A Few Good Elves

By Diane Morrison

Toy Soldier: A derogatory slang term for an elven marine.

Battles great and terrible, small and bitter, raged across Known Space as the wars of Elves and Orcs played out their legacy of hatred across the stars themselves. Epics would be written, songs would be sun

• Language: English
• Publisher: Diane Morrison
• Release date: Sep 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781999575755

Diane Morrison

DIANE MORRISON has published and taught thirty graduate courses in the last twenty-oneyears. "Seven Lives: A Diva’s Story" is the author’s debut memoir. She is the founder of Diane Morrison Consulting and is a speaker, professor, life coach, and online gallery owner. An expert on the Enneagram, a personality study, she types herself as a positive, adventurous, risk-taker who has survived many difficult experiences in her lifetime. Diane and her husband Alex, both avid art collectors, live in a 100-year-old house in Colorado.

Book preview

Flash-Forward

Flower Moon, 5042 Avalonian Calendar

All about on the decks of the Queen’s Dirk, the crew were running and screaming. There were too many dead and wounded to count, and the Chiurgeons had elves spread out over the tables in the mess, the garden, even the Captain’s bed.

Shaundar sensed Lieutenant Sylria on the remains of the fo’c’sle, now mostly a debris field, commanding the mages to ready spells and the weapons crews to continue their attack. He could also see the gravity well of the Vengeance, just now coming about on their starboard side, though he was certain that it had been much longer than they needed.

I have the helm! Shaundar cried.

Get us out of here, Shaundar!

He turned his head and studied the rapidly oncoming Balorian ship through both the hole in the starboard wall, and Queenie’s senses. Even with Sylria’s magical boost, he knew this to be hopeless.

I can’t do it, Sylria, he said in a hollow voice. They’re just too fast.

Sylria looked down at her feet for a long moment. She squared her shoulders. Then we shall die with honour.

Shaundar nodded. Amazingly, there was no fear, just sadness, that he would not see his family or Narissa again. Sails, evasive manoeuvres! Shaundar commanded. Hard down!

As the insectoid ship neared, it closed those claw-like limbs to grapple them. But under Shaundar’s power and direction, they dodged the attempt. Shaundar saw a whole army of armoured Balorian warriors pour out onto the deck and stand to the rails.

Sylria shrieked, Mages, fire! and she let off a lightning bolt herself. There were only a couple of elves left alive topside to obey Sylria’s command, but they responded. Flames and electricity washed over the orcs, enough that it stopped them in their tracks and aborted their boarding attempt.

Bring ‘er about, Shaundar ordered. Hard astarboard!

Queenie answered sluggishly with all the shorn rigging and shorthanded crew, but she came back around. As they swooped back towards each other, Sylria’s command rang out. Defiantly, the Queen’s Dirk fired another volley.

The Balorians greeted it with a broadside of their own as they both swung starboard at the last moment. The larboard ballistae both missed, but two of the three others dented the hull. The third pierced it once more on their larboard side with a ringing tear of sheet metal.

Their catapult did not fire at all. Whether it was because it was damaged, or because there were too few crew left to man it, Shaundar would never know.

The decapitated Vengeance had only one gun it could bring to bear on the pass, but it fired that larboards bombard at point blank range. The fo’c’sle simply collapsed like a sandcastle. Sylria was swallowed into the sinkhole. Shaundar roared in horror and pain but could not hear his own voice in the overwhelming noise.

There was no sail crew left to command, but hoping against hope, Shaundar bellowed anyway, Hard aport! The mizzenmast was shorn away, and he knew it, but knowing there was nothing else to be done, he yelled out, Prepare to ram! All hands brace for impact! just as Garan had attempted.

He didn’t flinch as the Queen’s Dirk collided head-on with her foe.

Part One

Learning to Fly

One

Green Moon, 5020 Avalonian Calendar

The day that Shaundar realized he would never be a swordsinger was a beautiful, but otherwise ordinary, day on the small world of Peridot. The elves loved their unusual home, with its great roots and branches that stretched all around into the starry firmament, and they called it Yggdrasil’s Sprout, or affectionately, Old Man after the Green Man god Bile. Even below, in the far reaches of the roots of the great cosmic tree, the climate was mild and temperate.

 It was bristling with old-growth forest too, which made it the perfect colony world for the families of the Avalonian Imperial Navy starfarers and spacers who patrolled the great tree’s orbit, policing pirates, which kept them in fighting shape, even though the Interstellar War was long over.

One of Peridot’s great points of pride was its public school, something that even pristine Glimmerfell could not boast of. This was in part due to the efforts of Shaundar’s grandmother, Deliana Wintermist, who had established the public school when she came to live with her daughter and son-in-law after the fall of fabled Evergleam.

Although he was proud of his family’s contributions to their home, the school was a constant source of misery to Shaundar. Elven children were usually given some latitude about their schooling but considering his family’s connection to the school, his father, Rear Admiral Ruavel Sunfall, insisted he and his sister attend, and was not very forgiving of unexplained absences.

