Chapter Two
Two warrior elves ran with great haste through a thick old forest. The sun was setting as the elves readied their eyes for the twilight. The winds ran across their smooth elven skin and golden blond hair. They had their bows in hand and their quivers bounced against their back as they dashed through the lush old forest. A shadow snuck across the land, following the trail of their light darting feet.
They had been running miles, and finally they started breathing heavily. The one called for a stop, he heard faint sounds of paws with his pointy ears. The younger one began to listen for the faint sounds. Arms reached back and knocked an arrow on the bow, for they were surrounded by a pack of hungry crazed wolves. With their heightened elven sight, they saw deep into the thick forest and found the prowling wolves stalking them.
Suddenly, the old forest around them became very black. It was an unnatural twilight that even blocked out the setting sun. The wolves loomed in the shadows, gazing at them with red hungry eyes. Even with their elven eyes, they could not break through the old magic of the Black Gauntlet. As a shadow came walking out of the shadows, the two elven brothers let fly their arrows.
The black cloaked figure had his sleeves folded back. He raised his red steel gauntlet to deflect the arrows fixed to his head and heart. “Don’t insult me with feeble weapons,” the black cloaked assassin said coldly. “You are elves! You are the Keepers of the Ancient Magic from the don of time. I know you can do better.” The two elven warriors gazed at him with much anger in their eyes.
They both wore hard fine leather armor, armor for archers. the black cloaked assassin snorted. These aren’t swordsmen I heard about, he thought to himself. They still had to die as the others did. For if they were left to live, they will ride around the mountains, to the Elf Kingdom of Silverleaf, and they would spread word of hired assassins sent to kill the King’s two sons out on a trip to Gitosum.
The assassin stared hard at the two elves. He reached into the folds of his cloak, in both gloved hands he held two fine emerald daggers. Each elf drew their own single scimitar from their belt. The wolves circled around in the shadows, ready to lunge on either of them if their master ordered it.
The shorter elf charged in, thrusting his sword perfectly, but the assassin knew it was coming. He dashed to the side, and gripped the elf’s sword hand. He squeezed it so hard that the elf screamed with pain and dropped the scimitar. At that moment the assassin thrusted the emerald dagger in his right hand through the throat of the elf warrior. Through the corner of his eye, he watched the other elf warrior move behind him. He stood in the position of the final movement of the thrust and listened for the darting of footsteps.
The elf kicked dust up as he charged. The assassin smiled as he quickly pulled back his emerald dagger and leaped high up for a back flip. The elf stopped in dismay as his eyes followed the assassin as he twisted and flipped above him. The moment the assassin touched the hard ground, the elf was holding his neck as blood flowed out of his throat. Elven blood dripped from the two emerald daggers.
As he watched the elf choke on his own blood, the dark shadows were gone and the wolves far away. The sun had turned from orange to red as if elven blood touched the earth. The assassin removed his great hood, revealing his long dark brown hair. His face was shaved smooth with his emerald daggers. With his dark brown eyes, he watched the elf die slowly.
He then kneeled down to the elf lying flat on his back. “Nothing personal,” he went on, “you were just at the wrong place, at the wrong time.” He then stabbed his emerald dagger through the heart of the elf. He wanted a quicker finish, he didn’t want the elf to suffer any longer. Suddenly, the elf shook violently, gurgling on his own blood. After a minute passed, he stopped shaking, and lied silently, finally dead.
The assassin stared at the dead elves for a moment. He felt bad killing two noble creatures of the young earth. His lips thinned as he began chanting a spell. As he chanted the spell, he outlined the dead elf bodies in the dirt. Then he moved to outline the other elf. Still chanting the spell, he stood up straight. As the spell was finished, the earth the bodies lay on swallowed them back into the earth.
“I hate killing good men,” he said to himself as he stared where the dead elves once lay. He wiped the blood clean of his emerald daggers.
He looked over his shoulder and whistled loudly. In a moment, he heard galloping of a horse in the forest, his horse. He smiled as his horse stopped as it came up to him. He petted the horse’s fine white coat before he jumped into the saddle on its back. He fixed himself securely in the saddle, and took the reins into his hands. He pulled the reins to the right to turn the horse east, towards Gitosum. He kicked the side of the horse and they rode on the path towards home.
« § »
Trumpets sounded, the many squires stood in the great arena of Gitosum waved flags of many different kingdoms. In the high stands, the people cheered loudly as knights rode into the great arena on top their majestic steeds. The symbol of their kingdom painted onto their shields, the swords held up in the air, and their visor shut. Their steeds jumped to onto their two hind legs, the people cheered even louder.The king in the high stands stood to address the people and welcome to the annual tournament, the tournament that will give the west island a champion knight. The people went quiet to listen to the king’s words.
Outside the great arena was one young knight that was missing one piece of his armor, his helmet. A knight without a helmet could not joust in this tournament, so he is stuck in his tent. He waited for his squire to return with a new helmet so at least he may joust and represent his small village in the north. He stood there in full plated armor. It was strapped tightly about his arms, shoulders, waist, legs, and ankles. Underneath the iron plates was iron chain mail that guarded his torso, but the chain mail that went on his head laid on the table, beside his board sword and shield with a nice wolf painted on it.
