GoCorral

Chapter 2 – Galandir (Continued)

Galandir lived in Valor’s Forest along with other elves. Their homes were among the trees and branches. Galandir’s room was in the hollowed base of a giant living oak. His parents, Caldigroth and Vendumion lived in the tree house above him. The house was made from branches grafted together over years, so it was living as well. A bulwark of bark on the inside and leaves on the outside.

Galandir stretched as he awoke from sleep. He had grey, silvery hair, not from age, but from his lineage. He was descended from King Valor himself on his mother’s side. A valuable royal line comes with valuable colored hair. Galandir’s frame was strong, tempered by his daily exercise. He had green eyes and a soft, angular face. His most prominent feature was a long nose that seemed to stretch up to his eyebrows. Like all elves Galandir had long, pointed ears. He was a sprightly 108 years old, a young adult by elven standards, but his parents still coddled him. They always told him, “You don’t know what it was like during the Dragon War. You don’t know what true danger is.”

Galandir did know what danger was! Leaping out of bed, Galandir grabbed the wooden stick by his bed. He could fly through the air like Amalgami the Lightning Knight! He stabbed forward with the stick as a spear. He could cast spells like the great elven sorcerer, Bigarius! Galandir took his left hand off the spear to create a magical ball of floating green light. And he could tumble and slash just like Jovy the Pirate King. Galandir grabbed an imaginary hanging rope with his left hand while he swung the wooden stick as a sword.

No matter how much he practiced his skills were never good enough for his parents. Galandir set the stick down and set about gathering breakfast as life returned to mundanity. Turkey eggs from the nest by the tree. Oats from the covered basket hanging to the left of the tree house door. A bit of salt from the jar below the basket. He added some water from his pitcher and combined the ingredients in the pan he kept hanging by the doorway to his hollow.

Cooking was the fun part. Galandir stretched the fingers in his left hand. He bent them backward with his right hand to ensure maximum flexibility for the magic to flow through. He snapped his fingers and said the magic words he’d practiced, “Kindieron.” The fire sparked from his left index finger. He kept it below the pan he held in his right hand to cook the food.

Each wizard had different magical words for their spells. They had to figure out how the world responded to their magic in their own way. The words felt simple enough to Galandir. You just kept trying new combinations of syllables while letting the magic flow. Once something close to what you wanted happened, you had the right word.

It was the hand gestures that Galandir found difficult. All the subtle different poses you could do with one of your hands. Nevermind using both of them! He’d found it easier to relax his mind and let his left hand do what it would. Maybe because his dominant hand was his right, the magic flowed easier through his left.

The eggs were done. Galandir flipped the pan over onto a plate and ate his breakfast. A simple but filling meal. The rest of Valor’s Forest was also simple to Galandir, but anything but filling. He yearned for something more. Something fulfilling. Something that could go down in history like what the Dragon War Heroes had accomplished. The elven community was all Galandir had known and despite its many pleasures, he found it’s peaceful nature boring. Heroes saved people from monsters and disaster. They didn’t help bring in the laundry from the clothes line.

Galandir sighed. He’d better get his chores done. That way he could enjoy the rest of his day. He brought in the clothes from the boring clothes line. He folded them and put away his own. His parents, he quietly left by their door. They would be up by now, but speaking to them risked additional chores. He scattered seeds and grain for the turkeys. As a reward for his progress Galandir nabbed a few raspberries from the bushes to the south and popped them into his mouth. A sweet luxury in the banal village.

Next was the moon lilies. Galandir walked to the garden by the stream. Birds were singing and other elves were awaking and going about their days. He gave a polite smile to those he knew. He looked for Tofion’s face, but didn’t see her.

At the moon lily garden Galandir took the glass pitcher. He placed it carefully under a flower. He tipped the flower over quickly, pouring the silvery liquid inside into the pitcher. He had to be fast or the moon lily silver would trickle down the stem and lose its magic. He repeated the process for the dozens of flowers in the garden, collecting the dew in the glass container. Moon lily silver kept its mana as long as it was contained in glass. He swirled the beautiful liquid around in the pitcher. It had an uneven color and a slight glow, like the surface of the moon itself.

