The Elven Art of Falling Gracelessly

Chapter 5: An Unwelcome Interruption

"Stay down! And for the love of the gods, stop breathing so loudly!" Aelith hissed, her voice a sharp contrast to the whistling of another bolt passing inches above their heads.

"I’m trying, but my lungs are having a disagreement with the rest of my body!" Eryndor gasped, pressed flat into the damp moss. "Also, you’re currently using my ribcage as a shield! Which, honestly, I get, but it’s not helping the breathing situation!"

Aelith didn't answer. She rolled off him with a fluidity that made his head spin, her dual blades clearing their sheaths with a double shring that sounded like ice cracking. "On my mark, we run toward the ravine. If we stay here, they'll pin us down like target practice."

"The ravine? The one with the rocks? And the steep drop? Aelith, have we met? I struggle with flat hallways!"

"Run, Eryndor! Now!"

He didn't need a second invitation. He scrambled up, his long ceremonial robes catching on a nearby root immediately. He jerked forward with a pathetic squawk, the sound of fabric tearing echoing through the silent grove.

"My pants! I think I just lost a leg's worth of dignity!" he yelled, sprinting after her.

"Keep your head down!" she shouted back, not looking behind her.

"It is down! I’m basically running in a crouch! I look like an oversized goblin!"

They charged into the deep brush, the branches of the ancient trees whipping against their faces. Behind them, the rhythmic thud of boots suggested the cloaked figures weren't giving up. Eryndor could feel the heat of his own panic rising, his pulse a frantic drummer in his ears.

"Left! Go left!" Aelith commanded, veering toward a dense thicket of shadows.

"Why left? Left feels like a bad choice! Left feels like—"

Before he could finish his complaint, his left foot hit a rotted log hidden under a layer of deceptive leaves. It wasn't a dignified slip. It was a full-scale, momentum-driven disaster. He let out a loud "Whoop!" before his shins connected with the wood, sending him into a spectacular, face-first slide across the forest floor.

"Eryndor!" Aelith skidded to a halt, reaching out to grab him.

"I'm fine! I'm just… checking the quality of the dirt!" he groaned, his face buried in the mulch.

"Get up, you idiot! We don't have time to—" She stopped mid-sentence. Her eyes traveled from Eryndor’s prone body to the space six inches above where his neck would have been if he were still standing.

A thin, almost invisible strand of silver wire was stretched tight between two oaks, glimmering faintly in the moonlight. If they had continued their stride, the wire would have caught them at throat level.

"Wait… is that a garrote?" Eryndor asked, lifting his muddy head.

"You tripped," Aelith whispered, her grip tightening on her blades.

"I did. It’s what I do. It’s my primary skill set."

"No, Eryndor. You tripped and saved us from being decapitated. That wire… it’s Southern-make. High tension. It would have ended us both."

Eryndor stared at the wire, then back at his mud-covered hands. "So, let me get this straight. My clumsiness has officially graduated from 'annoying' to 'lifesaving'?"

"Don't let it go to your head," she snapped, though her chest was heaving. "We aren't clear yet. They’re closing in. They'll expect us to go around the trap."

"Then we don't go around," Eryndor said, a strange light flickering in his eyes. "We go where they’d never expect. Remember that koi pond logic?"

Aelith looked at him, confused. "What logic?"

"The logic where I tumble into the worst possible spot because the terrain is stupid. Follow me. I know this part of the marsh. I fell into a hole near here last Tuesday while I was looking for a cool stick."

"You were looking for a… never mind. Lead the way, Disaster Master."

Eryndor took off, zig-zagging through the trees with a chaotic energy that defied all elven standards of grace. He was stumbling, hopping, and occasionally sliding on his rear, but he was moving with a weird, erratic speed. Aelith followed, her precision matching his entropy.

Suddenly, Eryndor veered hard toward a cluster of boulders that looked entirely impassable. "Here! Aim for the gap between the rocks!"

"There is no gap, Eryndor!"

"Just trust me! I've been in there! It’s deeper than it looks!"

He threw himself toward the crevice. Aelith, having no other choice, dove after him. They tumbled through a hidden opening, sliding down a smooth stone chute that deposited them into a natural grotto behind the ridge.

Seconds later, the sound of heavy boots skidded to a halt directly above them.

"Where are they?" a gruff voice growled from the rocks above. "I saw the tall one dive. They couldn't have just vanished."

