Read Online The Witch's Daughter by R. A. Salvatore - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: R. A. Salvatore
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birthing, with the tiny girl who would never see the world beyond the womb.
“Are you all right?” came a voice that shook Meriwindle from his memories. He turned to find Bryan, now a fine young lad of fifteen years, standing in the doorway to the little kitchen.
“Yes, yes.” Meriwindle brushed away his son’s concern, and sniffed away a final thought of Deneen and the unnamed baby girl.
Bryan took a moment to consider his father’s position in front of the window, and the view such a seat gave to him, and he understood. “Thinking of Mother?”
“Always,” Meriwindle replied, and Bryan did not doubt that his father spoke the truth. A sadness touched the corners of the elf’s gray eyes, a sadness that would endure through the centuries.
“Are you still planning to go?” Meriwindle asked, needing to change the subject.
“Yes,” Bryan replied, but he quickly added, “unless you would like me to stay. I can change my plans. The others would understand.”
He would do that for me, Meriwindle thought, and without regret. What a fine young man his son was growing into! “No,” he said to Bryan. “I gave you my word, and you certainly did more than your fair share of the spring planting. But all of the work is done now, and summer nears its high point. As we agreed, you may go.”
Bryan’s face lit up. He would indeed have remained beside his father without complaint if he believed that Meri-windle needed him. But he was thrilled to be going. He and his friends had been planning this expedition for the whole winter.
“But …” Meriwindle said, stealing a bit of the smile. The elf paused for a long, teasing moment. “You must take this.” He spun and tossed sword and scabbard to Bryan.
Bryan’s eyes popped wide at the gift. So long he had admired the crafted blade hanging over the mantel in the sitting room. His father had trained him in the use of a sword—all fathers taught their children in this land, so close to the wilds of the Baerendel Mountains—but never had this blade been used in those practice sessions. It was a family heirloom, a magical blade from the elven valley, the sword Meriwindle had wielded during the Battle of Mountaingate, when he had fought beside Arien Silverleaf himself.
Bryan slid the slender blade out to feel the perfection ofits balance and to witness the soft glow of blue light that held the magic of the fine edge.
“The Baerendels are a wild place,” Meriwindle explained. “It is best to be prepared.”
“I fear I might break it,” said Bryan, so obviously overwhelmed, his hands trembling.
“I have trained you myself,” Meriwindle reminded the lad. “And your talents exceed any I have ever seen of your age and experience. Few understand the dance of the blade as well as you, my son. And that sword is elven make, hardened by the magical fires of the Silver Mage and far stronger than its slender size would lead you to believe. No, you’ll not break it, nor will you break the armor and shield.”
“Armor and shield?” Bryan could hardly speak the words.
“Of course,” answered his father. “If you wish to act the part of an elven warrior, then you must look the part of an elven warrior.”
Bryan mocked a quick inspection of himself. “But I am not true elven,” he said skeptically. “Half my blood is human.”
“So it is,” muttered Meriwindle, but the disappointment in his tone was feigned, and Bryan knew it. If Bryan was an example of the offspring of elf and human joined, then more would be wise to consider the formula. He was possessed of the best of both worlds, slender and handsome as an elven lad, yet with the hardened muscles and strength more common to the humans.
“You decline the gifts, then?”
“Oh no!” Bryan cried, hoping his father would not rescind his offer. “Truly I will wear them as best I may. Truly—”
Meriwindle stopped him with an outstretched hand. “No need to plead your case, my son,” he assured the
“Are you all right?” came a voice that shook Meriwindle from his memories. He turned to find Bryan, now a fine young lad of fifteen years, standing in the doorway to the little kitchen.
“Yes, yes.” Meriwindle brushed away his son’s concern, and sniffed away a final thought of Deneen and the unnamed baby girl.
Bryan took a moment to consider his father’s position in front of the window, and the view such a seat gave to him, and he understood. “Thinking of Mother?”
“Always,” Meriwindle replied, and Bryan did not doubt that his father spoke the truth. A sadness touched the corners of the elf’s gray eyes, a sadness that would endure through the centuries.
“Are you still planning to go?” Meriwindle asked, needing to change the subject.
“Yes,” Bryan replied, but he quickly added, “unless you would like me to stay. I can change my plans. The others would understand.”
He would do that for me, Meriwindle thought, and without regret. What a fine young man his son was growing into! “No,” he said to Bryan. “I gave you my word, and you certainly did more than your fair share of the spring planting. But all of the work is done now, and summer nears its high point. As we agreed, you may go.”
Bryan’s face lit up. He would indeed have remained beside his father without complaint if he believed that Meri-windle needed him. But he was thrilled to be going. He and his friends had been planning this expedition for the whole winter.
“But …” Meriwindle said, stealing a bit of the smile. The elf paused for a long, teasing moment. “You must take this.” He spun and tossed sword and scabbard to Bryan.
Bryan’s eyes popped wide at the gift. So long he had admired the crafted blade hanging over the mantel in the sitting room. His father had trained him in the use of a sword—all fathers taught their children in this land, so close to the wilds of the Baerendel Mountains—but never had this blade been used in those practice sessions. It was a family heirloom, a magical blade from the elven valley, the sword Meriwindle had wielded during the Battle of Mountaingate, when he had fought beside Arien Silverleaf himself.
Bryan slid the slender blade out to feel the perfection ofits balance and to witness the soft glow of blue light that held the magic of the fine edge.
“The Baerendels are a wild place,” Meriwindle explained. “It is best to be prepared.”
“I fear I might break it,” said Bryan, so obviously overwhelmed, his hands trembling.
“I have trained you myself,” Meriwindle reminded the lad. “And your talents exceed any I have ever seen of your age and experience. Few understand the dance of the blade as well as you, my son. And that sword is elven make, hardened by the magical fires of the Silver Mage and far stronger than its slender size would lead you to believe. No, you’ll not break it, nor will you break the armor and shield.”
“Armor and shield?” Bryan could hardly speak the words.
“Of course,” answered his father. “If you wish to act the part of an elven warrior, then you must look the part of an elven warrior.”
Bryan mocked a quick inspection of himself. “But I am not true elven,” he said skeptically. “Half my blood is human.”
“So it is,” muttered Meriwindle, but the disappointment in his tone was feigned, and Bryan knew it. If Bryan was an example of the offspring of elf and human joined, then more would be wise to consider the formula. He was possessed of the best of both worlds, slender and handsome as an elven lad, yet with the hardened muscles and strength more common to the humans.
“You decline the gifts, then?”
“Oh no!” Bryan cried, hoping his father would not rescind his offer. “Truly I will wear them as best I may. Truly—”
Meriwindle stopped him with an outstretched hand. “No need to plead your case, my son,” he assured the
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