The Taiven: Chapter One

The elf Glismera faces a test of blade and magic

“I told you I would kill you one day, Glismera.”

The taiven opened her eyes. Glismera had been meditating among the trees, trying to commune with Elin, the spirit that resided within her blade. Moonlight splintered through the branches, as silver as her long hair that billowed in the wind. She was resting on her knees, her sword, decorated with the elven glyphs of her lineage, laying on the grass before her.

The she-elf stood and turned to face Gal Ravenwing. He was a meek, sickly man with black hair and wicked eyes. His entire life, his body had been ravaged by an unknown disease. But what he lacked in physical strength he greatly compensated for with his skill with magic.

Their mother had always said that he had been the better magician.

“That day is today," he said. 

 Glismera looked at her half brother. He wore his sorcerer robes, dark and blood red, embroidered with golden designs. It had been six years since she had last seen him, plummeting into a chasm that supposedly led to the Abyss. A chasm that she herself had thrown him into.

“Gal…” she began. There was so much she wanted to say to him, things she never thought she would be able to say because she had believed he was dead. But now…

“No talk,” he said. He held his hands open and green flame danced around his fingers. “All I want to hear from you are your screams as you die.”

 He hurled the fire at her.

Glismera spoke words of power, coating her sword with a layer of magic as she cut through the poison-colored flames. Sparks flew, and Glismera whispered a spell under her breath as she held out the palm of her hand. A storm of icy white shot from her hand, raging towards Gal.

The sorcerer weaved his hands together in an intricate pattern, arcane words spilling from his lips. A golden shield of light appeared in front of him just as razor-sharp shards of ice pelted against it with a sound like breaking glass. He summoned another ball of flame in his hand which he threw at Glismera. She deflected it, focused magical energy into her feet and leaped in to the air. She raised her sword and brought it down over her head, cutting down with as much strength as she could muster. Her blade met with Gal’s shield as if it were hard steel.

But the magic weaved around Elin gave Glismera an edge. Gal’s shield shattered, fragments plinking to the earth before vanishing into nothing. Now she had him. The sorcerer’s weak point was close combat.

Glismera brought her sword up in a high cut, ripping right across Gal’s torso. She rived him from the corner of his left hip to his right shoulder. There was an eruption of bright scarlet as he fell backward—

Only to disappear. Gal dissipated into mist with a wicked curve to his mouth. Glismera barely had time to turn. She met the streak of yellow lightning that shot at her with incredible force. She blocked it with her sword, but it hit with such ferocity that it sent the weapon flying from her hand. A second bolt soared at her and she summoned her own lightning spell to meet it head on, an arcing spear of blue electricity sparking against the yellow, sending energy crackling about the two spellcasters as if they were in the midst of a summer storm.

Glismera tried to begin another offensive spell as the magical lightning raged, but she wasn’t fast enough. Gal had already finished casting his next spell, and before she could react, an orb of cackling black energy collided into her. Agony cascaded over her body, rippling from her core to every point of her body. She screamed as she lost consciousness for the briefest moment, then she collapsed.

The moon glowered down on Glismera. She could not bring herself to get up, her fingers twitching feebly like the wings of a wounded bird. She heard soft footsteps in the grass, the sound of metal as Gal picked up her sword.

He stood over her then, Elin in his hand, the blade glinting like a keen star in the light of the moon. “Your father’s sword,” he said. “Little did he know it would end up in the hands of a bastard by his harlot wife.”

“You’re not worthy to wield it,” Glismera breathed, staring up at her brother.

Gal smirked. “I’m not the weakling groveling on the ground.” He took the sword, and drove it through her heart.

Glismera gasped and opened her eyes. The moon shined brightly, and the wind carried the scent of a dying summer. Elin laid before her, where she had placed it as she had begun her reverie. She stared at the sword in silence, thinking of the battle of her meditation. Gal had killed her in the reverie. She was not strong enough to match his magic, or his cunning. And his words…though it was just an image, conjured from the magic that emitted from the connection between herself and Elin, it was still so real.

And his words were true. She was a weakling. 

 Glismera sighed and stood, taking Elin in her hand. She briefly glanced at the elven glyphs etched on her father’s blade, the sword that he had entrusted to her. She bit her lip in consternation, and slipped the weapon into the scabbard at her side.

 The message was clear: she was still not worthy.

Not yet.

Image by <a href="https://pixabay.com/users/danmillerxyz-25121006/?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=8694713">Dan Miller</a> from <a href="https://pixabay.com//?utm_source=link-attribution&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=image&utm_content=8694713">Pixabay</a>