When have I last lifted a sword for practice instead of battle? While the wizards held a final meeting to make sure their tactics were in order (they are not, but what is that to me?), Sorak persuaded me to put down my journal and take a few cuts in the yard. We grabbed blunted longswords, wooden shields, and donned leather armour. Some Bobs gathered round to watch the spectacle of two Elves in a friendly duel. I suppose he had good reason for it, since he fights so often in complete darkness, but the crowd thought it a tremendous stunt when Sorak also donned a blindfold. “Come on Fjord, don't you want to learn a new skill? You fight beside me, and you're going to need it.”
“When do I ever fight beside you, anyhow? You're usually flying through the air or prancing around with the wizards.” I took an easy swing at his body and he spun away, slashing at me from the side, but I lifted my shield in the nick of time.
“Oh ho! So that's your problem, is it? Feeling left out?” He lunged at me, attempting to spear my ribs, but I slapped his sword aside and dodged behind him. For a moment's whisper, he didn't know where I was and I kicked him in the back. He staggered forward a few steps but I didn't get a chance for another shove. Again he spun away and this time came at me full tilt. I raised my shield to block the swing I thought was coming, but instead he slammed his shoulder into me and knocked me to the ground.
“Bloody Swede! Don't you forget who's stronger here! We're supposed to be working on swordsmanship” I rolled away and came to my feet in time to greet his rain of blows. He knocked the sword out of my hand and mercilessly pounded on my armour and shield until I again fell down and suddenly his sword was at my throat.
“I guess I win the first round.” Some of the Bob's hooted and cheered. Still blindfolded, he kicked my sword in the air with his boot, sheathed his own and caught mine, all in one fluid motion. I gathered myself up and he handed me my sword hilt first. Feeling slightly humiliated, I backed off to collect myself. Sorak took off his blindfold and looked at me earnestly.
“Honestly though, I know how it must seem. You look at me as some pawn of these magic makers, following their orders as blindly as I often fight. I know you judge me.”
“It isn't the magic that bothers me, my cousin, nor do I judge you any more harshly than I judge myself. It is simply that these young mortals are rash in their decisions. For a group that has been through so much death and bloodshed in so short a time, there seems to be no perspective, no reflection on our purpose here. A wizard, a druid, a bard and a Half-orc are right now locked in a room, as you said, moving us around on a map as if we were pawns. Yet, their ages put together don't add to even one of us.”
“It is their war, Fjord.”
“Then why are we here?”
“Well, I am here to bring misery and death to the Norse. I thought we at least agreed on that.”
“We did, Sorak, we did. Gods know, I have even more reason to hate the Norse than you do, but I grow weary of our methods.”
“Well, you did die a few days ago. That can't be a pleasant experience for an Elf. Perhaps you need a break.”
“Perhaps I do.”
“But remember this, my Scandinavian kin, I am no pawn. Every order I have ever received was interpreted as a suggestion. I am my own Elf.”
We fought the next round without the blindfold or the tension. He was stronger; I was quicker. His experience was barely matched by my fencing skills. The Bobs were treated to a fine dance as we slashed and parried and whirled, and although I managed to poke him a few times with subtle feints and counters, he slowly wore me down. In battle, it wouldn't have taken him long at all. Not to mention that his sword would have us dueling in a sphere of darkness.
Perhaps I should learn blind-fighting.
