…or, A Modest Disrobal
I followed Iason. It wasn’t the greatest idea, as all-purpose plans went. What the hell, though. A chance to go out on the skirmish field? Even if it meant going out in a blaze of glory—and I half suspected that was exactly what Iason had in mind—it would still be freaking awesome.
He took me down to an office right next to what smelled like a locker room. There was a human and an elf in there. The elf was one of the really tall ones that people call “high elves” or “great elves”. They’re not a separate breed, though sometimes they marry and pass it on to a bunch of offspring. But about one in a hundred elves keep growing for another decade or three after they stop aging. This guy was about a couple of inches over seven feet tall, at a guess.
He was dressed in a white cape with black embroidery, over a black outfit with white trim. That was pretty much elven color code for “look at how impartial I am”.
The human guy was youngish, no more than thirty, but kind of beefy looking. Brown hair cut real short, incidentally spiky in places where the home haircut job hadn’t cut so close. He looked like a coach. I figured he was there to represent the team.
Iason touched my elbow and turned me to face the elf, stepping forward to block view of my arm. His whisper found my ear, saying, “Oh, I had almost forgotten: he can detect lies.”
“Lord Philomenes,” Iason said, making a respectful bow that Philomenes had to recognize as bullshit. Any elf would have, because another elf was making it to him. “I present to you Iamos Toxotes. Iamos, this is Lord Philomenes, and Coach John Sidney, assistant coach. Lord Philomenes is here to ‘stat you’, as they say.”
There was no real elven nobility, as nobody recognized anybody’s right to dispense noble titles. “Lord” was just what you called someone whose official title didn’t sound impressive enough in Pax.
“You get ahead of yourself,” Philomenes said.
“I do that with alarming frequency,” Iason said. “It is a consequence of being both quick-witted and cautious.”
“That task will fall to me assuming the young man is approved for play,” the high elf. “Boy, did did you try out for skirmish?” he asked me.
“It didn’t seem like there’d be a place for me on the team,” I said.
“That wasn’t an answer,” he said. “Just because your school has enough of a point deficit to field you and the opposing team has acceded, that does not mean you have any business being on the field. What is your training background?”
“The usual high school stuff,” I said, not specifying that I meant required classes and not team participation. “A little adventuring.”
“Is that all?”
“Hold on,” Coach John said. “There’s no requirement that players do more than exhibit basic competency, which a passing grade in high school melee shows.”
“I’m just curious why this young man is so keen on entering the field at this date if he has never evinced interest before,” Philomenes said, turning his face halfway so that one eye fell on me. The other stayed on Coach John. Apart from my own baby blues, it was the only eye in the room that wasn’t looking at me. “Manblood represents this as an existing plan, but I see no evidence it is anything more than a stunt, a spur of the moment lark. I mislike such things. I mislike them deeply.”
“Look, it’s our decision to field the kid or not,” Coach John said. Either Iason had really sold him on me, or he was pissed at being overruled.
Or he was desperate. One of the three.
“If you had begun play with him, or any other untested school whelp in the lists, that would be your folly,” Philomenes said. “The approbation for the results would fall upon your heads. But this? You are asking me to sign off not on a list of fighters that includes a questionable choice, but on the choice itself, individually.”
“It’s not any different than if he’d been playing from the beginning,” John said.
“But it is,” Philomenes said. “Whatever happens, our names will be linked. It will not be ‘Philomenes adjudicated a match between two armies that included this boy,’ but ‘Philomenes approved of this boy’s presence, individually.’”
“If you’re worried that it’s going to reflect on you…” John said.
“I worry about that, and I worry about the boy’s safety,” Philomenes said. “And I worry about how it will reflect upon me if events prove that I am right to. If a fighter on the lists breaks his neck in the course of play, absent any wrongdoing, then no one is blamed. If a single official approves a single fighter and something happens, that is a different story.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I said. “This isn’t some dumb idea the two of us whipped up.” True. “The situation with the seventh squad just provided an opportunity sooner than might have happened otherwise.” True. “Yeah, I didn’t have any interest in actually playing skirmish before very recently.” True, and I paused to begin a separate thought. “I’ve undergone a change in status,” I said, holding up my arm so he could see the bracelet. “And Iason really wants me to do this.”
Philomenes turned his full gaze back to Coach John, holding out his hand. John handed over a clipboard with a form on it, which the “elf-lord” signed with a florid mark before handing it to Iason, who handed it to me. He didn’t give me another glance, except when he took a wand out of his pocket and waved it over me.
“You may take him to the entrance zone while I calculate the new total,” Philomenes said to Iason, waving away. “Do not enter the field with him until your coach has told you it is clear.”
“I was certain that once all the facts were laid before you, you would render a fair and just decision,” Iason said, and Philomenes scowled.
I waited until we were far down the underground tunnel from the office, all the way to the wide exit, before I spoke.
“Seems we could have just showed him the bracelet to begin with,” I said.
“I thought you would appreciate it more, had it proved possible to convince him on other merits,” Iason said. “It was something nice I was trying to do for you.”
“Are you sure you weren’t just looking for a bigger challenge?”
“A thing can be something nice for the both of us,” he said. “Can it not?”
“I suppose,” I said. “I’m not thrilled about the idea of being a non-person in elven eyes.”
“You make too much of it,” Iason said. “It’s barely a step down from a non-elf.”
“I get the feeling your people are bigger assholes than my mom’s people,” I said. “Or I was very sheltered during visits. And I didn’t feel sheltered.”
“Probably, for a certain value of ‘asshole’,” Iason said. “Many western elves still regard humanity as the creature of decadent legend made flesh. A man like Philomenes remembers when humans first returned to this land, five centuries ago. The elves to the east maintained occasional contact with those across the sea, and those elves have been dealing with mankind’s ongoing existence for millennia.”
“My great-grandpa is one of those old world elves, and it didn’t stop him from doing the same thing Lord Phil did when he saw my wrist,” I said.
“The stag bracelets are a separate matter,” Iason said. “It is a very old custom, very seldom observed in these days. To elves born in modern times with no direct family tradition, the bracelets are more an artifact of curiosity than anything else.”
“So my reception in Treehome really was just because everybody’s a bunch of jerks,” I said.
“Yes, save for the woman you spoke of,” Iason said. “She may be benefiting from a proper education on the subject of stag riders.”
“Don’t ask me to come home with you for the holidays,” I said.
“I would not dream of it,” Iason said. “I’d rather take you away. On another subject, you may wish to remove your clothing now. As much as I would enjoy showing you off in both of your lovely forms, I am willing to bow to your human modesty for now.”
“You’re a real prince,” I said, pulling off my shirt.
“If I am, what does that make you?” he asked, grinning.
“A schmuck,” I said, throwing my shirt at him.