That day, Shaundar walked Selena to school with more than his usual reluctance. It wasn’t just that the weather was calling him to go fishing or chasing frogs instead of spending all day with his nose in a book. He just had a bad feeling about school that day.

The two Sunfall children walked hand-in-hand past the dockyards, where several small insect-shaped naval vessels, and not a few merchant ships, were at anchorage. Shaundar’s cornflower blue eyes filled with longing as they swept the docks. It seemed to him the years until he could sail among the stars, just like his father, stretched forever out of reach.

His heart leaped at the tales sailors told, of battles with space pirates, monstrous Cthulans and fierce star dragons, and to the descriptions of the places his dad had seen; glowing nebulae, gas giants, water worlds, belts of thousands of rocks hurtling through space to be dodged like an obstacle course, even worlds carried around on the backs of giant animals. He would make a great midshipman, he reckoned; he knew all the language of spacefaring and he could tell the time and keep watch with the best. Why in all the worlds did he have to go to school?

Still, Father had said that he was old enough now to go with him on patrol if things were relatively peaceful, at least for the summer break. Shaundar could not wait!

He spent most of his free time at the docks, read everything he could find on ships and starfaring, and pestered the entire Navy flotilla with his questions, usually until they sent him home to continue the assault on his father and Uncle Madrimlian.

Distracted by pleasant thoughts of his summer holiday, Shaundar didn’t notice the approaching band of children until Selena caught his arm.

His heart sank. He recognized Laeroth Oakheart, scion of a prominent Sidhe family, barring the school’s front door with several other moon elves. Laeroth was about three years older than Shaundar, and his friends were all about the same age. Shaundar was, unfortunately, their academic superior. It wasn’t a good combination.

Off to class, Sunfall? Laeroth trilled, his expression twisted into a smirk.

Shaundar sighed. Just leave me alone, Laeroth.

Laeroth took a step forward. You hear that? he said to the pack of ruffians behind him. He thinks we should leave him alone! He jutted his alabaster face into Shaundar’s own. Shaundar was already as tall as Laeroth, but of much slighter build, maybe even lanky. Why should we? You think you’re better than us or something?

If asked honestly, Shaundar would have told them that he didn’t think any such thing. He shared the opinion of almost everyone around him. He was a half-breed and therefore, he would never amount to anything much. He didn’t understand why the Sidhe seemed to think he was stuck-up.

Laeroth didn’t wait for his answer. He kicked Shaundar’s legs out from under him and knocked him to the ground. His face hit the dirt and his lip split open on a sharp rock. He wiped his bleeding mouth on his sleeve on reflex, and groaned. Not another uniform! His father was going to kill him!

The front door of the schoolhouse burst open and a small, towheaded Alfar girl shot out like a catapult stone. Her sea-foam green eyes flashed furiously. You leave him alone! she cried.

Narissa, stay out of this. Shaundar got to his feet.

Her hands balled into fists and planted themselves on her hips. I will not! Laeroth, you leave him alone!

Who’s going to make me? Laeroth laughed at the tiny-boned elf maid before him. You and all of your friends?

Yeah, that’s about right, a quiet voice replied, and Shaundar smiled.

He glanced to the side to see a well-built Alfar boy, golden-complexioned, with hazel-green eyes and a careless mop of midnight-black cowlick, approaching the front of the schoolhouse. The boy eased his book bag off his shoulder and onto the ground. His eyes were fearless and steady. His body was tensed and ready for the fight.

Shaundar knew that things were going to be okay. Yathar was here.

Laeroth hesitated. You’re outnumbered.

Yathar was not deterred. Only by one. And Shaundar and I could take you and all your cronies on the best day of your lives, with or without the help of the girls. He grinned impishly and winked at Selena. Her cheery smile answered him.

Laeroth never had the chance to put it to the test. One of the professors came out. Shaundar’s spirits fell. It was Professor Lord Captain Goldenbough, Yathar’s father.

What’s going on here? demanded the Alfar lord. His ametrine eyes fixed on Shaundar and narrowed. Sunfall, causing problems again, are you?

Laeroth smirked, but Yathar stood beside Shaundar supportively. No sir. Laeroth was causing the trouble, sir. Shaundar was just defending himself.

Captain Goldenbough licked his lips, but he could hardly call his son a liar in public. Get inside, all of you, he snarled. You are late.

Obediently, all the children collected their things and filed into the building. Relieved by his narrow escape, Shaundar put a hand on his friend’s shoulder to show his thanks. Yathar gave an almost imperceptible nod and smiled in return.

But Captain Goldenbough was displeased, and he found a focus for his wrath. Sunfall, your uniform is out of order again. I think you can spend some time cleaning up the classroom with me at lunch to learn the importance of cleanliness.

Shaundar sighed in resignation. Yes sir. Laeroth grinned.

Today, the Professor announced as his students settled in, we study the destruction of Evergleam, and the human conspiracy at the heart of it.

