Of Dark Elves And Dragons.

Chapter One.

Bull scat!

Alan was relaxing peacefully in the garden, enjoying the sunshine and the sensation of a full belly gurgling happily away, breathing in the delicate scent of the fresh wild flowers wafting through the air, when he was almost overcome by the sudden overpowering feeling of fear. It was the terror of a horse and riders galloping madly through the woods as they in turn spotted something frightening giving chase and gaining ground.

He’d felt the horse and riders in their panicked flight for some time if only faintly; the fear and desperation were difficult emotions to block out even a league or more away, but being so distant he’d only hoped that their pursuers weren’t going to catch them since there was little he could do. Now suddenly their fear had become so much louder, so much more strident that he knew they were going to be caught. Actually he only knew it because they believed that they were; they’d heard or seen something and they were panicking. Ironically enough, even as they thought death was approaching swiftly he knew that they were actually getting nearer to safety with every passing minute. From the way their terrified thoughts were becoming so much louder in his, he knew that they were much closer than before. They would be with him soon, and he would not allow them to be killed. He didn’t allow murder, not in his home.

Doubtless in their panic they’d taken a wrong turn on the trail somewhere and instead of passing straight through the Haellor forest on their way to the north eastern provinces of Gaulda, they were heading north west to the elven province of Soolleni Woods by the back trail. All being well, they would reach the city of Nightfire within a couple of days. Moreover the fact that he could feel them with such intensity meant both that they were already far closer then he’d anticipated, and that the ones pursuing them were as well. Soon he was going to have uninvited and very unwanted guests; some wolves lost in the frenzy of the chase as well as a number of men who’s evil and blood lust made his skin crawl. Together they raced after their prey and unknown to them straight toward him.

There was going to be trouble.

Alan sighed, knowing that regardless of anything else, they would all be at his front door within a matter of minutes as the trail led straight past his front yard. It was time to act to protect the victims and himself both, especially since shortly after the horse and riders had passed him the hunters would arrive. They would not be friendly.

Still he would be ready for them. While to a stranger he would have looked like any other young man, albeit a trifle fitter and stronger than most as his years of training with weapons had made him a true soldier, he was far more dangerous than they could have imagined. Beneath his dark sunburnt skin, chest full of wiry muscles, and weathered face lay the soul of a powerful wizard. He was ready for them, and then some.

Grabbing his trusty silver infused long sword and parrying blade from the cottage’s balcony rail where he’d left them hanging in their scabbards and belt only an hour before, he strapped them on firmly, just in case. He didn’t plan on using them, except perhaps as a very last resort, but he was always prepared. A lesson his father had taught him well and despite the fact that he was a powerful wizard, he could use most martial weapons too. Daily practice had kept his reactions fast and accurate. He was already wearing his silver and bronze light armour. He had been from the first moment he’d felt the pursued fleeing through his woods and realised he wouldn’t have had time to don it later if they did turn up on his doorstep. He’d also already summoned his magic to him. That left just the basic defences to see to.

All’owee jara. The ancient elven spell was almost second nature to him by then, and with a simple wave of his hand his handsome and well-built cottage, once his family’s summer home, was transformed into a rude peasant’s shack surrounded by scrub, while he himself changed from a tall athletic and well-armed half elven man, into an elderly peasant farmer supporting himself with a hoe. The sort of person no one would bother with, in theory. In truth though, nothing had changed, it was only a spell of concealment and illusion. But it was a good one and had always worked well to date, mainly because no one was interested in peasants or their rude shacks and no one was looking for him.

Barely a couple of minutes later the horse and rider passed through the last of the great pines, redwoods and cedar trees that made up the Haellor Forest and burst out into the sunlight of his clearing, surprising him. It wasn’t their sudden arrival in the clearing that caught him off guard though, it was their identity.

