Chapter 1

Silver Wings

(13466 AC)

The day was like any other day in the forest of Prezel Vale, sunny with just enough light penetrating the dense forest cover to dimly light the fertile ground. The forest creatures were going about doing everything they always did, gathering food, tending to the little ones, and living what many consider a simple life.

Avarion Windseeker, however, was not a forest creature, though he shared the space with them. He lived with the elves of Prezel Vale, an elven city east from the grove in which he passed time. Looking around at the forest dwellers relaxed him, taking in the beauty that never seemed to dull. The crystal-clear stream that ran through the grove beckoned many of the nearby creatures to it, who drank from the stream quite often, Avarion thought to himself.

Surrounding the grove grew some of the most beautiful oaks that he had ever laid eyes on, to include those of Prezel Vale itself. Growing naturally straight up to the forest canopy above, Avarion smiled wide, hoping that this moment in solitude would never end. He knew better, but it was the long lived blood within him that forced him to move on. There would be more days, for centuries to come.

"I must be going, friends. I promise to come back later," he told the critters at the stream. He knew they didn't understand, but he didn't care. They numbered among those who would come and spend time with him, even if they didn't know it.

Avarion stood from his comfortable perch, which was the trunk of the largest tree in the grove. He stretched his arms, his legs, and then his wings, and decided it was far past time to be going home. With the grace of an eagle, Avarion spread his feathered wings to their span, over three-arms length and almost a fourth, and took to the skies with a single stroke. The creatures below scattered as if a predator had come hunting, but returned as soon as he was gone.

Flying on his feathered wings Avarion watched elven life from the clouds. Such a noble people, he thought to himself, momentarily forgetting his own elven heritage. Having the features of an elf, Avarion would have passed for one anyday, save for his obvious feathered wings. Complete with sharply pointed ears and a comely face, Avarion could not deny his elven blood, even if he wanted to.

The question that lingered on his mind, however, was to the origin of the other half of his blood. Elves with wings had never been heard of in Prezel Vale, which hailed itself as the capital of elvenkind in the east. His nature was something that he always wanted to discover, though his mother refused to tell him. He never understood why, but he guessed that the loss of his father was still fresh in his mother's eyes, even after more than four decades.

As such, Avarion spent days researching possibilities at any library within a day's flight from Prezel Vale. To the northwest lived an aerie of bird-people, and had proved to be the first of many attempts to discover his heredity. He thought sorcery may have been involved, but none of the answers ever felt right. He was ready to accept that he would never know and move on.

In the eyes of the elven people, though, he was unnatural. Like a human-elven half-breed, he was tolerated, as was the law of Prezel Vale, but few ever made the effort to even talk with him. Those few were his mother, his teachers, and Amerye.

Amerye Goldwater was nearly as tall as Avarion, but few elves matched Avarion's very thin frame. His golden hair complimented the soft white skin and sharp elven ears. His eyes shone like the most elegant sapphires ever mined from the ground. Sharp and aware, Amerye defended Avarion's constantly attacked honor, making him Avarion's best friend.

Avarion called Amerye's image into his mind, trying to seek out his one and only friend within Prezel Vale. Being a large elven city, many possibilities popped into mind. The least likely was the school. Avarion and Amerye both hated the droning lectures about the attachment of magic and Elves, being common knowledge even to the more savage races.

Thinking dutifully, he flew over the usual path that Amerye would walk on his way home from liturgy. Unfortunately, he was probably beyond there already. From there, Amerye would be sitting at Theron's Fountain, conversing with the clerics there.

Not today, though. As Avarion flew across the sky, a stone hit him square in the chest. Annoyed, he searched the ground for his would-be attacker, and found him, holding a sling, ready with stone. Staring into his eyes, Avarion saw Amerye smile gleefully, holding a sling in his hand.

Knowing an unfair fight when he saw one, Amerye took off running like a cheetah on the open plains. He knew he was no match to Avarion's aerial position, so he darted through a row of dense, low-lying trees where he waited patiently for his good friend.

Avarion crashed through the brush with an almost graceful movement. Amerye found himself pinned before he could react.