This opening confused Shaundar. He knew all about Evergleam. His family had been formed just after the fabled city’s fall by some of the survivors. His grandmother was a scion of the Wintermist house, and his mother had grown up in Evergleam.

But an army of Fomorians—orcs, goblins, and ogres—had descended upon the small elven kingdom, and destroyed it in the early days of the Interstellar War. His father, as a young Navy officer, had fought in the final battle at Prince Xerxes’ side, who was destined to be the future King of Glimmerfell. His mother had been a battlefield healer.

As the Professor’s lecture unfolded, Shaundar’s bewilderment grew. The Professor’s complicated tale of conspiracies and betrayals by other races were nothing like the family history his grandmother had taught him.

Shaundar’s grandmother had made no bones about how elven arrogance and hubris had a great deal to do with Evergleam’s fall. She told her grandchildren a terrible story of how, at the passing of the last King of Evergleam and the assassination of his heir, the noble clans of the city had fought for the right to take up the King’s runesword; how one-by-one they were deemed unworthy, and destroyed by the sword’s power; how others, first lesser Seelie nobles, then common elves of all sorts, had made a claim, and they were cut down in the streets; how it had all degenerated into a mass of infighting and bloodshed; and how the runesword was finally lost in the chaos.

…and so, although many of the noble Seelie houses thought it a bad idea when King Elias the Shining permitted other races to immigrate to Evergleam, the Professor continued, we taught them our secrets, our magic—and, of course, you see how our kindness was repaid.

But that’s not the way it happened at all! Shaundar burst out, unable to contain his indignation.

Lord Goldenbough’s eyes were murderous. "Oh really, Sunfall? So then, since you know so much more about it than I do, when I was there, who told you otherwise?"

My grandmother Deliana Wintermist, Shaundar said, and my father as well, sir. I’m sure you know he was a marine. He tried to clamp down on the hint of pride that he knew was coming through in his voice. He knew it would antagonize the Professor.

 Is that so? Lord Goldenbough returned with a raised eyebrow. "Well, I was a marine too, and I was Commander on a sloop. Your father… ah yes, I think I remember him. Lieutenant, wasn’t he? You can join me for detention tonight, Sunfall, and spare me any further pronouncements of the great Lieutenant Ruavel."

Shaundar turned red with rage until the rest of the class began to snicker. But he held his tongue. "Av, sir," he acknowledged in a sour tone.

Lunch break was bad, but after school detention was worse. Shaundar did his best to be respectful, polite, and obedient. He had something important that he wanted to discuss with the Professor.

He felt his face heat as he girded himself to make the request. The back of his neck was damp. He cleared his throat. Captain Goldenbough cast him a disdainful look. This wasn’t starting out well at all.

"Elan, began Shaundar, respectfully, I was wondering if you would consider taking me into your swordsinger class."

Professor Goldenbough said nothing for a long moment, so he pressed on. I’ve been top of my class in all the magical arts next to Narissa, sir, as you know. I’m really fast on my feet too! I’ve been training in swordwork with my dad, and I can dance, and sing, and I can even juggle. I know you’re teaching Yathar, sir, and I would be grateful and honoured if you would teach me too. He bowed formally with deep respect, the picture of Seelie etiquette.

The elven lord pursed his lips. Sunfall, you are a moon elf. I think you would be better off learning from a Sidhe instructor.

Shaundar ran his hand through his golden Alfar hair in an agony of suspense, and tried not to bristle. "But elan, he insisted, Professor Oakheart said that as a sun elf, I should learn from an Alfar school."

The Professor’s expression did not change. I’m sorry, Sunfall, he said, his voice devoid of compassion.

Shaundar stood frozen for a long moment as his dreams were crushed. The training to become a swordsinger required the most exacting study over at least a century, and that from a young age. He was only twenty years old, and he now knew that no one on Peridot would teach him.

He was shattered.

Ten extra minutes to your detention for speaking out of turn, Captain Goldenbough added ruthlessly.

This was just too much for Shaundar. Before he knew what he was doing, he was on his feet and headed for the door.

Where do you think you’re going? bellowed the Professor.

I wish you people would make up your minds! Shaundar snapped back as he slammed the door behind him. He ran for the safety of the woods before the professor could see his tears.

Two

Green Moon, 5020 Avalonian Calendar

Shaundar ran until he was tired, wiping his eyes in frustration. Wouldn’t this look good for the sun elven lord? Bursting into tears like a Sidhe! So much for Seelie decorum. Already he regretted his hasty flight, but it was far too late to take it back. He slapped aside a low-hanging branch and blundered his way through the thicket.

After some time, he found himself at the little creek hollow where he, Yathar, Selena and Narissa often came to play. All three of them were already there. Selena was nestled in the top of one of the willow trees, swinging her feet. Narissa was kneeling at the water’s edge, perhaps watching the fish, and Yathar was meandering about, randomly whacking rocks and dead tree branches with a stick. They all looked at him and he looked away, not yet ready to speak.

