Chapter Two – Changes

Dilmir locked blades with his opponent, both hands gripping the hilt, the low sun flashing off of the swords. He got a better grip and pushed, sending his opponent’s sword back and up, leaving its owner defenseless. A quick flick of the wrist, and Dilmir’s sword was at his opponent’s neck, claiming victory.

They both stepped away, lowering their swords. They were the first to finish; about them, elves continued to duel, swords flashing in and out, bodies ducking and lunging. Elves generally trained with either a single partner or a specific trainer, but occasionally the trainers would pit them all against each other. It was useful to face a different opponent every now and then. Dilmir had been facing a rotating selection of adversaries since noon, and now the sun was nearing the horizon.

Despite this, he wasn’t tired. Partly, this was due to the fact that he had trained far harder than this in past years. But mostly, it was because he found the duels too easy. He had been beaten over and over by Ilrin for nearly five years, with the result that now, when he finally faced a new opponent, his skill far outmatched theirs. It seemed that Ilrin was so skilled with the blade that, merely by fighting her, Dilmir himself had gotten far better at handling a sword than most elves his age.

It was a welcome relief, actually being good at swordplay for once. Dilmir was able to relax more during training, and actually learn the finer points of swordplay, rather than just duel for his life every time. He still got beaten from time to time, of course. His trainer, Erundil, was a master of the blade, and could easily punish Dilmir for a moment’s loss of concentration. And whenever he fought Ilrin, the duel could go either way. But for most everyone else, Dilmir was able to beat them easily.

But not all of them. Dilmir glanced sideways, seeing who his next opponent was, and felt his heart sink. Asenir.

Asenir was big for an elf, stocky and strong. Dilmir was almost convinced he was part human. He put his strength to good use, wielding a heavy axe in place of the usual Elvish sword. One blow from his weapon could knock aside any defense, leaving his opponent open and vulnerable. The only way Dilmir would be able to beat him was by avoiding his blows and sneaking one of his own in. Ilrin was good at that kind of thing, but not Dilmir. His strength lay in solid, measured strikes, and both he and Asenir knew it. Matched against each other, Asenir would almost always win.

Dilmir switched his sword from hand to hand, watching Asenir, trying to gauge how tired he was. For four years, Dilmir had trained with the traditional Elvish sword, but now that he was approaching his last year of training, he had been allowed to craft his own weapon.

Once they mastered the Elvish blade, elves chose a personal weapon, designed to fit their strengths and make up for their weaknesses. Dilmir’s strength in swordplay was his balance, control, and precision. Some elves liked to dance around as they fought, dodging this way and that, weaving forward and backward. Dilmir preferred to stand his ground, locked firmly into a single stance, overpowering his foe with consistent, well-placed strikes.

His chosen blade therefore was thicker and heavier than most others, giving him more power behind each blow. It had a long wooden hilt, allowing room for Dilmir to grip it with both hands if he wanted. It was shorter than other swords, but that gave Dilmir greater control over it, allowing him to strike harder and faster.

With the sword came a single bracer for Dilmir’s left arm. It was a single plate of thin metal, woven with leather straps. A tarrenith, it was called. It reached from just behind Dilmir’s knuckles, all the way to his elbow. The metal was thin, not enough to stop a blade, but that was not its purpose. Dilmir could use it to deflect a blow to the side, causing an enemy’s guard to open up wide. Against enemies with swords, the tarrenith was quite effective. But Dilmir couldn’t block something heavy, like Asenir’s axe. He’d break every bone in his arm.

“Switch!” called the trainer.

Everyone stopped dueling, finished or not, and moved to their left. They were in two lines, facing each other, meaning every time they switched, they faced a new opponent. Asenir coolly stepped in front of Dilmir.

He was tired, Dilmir could see that. He had been swinging that heavy axe for nearly half the day, and he was already breathing a little heavily. But he wasn’t winded. One good strike from his weapon and Dilmir’s sword would be wrenched from his hand. Dilmir’s only chance would be to avoid his blows – the one thing he was worst at. He got a better grip on his sword.

“Begin!” came the command.

