Part 2 (2/2)
”Ah,” said Edric, nodding. ”An excellent choice. I have not sung that one in quite a while.”
”You still recall it?”
”How could I not? I am an elf,” he said with a smile as his long fingers delicately plucked the harp. Cricket sat back in her chair and closed her eyes, and Edric began to sing, reciting the words with a measured cadence in a deep, mellifluent voice.
”And so it came to pa.s.s that the n.o.ble Alaron, last of the long and honored line of elven kings, was cursed by the evil Rajaat, who feared the power of the elves and sought to sow disunity among them. With his defiler magic, Rajaat cast a spell upon the n.o.ble Alaron, so that he could sire no sons, and so the royal line would die out with him. And the evil that he wrought upon our people is with us to this day. May his name live long in infamy.”
”May his name live long in infamy,” Cricket repeated softly, as was the custom when the song was performed around the elven campfires in the desert. Edric smiled and continued.
”Rajaat then sowed discord among the tribes, using bribery, deceit, and magic, and in time, he succeeded in driving the tribes apart into many warring factions. Only the n.o.ble Alaron resisted him, but he was unable to bring the tribes together once again.
”And so the kingdom fell.”
”And so the kingdom fell,” said Cricket, nodding with her eyes still closed. And Edric went on.
”Then the n.o.ble Alaron was forced to flee, pursued by Rajaat's evil minions. They caught up to him and the remnants of his tribe at a place called the Lake of Golden Dreams, and it was there the dream died for our people. A mighty battle followed, and all the tribe was slain. Mortally wounded, the n.o.ble Alaron alone escaped into the forests of the Ringing Mountains.
”There, he fell down in despair and waited for death to come claim him. He had done his utmost, and he had failed, but he had not bowed down to the foe. May his courage be remembered.”
”May his courage be remembered,” Cricket echoed with feeling. Edric nodded, plucking out the notes of the refrain, and then went on.
”And it came to pa.s.s that as he lay dying, a wandering pyreen came upon him and stopped to bring him peace and ease his final moments. With his last breath, the n.o.ble Alaron gave her his sword, the mighty Galdra, enchanted blade of elven kings. With his last breath, he asked one final boon of her.
”'Take this, my sword, the symbol of my once-proud people,' he said to her. 'Keep it safe, so that it should never fall into the hands of the defilers, for the blade would shatter if they tried to use it. I was cursed never to have a son,' he said, 'and a proud tradition dies with me. The elves are now a beaten people. Take Galdra and keep it safe. My life is but the blink of an eye to a pyreen such as you. Perhaps, someday, you will succeed where I have failed, and find an elf worthy of this blade. If not, hide it from the defilers. I can at least deny them this.'
”And with those words, he died. And so the kingdom of the elves died with him.”
”And so the kingdom of the elves died with him,” Cricket repeated, her voice tinged with sadness. Edric's fingers plucked out a dirge of soft chords as he continued.
”And our people became decadent, and the tribes scattered far and wide, most to live as nomads in the desert, raiding and stealing from both humans and each other, forsaking their honor. Others went to live in the cities of humans, where they engaged in commerce with them and mixed their blood with theirs and forgot the glory of their once-proud race.
”And yet, a tiny spark of hope remained, nurtured in the hearts of our people. That faintly glowing spark was the legend of the Crown of Elves, pa.s.sed on through the generations. To most, it was merely a myth, a story told by elven bards around campfires to while away lonely desert nights and bring a few moments of solace in the squalid elven quarters of the cities, where our people lived in poverty and degradation. But to all, it was a glimmer of hope. And thus we recall the legend.”
”And thus we recall the legend,” Cricket said softly. They were both caught up in spirit of the song, and the noise from the main room seemed to recede into the distance as Edric played and sang.
”There shall come a day, the legend says, when a chieftain's seventh son shall fall and rise again, and from his rise, a new life shall begin. From this new life will spring a new hope for our people, and it shall be the Crown of Elves, by which a great, good ruler will be crowned, one who will bring back the elven forest homeland. The Crown shall reunite the people, and a new dawn shall bring the greening of the world. ”So it is said, so it shall be.”
”So it is said, so it shall be,” Cricket echoed, her eyes s.h.i.+ning. Edric plucked out the final chords, took a deep breath, and exhaled heavily, then put down his harp. For a moment, they simply sat in silence.
”Thank you,” Cricket said finally, her voice barely a whisper.
”No, thank you you,” said Edric. ”It has been too long since I have sung that song. And it is good to have another share it.”
”Even a half-elf?” Cricket said, somewhat rueful.
Edric reached out and placed his hand on her knee. She allowed the contact, for she knew it meant merely friends.h.i.+p. ”The same elven blood flows through both our veins, my dear.”
”Only yours is pure, while mine is mixed.”
”Perhaps, but yours is no less red than mine,” said Edric with a smile, giving her knee a rea.s.suring pat before removing his hand. ”And in a place like this, what do bloodlines matter?”
”In a place like this, perhaps they don't,” Cricket replied with a shrug of resignation. ”But there are places where they do matter very much.”
”Was it your father who was human, or your mother?” Edric asked.
”My father.”
”Ah, so your mother was tribal, then.”
”Yes, how did you know?”
”It took no great powers of deduction,” Edric said. ”In cities, elves are less clannish, and those of mixed blood are not uncommon, whereas in desert-dwelling tribes, such things are not easily accepted.”
”No,” she said, softly, ”they are not.”
”And do your parents still live?”
”My mother died five years ago, old before her time from laboring as a scullery maid in a tavern owned by humans. I never knew my father.”
Edric nodded. ”Regrettably, such things are not uncommon these days, either.”
”Were you ever tribal?”
”Once, many years ago, but that was in another lifetime,” he replied.
”Why did you leave?”
He shrugged. ”I fell in love.”
”Ah.” She smiled. ”With an elf girl from the city? A half-elf woman, perhaps?”
”Worse than that, I fear,” he said, smiling. ”With a human man.”
”Oh,” said Cricket, with surprise. And then she chuckled.
Edric raised his eyebrows. ”That amuses you?”
”No, forgive me,” she said. ”You misunderstand. That was not the reason I laughed.”
”Then, pray, enlighten me.”
”It's only that Rikka will be crushed,” said Cricket. ”She has had her eye on you, in case you hadn't noticed.”
”Rikka is the tall one, with the dark hair and the large...?” Edric pantomimed the features.
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