He knelt by the stream to wash, and the sun was setting at just the right angle to make the water perfectly reflective. Shaundar considered his own tear-streaked face.

His moon elven blue eyes were almost indigo in the light of the sunset, and his corn-silk yellow-sun Alfar hair shone like spun gold. His complexion was neither the fair white of the Sidhe nor a warm gilded sun elven shade, but pale with a peach-golden sheen, like common moonstone. Even the starry flecks that sparkled in his eyes were neither silver nor gold, but an odd pyrite blend that could be seen either way. Neither one thing nor the other— that was him.

There was a smudge of dirt on his chin and a scrape that he did not remember getting. He splashed his hands into the image angrily to drive it away and brought the cool water to his face, then to his lips.

My dad’s a jerk, Yathar said.

Shaundar did not argue.

Never mind him. I’ll just teach you whatever it is that I learn when I learn it.

No, Shaundar said. You don’t need that much trouble.

I don’t care.

No, repeated Shaundar. I’ll find something else I’m good at. When he noticed Narissa appraising him with disbelief and a little pity in her eyes, he said, Dad’s taking me with him on patrol this summer. I’ll be a starfarer instead. Maybe even a Pilot.

For a moment, he almost believed he would enjoy it as much as the idea of being a swordsinger. He met Narissa’s gaze with a hard, determined look in his own, and Narissa’s pity dissolved.

Yathar shrugged. Let me know if you change your mind.

Shaundar was not going to change his mind. The dream had been too firmly crushed. It was better not to hope.

The four children sat in silence for several minutes, not sure of what to say. Then Selena said, The sun is going down. We should get back.

Not yet, Shaundar pleaded. He was not ready to face the kind of trouble he knew would be waiting for him at home yet, not with his heart still so raw.

Well, I have to go, Narissa said with a sigh. Dad will be really angry already. She put a comforting hand on Shaundar’s shoulder and he gave her an understanding, if watery, smile.

Selena climbed down from the tree. I’ll go home too and see if I can talk Dad down.

Thanks, Sprout, Shaundar said with a grateful smile. Selena gave his hands an encouraging squeeze before the two girls headed home.

Yathar sat down beside Shaundar, but fidgeted. After a few minutes, he could no longer contain his pent-up energy and he grinned at his friend. I know something that will cheer you up! Monkey wrestling!

Shaundar laughed. Monkey wrestling! Narissa and his parents hated it. He and Yathar would climb into a nearby tree, and grapple and slap at each other until one admitted defeat. It made them all nervous, and it made a mess of the boys’ clothing.

Shaundar scrutinized his uniform. Not only did he still have the bloodstain on his cuff, which had turned a rusty brown and settled in, but both jacket and trousers were now covered in dirt and grass-stains, and the jacket was even torn at the pocket. He must have snagged it on a low-hanging branch or something. Might as well!

Yathar clapped him on the back and helped him to his feet. The two of them then set about climbing as high as they could into the biggest tree they could find, which in this case was the great willow with the enormous branches overhanging the creek. Still angry and feeling low, Shaundar found greater bravery than he usually possessed, and he scrambled up to a high branch that teetered dangerously beneath him.

Not to be outdone, Yathar joined him on a similarly perilous limb.

Ready? Yathar pressed with an eager light glinting in his eyes.

Ready!

One, two, three, GO! they cried together, and they grappled.

Yathar was stronger than Shaundar, but Shaundar had reach, so the match was about even. Yathar broke the grapple first and slapped Shaundar in the shoulder. Ow! he yelled good-naturedly, and he grabbed Yathar by the hair.

Let go! Yathar cried with a laugh, and he grabbed a hold of Shaundar’s wrist and tried to bend it back on itself. Shaundar leaned forward to prevent this and pressed his advantage.

Suddenly there was a groan and a sharp cracking sound. Surprised, both boys let go of each other. Then Yathar was plummeting to the ground as the branch beneath him gave way. He screamed with fear.

Shaundar nearly fell out of the tree himself reaching for his hand, but he missed, and Yathar fell anyway.

There was another sharp cracking sound, and then Yathar screamed again, this time in pain. He was rolling on the ground clutching his shin. The tree branch lay beside him, and thankfully, not on top of him.

Shaundar called out his name and scrambled down the tree. He did not panic. He remembered his father telling him that panic had killed more soldiers than the enemy. He forced himself to watch every step and handhold. If he also hurt himself getting down from the tree, how would he be able to help Yathar?

When Shaundar reached Yathar’s side, he could see that his foot was hanging at an odd angle. There was no doubt about it. Yathar! Shaundar cried to get his attention. Your leg is broken.

Yathar bit his lip and managed to stifle his yells, but tears ran from his sallow face and low whimpers escaped from his mouth with each breath. What do we do? he asked Shaundar in a very small voice.

Shaundar had a moment of panic. But then he remembered something from the Navy Field Manual and his mother’s knowledge of the healing arts. I’ll have to splint it, he said, but I don’t think you can walk on it. I’ll have to carry you out.

