Chapter 1

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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.

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