Callindra crouched behind a small hill, listening to the sounds and smelling the scents the Winds brought her way.  There were creatures moving out there, and they didn’t have the best interests of any living creature in mind.  Glancing back at Cronos she gave a quick hand signal, and he nodded, slipping around the hill to the left while she went to the right.

The shouts of distressed humans reached her ears, curling on the back of a malicious breeze.  Gritting her teeth, she dropped the guise of stealth and sprinted over the hill, whipping Brightfang’s slender length from his sheath with a whistling rasp of steel against leather.

Two huge wagons drawn by teams of eight oxen each were surrounded by strange creatures, seemingly humans with heads like dogs, long powerful arms and short hair covering their bodies.  Most importantly, their eyes glowed with green fire.  These were her enemies.

With a shout and a swing of her blade, Callindra sent a blast of wind that cut like razors into the closest beasts.  One of them fell shrieking and clutching at a severed arm, and the other two ran to meet her charge.  Just before they reached her, Cronos slammed into them from one side and Vilhylm from the other.  The creatures toppled to the ground, but dozens more reared up from the grass, some with flaming arrows nocked to bowstrings.

“Ware!”  An older man with a mattock in his hands shouted to them, “There be grain in them wagons!”

Callindra watched the arrows flying through the air, the flames on the oil soaked heads flickering in the evening light.  She tried to do something, to use magic, but it slipped through her fingers.  She might as well try to hold onto a handful of water.

Tryst shouted three words that echoed in the air and the ground around one of the wagons rippled, forming into an earthwork berm.  The arrows thudded harmlessly into it, but the oxen bellowed in fear, rolling their eyes and straining against their yokes.

Vilhylm ran forward, breathing into the lead bull’s nostrils and he quieted enough that the wagon wasn’t in danger.  Donning a mask of polished wood, he seemed to grow and change.  His skin became less like flesh and more like bark.  Vines sprouted from his arms and twined around a group of advancing creatures, forcing them to slow their mad rush.

Ignoring them, Callindra slashed the closest one to her from neck to navel before spinning to catch the downward swing of a pike on Brightfang’s blade.  The force of the impact drove her to one knee, but she shed the impact and swung her sword to hack the thing off at the knees.

She growled in pain as an arrow slammed into her thigh, deflected by her armor but still hitting hard enough to bruise and then was nearly thrown to the ground when another struck her chest, this time finding a weak spot and plunging into muscle.  A swipe of Brightfang cut the shaft off close to the armor and she continued to carve a trail of destruction through the seemingly endless swarm of enemies.  A half dozen burning shafts arced high to strike the grain wagon and it began to catch fire, but vines from Vilhylm raced up to smother most of the flames.

Callindra swung about to look for another enemy, but found they were all down.  She carefully cleaned the oozing green ichor from Brightfang’s blade before it could etch the steel and sheathed him.  Tryst was speaking with the wagon master, Cronos was making sure of the dead and Vilhylm was checking the condition of the wagons with a woodworker’s critical eye.

“- bound for Clarion with grain.”  The man was saying, “Good thing you all came up when ya did.  Them critters woulda been a fair lot more trouble than we coulda handled.”

“It was a pleasure to assist you master Gild.”  Tryst replied, “The Adamantine Brotherhood is bound by duty to help those in need.”

“And we don’t mind killing creatures that need killing.”  Callindra said dryly, “Wel met, I’m Callindra-“

“Yer the ones what handled them critters at the Graiven place ain’t ya?”  Orin interrupted, giving Tryst a critical look.

“Uh.  No.”  Tryst said, “We’re just…” he paused; knowing he shouldn’t really talk about their mission. “We’re-“

“Where are you headed then Orin?”  Callindra interrupted, annoyed that the farmer was ignoring her.

“We gotta couple loads a grain bound fer Levora.”  One of the heavily muscled boys with obvious family resemblance to Orin said, grinning at her.  “Ya got some skills with that pigsticker.”

“Aye, I ain’t never seen fightin like that!”  The other said, obviously a brother or cousin.  “It were like ya was dancin or somethin.”

“Boys!” Orin barked, “Get them teams under control and quit yappin!”

The two young men looked away from Callindra with startled expressions on their faces, talking over one another in their haste to obey.  “Yessir! Yes father!”

He turned back to Tryst, still ignoring Callindra.  “So ya ain’t from Levora?  I heard there was patrols from there tryin ta keep the roads open.”

“No, we’re The Adamantine Brotherhood.  We fight evil wherever we find it.”  Tryst said, repeating the name he insisted on using for their group.

Callindra rolled her eyes, “We aren’t heroes Tryst, that silly name isn’t going to stick.”