He started hunting around for a good stick to brace the leg with and found one. It was frayed at the edges. Shaundar suspected it was the stick that Yathar had been playing with earlier.

He whipped out his pocketknife and whittled off the crags and edges. Then he lashed it to Yathar’s broken shin with the straps from their book bags as gently as he could. Even so, Yathar cried out twice and almost passed out.

You okay? Shaundar asked when he was finished. Yathar, unable to speak, gave him a grim nod.

Now, to consider the problem of how to carry his friend without hurting Yathar’s leg. Shaundar thought of how a hunter carries a deer across his shoulders. He imagined that facing down would be very uncomfortable, but maybe if Yathar faced the sky… But how to pick him up?

His gaze fell upon a sturdy alder tree near where Yathar was lying, one that was only as thick around as his leg. Maybe if he could get Yathar to lift himself up on it…?

You need to lift yourself onto your good leg, Shaundar told his friend. I figure you can pull yourself up on this tree and I can lift from behind. Then I can get under you to carry you. Okay?

Yathar considered the tree and nodded.

Ready?

Yeah.

Shaundar squatted down behind his friend and hooked his arms under Yathar’s shoulders. Yathar reached for the alder with both hands. His face was the colour of ivory, with little trace of sun elven gilt.

One, two, three! cried Shaundar, and he pulled as up hard as he could. Yathar grunted and tensed his arms. His hands clambered up the alder tree as though he were rock climbing, grasping branches and knotholes. Then he was leaning against the tree, balanced on his uninjured left leg.

Break! said Shaundar, out of breath, and Yathar panted. Sweat ran freely from his brow.

Okay, Shaundar said after a few moments. I’m going to brace you over my shoulders by your right leg and arm. Mom said that it’s better to move the broken bone as little as possible, and I think that will keep it from moving as much. Ready?

Yathar nodded again, too spent for words. A drop of sweat rolled down his nose.

Shaundar bent down and hooked his right arm around Yathar’s right thigh, and his left arm around Yathar’s right shoulder. He pushed up with both legs and shifted Yathar’s weight. He was heavier than Shaundar had anticipated. Shaundar’s knees buckled. Yathar let out a startled bleat.

Shaundar pressed himself and Yathar against the alder to stabilize. The tree bowed under their weight but didn’t break. Shaundar braced against the bow-back, and with the aid of the reciprocal force, finally managed to heft Yathar up over his shoulders.

You okay?

Yeah, wheezed Yathar.

With that, Shaundar started trekking along the creek bed, heading downstream and back towards town, wasting no more effort on words.

He could never say afterwards how long he walked for. It felt like forever. It was almost dark by the time Shaundar saw the town lights. He didn’t stop to rest because he was unsure if he would be able to pick Yathar up again. His breath came in short puffs. His legs trembled, but still he trudged doggedly on. Yathar needed him.

When he finally came to the edge of the trees, and found himself among the tree and crystal buildings of their port town, Shaundar sank to the ground in relief.

With effort, he eased Yathar down beside him. Help! he croaked, his throat without moisture, and then he licked his lips and repeated, Help! Yathar’s hurt!

Somehow, magically, his mother was right there, her midnight-blue eyes full of compassion. It’s all right, my son, she murmured. Had she been looking for them? The tears he’d been holding back finally broke free and ran down his face.

She knelt at Yathar’s side with almost supernatural grace and poise and adjusted his leg so that she could get a look at it. That’s a good splint, Mom told him with a faint smile. It carried more approval than the most effuse praise. She began to unwind his makeshift lash.

Then Selena, Shaundar’s father, and both of Yathar’s parents arrived. What did you do to my son? Captain Goldenbough bellowed. He strode up to the three of them and slapped Shaundar across the face.

Shaundar, shocked into silence, gaped at Lord Goldenbough, who was reeling back his arm for another blow.

But then the Professor let out a grunt of pain. Dad had the Captain’s hand in his and was twisting back on it in a way it was not intended to be twisted.

Raise your hand to my son again, Captain, and you will regret it, he promised, his golden eyes burning.

"Av, elan."  Lord Goldenbough winced.

The Admiral released his hand and the captain rubbed at his wrist. How bad is it? he asked Shaundar’s mother. Can you heal it?

Certainly, she replied in a deliberately mild voice, though her eyes flashed with anger. I just need to set it first. I have taken the liberty of casting a sleeping charm on your son so that it will hurt less.

With that, she gripped Yathar’s leg on either side of the break and made a quick adjustment. Yathar’s face screwed up in pain, even in slumber. There now, she murmured, stroking his hair.

She re-splinted it using Shaundar’s makeshift branch and strap. Even though Shaundar had missed the casting of the first spell, everyone watched and listened as Selene Sunfall chanted prayers of healing to Brighid and Arianrhod, and made the sacred gestures that accompanied the ritual.

Skin, and presumably bone, began to knit themselves back together. She wiped away some of the blood left behind with her fingers. There. Now take him home and let him sleep. It’s good for his healing.

