“How may I help you?” she asked in a kindly tone as Kestrel walked towards her. He hadn’t thought of her as pretty when he had first seen her, but since she smiled he couldn’t help but see her as an attractive woman, one who might be about the age of his own mother if she had lived longer.
“I have a message tube to deliver to Commander Cosima,” Kestrel replied.
“He’s over at the armory; why don’t you take it over there to him?” the assistant suggested.
“I could do that,” Kestrel agreed, somewhat at a loss. The security at Firheng was much more relaxed than it had been at Center Trunk, but then, he reflected, security at Elmheng had been non-existent as well.
“The armory is against the west wall of the post,” the assistant reported, seeing the look of confusion on Kestrel’s face.
“Gion,” she called towards the doorway. The guard looked in at her. “Would you guide this messenger over to the armory so he can deliver his message to Cos?” she asked sweetly.
“Belinda, I’ll do it for you, if you think you’ll be safe here without a guard,” he laughed, and she laughed with him.
“Come on messenger,” Gion motioned towards Kestrel.
Kestrel looked towards Belinda. “Thank you,” he said, heading towards the door.
“You can leave your things here if you don’t want to carry them. I’ll keep an eye on them until you get back,” she advised him.
Kestrel unconsciously gave a sigh of relief, then shrugged out of his backpack, and left his bow and arrows as well, waved thanks, then trotted out the door to find and follow his guide.
“Looks like you’re going to fit in,” Gion said conversationally as they left the building and turned right.
Kestrel looked at him inquisitively.
“Well, Belinda gave you the seal of approval, said she’d watch your things for you. Cosima will do whatever she tells him to; whether he knows it or not — she runs this place, you know,” Gion explained. “So if you want something, just let Belinda know, and she’ll take care of it for you.”
They continued to walk through the camp, about the size of Elmheng’s, and reached the armory after only a few minutes. “There’s the commander,” Gion pointed across the room, where several pairs of guards were practicing using large combat staffs to battle one another.
Having completed his assignment, Gion left Kestrel at the armory so that he could return to his guard post, and Kestrel stood by the door alone, watching the swift movements of the poles that the combatants poked, swung, and levered at one another as they practiced their weapon work. Kestrel had never seen staffs used in combat before, and he found the work being done fascinating, as the blurred movements produced clacking noises and furtive motions.
“You, come over here,” one slender staff wielder called as he pointed his pole at Kestrel.
“I’m here to see Commander Casimo,” Kestrel explained, as he stopped at a safe distance from the contests on the practice pads.
“I’m Casimo,” the slender man said, stepping off the pads towards, Kestrel, then holding his hand out.
Kestrel started to place his message tube in the man’s hand, but Casimo slapped it away. “No, no, you can surely shake hands hello first,” he laughed. Kestrel hesitantly stuck his free hand at the man, and felt a hearty shake and a firm grip.
“Very good! Now, give me the message tube, then take my staff and get out there to start practicing,” the commander shocked Kestrel by telling him, holding his staff out towards the newly arrived messenger.
Kestrel cautiously took the staff as Casimo twisted the tube open and began to walk over towards a window as he pulled the paper from the tube. Kestrel looked at the practice mats, where a partner awaited him while other pairs continued to whack and clack their staves against one another’s weapons.
He approached the elf who was awaiting him, but he no sooner got within range than the end of the other elf’s staff poked out at his feet and tripped him up, so that he landed on his back.
“Come on,” his putative partner said, extending a hand to help him up. “That was just for fun; I couldn’t resist.” Kestrel grasped the extended hand and felt himself lifted upright.
“I’m Arlen,” the elf told Kestrel, who examined the man as he held his hand. Arlen looked at least ten years older than Kestrel, and was built stout and solid. His eyes were purple, and Kestrel stopped looking at anything else or thinking about anything else as he stared at the extraordinary color of Arlen’s irises.
“You’ve not seen anything like these before, I take it?” Arlen asked as they released each other’s hands.
“No, never,” Kestrel affirmed.
“You’ve never been up north here, or over near the Water Mountains?” Arlen checked.
“Never,” Kestrel agreed again.
“Not many southerners do come up to our part of the kingdom, though of course we seldom leave it to come down south — why should we when we’ve got the best part of the forest to live in, eh?” Arlen said. “Now, are you ready?” He took a stance that looked dangerous to Kestrel.
“I’ve never used one of these before,” Kestrel spoke hastily, holding the staff uncertainly before him.
“I can see that,” Arlen laughed. “Why don’t you go over there?” he pointed with his staff, “and put on some padding.
“You’re going to need it.”
Kestrel strapped on the padding with those ominous words ringing in his ears, then returned to the practice mat. He glanced over and saw Casimo still standing in the light of the window, reading Silvan’s message. With a sigh he took a defensive position, and spent most of the next hour getting knocked down, over and over again.
“That’s enough for today,” Arlen said at last, music to Kestrel’s ears.
“I’ll be sore tomorrow,” Kestrel said as he started to unstrap his pads.
“Not as sore as you think,” Arlen commented. “I never actually hit you hard. That was part of today’s lesson — it only took gentle taps in the right places to knock you down. You’ll learn how to do that yourself — how to leverage the impact of your blows to get the biggest impact for your effort.”
“Come with me Kestrel,” Casimo called from the doorway, “after you put your equipment away.”
Kestrel obediently went to the racks where he hung up the pads, and returned the practice staff to a slot on the wall, as others continued to energetically practice their skills with the simple wooden poles.
“See you tomorrow Kestrel,” Arlen said cheerily as Kestrel walked out the door with Casimo. Kestrel waved uncertainly and then fell in step besides the commander.
“Have you ever been to Firheng before?” Casimo asked as they began to walk.
“Never, sir,” Kestrel replied.
“I’ve been to Elmheng a time or two — that’s where you’re from, isn’t it?” the commander asked.
“Yes sir. I was only in Center Trunk for a day before I came here. The rest of the time I lived in Elmheng,” Kestrel affirmed.
“We don’t get many trainees from Elmheng, none at all in the past years that I can recollect. Isn’t that odd?” Casimo mused. “It’s practically as close to human territory as we are; you’d think the two would produce the same number of recruits.”
“This is our headquarters, as you know,” Casimo explained as they began to climb the steps of the building Kestrel had visited before. “Belinda will get you settled into quarters and arrange for meal chits. You’re welcome to leave the base anytime you’re not engaged in activities,” he said.
“You’ve already met our new member, I take it?” the commander said to Belinda as they entered her office, and stopped in front of her desk.
“Yes, and he seems like he’s going to be a delightful boy to work with,” she replied, giving another of the dazzling smiles that Kestrel found so enticing.
“So you’ve already sweet-talked Belinda and swept her off her feet, have you?” Casimo turned to Kestrel. “That was excellent tactical judgment. You’re going to be a success, I can tell. Come on in and we’ll talk a little bit, then you can flirt with Belinda and get your plum housing assignment arranged.”
The two elves walked into the office behind Belinda, through the door she guarded, as she smiled and winked in a friendly manner at Kestrel, as if to let him know that Casimo’s sense of humor was nothing to worry about.
Kestrel took a seat, wondering what the threads of the afternoon were going to tangle him up in, suddenly