The rider was a woman, part elven if he wasn’t mistaken from the points on her ears, but also part human like him, a none too common combination, and wearing the livery of the royal guard of Calumbria, the nearby human kingdom to the south. As further proof if it was needed, her horse’s saddle was strapped down over a riding blanket bearing the same livery, and only a royal guard would dare ride one of their highly trained and well-bred steeds. That made her a relatively important personage in the kingdom. The royal guards were all from good families, and as befitted anyone charged with defending the court and the Baron, well trained and schooled. The sort of personage whom no one should be chasing.

The woman though wasn’t alone. In front of her - actually she was bent nearly double over her in the saddle - sat a child, a young girl who couldn’t have been more than five or six years old, who she was obviously protecting. A frightened human child. That was as much as he had time to take in as the rider saw him, a broken down old peasant in a rude vegetable patch, leaning on a hoe as far as she knew, and guided the horse directly towards him.

Who are you knave? She screamed the challenge at him, even as she was bringing the beige mare to an urgent halt in front of him, and though she hadn’t brandished her sword, he knew she would have had she thought it necessary. She simply believed she was due his obedience and that he would comply. Perhaps she was right, in as much as he would do so. It would return the peace to his home quickest.

Alan my lady. A humble trapper and woodsman at your disposal. He even managed a shaky bow to her, though he hated showing obeisance to anyone. But it went with the disguise. No actual peasant would ever have dared to not bow to her. It seemed to be enough for her, and instantly her questions were gone and replaced with tiredness and pain. By the looks of things she’d been riding hard and for a long time, maybe all the way from the castle itself, and her horse showed the signs of hard riding as well. He could see the breath blasting from the mare’s nostrils in explosive bursts and the steam floating up off her body as her sweat evaporated in the still cool spring air.

You need to flee. Not more than ten minutes behind us are the dogs of the Baron Umber and his huntsmen. They will not spare your life. Her words surprised him, but not as much as he would have liked them to. If what she said was true then she was right by most normal definitions. The Baron’s huntsmen were little more than barbarians and cut throats especially well trained in tracking, and their dogs were wolves, packs of them trained to hunt down and tear apart their prey, and any others who were unfortunate enough to get in their way.

As a force they were the stuff of legend and a terror in the night, as the Baron used them as his personal enforcers, to destroy his enemies and occasionally to have a little sport with the peasants. The only problem was that the Baron Umber was already the ruler of Calumbria. Why would he be sending his enforcers after his own royal guard? And why of all places, deep into the Haellor forests? Even they surely knew that the forest was hallowed ground. Off limits to those of evil heart. He thought he’d made that clear the last time the Baron’s men had been so foolish as to enter his lands.

My lady?

The court is broken, the council dissolved, its members dead, murdered, and the poxy Baron has claimed the ancient throne of Calumbria in his own name! He is no longer happy sharing his power with others, and his huntsmen are busy killing all who might object and the witnesses too. You need to flee. Now! With no more than that she pressed her heels into her exhausted horse’s flanks, and galloped off madly once more along the forest trail. Her duty to him was done, he had been warned, and she clearly had to protect the little girl, whoever she was, as well as herself. Peasants would have to look after themselves.

He watched her as she galloped off down the trail, heading for the lands of the Soolleni Woods and Nightfire, though he suspected she didn’t realize that yet. She was too busy fleeing and worrying about what was behind her to concern herself about what lay ahead. But the elves of Soolleni Woods were a good people, a decent elven nation, well able to protect themselves from a few hunters, and though as a stranger, even one of part elf blood she might not be truly welcome among them, she would be safe among them for a time. It was time to worry about himself. Not that he really needed to worry, only to prepare.

He could have simply hidden. He could have made the cottage and himself completely unseen to the human eye and animal senses both. It was the simplest solution, but it would have been wrong. That would have left the woman and child to the huntsmen’s blood-lust and they would have been upon them within the next few hours at the most, long before they reached the safety of the elves.

Such self-serving cowardice would go against everything he had been taught, and while he might never have taken the vows of a knight, in his heart, in his every bone and sinew he held their values dear. Courage, honesty, justice, service and purity. To have saved himself at their expense would have been unthinkable, and were his father still alive he would have been ashamed of such thoughts.