Lord Goldenbough lifted his son’s unconscious body. We are not done, Sunfall, he promised Shaundar as he left.

The Sunfalls watched them go. Let’s go, Dad commanded. Shaundar staggered to his weary feet and followed.

No one said a word until they were home, which, for the Sunfalls, was a modest tree manor. It was a quiet, almost plain dwelling formed of a single great willow tree, much smaller and less ostentatious than Lord Sunfall’s Rear Admiral’s rank could have commanded.

Dad closed the door behind them. Shaundar knew he was in an amazing amount of trouble.

His dad fixed him with his intense amber gaze. So, what happened out there, Shaundar? he asked in a quiet tone. How did Yathar’s leg get broken?

Shaundar’s heart plummeted into his boots. He felt as though he were falling into a gravity well. We were monkey wrestling, sir, he admitted in a small voice.

Lord Sunfall’s brow darkened. I see. His hand came up to rub his temple as though he felt a headache coming on. A vein in his forehead was standing out.

"So, let me get this straight. In a single day, you started trouble with your classmates, talked back to your professor, and ran out on your detention, to go into the woods without telling anyone where you were going, whereupon you promptly engaged in an activity that you have been expressly forbidden from doing, causing your friend’s leg to be broken due to your foolishness? And on top of everything else, you have ruined another uniform?"

Shaundar didn’t know what to say. He opened his mouth and closed it again. The weight of his father’s disapproval pressed on his shoulders like the mass of a sun.

Shaundar’s grandmother came to the edge of the entryway. She looked like an older version of her daughter, only where Selene was wispy, Deliana was solid. Rather than wearing the draping robes and dresses of a priestess, she was dressed in a practical canvas shirt and trousers with a simple leather jerkin. She was not in the habit of wearing her sword at home, but it was draped at the ready on a peg near the front door. She was old enough that crow’s feet and laugh lines had begun to form, which, for an elf, was very old indeed.

The Admiral held up a single hand, and in that gesture Shaundar read far more disappointment and dismissal than any words could have hoped to convey. It was all he could do not to burst into tears again.

I find this very disappointing, Shaundar. I expect better things of you. Please go to your room and contemplate your actions. Tomorrow, you will go to school and undertake whatever punishment Professor Goldenbough deems fit, excluding anything physical.

Yes, sir, Shaundar said in a whisper. He swallowed the lump in his throat, determined this time to show proper Alfar grace. He managed to walk all the way upstairs and into his room before the tears ran down his face. Even then, he swallowed the sobs so that his heartbreak was his alone.

His father was right. This was his fault. If he had not climbed so high, Yathar would not have fallen. Why did he keep doing such stupid things?

On the other side of the closed bedroom door, Shaundar’s father and grandmother were arguing. You’re going to take all the adventure out of the boy, Ruavel, his grandmother was saying. She sounded cross.

Damn it, Dad said, the boy is going to grow up with some decorum! He’s a Seelie Alfar noble!

No, he isn’t! Deliana growled. And you can’t expect him to be!

Shaundar didn’t want to hear any more. He went to the window over his bed and opened the shutter to gaze out into the starry night. That was the problem, wasn’t it? He was not Alfar. But, despite his failings, Shaundar swore to himself that someday, somehow, he would make his father proud of him.

Three

Green Moon, 5020 Avalonian Calendar

Sleep did not come easily to Shaundar that night. He tried several times to relax, but every time he started to drift, he would see Yathar’s frightened green eyes falling away from him, and start back to full consciousness.

Eventually he gave up. He took the wool blanket from his bed and pressed it against the bottom edge of the door to hide the light, lit a candle and gave himself over to reading. The first book he fished out of his school bag was Yathar’s copy of the Aerafaen, The Song of Life, which was the swordsinger’s code and training manual. He tossed it onto his bed with venom. It bounced against the wall with an audible thump and came to rest on its front cover.

He found the dog-eared copy of the Avalonian Imperial Navy Field Manual that he had borrowed from his father instead, opened it to the section on semaphore, and brought it and the candle to his desk so he could take notes. He dipped his quill and prepared to write.

He just about jumped out of his skin when a quiet knock sounded at his door.

Oh drat, the book! Someone had obviously heard the noise when it had hit the wall. Cursing himself for his idiocy, he opened the door. Then he smiled, relieved. It was his grandmother.

Can I come in? she asked as Shaundar stared at her. He already stood almost eye-to-eye.

Oh, sorry. He stood aside so she could enter.

She closed the door gently behind her and studied him with her intense blue eyes. May I sit? Shaundar nodded.

Grandmother Wintermist was nothing like the other adults in his life. She never forced anything upon him or demanded anything of him. She asked his opinion and honestly cared for the answer. She even asked his permission to enter his space and use his furniture or his time, just as if he were an adult and had a right to refuse.

You never mind your father, Grandmother said as she eased herself onto Shaundar’s daybed. He just doesn’t understand you, that’s all. But he loves you.

I know. He sighed.