Tryst gave her a resigned, resentful look and then noticed the stub of the arrow shaft protruding from her chest.  “By the Powers Callindra, come here at once!  I must remove that arrow before it gets infected.”

She unbuckled the breastplate of her armor and winced at the pain when she removed it.  She was used to getting injured by now, but it didn’t make the pain any less.  The flowers in her hair released a tiny burst of pollen that made her sneeze but somehow it had an anesthetic effect.  Either that or she was going into shock.

“Just pull it out.”  She said through gritted teeth.  “I got lucky, I think one of my ribs stopped it from puncturing a lung, but you can’t push it through.”

Tryst made her sit and frowned.  “I’m going to have to cut these clothes off… at least your underthings.”

Callindra pulled her tunic over her head with effort, wincing again as the arrowhead grated against a rib.  “I go through more breast bands.”  She grumbled, but looked at him and nodded tersely.

He took a small surgeon’s kit from his belt pouch and deftly sliced through the cotton band, exposing the arrow shaft.  A look of surprise registered on his face as he looked to the left.  It was an ancient trick but Callindra fell for it, glancing away in confusion as he pulled the arrow out in a smooth practiced motion.

She gasped in pain, but nodded her thanks.  “Keeps me from tensing the muscles at the wrong time right?”  Callindra looked down at the wound just to one side of her right breast.  The bleeding had already stopped and she could feel the roots of Jorda’s gift slowly pulling the flesh together.

Tryst was staring intently as well, and based on the location of the wound some women might have taken offense.  Callindra knew, however, that he was interested in the healing process.  “I just can’t get over this.  It’s such an amazing thing to see.”

“Yes, well can I get dressed now?”  She asked, smiling at the touch of color on his cheeks, “Those boys are starting to wonder what we’re doing.”

“Of course, just don’t put pressure on it for a bit.”  He said, clearing his throat.  “No seriously strenuous activity for a day if you can help it.”

Callindra nodded, too tired to argue.  She would ignore him as usual, they both knew it, but the routine still felt good.  It was so strange and wonderful to have people who cared enough about her to mother her about her injuries.  Shrugging back into her bloodied, sweat stained tunic, she went back to the horses to get fresh clothes and a drink of water.

One of the boys met her halfway there with a waterskin and a friendly smile.  “I’m Jordan Gild.  Don’t mind pop, he’s just scared… likes ta fall back on old habits when he gets rattled ya know?”

“All too well.”  She said, taking the waterskin from him with a nod of thanks.  She drank deeply and splashed some over her face, feeling it sting where there were still small cuts from the battle.  The Crown always healed the largest wounds first, sometimes it was days until the smaller ones got closed.

“I’m not really offended.”  She said, then gave him a critical look.  “Well honestly I am, but I’m just too tired to worry about it right now.  We’ve been on the road for weeks and I don’t think I’ve gotten a decent night’s sleep that whole time.  How far out of Levora are we anyway?  I want a bath and a real bed.”

“Oh, just about a day an a half.”  He said, “At least as the wagon trundles.  Ya could probably get there a mite sooner travelin by horse.”

She sighed in resignation, taking another drink from the waterskin before handing it back to him.  “I’m sure Tryst will insist on us riding with you, and honestly I will welcome a slower pace until these wounds heal.”

“I ain’t seen anyone take an arrow to the chest an not just fall over dead.”  He said, his wide face shining with honest admiration.  “How do ya keep them flowers fresh anyways?”

Callindra sighed.  It was only for a couple of days, but they were going to be long days if this farm boy spent them all gawking and asking questions.

“Magic.”  She said shortly, “I need to go and change… and maybe take a quick scrub down in that little river over there.  You should see to your beasts.”

“Oh, uh… right.”  He said awkwardly.

“Thanks for the water Jordan.”  She said, and went to find fresh clothes.

The winds danced over hill and field.  They swirled around a city under siege, only holding on by the sheer force of will of thousands of Weavers of Magic.  They tickled the tree tops of the High Forest, twirling leaves into whirling patterns.  The raced over mountain peaks and were drawn to heat and smoke, an oddity in the cold, barren landscape.  Following them back to their source, they traveled down a long chimney.

A Dwarf with arms the size of tree trunks was standing at a small forge in front of a classroom of students.  Although young, they all showed the beards of adulthood, or very close at any rate.  They were old enough to be trusted with the heat of the fire and the soul of the forge.

“You must listen the metal, for it will tell you what it needs.  You must smell the metal, for it will warn you when it is close to damage.  You must watch the metal, for its light speaks of its willingness to change and bond.”  The master smith turned to his apprentice with a twinkle in his eye, “I would recommend waiting to taste the metal until it has cooled.”