"The girl is fast, but the boy is a mess," another voice hissed. "He probably fell into a ravine. Find them. If we don't bring back proof that the ceremony training was disrupted, Lethielle will have our heads."

Inside the dark grotto, Eryndor felt Aelith stiffen next to him. Her shoulder was pressed against his chest in the tight space, her warmth radiating through his torn silk.

"Lethielle," Eryndor whispered, the word tasting like copper in his mouth. "She actually hired people to kill us? Just because I’m a joke?"

Aelith’s voice was like a knife-edge. "Not to kill you, perhaps. But to 'disrupt.' To make sure you—and by extension, I—look like failures. But mercenaries don't care about subtle margins. They use arrows and garrotes."

"I thought she just hated my choice in forks," Eryndor muttered, leaning his head back against the cold stone. "I didn't think I was 'hit-man' levels of important."

"You aren't," Aelith whispered, her hand finding his in the dark. It wasn't a romantic gesture; it was a firm, steadying squeeze. "But I am. And by training you, I’m vulnerable. She knows that."

"She's about to know what a 'kinetic anomaly' really looks like," Eryndor said, his voice dropping an octave. "They're right above the overhang, aren't they?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Because that overhang is held up by a very precarious collection of loose gravel and prayer. I know this because I almost knocked it down while sneezing earlier this morning."

Aelith looked at him, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across her lips. "Eryndor Silvaris. Are you suggesting we use your legendary lack of spatial awareness as a weapon?"

"I’m suggesting I kick that support rock really hard."

"On three?"

"On three."

They worked together in a hushed flurry. Aelith braced her shoulder against him for leverage. Eryndor positioned his boot—the one without the tear—against the key stone.

"One," Aelith counted.

"Two," he breathed.

"Three!"

Eryndor kicked with every ounce of frustration, embarrassment, and pond-water-fuelled spite he possessed. The rock groaned. Then, with a roar of sliding earth and grinding stone, the upper shelf of the grotto's entrance gave way.

The mercenaries above let out screams of surprise as the ground literally vanished beneath them. A miniature landslide swept them into the lower gulley, burying them waist-deep in loose silt and pebbles.

Aelith was out of the crevice before the dust even settled. She moved like a lightning strike, her blades held at the throat of the lead mercenary before he could even shake the dirt from his eyes.

"Don't move," she said, her voice echoing with the authority of the Silver Marsh nobility. "Unless you'd like to see if I’m as clumsy as my student."

Eryndor waddled out after her, trying to maintain some semblance of cool despite the leaves in his hair. "Yeah! What she said! Also, you guys are terrible at your jobs! I’ve been making noise for twenty minutes and you still missed!"

The mercenary looked up, terrified. "Wait! We were just hired to scare you! We didn't know it was going to be an avalanche!"

"Aelith, check his pouch," Eryndor suggested, folding his arms. "They mentioned proof."

Aelith reached down, her eyes never leaving the mercenary’s face, and plucked a small leather roll from his belt. She flipped it open, revealing a piece of heavy parchment covered in a series of complex, swirling symbols.

"It’s an enciphered code," she said, her brow furrowing. "I can only read part of it."

"What’s it say?" Eryndor asked, leaning over her shoulder.

"It mentions targets," she whispered. "And a date. 'The Great Eclipse Ceremony.' They aren't just here to mess with our training, Eryndor. This is bigger than Lethielle’s pettiness."

"The Eclipse is only two weeks away," Eryndor said, his levity finally draining away. "That’s the most sacred event in the city. Everyone will be there. The King, the Elders… everyone."

Aelith tucked the cipher into her tunic and looked at him. Truly looked at him. The moonlight made her silver eyes seem almost luminous. "They're planning something. And we're the only ones who know."

"Great," Eryndor sighed, plucking a final twig from his collar. "So, let me recap. I’m a fashion disaster, I have the balance of a drunk goat, and now I’m the primary witness in a state-level conspiracy?"

"It seems so," she said.

"Do I get a promotion?"

"You get to walk home without falling into the ravine," she said, though she didn't pull her hand away when he accidentally brushed against her. "And maybe, just maybe, I’ll tell you that your trip-and-slide earlier was the most graceful thing I've ever seen."

"High praise!" Eryndor grinned. "Now, can we go back to the palace? I’m fairly sure there’s a thorn in my left buttock that needs immediate medical attention."

"Walk, Eryndor," she laughed softly, steering him toward the path. "Just walk."