Grandmother cast her gaze about Shaundar’s room and he followed it. There was the framed portrait of his mother and father; Ruavel in a Navy Lieutenant’s dress uniform, Selene in a flowing organza gown and tiara – their wedding portrait. There was a portrait of Selena as a baby sitting on their father’s dunnage. It always made him smile.

There was a small bookshelf stacked with neatly-organized books, and a map table laid out with an army of toy soldiers in mid-battle. His weapons rack displayed a wooden long sword, two short swords, and a bow. Maybe I ought to get rid of that long sword, he thought. His mouth flooded with the taste of something metallic and bitter.

Habitually he scrutinized the arrows in his quiver, but there was no sign of fraying on the fletching. He had already used his bow to hunt rabbits and the native oversized rodents that the elven colonists called niri, little bears. He had permission to hunt monkeys too, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Their little faces were just too expressive.

There were a few charcoal drawings of the family, Yathar, and Narissa fixed to the wall. He didn’t know if they were any good but he liked doing them.

Grandmother’s eyes came to rest on his model of the Telasian System dangling on strings from the ceiling. A full set of hand-built, hand-painted scale models of the ships of the Telasian Naval Fleet were interspersed among the smaller planets. The sun, called Lugh on star-charts, after the elven creator-god, was even enspelled to glow softly, though it did not provide good reading light.

You know, she said, if you believe in yourself, then it doesn’t matter whether anyone else believes in you.

Shaundar said nothing. He wished he could believe in himself, but he was far too aware of his failures. Especially today.

Shaundar, she insisted in a tone that commanded his full attention. He met her eyes, radiant with the power of her emotion. Their silver flecks flashed like stars on a cold night. Listen to me. Your problem is that you’re trying too hard to be something you’re not. Be who you are!  And never mind your father. He’ll come around; you’ll see.

He nodded. Grandmother was probably right. She certainly seemed to know exactly who she was and made no apologies for it.

Don’t blame yourself for what happened to Yathar, she added, almost as an afterthought. He’s just as responsible as you are. It takes two to monkey wrestle, I think. She winked at him conspiratorially and patted his hand.

That lightened Shaundar’s mood. She knew just what was bothering him, didn’t she? Did you ever monkey wrestle, Grandmother?

"No, my friends and I used to chase each other through the woods with sticks. Monkey wrestling is much safer." She shared a wry grin, and Shaundar laughed, though he stifled it quickly to avoid waking anyone. His mother often said he had the same wry smile as his grandmother.

Get some sleep, Shaundar. She stood up.

Good night, Grand3mother, Shaundar wished her. She pressed her hand against the door jamb as she left. The door shut with a muffled snick.

Shaundar blew the candle out, grabbed hold of his blanket and threw himself onto his bed. That was when he realized he’d sat on Yathar’s book. To his dismay, he had already managed to bend one of the pages.

Well, nothing to be done about it now. He straightened it out as best as he could and tossed it into his school bag.

Shaundar had to admit, he was somewhat cheered by his grandmother’s kindred spirit. The cracked shutters creaked like the boards of a ship in the cool night breeze, while his winged ships swayed on their strings. He watched them until his eyelids were too heavy to keep open.

Morning came far too quickly. Shaundar dragged his weary bones from his bed. His shoulders and the muscles of his thighs ached.

He washed quickly in the basin because he was already running late. Taking another uniform from his closet, he switched the pin of his family crest, a stylized shooting star, over to the new collar. Rather than throwing the damaged uniform out, he stowed it away in a drawer. It would be good practice to try some charms on later. If only he could master some cleaning and mending charms!

He then attempted to tame his yellow hair into a semblance of order, and finally managed to smooth it all into a tight ponytail. Only then did he go downstairs for the morning meal.

Shaundar’s father was standing out on the balcony in a smoking jacket, puffing at his pipe, which Shaundar’s mother had banished from the house. He nodded at his son through the window but did not speak.

Good morning, sir, Shaundar answered hesitantly.

The Admiral turned back to watch the morning sunrise with another nod. Was he forgiven?  He couldn’t tell.

He went to the kitchen where Lianna, the head cook from the Arianrhod’s Pride, the dreadnaught Admiral Sunfall commanded, was making a stir fry. It looked like hazelnuts and starberries in a honey-and-butter glaze, and it smelled like comfort.

Lianna cooked for the Sunfalls when she was on leave in return for her keep, since she had no family of her own. She was a commoner Sidhe from a world called Gorna, the primary world of a nearby system. Aside from their groundskeeper and their housekeeper, she was the only servant the Sunfalls employed.

Morning to you, young sir! she greeted him with a sunny smile.

As much as the Sunfalls were in disgrace, they were still part of the Seelie Court. Technically, Shaundar would be heir to the house, being the eldest, unless, of course, his father decided to name Selena as the heir instead. Not that he would blame his father if he chose to do that, all things considered.

But none of this was Lianna’s fault. He smiled back at her. Good morning, Lianna.