One of the Dwarves in the front row of desks was scribbling furiously in a notebook.  When the master stopped by his desk he looked up with a serious expression on his face, obviously waiting for the lecture to continue.

“You can become skilled at metallurgy by research and practice, but one who would be truly gifted must learn to feel her work.  What I attempt to communicate with all my talk of using your senses to interact with the metal is that you need to put aside what you think you know and allow the passion of creation to guide your hands.

“It was this passion of Creation that caused Thraingaar to forge the first of our race.  We were tempered out of the bones of the earth on his Soulforge, and his love is what drives each of our creative impulses.  This is what sets us apart from the other races when it comes to bending what flows through the veins of the earth to our will.”

The youngster had stopped writing and was looking at him with awe on his face.  Ah yes, his name was Durrak.  His father and mother were renowned warriors, but he had shown an interest in learning to use a forge hammer instead of a war hammer and it had been encouraged.  In Dwarven society, being able to make things was always valued over destroying things.  Well no matter who his family was, he wasn’t going to get any preferential treatment.

–

Durrak wiped the sweat from his brow.  The forge was hot and the steel glowed on the anvil but he was distracted.  He was making a weapon for the first time and for some reason he couldn’t focus.  Every stroke of the hammer seemed to bend things the wrong way, the metal was either too hot or too cold.  It would either spark or crack, and eventually he threw the hammer down in exasperation.

“What is it Apprentice?”  Dethen asked, leaning down to inspect the ruins of what had been intended to be a dagger with a mild frown on his face.

“I can’t get it to… it just won’t work Master!”

Dethen looked at his Apprentice’s bench where the variety of small tools, kitchen implements, barrel staves, and other assorted items he had made were neatly arrayed and organized.  If his apprentice was having difficulty with the knife, it certainly wasn’t due to a lack of skill.

“Why don’t we stop for lunch, take some time to clear your head and we’ll look at it after.” Dethen said.  Once Durrak was out of the room he picked up the knife and turned it over in his hands.  To his surprise it appeared the alloys had begun to separate.  He’d never seen anything like it before; it was almost as though the metal was resisting being made into a weapon… or as though the smith who was working the forge somehow didn’t want to make one.

Not that someone could do something like that on purpose; alloys didn’t just break apart in random lines in a piece of hammered metal.  No matter, weapons weren’t for everyone.  Perhaps it would be better to try something more delicate.

–

“You wanted to see us Master Smith?”  The low rumble of Storgar’s voice would have been intimidating even had he not been an important member of the Shieldwall Warriors.  His wife Brenlena cut an equally imposing figure in the dress tabard of the King’s Own.

“Yes, thank you for meeting with me.” He said, organizing the papers on his desk before looking them squarely in the eyes. “Your son Durrak has incredible talent.”

“Wonderful, here I was afraid-”

“But it is a very focused and specific talent.” Dethen said, interrupting Storgar.  “I am convinced that with the proper training he could be the most influential jeweler Farenholm has seen in a thousand years.”

“Jewelry?” Brenlena said incredulously, “My son making Jewelry?”

“Impossible, he has military lineage!” Storgar said, stroking his beard. “There must be some mistake…”

He trailed off as Dethen removed the muslin cover from one of the wooden trays on his desk.  An array of bent and distorted weaponry sat on it like hideous gargoyles.  “Here are his attempts at anything with an edge.”

The silence of Durrak’s parents spoke volumes.  The master smith quickly uncovered the other wooden tray, “But here are his jewelry pieces.  Look at the intricacies of this scrollwork.  His intuition is better than many who have been working with precious metals for years!  I haven’t ever taught an apprentice who has learned to blend multiple metals in less than a moon-”

“Ridiculous!” Brenlena interrupted, “My son will make a Fullblade for me as his Master’s Piece or he shall be removed from your care.”  Dethen opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off, “DO I make myself clear?”

“Of course Exalted.” He said, giving her the military title in the hopes that it would diffuse the situation.  “I will make sure his instruction continues as per your initial request.”

The two stood stiffly and stalked out, anger clear on their faces and the set of their shoulders.

“I told you.” Durrak said, “I knew they wouldn’t be interested in any of this.”  He said bitterly as he gestured toward the tray of intricate necklaces and bracelets.  “All they care about is military rank and fighting prowess.”

“Well Apprentice, then I guess we’ll have to work harder on your weapon smithing until you can create something that will pass for a blade.” He said with a wry grin, “And you can make beautiful things when you have the time.”