"You cheater!" he told the winged elf. "You couldn't ever outrun me on the ground!" Pushing the lighter winged elf off him, Amerye stood and brushed himself off.

"I know that. I wouldn't even try," Avarion responded. "What do you have planned for the rest of the day?"

"I have to prepare a lecture on the faith of the elven people. I don't understand why, though. We all know that Garantus created us, and that we live to honor that creation. He's peaceful, generous, and from time to time performs miracles personally. He walks Artana like one of us at times, too." Amerye was getting tired of saying the same thing over and over. "Oh, the life of a cleric, indeed!"

"It was your choice, Am," Avarion replied, reminding him of the choice he made five years ago.

"Yes, and since then I have learned much. I am grateful for that, but I want to progress past the childish boundaries of simple doctrine. I want to learn to help people, Avarion!" Amerye's voice was growing by the second. "It's my lifelong goal!"

"And a good one at that,” Avarion agreed. “Let's find us a place to sit and ponder the day. Maybe something new will come to mind." Avarion started walking towards a small rock ledge.

Amerye started behind him, thinking that something different might not be such a bad idea after all. "What if I lectured about the power that faith brings to the elves, and not just the faith of the elves?" Amerye was thinking so hard he nearly tripped over a small rock in the path.

"Sit first, think later! You're going to kill yourself before you have your lecture written!" Both of them started to chuckle.

Changing the subject, Amerye grabbed Avarion's rapier handle, shaking it a little. "You make it to class once and a while?"

"Every one," Avarion said proudly. "I love fencing. It's like dancing, but with purpose." Standing, he drew his rapier and swung it a time or two before settling into a left-back stance. "You see, stepping and swinging are only half the game. You have to be focused, moving your body as one fluid instrument." He faced off against a small shrub.

"You step right...then left, forward and back, and your blade follows your movement in a single motion." He parried a high branch on the shrub, then stepping lightly to the right. "You wait for the right moment," he said, envisioning his faux target at his front. "Then you strike!" he said, lunging forward, driving his rapier clean into the bush.

Amerye was laughing aloud at this point. He'd never seen someone square off with a shrub, but it made for an entertaining afternoon.

"You laugh because you're jealous!" Avarion said with false wounded pride. "You should see me at testing time! I make short work of some older students, too."

Avarion had been attending the Vale Fencing School thrice a week for the past two years. His master had commented more than once about Avarion's natural deftness with a rapier, mainly for his ability to move quickly with the aid of his wings. The reason Avarion continued attending was because he actually felt appreciated there, even if it was because of his challenging nature.

This drove him to learn the fine arts of the rapier. He took to the sword long before magic, at an age when most elf boys are beginning their first spells. He loved the warrior art, but his elven blood, or the unknown blood within him, yearned for magic as well.

Over time Avarion grew tired of the rapier classes, mainly due to the never-changing attitude others gave him, simply because he was different.

Ten years later he started attending the Prezel Vale Academy of Magic. At the age of 54, a starting age thought old by the instructor's standards, he once again hardly fit in. The rest of the students were in their early 40's or younger, learning the skill that almost all Elves possessed to a varying degree. Of course, it didn't take Avarion long to realize that his continued focus on the rapier hurt his studies at school.

He spent several years in the basic classes while the rest of the class moved on, excelling only at the abjuring crafts and failing miserably at illusory and life magic. Easily frustrated, Avarion quit the study only after five years, knowing only the very basics of magic, and only in specific magics. His failure was only adding to the local suspicion that he was not an elf at heart.

Amerye went on to become a cleric acolyte, with his unique angle on elven Faith earning him a place at the High Cleric's side. He would learn from the elder Clerics about the power of healing magics, and soon he found himself able to channel orisons, the most basic of all divine magic, with a natural ease.

Twenty years passed for the pair, always sharing little adventures and getting into a lot of trouble in the process. Avarion made no friends better than Amerye, and the few others he met were either the inquisitive or those who were transients in the Vale. The two had been learning separate studies, though together they made a very good duo. One wise, the other strong, they wandered farther away from Prezel Vale than was usually tolerated and never came home with a scratch.