Besides, these woods, this great forest and all those who lived within it, were his home, and he wanted none of evil hearts and savage disposition running through them. Especially not the Baron’s huntsmen. They would kill the local creatures for sport, ravage the trees for firewood, murder and loot any innocent travellers passing by, and destroy the peace and harmony of these lands with their poisoned souls. He couldn’t allow that. Not on his door step. Not again. Once before they had dared to come to his home, and he had told them then; never again.

Fei Na! With a gesture he removed the spells of illusion from him and his home. For what he was about to do, he wanted the huntsmen to know they faced certain defeat, and to learn, or relearn fear so that they would not return. Besides, he was proud of his cottage. It might not be a palace or some grand mansion such as the nobles would live in, but it was comfortable and homely, and well appointed. Anyway, soon it would seem a palace.

There were no dirt floors in his home, no rough and patched sidings or rotten thatched roof. Clad with carefully carpentered weather boards, painted white with a dark grey slate roof and large glass windows in every room, it was well built, and well maintained. And with the ornate and carefully tended flower gardens which he kept, it was as pretty as any palace. It was roomy too. The main room in which he spent most of his time could have sat a dozen people in comfort, and each bedroom could have held two family sized beds, while the deck, which actually circled the entire cottage, was large enough to put more beds on if need be, and all of them kept dry by the vast overhanging roof.

Add to that the wooden support beams, white balcony rails and balustrades, the small watch tower built right into the centre of the cottage from which he could watch anyone approaching from all sides of the clearing, the cobbled path leading to the front door past the two duck ponds he’d built with a tiny water fall between them, the carefully sculptured rock furniture which he’d shaped just to give him some outdoor seating and last but not least the beautiful white pergola to one side, and at least in his mind the cottage started to look more like a fairy home than that of a mortal man. Of course, it wasn’t enough like one for the moment as demon spirits such as he was pretending to be didn’t live in cottages, but wizards might, and he wanted to keep them guessing.

A few more spells of illusion transformed his pretty if humble cottage into a true fairy castle, with glistening turrets and a magical moat in which sea serpents might play. The garden and pergola began to shine with a light all their own as he covered them with hanging sculptures and rivers of coloured glass, while high in the air above them the rocs glided freely.

Although he’d never actually seen a fairy castle with his own eyes, it looked very like the ones that he’d seen pictures of in the many tomes in his library, and as illusions went, it was most convincing. Hopefully the huntsmen would think that too in the brief time they had to take it in before they began to learn the true meaning of fear and suffering.

Accla ro, somee fal, lee ala pril! With a series of gestures and words of ancient elvish command, he began setting up his defences, magical wards, spells of confusion and control, enchantments of fire and light, sorcerous traps and summonings of elementals. Some days it paid to be a powerful wizard and this was one of them. It would be a long time before any huntsmen dared return to his lands. Then again he’d thought the same the last time they’d foolishly come near him, but apparently they’d forgotten his lesson. Now it was time to make sure of their education.

Though he’d had a full ten maybe even fifteen minutes between when the rider left and when the first of the dogs arrived, it was scarcely enough, and he was still putting the finishing touches on his web of wizardry when the first of the great mastiffs broke through the forest, saw him and started making tracks for him. Behind it another two dozen of its wolf like pack heard its cry of triumph as it saw their prey, and started howling in the distance, even as they too ran for him with all they were worth.

The war dogs were a terrifying sight, more so when they finally made it out in to the open. There were maybe two or three dozen howling, slavering monsters. Half dogs half wolves, they were the size of small ponies, and had bared their teeth as they growled and rushed him with savage intent. And even though Alan knew he had everything under control, they still bothered him for a few heartbeats. The Baron used such creatures for a reason; they spread terror as well as death, and more than anything else he wanted the people to fear him. Then he released the first of his wards, and the worry left him as did the threat they posed.