“Yes sir.  As you say Master.”  There was relief and sadness in Durrak’s voice.  He had so badly wanted his mother and father to understand.  He could never fill their shoes, and even if he could, in five hundred years nobody would remember the name of the warrior who had served so valiantly in combat.  He wanted to leave a legacy behind that would last forever; not just the corpses of a few thousand goblins.

Sweat streamed from every pore, stinging a myriad of tiny cuts on Callindra’s arms and torso. She had stripped down to small clothes and her chest wrap for complete freedom of movement and that was the only thing that had kept her from getting worse injuries. Her opponent stood calmly without a drop of sweat or one single cut on her body. Despite the ferocity of the fight she felt invigorated, perhaps it was the Goddess’s gift that was helping her.

“Blademaster eh? Well you’re a lot better than I am but I’ve fought tougher.” She decided it was time to play her trump card, despite feeling good, she knew from experience that her stamina would only go so far and she should be near her limit. She settled back into one of her forms; Falcon Soars Above the Mountain; and waited for what she hoped was coming, her right hand pointed at the ground and her left holding Brightfang toward the sky.

“This will be our last exchange. That ridiculous stance is making it clear to me that you’re desperate. Prepare yourself girl.” The Blademaster swept in, sword held low aiming for Callindra’s midsection.

Instead of blocking, Callindra moved in, taking two complete strides aided by a harsh gust of wind from behind her; an unexpected bonus. The speed of her motion meant instead of contacting the edge of the Blademaster’s sword she was struck by her arm. Callindra swung her blade up towards her opponents’ neck, stopping inches from her skin as the other woman’s sword skittered across the ground.

A sharp pain and the feel of something warm running down her side made Callindra’s breath catch in her throat. She looked down and saw the Master’s secondary blade drawing blood from her ribs. She had forgotten about the second sword.  The Blademaster hesitated for a moment and then broke out laughing and withdrew her blade,

“That was the stupidest move I’ve ever seen. If I’d been quicker or you’d been slower you would be dead. There’s no way I would have been able to halt my strike, but you knew that didn’t you? You’ve got guts girl, but you’re altogether too reckless and impulsive. Typically human. Let that be a lesson to all of you.”

She turned to look at the assembled fighters, “Never underestimate your opponent, especially when your opponent is a human. They are unpredictable and that makes them even more dangerous, never count on them to run when you think they should. Regardless of my opinion of this one personally, she at least has my respect as a swordswoman.”

Callindra gave her a flashy salute followed by a short bow from the waist while she sheathed Brightfang. “I am in your debt Blademaster. I have learned valuable lessons today, the most important being ask who an elf’s parents are before leaping several hundred feet off a tree limb just to help them make a grand entrance.”

A chuckle rippled through the elves and Callindra continued. “Give your son a chance, he’s got guts too. Don’t underestimate someone just because they’re weaker than you think they should be.”

She turned to Edelweiss and gave him a grin. “Maybe once you earn your blades you and I can spar. I’m already a couple years ahead of you so you’ll have to work hard if you don’t want me to kick your butt. Can you show me how to get back to my room? I’ve gotta admit this tree has me a little turned around.”

“I’ll walk her out mother.”  He said, “It’s no trouble.”

Yeah, Callindra decided. Way too pretty to be a boy.

–

As she followed Edelweiss back to her rooms, Callindra realized his mother, the Blademaster, had taught her another valuable lesson.  She was not ready to pursue Glarian.  If she couldn’t even stand against a sword wielding Elf, how would she possibly fare against someone as powerful as Dergeras?

“Here are your rooms Lady Callindra.”  Edelweiss said, bowing slightly and looking at her with no attempt to disguise his admiration for her.

Callindra shifted uncomfortably, she didn’t feel like a Lady, hells she wasn’t a Lady.  Standing there wearing nothing but her sweaty smallclothes with a multitude of itchy cuts all over her arms she didn’t feel like anything but a chastised apprentice.  She idly scratched at one of the cuts and started at what she felt.  There were leaves growing from it!

Looking down in mild shock, she saw that tiny vines had begun to stitch the wounds shut, their roots acting as sutures that forced the skin together and bound it tight.  Her shock gave way to amazement and she laughed out loud.

“This is the gift Jorda gave to me?”  She asked, delighted.  “I thought she was just trying to lecture me on being pretty…”

The Elf boy was staring at her now that he’d also seen what was happening.  “A real Godsblessing.”  He breathed, “Not just the adornment but a true Brightstar Crown.  I’ve never seen a real one before.”

When he seemed almost on the verge of reaching out to touch one of the slashes his mother had cut into her arm, Callindra shook free of her astonished reverie.  “Well, I will have to think of a way to properly express my gratitude.”  She said, “Thanks for showing me back here, I’d never have made it on my own.”

