Wyvern Tails and Phoenix Feathers

The Deep Dark, Chapter 5 - Eloise

When it was determined Eloise Glass was old enough to begin her training, she was assigned to the retired Elite Knight, Sir Morris Tristane. Though he had a reputation for being a curmudgeon, Eloise had never met the man personally and was determined to judge his nature for herself.

On the day of her first lesson, she was led to a small training area by a junior magister. It was damp outside from a recent rain. Water dripped lazily from the eaves and mud caked around her boots. Tristane awaited them with a permanent scowl parked beneath his graying mustache. He leaned against his cane on rigid legs and seemed equally unimpressed with Eloise as he was with the junior magister.

"Honorable Sir Tristane, I'd like to introduce you to-"

"I know who this is, you tiresome twit," said Tristane. "Leave me with the poor girl and sod off."

The Junior Magister ducked his head and departed meekly. For a moment, Eloise wanted to follow him. Tristane was less inviting than a growling dog.

"You speak common tongue?" he asked her.

"Of... course," replied Eloise.

"I don't know how they teach in Hedgemont," said Tristane. "All that matters is that you understand my instructions. I'm supposed to make a serviceable fighter out of you for some reason."

"My father," said Eloise. Her father was the reason. She thought he'd have known that.

"Yes. And some father, if you ask me," Tristane said with a snort. "Leaving his daughter here all alone in a kingdom where she doesn't belong. Are you angry?"

"No," she lied.

Granted, she wasn't angry at her father. Not yet. She still held onto hope that her time in Iron Fen would be brief. She was angry at Tristane for questioning her father's methods. Tristane was indeed every bit as shrewish as she'd heard. He spat, as if to punctuate her conclusion.

"Get angry," said Tristane. "And everything you know, forget it. Iron Fen doesn't play by Hedgemont's rules. You'll be taught correctly with a sword and shield. No student of mine will train with inferior weaponry in his hands."

He picked a short sword from a weapons rack and tossed it to her. She flinched, but managed to catch it. The steel was cold.

At present, Eloise's hands were empty of any weapon. She sat in her cabin continuing to stare at her desolate palms. They pulsed with the physical memory of her grip; the grip that failed her when she lost her axes. She remembered Oran had once tapped into her physical memory to conjure a prison key. He was truly a resourceful mage.

Her eyes drifted to her buckler shield bundled with her sword and bow, the arsenal she so often neglected in favor of her axes. They were merely tools in her employ; the axes were an extension of her arms. She caught her reflection in the shield's dented metal. She looked pitiful. She wiped away a tear as the door creaked open.

It was Revelyn. He knelt in front of her, his face soft and sympathetic. Sunlight made a warm halo around his brown hair. The light layer of peach fuzz on his pricked ears was illuminated and his lobes glowed pink.

"Helin and Bryn found a trench," he said. "It's deep enough that we think the kraken will be down there. Bryn says he can feel the presence of great power beneath the surface."

"Oh. Good," Eloise croaked in reply. Her throat was dry.

"Also, I asked him if he could dredge up your axes from the deep."

Eloise looked at him with zero hope or expectation. Surely he wouldn't have entered the room empty-handed if Bryn had found them. Revelyn's eyes darted away.