With a single gesture of his hand, the war dog pack suddenly degenerated into a frenzied free for all, as they all suddenly realized that their prey was their fellow pack mate, and promptly started tearing into each other with a savagery no natural animal could ever know. It was perhaps a cruel way to deal with the pack but it was effective, especially when more and more of their pack kept arriving all the time, and he knew the animals had to be destroyed. Not just to protect himself and others, but to preserve the balance of nature.

A natural wolf pack would have hunted in harmony with their environment. They would have hunted enough to live on and no more, and they would have taken the weak and the sick and left the fit alone to carry on the next generation. These poor creatures had been raised from pups to be bloodthirsty, reckless and powerful and would have attacked and killed everyone and every animal they met. Their need for food ran a distant second to their need to rend and kill. Killing them was a sorrow for him but he knew they could not have been retrained and they would never have found a place in the natural world. It was the best he could do for them and the world.

Several minutes later as the last of the hounds were fighting and dying, the first of the hunters broke through into the clearing and saw him and their hounds, and then like any normal well trained enemy soldier, immediately fired an arrow at him. The arrow missed naturally enough. The wards of wind that encircled him sent every arrow off course as quickly as they left the bow, a sensible precaution in Alan’s view even if the huntsman didn’t understand that. Instead of worrying about what else he might do, Alan spent the time studying his new foe.

Unfortunately the huntsman was everything Alan had always been led to believe of such people. Everything the last bunch had been. More a barbarian than a man, he was dressed in furs and crude leather armour, carried a disturbing array of dark steel weapons including swords and knives as well as his long bow, and his clothes such as they were, were covered with dried blood. Most grizzly of all, the finger bones of too many unfortunate men and women, the trophies of his kills, were strung around his neck in a grisly necklace.

Such an adornment was said to be a mark of pride for the huntsmen, as if murder and killing could ever be such. This one had killed a lot of people, and by the looks of things he was very proud of it indeed. He was also determined to kill Alan, even as he saw his arrows miss and surely knew something was wrong, and he screamed his rage at being thwarted. But he wasn’t a fool, and instead of charging madly in with sword held high, he waited for his fellow huntsmen before committing himself to battle. Perhaps he’d learned caution from the dogs. Maybe he was just confused and wanted some directions. Either way it wouldn’t save him.

Perhaps a couple of minutes later another dozen or so of his fellow huntsmen had joined him while a couple more were trying to sneak around through the woods behind him, no doubt thinking that they were unseen. They should have known better. They were a disreputable bunch, filled with darkness and anger, and they enjoyed seeing others suffer and die. That much he could tell from even the most casual glance at their souls, and he wasn’t game to look any deeper. But they should at least have been smart enough to guess who they were dealing with and fled. Perhaps it was time to remind them.

Alan sighed quietly, as he rose to his feet and approached the hunters, knowing it was time to get his hands dirty again. For some this was what magic was all about, the using of it and the power it granted them over others. For Alan though it was really about the magic itself, feeling it swim through his veins like thousands of joyous electric eels, enjoying it as much as anything else in life. It was knowing the magic and feeling it which was always the true joy. Doing came second and enforcing his will on others a distant third. Sadly this was a time to act.

Murderers! Foul bastard spawn! Why have you invaded my lands again? Your comrades were told years ago that I will not tolerate the stench of your evil in my home and that there would be consequences should you return. Are you so stupid as to have forgotten that as you preyed on the innocent? Suddenly he could see understanding growing in their eyes, as they finally recognized him from the tales of their former comrades in evil, and fear lay just behind it. But it was too late.

A few quick words in ancient elvish and the huntsmen were all suddenly brought down to earth with a thump as their horses started bucking and kicking wildly, while the leather straps holding the saddles and bridles to them gave way. The huntsmen didn’t stand a chance, and they hit the ground hard. But they didn’t have time to complain as they had to dodge the flying hooves of their former steeds who, suddenly freed of their riders, were desperate to get away from what they were made to believe were wolves snapping at their feet. The huntsmen screamed, rolled and jumped, fearing every move could be their last, while the horses stampeded. It must have been one of the longest few moments of the huntsmen’s lives, but eventually even it ended. Sadly.