Breakfast is ready. Have you washed up?

He nodded as he automatically took the silverware and set the table. Selena had already laid out the plates and serving spoons. She remained quiet until Shaundar smiled at her. Morning, she said with a returning smile. Then steaming nuts and fruit were being spooned on to their plates.

They ate quickly. As they did so, their father came back into the house. He left the offending smoking jacket on a hook outside.

Hurry up, children, he admonished. You’re going to be late.

They finished their morning meal and put the plates in the wash water Lianna had drawn. Shaundar noticed that yet again, he had managed to dirty the cuff of his uniform sleeve. He groaned. Selena’s was still pristine, of course.

Well, there was no time to do anything about it now. Shaundar turned it around so that his father wouldn’t notice, retrieved his book bag, to which he hastily added the Navy field manual, and fled out the door.

Selena, who was much shorter than him, struggled to keep up. Wait! she called out at last. Shaundar slowed his breakneck pace and waited, taking her hand when she caught up. They ran together for the schoolhouse.

Out of the edge of his peripheral vision, Shaundar saw movement, and recognized dark hair and a pale moon elven face.

He managed to dodge the outstretched foot. Run to school, Selena, Shaundar said to her, and he spun around and raised his book bag to confront his attacker.

Laeroth Oakheart and two of his minions emerged from the starberry bushes where they had laid their ambush. You’re dead, Sunfall! Laeroth pronounced with an evil gleam in his eye.

We’ll see, Shaundar growled.

Confident in his superiority, especially since they did have him outnumbered this time, Laeroth closed in for the attack. Shaundar stepped to the side and let him have it in the face with the book bag. Of course, it was at that exact moment that Professor Goldenbough emerged from the schoolhouse.

SUNFALL! he roared.

Everyone froze where they were, except Laeroth, who was the one picking himself up off the ground with a bleeding lip this time.

The Professor closed the distance impossibly fast and took one of Shaundar’s pointed ears between his fingers. He yelped in surprise and pain.

Delighted by this turn of events, Laeroth immediately poured out tears. Professor, he sniffled, he just smacked me in the face! My ears are still ringing! I wasn’t doing anything, just walking!

"You lie!" bellowed Shaundar.

Enough! Lord Goldenbough barked. I think it would be just like you, Sunfall, to lay an ambush for the boy, low-minded as you are.

Shaundar could not believe the injustice! Tears of rage and frustration began to run down his face.

Get inside, the Captain commanded, pulling on Shaundar’s ear until he had no choice but to follow.

He dragged Shaundar up in front of the class. Yathar was in his seat in the front row, Shaundar saw with relief. He started getting to his feet before he realized he still had a splint on his leg, and was forced by necessity to sit back down. Laeroth was still smirking.

"Elan Sunfall has attacked another student, the Professor announced. Since he has no discipline, and his father the Admiral has forbidden me from striking him, let’s see if we can’t teach him some. Hold out your arms, Sunfall. Out to the sides, palms up."

Shaundar lay down his book bag, which had torn at the strap, and obeyed. His heart was pounding. Where was the Professor going with this?

From a cupboard, Lord Goldenbough excavated two of their thick textbooks on elven history. He balanced one each on the palms of Shaundar’s hands. Hold those up, the Seelie lord said with a sneer, until I tell you to stop. With that, he turned to the class and began the day’s lesson.

His father’s admonishment, to submit to whatever punishment Professor Goldenbough saw fit to demand, echoed back in Shaundar’s thoughts. So be it, then. He braced his shoulders and determined to hold the books aloft.

After a few minutes, his shoulders and arms began to ache with the effort, but Lord Goldenbough carried blithely on with the lesson, sparing no more thought for Shaundar Sunfall. Soon his shoulders and arms were burning.

After a few more minutes had passed, during which Shaundar had begun to grit his teeth, he realized with a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach that the Professor did not intend for him to succeed. Shaundar saw the lord cast him a look out of the corner of an ametrine eye, which then widened in surprise and returned to the other students.

Yathar was beginning to fidget in his chair. Narissa and Selena were not concentrating on the lesson anymore. They all watched Shaundar with wide, horrified eyes.

Several more minutes passed. The Professor stole another glance in Shaundar’s direction. Shaundar’s arms began to tremble and sweat beaded on his brow.

Stubbornly, he continued to stand as ordered. He locked his shoulders and elbows into place, even though by now all his muscles were screaming in agony. He was not going to allow the Professor to get the better of him! And he was not going to disappoint his father!

He risked a glance at the brass timepiece on Captain Goldenbough’s desk. More than half an hour had gone by! He had never heard of anyone being required to do this for so long.

The girls were beginning to look upset, and even Laeroth’s self-satisfied expression had shifted into a scowl that might have been irritation or concern. Yathar, unable to contain himself anymore, waved his hand to be heard.

Yes, Yathar? the Professor drawled.

Sir, he began, it’s been thirty-four minutes…

Yathar’s father cut him off with a snarl. "You leave Sunfall’s discipline