Unintentional Traitor

The ritual began as it did every night, doors locked swiftly behind their entering shadows, a warding spell placed around the edges, meant to erase their sound from the outside world. No one was meant to know that they were here, clashing against each other, one learning from the master. She had come used to watching her father chant the simple words around the room as he placed a spell of silence so that her mother would never learn what her father dared teach her. It was a nightly ritual that she had come to love, as when the ward was placed and they changed to speaking with their hands and weapons instead of their words, she finally could become the person she actually was.   Their hands moved fluidly as they spoke with Silver Sign, the silent language of their people. This was just another precaution, something to make sure that no one would ever hear them. Some in House Baenre knew that she was training with her father, but no one knew to what extent. He was training her like he would train his sons, her talent was in weaponry, not in magic like a noble female Silver Elf should have. She had no great capabilities for casting or utilizing the innate magic that all of her people should have. Instead, she chose to learn the blade, becoming her father's shadow.    With introductions and pleasantries from the day finished, they drew their weapons, stepping into the stances that began their perfect dance. Practiced movements made their steps look like an intricate dance, two bodies in perfect harmony. It was as if two predators were stalking each other, watching for an opening so they could strike, but this dance was practiced, measured with years of experience that spoke volumes. Neither would make the first move and expose themselves to a sharp blade, opening up a barrage that would throw someone off balance. The circling would last for minutes, for hours, but neither would tire, constantly vigilant against whatever movements the other makes.   When the two blades finally met, there was silence as sparks flew through the darkness. In the absolute darkness and quiet of the room, the actual battle, blade against blade, was beautiful and deadly, a perfect visage of what she had always wanted to be. The rush of the fight flowed through her, clearing her mind of the anger and sadness that often filled her during her waking hours. Her anger at a woman who forced her into a mold that she never wished to be part of, a woman who she thought was to blame for the disappearance of a brother she could barely remember. Her sadness at only being able to be herself in the darkness of the dead of night, training in sporadic stretches with her father. These stolen hours were her only reprieve in a world run by her mother. This fleeting time with her father was the only love and kindness she knew.   The battle continued, their movements slowing as strength changed to technique. After hours having fought through their intricate dance, arms become heavy, swords weigh down like the weight of sadness on a heart. When their arms begin to hurt, they move towards perfect techniques, swords crossing at defined angles, proper parries completed through the entire sweep. Her father tires more quickly, his age showing on his face as they continue. Eventually, she is able to make the final sweep, knocking his blade from his hand and bringing the tip of hers to his throat.   "You've done well little one."   His words surprised her. Instead of using the silent language, he spoke as he delicately pushed the blade away from him. She allowed herself a true smile, a rare sight that only her father had ever seen.   "I was taught by the best."   He only nodded as he led them to the side of the room to return their weapons to their homes and have a seat as they spoke. As he sat, he patted the spot beside him, allowing himself to sink into the feelings of love and fatherly pride for his youngest daughter.   "I think our time here has come to an end. There is little else I can teach you."   The look of disbelief on her face was instant. She almost cried out in anger, telling him that this couldn't be the end. But time with her mother had taught her not to speak out against the elders, to never speak out of turn. She hung her head and nodded, allowing her fate to take another spot of happiness from her.   "You are far better than the position you have here. It is time for you to find your own fate, outside of the caverns here."   Neither looked at each other as he spoke. She was confused, what did he mean about a fate outside of the city? That was impossible, she would never be released from her mother's grasp.   "I know you are troubled here, a heart full of anger and sadness. I cannot just sit by and watch as you become another like your mother. You must leave, Miz'ri, you must leave the Below."   She turned to him, confusion growing as he spoke. He knew the impossibility of his words as much as she did. Why did he say such things when they could never become a reality?   