teach those below us.”
Reg pitched his voice loud to cut through the mocking laughter, “We’re headed home. Val, Belladonna, let’s just back out of here.” He started backing up,
“Hiding behind a moss-farmer, sister?” The broad-shouldered elf said to Belladonna. “Have you no shame?”
The nasal-voiced elf with lace at his collar pointed to Val, “Look! They have a pet. Filthy little creature, isn’t she?”
Reg kept moving backwards, and realized that Val had stopped. Some combination of the months of frustration in Brilleye’s class, the repeated taunts of some of the elven recruits like Fenjor, and the alcohol they’d had that evening had enraged the little gnome, and she stood stock still, Bartholomew chittering madly in her hair. She was shaking her fist at the elves, and yelling at them “Rot and canker! May your pinions rot away and your eggs all be eaten by snakes.”
“Oh, she can speak! Not surprised she sounds like a beast, dressed as she is.” taunted the nasal-voiced elf. “Not surprised she’d be with the moss farmer.”
As battle cries go, “Moss farmers are nice!” isn’t the most inspiring thing that anyone has ever shouted, but it’s what Val yelled as she waved her hands and vines shot up from the barky ground and wrapped around the nasal-voiced elf’s calves with an audible thwap and held him fast.
“Ash and antlers.” Reg muttered to himself as he took two quick steps forward, to stand in front of Val and hold her back with one hand flung behind him. “Now, we can all calm down, can’t we? We’ll just head back to campus, and we won’t need to tell our Captain about any of this.”
“No.” The first elf, Aelor, said. He sounded pleased. “I don’t think we’ll let you go without playing a bit first. It’s important for you to learn the right lessons from all of this about what your place is. I think I know the exact lesson to teach you.” He paused thoughtfully, and then said “Grovel.” Aelor’s voice echoed strangely as it came smoking out of his mouth.
Before Reg had survived a mist storm, before he’d had months of torturous sessions in The Self & the Other, and before he’d gone down to the mist, he might have been affected by the evocation and dropped to his knees. As it was, the only way he was aware that Aelor had tried to ensorcell him was the smoke coming from the elf’s mouth and a slight warming sensation from the hound mask that he still wore on his hip. Belladonna and Val were similarly unaffected. Belladonna had pulled a short club from somewhere in her vibrant dress, and was standing ready to his left while Val stood to his right, holding a handful of large-leafed purple flowers—no, the purple-leafed flowers were growing out of her hand.
Reg almost laughed at the looks of shock from the high-branch elves—they clearly weren’t expecting all three recruits to be still standing.
“Well, I suppose some lessons should be taught the old-fashioned way,” said the broad-shouldered elf. He pulled a spearhead out of a pocket, and with a twist and a crack of red lightning, he was holding a full spear in his hands.
The other elves pulled out weapons as well—two clubs, a blackjack, and another spear. The elf in the lace was still struggling with vines that had crawled further up his legs, and trying to cut himself out with a short knife.
The broad-shouldered elf strode forward aggressively and thrust the butt end of his spear towards Reg. It felt like the butt was moving towards him through sap. He had all the time in the world to turn his body to the left to let the spear pass. As he did so, he grabbed the elf by his fine green silk shirt with one hand and grabbed the spear with the other, levered his hips, and threw the attacker to the ground. The elf hit the ground with a hard thud, and Reg could hear him gasping as he tried to pull in air. To his left, one high-branch elf was cradling his wrist, while Belladonna advancing menacingly toward the other. To his right, thorny vines were grasping at the ankles of the three elves, who were cursing as they batted at the vines and tried to pull their legs free, and thorns left bloody rents in their pantaloons. The whole exchange had only taken seconds.
Belladonna was laughing, and the sound was fey and wild. Her teeth were bared in a wide grin. “Was this the lesson that you all wanted? I think it’s a good one. Are you all learning your proper place?” She tossed her club from hand to hand.
Reg did his best to keep his voice calm and level, speaking the same way he would if he was trying to calm down an enraged beetle, “We’re going to head back to our campus. Your friend here is fine, just had the breath knocked out of him.” He stood up, and started backing away. Belladonna and Val joined him after a few moments, both of them reluctant to retreat.
The elves didn’t follow.
Once they were out of town, and could see that they weren’t being followed, tension drained away. “‘Grovel!’ Did you see their faces?” Belladonna was laughing. “What a bunch of worms.”
Reg laughed enough that he found it hard to catch his breath, “Moss farmers are nice!” He said, between gasping laughs. “What a battle cry.”
Val laughed a bit, before pausing to say “Should we have done something? Turned them in?”
“Bunch of lordlings like that?” Belladonna sounded disdainful. “Nothing would come of it. This was as good an outcome as we could hope. We should have thrashed them a bit more before leaving, to make sure the lesson had sunk in.”
The three had an animated discussion as they walked back to campus, excitedly chatting through the fracas, chatting through every move and the startled reactions of the high-branch lordlings as they realized what was happening.
When they got back to campus and the stairs up to the dorm rooms, Reg pulled Val aside, “Got a second to chat?” Val’s face lit as Belladonna headed upstairs. “You wrapped up that ponce in vines crazy quick, right? And vines are a plant. And I was thinking, the bow was a plant too, right? Could you use magic to control it? And make it easier to draw?” Reg was excited—this felt like a viable path to help Val with the bow. If it was easier to draw, she could concentrate more on aiming.
“Dead wood? Shaped by another’s hands? I can shape it, but it’s rough and awkward, and I don’t have any fine control. I’ve tried. Almost snapped the bow in two.” Val sounded dejected.
Reg wasn’t willing to give up on the idea, “What if you wrapped the bow in vines? Or, even better, what if the bow wasn’t shaped by someone else’s hands? What if it was shaped by yours? Could you make a bow?”
Val paused to think, and sounded excited when she said, “Making a bow wouldn’t be that hard. And it’d certainly be easier to draw and shoot.” Her voice fell, “But I’m only allowed to use a longbow from the supply in the armory for the exam. If I could bring my own bow, I could use a shortbow and there wouldn’t be a problem at all!”
“Well, yes”, Reg said, “but we could sneak a longbow you made into the armory! Brilleye wouldn’t know, and if you have a bow that you can actually manage, you would for sure pass the test.”
“But what if we get caught sneaking it in?” Val looked torn. “And the armory is always guarded. How are we going to get in?”
Reg shrugged, “No clue! But you have a lot of good friends—I bet someone will have a good idea about how we can get it in. We’ll figure something out once you make the longbow. We’re not going to let that blighted instructor get you kicked out because you’re too short.”
“For the last time, I’m not short! Professor Ashsprocket is short—I’m a little taller than average.”
The two walked up stairs, bickering amicably. It felt good to have a rough plan, and not be waiting helpless for Val to be kicked out of the guard.