In time as the huntsmen rubbed their bruises and cursed, and those that their horses hadn’t trampled more seriously tried to get to their feet, only to watch their steeds race away as if the demons of the Darkfire were on their tail, and curse some more. Not only were horses expensive, but they had been abandoned in dangerous territory, and with a demon wizard not a hundred paces from them. They might have been more upset if they’d known Alan’s plans for their steeds. Later Alan would summon them to him, give them all a good rub down and some food, and then in a few weeks’ time would take them to the markets for sale, profiting from the huntsmen’s suffering. It might have been theft but it seemed only fair since their former masters were murderers, and they had dared to enter his lands after his last warning. Besides, that was only the beginning of Alan’s work, and he intended to teach them a lesson they would never forget. A lesson that would probably leave them unable to harm any others for a long time to come, and that was a worthy service, one which he imagined those who would have become their future victims would happily support.

Just as they were starting to reform into a group and started to draw their weapons while deciding whether to either attack or flee, the huntsmen’s leather armour and clothing suddenly rotted on them and collapsed around their feet like a pile of mouldy leaves. Next, anything steel such as their weapons caught fire, causing them to throw them away as fast as they could, lest they be burnt. In mere seconds they were naked and unarmed, exactly as Alan wanted. Throwing their weapons away didn’t stop them screaming in pain however, as a blast of wind filled with the biting grit of sand suddenly assailed them from out of nowhere, and began flaying the newly exposed and tender skin off their bodies.

They tried to run of course, understanding their doom, but no matter which way they fled the wind just brought them back, picking them up the moment they got more than a dozen paces from the rest and tossing them back into the pile of wailing human wretchedness.

In short order a pack of savage criminals with murder in their hearts had been reduced to a pack of small, naked boys, blood covered and crying in pain as they curled up into foetal positions on the ground and begged for him to stop.

Though he knew it was a mistake and that they didn’t deserve such mercy, the softness of his heart made Alan do just that eventually. He could have continued flaying them until there was nothing left but bone, but he didn’t want even the deaths of these evildoers on his conscience. Not when he didn’t have to kill them. Besides, it would be a good lesson to send them back as they were, and perhaps an amusement for the town folk to talk about when they saw their former tormentors turned into victims. And yet he knew that in time they would return to their murderous ways, and others would suffer for his mercy. No good dead ever went unpunished.

Another reluctant movement of his hands brought the flaying to an end as the wind ceased its work, leaving behind a pile of bleeding human wretchedness. A couple of words spoken while they moaned and cried like little children brought the earth elementals to his side, and then two more went off to return shortly with the two huntsmen that had tried to creep up on him from behind. They too were naked and bloody, a testament to how carefully he had prepared, and how poorly thought out their actions had been as they too had been disarmed, stripped and flayed alive.

Then, flanked by a dozen earth elementals, each standing a dozen or more feet tall and suitably massive with it, he walked over to the fallen wretches, partly to survey his handiwork and make sure he hadn’t accidentally killed any of them, and partly to scare them senseless. The latter wasn’t very difficult as they stared at him with eyes opening wider in ever growing terror with every step he took towards them. Then again he was glowing with a white light designed to blind them and standing eight feet tall or so it seemed to them. Thus, though they were too battered and broken to run, they would have if they could. But in any case, even if they had had the wit, he would have stopped them. The lesson wasn’t yet taught.

Shortly he stood perhaps twenty feet in front of them, and studied them, quietly pleased with how effective his defences had been. He’d never had to use them against so many armed men before, and it was comforting to know that if he had the need, he could do so again. But he doubted he’d have the need again anytime soon. They were so badly battered and grazed by his magic that it would be weeks if not months before even the fittest of them could ride a horse, wear armour or weld a weapon, and they would carry the scars of this encounter for the rest of their lives. That was good. Maybe they would learn a lesson from this. He could but hope.