He stood, moving in front of her to look into her eyes. With quick movements of his hands, he formed a glowing symbol, one she had seen many times done by others in the other noble houses of the city. This was the symbol of a title being passed on, something that could never be changed or reversed once given. While shock filled her for a moment, it was quickly replaced with a twisted pride, the feeling of taking something away from her hateful mother.   "Miz'ri Baenre, in light of your completed training, I name you the next Weapons Master of House Baenre."   With a light touch to the shoulder, she knew the magic took effect. She was granted a title that only ever went to the first son of a noble house. Her brother would be far from pleased, but her mother...there would be no escaping her wrath.   "I have given you all I have little one. Take Callimar and leave this place. Go to the surface and make a name for yourself that is not blighted by the blood that your mother has spilled. Become the warrior you are meant to be."   He embraced her, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before drawing away to shove a sword and a bag into her hands. With a nod, she left, sneaking through the back entrance of her home to where her lizard, Callimar was waiting. She wasn't quite sure where she would go, but she knew that she would no longer be welcome in Eryndlyn, or much of the Below for that matter. What her father had done would label her as nothing more than a traitor, one who had turned her back on her House and her matron.   As she climbed on Callimar and turned towards the tunnels that would lead her away from her home, she worried about her father and how he would be punished. She knew that he was the only one who could handle her mother, even during her worst times. Her brothers were another thing, one would be angry that she had taken his title, his birthright, the other may not even realize that she had left. She wasn't sure that if she ever was able to return to the Below again that her father would still be here, but it was a chance that he trusted everything on, so she had to go.   The cool air of the tunnels calmed some of her fears as she left the dim lights of the city for the dank darkness of the tunnels. She had been out here a few times before, helping her brothers and father on hunts, but those were often few and far between as Matron Zilvra tried to bend her wild daughter into the mold of high priestess that all other women in the family had fulfilled. The difference was that Miz had little to no aptitude for magic and chose not to waste her time on something that would never come. Instead, she picked up the blade and, with the help of her father, became adept, enough so that she had attended a few classes at the academy in the city, but not more than her mother would allow.   In honesty, this was her first-ever foray into the tunnels alone, with little but what her father had packed for her. There hadn't been time to delve into the pack before she fled. She knew that as soon as the spell was cast, her mother would know, that her father had betrayed his sons, that her youngest daughter had broken every rule ever given to her. Her mother would know that her daughter had fled, giving herself the title of traitor, something that would tarnish the name of House Baenre. Miz cared little, but her mother would try everything to remove that blight from her house's name.   It was easy to get tied up in one's own thoughts as the tunnels stretched on. She allowed Callimar to lead as the lizard seemed to know what was in her heart and where exactly they needed to go to find safety. Once they reached the entrance to the Great Tunnel, then she would have to decide what to do, or even, where to go. She had ideas in mind, but she wasn't sure how well these plans would work. She knew people on the surface, but it wasn't simple to essentially take in a fugitive of a Silver Elf house. She didn't think she deserved that level of kindness, but she had to try.   As Callimar continued, old memories surfaced, of an Elven girl and her grandfather, garbbed in soft leathers, wielding large bows and axes, unlike anything Miz had ever seen in her homeland. The Silver Elves preferred simple and smaller weapons, things that were silent against the backdrop of the night. The two surface-dwellers that had come to visit her parents did not believe in the same thing, did not fight in the same way. That alone drew her attention, surging her curiosity of the girl who was not much older than herself.   The Llanowens were odd, even by Káto standards. Barbarians from the Spine of Kallex drew everyone's interest, not just Miz's, but the two girls somehow came together while the elders discussed business. Two girls from such different worlds but were so similar in many ways. For days, the two spoke of their homes and told stories while the elders spoke in the adjacent room. For both of them, this experience was new, showing them an entirely new world that just a week ago they never knew existed.    If she could, Miz had planned to find the Llanowens and make her case. She had hoped the friend she had made decades ago hidden amongst the statues in her home would remember her and still feel that deep friendship they had kindled. Miz hoped that the girl named Khalsinn hadn't grown up too much from that time and that the stories told by little girls were enough to save her from the traitor's life that she had been given.