Galandir poured the moon lily silver into several glass vials with small glass rings on the side. Each vial had a glass cork with a glass ring attached to the top. Galandir placed the corks in their vials and wrapped leather thongs through the rings to secure the corks in place. The buyer for these was in a human city except for two which were set aside for Altheria the smith. She’d be constructing a powerful suit of armor, no doubt. Galandir put two into a hay-lined wooden box for Altheria to pick up and the rest into another box for the latest elf on merchant duty.

With his chores done Galandir dusted his hands together in triumph. Now he could practice. He was so close last time, he could feel it. He returned home to grab his sword, but was ambushed by his father on the tree house porch above.

Caldigroth said, “Morning Galandir.”

“Good morning Dad.”

“Did you take care of your chores?”

“Of course I did.”

“Mmhmm. What are you doing the rest of today?”

“I’m going to practice.”

Galandir went into his room and took his sword. He could hear his father mutter upstairs, “Of course… Why do I bother asking?”

Galandir snatched his sword in its scabbard and ran to his practice spot.

Galandir’s practice spot was a burned section of the forest. An oxbow in the river had broken a few decades ago, leaving this region further from the water. A lightning strike had set the dry leaves alight one summer. The blaze hadn’t spread far as the rest of the forest was well-hydrated, but this little section of trees burned. New life was coming in, but the old trees remained as black sentinels. And as the perfect posts for Galandir to practice his cuts on without harming a living thing.

Galandir held his scabbard in front of him. He liked to look at it before starting his practice. A dark brown hickory, the sides were encased in bronze. The bronze was dyed with a forest green enamel. At the top more bronze in its natural color was inlaid to form a curling design. Between the two curls on either side were unicorns rearing.

Galandir pulled the sword from the scabbard. The blade was thin for the length, allowing it to flex back and forth. The core was strong though, made of elven folded steel. Galandir gripped the handle. The hilt was hickory covered in red leather made from giant eagles. The bird’s feather pattern gave it a unique strong grip texture. The cross guard was elven steel made to look like a wave coming from the hilt and curling back towards its origin. A thing of beauty. Galandir loved the work that Altheria had done. She was a good friend.

Galandir swung at the air a few times. The wonderful swoosh of metal through the air filled his ears. He set the sword down on a stump as he buckled the scabbard to his belt. He picked the sword back up again. Galandir said to himself, “Time to run the course.”

He took off from the starting spot. Racing over boulders, vaulting fallen trees, ducking under branches, and crawling through bushes, all while holding his sword in hand. He had to be ready at a moment’s notice if danger struck. Galandir ran the course three times before practice truly began.

He felt a monster approach. Hya! A strike with his sword sent its blood gushing forth. Another came forward, another strike against his imagined foe.

Galandir had practiced swordsmanship with instructors and other students. When the rangers were created fifty years ago, Galandir had attended the first classes along with the humans. Ranger classes were meant for humans being taught the fighting style of elves. As awful as the dragons had been, they had imposed a sort of peace on Cimmeria. Their absence led to all sorts of other nasty problems coming into the open. The rangers were the elves way of helping. Rather than fix all the humans’ problems for them, teach them how to help themselves.

One hundred humans came into Valor’s Forest to learn the techniques the first year. They learned all sorts of elven knowledge. How to cast nature spells to repair any damage to the environment from a monster’s ravaging. How to track and sense their prey. How to fire a bow and how to care for one. How to work with the plants and animals of the land to survive. And how to fight with not just one, but two swords.

The two swords had tripped up Galandir fiercely. One sword was hard enough, but two? He’d thought it was his age at first. He was only 59 at the time. An elf that young can rarely learn something with ease his first time. He took the course another year and still failed to wield two swords at once.

Galandir tried for many years on his own. He’d practice as he was now, but with two swords. Over and over again, but they were never unified. It was always his left or his right hand, never both. And trying both just had the swords get in the way of each other. A hopeless battle that he’d abandoned.

Now he was trying something fresh. One sword and a free hand. Others did so for balance, but Galandir had other plans. His right sword held the sword and his left hand held the magic.

At least that was the plan. He’d still felt the same problem as with two swords. How to use both at the same time instead of switching between the two. Switching interrupted Galandir’s flow. An interrupted flow could be deadly in a real fight. If his concentration broke for a second, he could be killed like a piglet in a giant eagle nest.