What a pile of miserable wretches you are. His words came from the heart, not so much because of the state they were in as because of the evil that owned their souls, and the closer he got to them, the more deeply he felt it. They also made him feel unclean just with their presence and he felt the need to wash.

Apart from moaning and crying out in fear, the huntsmen said nothing. Probably they were too frightened to disagree with him since he could obviously kill them with ease, and if they were in his shoes he knew they would have done just that.

You terrify your fellow mortals, hunt and murder the innocent, strut around like peacocks full of your own power and call yourselves men. No longer. A peal of thunder emphasized his words, and the lightning bolt that hit the ground nearby for effect made them grovel with fear once more. It was a powerful blast, setting the sky alight and shaking the ground, even if it wasn’t actually real.

Not on my land.

Three maybe four years ago I spoke with some of your comrades, and I thought we had reached an understanding. I thought that they had listened and that they would have told you. Evil shall not be tolerated in my lands, my woods or my forest. Not the primitive, brutish savagery that is you and your filthy brethren, nor the arrogant vileness that is your Baron. Apparently you chose to ignore that understanding, to your cost.

Tell your Baron this, and make sure he understands this time. Make sure he learns. Of course the Baron would probably learn just how serious Alan was mainly from staring at their pitiful forms rather than anything they could tell him. But hopefully he would pay attention, before he killed them for failing him, and Alan knew that their lives were unlikely to be long even if he didn’t kill them.

I am the wild one, the demon spirit of the woods as you call me. These are my lands, and you are trespassing. Normally I care nothing for the lives of the mortals who choose to live alongside my lands, even miserable things such as you. But when armed people enter my lands, I care. And when evil such as you enters, I care very greatly. You are an offence to me and to the gods themselves and you should not have come.

Know now that you are cursed beyond any hope of redemption. Your suffering when you die will be eternal as is only proper. I have already seen to that. I have ensured that you will be sent straight to the Darkfire to burn forever. Live this, your only life long and well as it is all you have. The sooner you die the sooner your eternal suffering begins. But if you ever return to my home, your suffering will begin early as I will remove even the slight reprieve I have given you. I will not permit murderers, thieves, rapists and cut-throats within my home as you would not accept spiders and snakes within your own - I assume.

No evil will be tolerated within the Haellor Forest, ever. Should your Baron ever again send assassins, raiding parties, or armies into my home he will soon discover that all the armies in the world, all the castles, all the magicians and all the steel, will not protect him from my wrath. I will destroy them all, and then I will hunt him down and inflict a torment upon the evil little worm such as is only reserved for the worst of the worst in the depths of the Darkfire. And then, when he is finally unable to scream any longer, when his throat has lost its power to even whisper his blind terror, then I will send him there directly, still breathing!

Is this clear! And just to emphasize his words, he transformed himself from a seemingly mortal if glowing giant mythic being into a pillar of blinding white fire, so hot it scorched their already wounded bodies and dried their wounds. It was only an illusion for the most part, but it was an effective one and even as he watched them try to crawl away from him screaming in terror and pain, he saw a few heads bobbing up and down in agreement. They were terrified, and the tales they would tell when they arrived back in the kingdom, would be of a deity or woodland creature, not of a man as he intended.

Now get out of my forest! Of course in the condition in which they were in he knew it would be a long time before they could do any such thing. The best of them could barely make it to all fours and bleed while many others just lay there and groaned. Instead the earth elementals who until then had simply accompanied him like a personal bodyguard suddenly walked over to them, picked them up, one in each enormous stone hand, and then started marching off down the trail towards the village of Silver Falls, the closest settlement in the Regency of Calumbria. Or was that now the empire?

He watched them wander off down the trail, the huntsmen still bleeding and crying out in pain, begging for mercy. It was not to be as the elementals knew nothing of softness or emotion. They knew nothing at all. They simply obeyed. Their cold stone hands wrapped tightly around the evil doers’ waists could have crushed them as easily as he could have crushed his fingers around a flower bud. But the elementals wouldn’t do that. They wouldn’t let them go either, and despite the huntsmen’s continual attacks on their hands with their own hands which were all the weapons they had left, they would neither tighten nor loosen their grips until they were ready to drop their naked and bloodied bodies in the village’s main street. They would simply do as they had been instructed. Alan thought it would make for some interesting gossip in the Proud Hen in a day or so when they arrived. The elementals weren’t particularly fast despite the length of their legs.