No one immediately began dueling. The first few seconds of any fight were always about searching for weaknesses: shifts in balance, unprotected areas, that sort of thing. Slowly, the more aggressive elves began attacking, first with feints, then with real strikes.

Asenir was one of these. He quickly sized Dilmir up, and then swung his axe at his left side, knowing Dilmir couldn’t block it with his tarrenith. Dilmir leapt back to avoid the blow, now too far away to deliver one of his own, and Asenir stepped forward, now swinging at Dilmir’s right side.

He would keep advancing if Dilmir let him, so he did the opposite of what was expected: he stepped forward, inside of the arc of Asenir’s axe, using his sword to keep it from biting into his shoulder. He and Asenir were practically face-to-face now, and Dilmir took advantage of this, backfisting Asenir across the side of the head with his tarrenith. No one took minor injuries seriously. They were easily healed.

Asenir did not stumble back as Dilmir had expected. He took one step back, but recovered quickly. He gripped his axe with both hands, shifted his weight, and swung it cleanly into Dilmir’s side.

Dilmir blocked the blow with his sword, but it didn’t matter. The axe was so heavy that its haft slammed into him anyway, knocking him off his feet. He landed on the ground a moment later, his side blazing with pain.

Asenir lowered his axe so that the tip was resting against Dilmir’s neck. He didn’t say anything; just stood there, keeping Dilmir down, looking at him as if daring him to get back up.

It had always been this way between them. In fact, it was this way between Dilmir and most elves. His power wasn’t a secret anymore. The Council was afraid of his magic, so they called it unnatural or dark. Most elves were loyal to the Council, and believed what they said without a second thought. Thus it was that Dilmir often found himself in this situation during a duel: at the end of a blade, held by an elf who disliked him, seeing him as different, some sort of threat.

“Switch!” the trainer called.

Asenir slowly removed his axe from Dilmir’s neck and moved to his left. Dilmir got up and did the same.

“Athen,” he muttered, passing his hand over his side. The pain dulled, but didn’t go away. Healing injuries had never been one of Dilmir’s strong suits. He’d have to get Ilrin to do it properly.

Dilmir stretched his arms above his head briefly, keeping his shoulders loose, and then settled into his normal defensive stance. He knew his new opponent to be horrible with the sword; this would be a quick fight.

Sure enough, the trainer had barely called, “Begin!” before Dilmir had lunged forward and disarmed his opponent with a single stroke. He rested his sword briefly against the elf’s neck, signifying he had won, and then stepped back, waiting to switch again.

Asenir was two spaces down from Dilmir, which meant he was now dueling Ilrin. Dilmir tried to suppress a grin as he watched. Ilrin’s style was almost perfectly designed to counter that of Asenir. She had seen how he had kept Dilmir down, and she was toying with him now, avoiding his every blow, and repeatedly nicking him. She could end the duel at any time, but she seemed to be bent on punishing him instead.

Asenir grew more and more furious with every touch of Ilrin’s sword, his swings becoming wider and less controlled. She continued to dance out of his way, her counterattacks becoming fancier and fancier.

“Match up!” the trainer called, a bit sooner than normal. Perhaps he too was watching Asenir, and feared he might lose it completely.

‘Match up’ meant the elves should match up with their original partners. The line the elves had been holding disintegrated, elves pairing off. Ilrin finally let Asenir go, keeping her sword pointing at his throat a little longer than was strictly necessary, and walked over to Dilmir.

“You enjoyed that,” Dilmir murmured to her as she approached.

“Not particularly,” Ilrin replied, her voice equally quiet. “I just get tired of him.”

Dilmir knew what she meant. Asenir was a bully, using his strength to push the other elves around. Only Ilrin could reliably defeat him, and she took every opportunity to do so.

“Plus,” Ilrin said, “I didn’t like how he held you down.”

There it was, the real reason. Dilmir smiled despite himself. Ilrin seemed to take it personally whenever an elf showed their dislike for him.

“What are you smiling at?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Dilmir said, quickly rearranging his features into a blanker mask.

“Begin!”