Edelweiss jerked his hand back, a pale pink blush spreading over his alabaster cheeks.  “Of course Lady Callindra.”  He said, all formality again.

She laughed softly and tousled his hair, “I’m no Lady.”  She said, opening the door and striding into the room.  Her brothers were sitting at the table in the main room, breaking their fast with a light meal of porridge and fruit.

“Been out causing trouble already?”  Cronos asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course!”  She said with an impish smile, “Edelweiss would you care to join…”  She trailed off, the Elf boy had already gone.

“Who are you speaking to?”  Vilhylm asked, looking curiously past her into the empty hallway.

“Oh just the young Elf who led me back to our rooms after I caused all the trouble.”  She replied, sitting down heavily on a chair and pouring herself a mug of water.

“I was only joking about the trouble.”  Cronos said.  She raised an eyebrow at him and he had the grace to give her a lopsided grin, “OK, only partially joking.  What happened?”

Between bites of porridge and fruit, she relayed her tale to them, leaving out the bit where she had thought Edelweiss a girl.  There was no need for them to think her a fool.

“That was reckless and foolish!”  Tryst exclaimed with much more edge in his voice than he usually displayed, “We are honored guests here, but that’s no reason to go about insulting people.  Really Callindra, I would have thought that even you would show more wisdom than that.”

His words stung more than she wanted to admit.  “I didn’t mean to.”  She said, her good mood evaporating, “It just sort of happened.”

Tryst took a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming himself.  “Well what’s done is done.  From what you say it sounds like you at least managed to gain a bit of their respect.  Now let’s see those wounds.”

“There’s no need.”  She said, for some reason not wanting to disclose the Goddess’s gift to him, “I’m fine.”

“Nonsense, I can see the holes in your clothes Callindra.  I’ll get my kit.”  He was standing when she sighed and pulled up her sleeve.

“Son of a pox ridden sailor.”  Cronos said, staring at the greenery that was sprouting from the cuts.  Vilhylm and Tryst just looked at her wide-eyed.

“It’s somehow connected to this.”  She tugged at the tiara of flowers in her hair, “Edelweiss called it a Brightstar Crown or something.”

“Take it off, I want to see it.”  Cronos said, leaning forward eagerly.

“Ummm… as far as I can tell it doesn’t really come off?”  Callindra said, “I tried to take it off before but it’s like it has grown into my hair.”

“Your hair.”  Vilhylm said, and when she looked at him with a confused expression on her face he pointed.  “It’s at least six inches longer than it was last night.”

Callindra turned her head quickly and felt her hair brush her shoulders.  Her hair hadn’t been this long since she was a child.  Of course when she was a child there hadn’t been tiny tendrils of Brightstar vine growing in her hair.

“How did it grow so quickly?”  She marveled aloud and then shook her head at her own foolishness, of course Jorda’s magic was involved.  “But why make it long?  It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well she did lecture you on being more girly right?”  Cronos said with a grin, “Maybe she’s just trying to force you to be more like a girl.”

“That’s just silly Cronos, most of the Elf boys wear their hair as long as the girls.”  Callindra said, “Maybe that’s it.  Maybe it is just making me more like the Elves or something.”

They ate in silence for a few more moments, her friends refraining from any more teasing and she lost in silent thought.  Finally, Callindra sat back with a wooden cup of water with freshly crushed mint leaves in it and thumbed her pipe full of tac.  She looked at her brothers and blew twin streams of smoke from her nostrils.

“Tryst, I want to come with you to find these… artifacts that Jorda told us about.”  His eyebrows raised and he opened his mouth to speak, but she continued before he could interrupt.  “I know I don’t have what it takes to stand against Dergeras yet.  I also am not foolish enough to think that I could take him on without your help.  All of your help.”

Her friends were silent for a long moment and she began to fear they were going to refuse.  When she looked into their faces she didn’t see what she had feared.  Tryst looked determined.  Cronos eager.  Vilhylm afraid, but pleased.

“Of course.”  Tryst said, “Of course we will help you.”

“I have a bit of payback to give that bastard.”  Cronos said with a gleam in his eye.

“He is dangerous, you are right to ask for our help.”  Said Vilhylm, “It may be my death, however some things must be opposed and I believe Dergeras is one of those things.”

“First we help Tryst with his mission.”  Callindra said firmly, trying to hold back the tears of gratitude that stung her eyes as she looked at her friends.  “If we’re to have a chance at victory something tells me we’ll need Gode on our side.”

“It’s settled then.”  Said Tryst with a relieved smile, “I will be happy to have you by my side my friends.”