Then the gossip would fly. Once more the wild demon god of the woods would be claimed to have intervened in the affairs of mortals. The locals of Silver Falls knew him no better than anyone else, despite the fact that he visited the village every few days or so to trade and for supplies. Of course, they didn’t realize he was the same man. They didn’t realize that the wild demon god as they called him, was a man at all. Instead they thought him nought but a legend, and Alan they believed was just a woodsman and silver miner as he claimed to be. They’d never connected the two but then why would they? Except for a few the humans weren’t a particularly magical people and his magic was far stronger than that of any human wizard he had ever heard of. It was also beyond that of most elven wizards as well, though he wasn’t about to discuss that with any should they show up. They tended to be an arrogant bunch.

Happily they wouldn’t visit him either, as he well knew from experience. It wasn’t concern that the wild demon god of the forest might catch them. If the humans accepted him as they accepted most half breeds but didn’t understand him particularly well, the elves fell into the opposite camp. They'd see that he was half elf, half human, or they would if he ever revealed himself to them, and they'd guess he was a wizard. Indeed, they’d probably guessed long before that the wild demon of the woods was really a wizard of strength. But they would never accept him. To an elf, blood was blood, and the half elf side of his heritage was to them always and ever, dark elf. He would always be his mother’s son, or in their view, her dark child and a creature worthy only of their contempt, and an arrow. Blood will out as they said.

It didn’t matter to them that his mother like her mother before her and most of her people had rejected the teachings of her people’s ancestors. That she had fallen for and wed the human paladin who had rescued her from her kin’s own evil, taken the vows of piety and purity upon herself, or that he had been raised until their deaths to be a healer and knight. A dark elf was a dark elf and there was no more to be said on the matter.

And so he was stuck in between the two peoples, and ironically he chose to live in exactly the same place. It was the only place he could find peace, and he did find peace. He also found happiness there.

Of course it was going to be fun in a few days when he went to town as he normally did and listened to the gossip which was sure to be all about the huntsmen delivered to their town naked and bloodied. He liked Silver Falls, he liked the people, and he liked spending time at the inns, playing games of chance, drinking a little ale, and chatting about everything from the hunting to the troublesome children of the town. Just the thought of what he would hear when he next visited brought a smile to his lips.

Then too the first shear would begin in a few more days, and the streets would be overflowing with farmers selling their wool, and their hands drinking it up large in the hostelries. That was always a good time. The merchants would be crowding the town streets trying to sell their wares to those with a little coin in their pockets, the village fools and acrobats would be about as well, and the bards and minstrels would be thick on the ground, performing for the crowds.

Maybe he would share another dance with Rosalie, she of the flowing blonde hair and surprisingly white teeth who it seemed lived to tease him. And she did it so well. Some times as she danced with him one day and then treated him with disdain the next, he felt almost as if he was a fish on a line being played with. But when she flashed that smile and rubbed her lithe body against him, he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Until she didn’t want to see him again.

The eldest daughter of Jorge the innkeeper of the White Tail Feather, Rosalie was younger than him, and neither of them were serious. For Rosalie wasn’t the sort of woman to be tied down to a man so soon in her life. He was sure she wanted to see a little adventure in her life first, complete her training as an apothecary, and maybe find a little wealth of her own as well. And she was a well raised young woman, her parents had made sure of that. It was expected that she would marry well, and not to a mere woodsman like himself. Then again he hadn’t shared the secret of his magic with her either, and neither did she realise he was the noble born son of a knight. If she had he suspected, her playfulness would have become far more serious.

Still they had fun, and they flirted a little, danced a little and played a few games that her father probably wouldn’t want to know about, though they never went too far. He would never dishonour her. And for the moment that was enough. In time maybe they’d have to make some decisions, maybe he’d have to tell her some private truths about himself, but not yet.