They stepped apart, bringing their swords up. For her weapon, Ilrin had chosen the thinnest of Elven blades. It was long and slender, allowing it to sneak through the smallest gap. It was also light, which let her move and dodge other blows with ease. She was fast, and almost impossible to defend against. Dilmir knew her weakness lay in getting her sword locked against another, but that was unlikely when she was so fast.

However, Dilmir knew how she fought by now. Blocking her strikes was almost second nature to him. That was why, when she lunged forward, he was able to leap aside, easily deflecting her blow with his tarrenith. Her sword went wide, leaving her wide open.

Dilmir struck, almost half-heartedly, knowing that he would never make it. Sure enough, Ilrin spun out of the way, lightly moving his sword aside with her own. Dilmir set his feet, knowing his strength lay in holding his ground, and began swinging at Ilrin. The sword strokes were measured and powerful; she couldn’t block them. She was forced to dodge them instead, the constant motion keeping her from attacking him.

Eventually she snuck her sword under his guard, but as always, Dilmir was ready for it. He swung his blade low, catching hers as it snuck forward, wrenching it to the side. Ilrin was pulled forward slightly, allowing Dilmir to flick his sword up to her neck before she could escape.

He was getting better at beating her. Despite their different styles, he won nearly half of their matches now.

Ilrin disengaged gracefully, stepping back. “Your third swing was slow,” she said.

“Right.” Dilmir smiled. “That’s why I won.”

She smiled back.

“That’s enough!” the trainer called, ending the duels. Slowly, the other elves stepped apart. Asenir’s opponent was on the ground. Again.

The sun had touched the horizon, and the shadows cast by the massive trees of Eld’rin were getting too long. The entire training field was in darkness now, rendering blades almost invisible. There was something to be said for training in the darkness, but at some point the elves had to admit they couldn’t go on.

“That’s all for today,” the trainer said, addressing them all. “Your trainers will be waiting for you tomorrow afternoon.”

Dilmir sighed. He liked dueling Ilrin, but it was something he rarely got to do. Usually he dueled only his trainer, Erundil. Tomorrow he’d be back at it.

Slowly, the assembled elves began to trickle towards the entrance of Eld’rin.

“Are you hurt?” Ilrin asked. “I saw Asenir hit you hard.”

“Here,” Dilmir said, pointing to where the haft of Asenir’s axe had slammed into his ribs. “Just a bit.” He wasn’t one to ask anyone – even Ilrin – to heal his various injuries from training, preferring to do it himself. But since he and Ilrin had both turned eighteen and started their second-to-last year of training, there was no point in trying to deny her. She was just better at healing than he was.

She was training to become a Lifeformer, an elf who studied how magic affected living things. Lifeformers had grown Eld’rin from the ground up, and they were also healers, knowing how the body went together, and being able to heal it to near-perfection as a result.

Ilrin murmured some complicated line of Elvish Dilmir missed, and he felt his pain evaporate instantly. “Thanks,” he said, watching as Asenir finally left the field, axe on his shoulder.

Ilrin saw who he was watching. “He’s not worth it,” she said.

Dilmir knew what she meant, but said nothing.

“You have friends,” Ilrin said. “That’s enough. You can’t make all the elves like you.”

“I don’t need them all to like me,” Dilmir said, still watching the retreating form of Asenir. “I just wish they didn’t hate me.”

“They don’t hate you,” Ilrin said. “They’re just afraid of you.”

“That’s worse.” Dilmir finally looked at her.

She shrugged. “You can’t have everyone be your friend, Dilmir,” she said. “You’ve done your bit. Let them make up their own minds about you.”

Dilmir nodded, knowing she was right. She put her hand in his, and he let her lead him away from the field, towards the gates of Eld’rin. He wished the elves saw his magic as he did, but they didn’t, and that was unlikely to ever change.

Two years ago, when he had still been trying to hide his magic, that would have bothered him. He had wanted everyone to see him as normal. Now… things were different. He didn’t hide his magic, and the elves showed their dislike of him plainly, but somehow, it didn’t matter. Ilrin was right. Dilmir had done what he could. The elves’ reactions were their own.

Still, he wished something would change.

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