Perhaps half an hour after the elementals and their captives had gone, and more importantly when he could no longer smell the stench of their evil in the pure air of the forest, Alan wandered back from the side of the trail to his home and more importantly, to the front porch where his tea pot still kept its warmth on the remaining heat of the hot stones he chose to use instead of an open fire. He poured himself another mug of the by then devilishly strong brew and took a seat in one of the rocking chairs, looking out over his once more tranquil clearing.

The sun was already beginning to sink in the sky; this time of year the days were still too short, and soon the night’s cold air would force him indoors. And yet it was still a beautiful late afternoon and he intended to enjoy it for as long as he could. Though he had lived here ever since his parents’ untimely deaths, had even rebuilt much of his home with his own hands, and would have chosen to see out his days there, he knew on some level that his days in the forest were limited.

He didn’t know why or how, but he could suddenly feel the tightness of chains around his arms and legs pulling at him, dragging him away from his home and his comfortable life, though he didn’t know where or when, and he knew that that time was fast approaching. Coming too quickly for him.

Sitting in his comfortable chair, sipping his tea and enjoying the last of the afternoon sun, breathing in the aroma of his flower gardens, he knew he didn’t want to go. But he also knew he had no choice. However, until that terrible day arrived, he decided he should try to savour every last moment of pleasure that he could. It might be a long time before he could return.

If he could return at all.

***************

King Umber was in a bad mood long before the messenger showed up. Somehow when he’d finally done what he’d been intending to do for the last three decades and taken the throne entirely to himself, he hadn’t considered the consequences. He hadn’t quite realised that with the council gone the running of the kingdom would fall to him and that the decisions would have to be his; all of them. Currently he was sitting on his throne, an elaborate construction of polished oak and gold that was raised on a rounded pedestal so that he could look down upon all those of his subjects lined up down the long throne room waiting to petition him. All the while he really only wanted these people to go away. Preferably without their heads.

The endless whining, the demands for his decisions on hundreds of trivial matters he simply didn’t care about, the flaunting and preening of the nobles and merchants in all their finery; - it was too much for a soldier to endure. But if he was to achieve his dreams, if he was to unite all the southern human lands under his rule, then it was simply something that had to be. Something the Council would never have agreed to. Still he despised these people.

His fearfully loyal subjects, - it was amazing what the point of a sword could do - knew his thoughts too. No doubt as they lined the great hall and throne room in all their elegant furs and chains they were probably wondering if they could slip a knife between his ribs without his guards knowing, just in case he did the same to them first. Which was why the king had a good dozen heavily armed soldiers serving to both protect him and keep the people at length, not to mention two cannon loaded with shot and guards with torches standing beside them, ready to level the entire audience at the first sign from him. He believed in being prepared and in truth the thought of these worthless people being shredded in front of him appealed. But all his preparations couldn’t protect him from matters of state and the words of foreign diplomats, and the two who had come calling had left a bad taste in his mouth before they left.

He hated dealing with these upstart emissaries of the House of Sera, though he was just about old enough and smart enough to know he had no choice. No one, well, no one human at any rate, would dare defy the ones they served. No, make that no one mortal.

But still it was wrong. After all, hadn’t he finally seized power all to himself and declared himself king by his own right? Hadn’t he expunged those endless bureaucrats and the so called Council which had diluted his power! Didn't he now hold the rule of the kingdom in his hands? He did. And so, to have these impudent upstarts simply arrive on his doorstep and stride down the polished oak floor of his throne room as if it was simply a city street and start demanding that he continue to honour the treaties signed long ago - that was just intolerable. Did these weasel worded fools not understand that he was the king?

Regardless he had played nice with them. He had nodded when he had to, he had pledged what he needed to, and he had done all that he must. And the rage that had threatened to boil over behind his eyes he had contained. Being king it seemed, still meant that he had to maintain some self-control. For now. One day though!

Still, as the emissaries backed away