The entrance flaps of his tent opened, the young knight turned his gaze towards it immediately. It wasn’t who he had expected, but he was still surprised at who it was. “Brother? Is that you?” The young knight asked. The hood nodded slightly. Out from the folds of his black cloak, the visitor revealed that he was holding a small adorable pup and bottle filled with milk. The young knight’s heart softened at the sight of the pup’s chubby stomach, its small paws, and small mouth that was sucking on the bottle, drinking down the milk.
“Mallafest Fenris…” the young knight smiled.
“Grodafest Fenris,” Mallafest replied, holding the helpless pup in one hand, as the other removed his hood. The young knight looked like a younger Mallafest. He smiled warmly at his little brother. “Look at you! Father would be proud.” Grodafest snorted as his smile faded away. He looked at away.
“… Yes he would,” Grodafest said coldly and sighed. He paused for a moment. “So what do you call yourself these days? I heard a lot about the prestigious assassin, Martin Band’In.” Mallafest smiled faintly. “I heard two elf messengers went missing a few days ago. There was word in the slums of Gitosum that an assassin named Martin was sent to kill the two Elven Princes.” Mallafest’s lips thinned.
The older one didn’t say anything back for a good while.
“What are you even doing here?” Grodafest asked.
“I come to learn of the where the maps are,” Mallafest answered. Grodafest snorted, somehow he had known. The maps that father had come across. Maps that showed the many entrances to the Underdark, that go deep into dark elf territory where there were tales of an ancient magical item of great magic. He shook his head. He knew where to find the maps and His older brother had the only key that opened the chest that held the maps.
“Who wants them now?” Grodafest yelled. “Whose foolish enough to go on such a suicidal journey? Aye?” He stared dead in his older brother’s eyes. Mallafest didn’t say a word. He merely placed the small pup on the table. “Please, just leave.” Mallafest did just that and walked towards the entrance. He stopped for a moment, his head hung low as he sighed.
“Winter is coming,” Mallafest said quietly. “And the price of that knowledge could get the village by for at least five more winters, long enough for the drought to end. Oh well.” He took another step and was gone. Grodafest licked his lips as he looked towards the flaps of his tent. He heard crying as he watched the helpless pup lose his bottle. At that moment, the pup turned into an iron helmet. Strangest of all, the visor of the helmet resembled the beak of a dog. Grodafest smiled.
He moved towards the table and strapped the helmet on. After he made sure the helmet was secure he walked out of his tent. As he walked into the sunlight, his horse was waiting at the door. His smile grew bigger as he jumped on his horse. A squire ran up to him and handed Grodafest his shield and lance. He kicked the horse and galloped in the great arena. There he was welcomed with great thunderous cheers.
Hour after hour he watched other knights joust. Finally his name was shouted throughout the arena that it was now his turn to joust. It was his time to test if his thrust can hold true in the eyes of the gods. His horse galloped to one end of the arena and his opponent to the opposite.
The air was calm, the arena silent, and his armor shined brightly in the sunshine. He gripped his lance tightly, and took a deep breath as he gazed at his opponent at the far end. If he won, he would recieve prize money that will insure his village would not starve this coming winter. If he was to lose, his village would starve. All because he didn’t train enough, the long hours of thrusting his lance perfectly would mean nothing.
He shut his visor as the trumpets sounded. The flags waved, and the horses sped down the middle. The people’s cheered so loud it was deafening. Grodafest didn’t hear them. All he heard was the beating of his horse’s hooves, the clanking of his armor, and his slow breathing.
His lance shattered against the other knight’s shield knocking the other knight off his horse, and the flag of the wolf was waved wildly. The people cheered all the louder. Grodafest let go of his lance and took off his helmet as he looked around in disbelief. He couldn’t believe he had just won. It was a miracle. He rose his right hand in triumph. He was the happiest he ever could be.
In the stands, the black cloaked Mallafest smiled. He felt so proud of his younger brother. Mallafest was proud that father would be proud of Grodafest. The Fenris house would finally be recognized as noble blood on the west island. It was a day to remember, a day he will never forget.
The helmet Grodafest was wearing turned back to the small pup again. The pup sat on his bum for a moment as it gazed around. He sniffed at the air, trying to find his master’s scene, because his master was calling to him. He licked his nose once, and the scene was clear as day. He ran after his master in the black cloak that was walking out of the great arena.
They had been running miles, and finally they started breathing heavily. The one called for a stop, he heard faint sounds of paws with his pointy ears. The younger one began to listen for the faint sounds. Arms reached back and knocked an arrow on the bow, for they were surrounded by a pack of hungry crazed wolves. With their heightened elven sight, they saw deep into the thick forest and found the prowling wolves stalking them.
Suddenly, the old forest around them became very black. It was an unnatural twilight that even blocked out the setting sun. The wolves loomed in the shadows, gazing at them with red hungry eyes. Even with their elven eyes, they could not break through the old magic of the Black Gauntlet. As a shadow came walking out of the shadows, the two elven brothers let fly their arrows.
The black cloaked figure had his sleeves folded back. He raised his red steel gauntlet to deflect the arrows fixed to his head and heart. “Don’t insult me with feeble weapons,” the black cloaked assassin said coldly. “You are elves! You are the Keepers of the Ancient Magic from the don of time. I know you can do better.” The two elven warriors gazed at him with much anger in their eyes.
They both wore hard fine leather armor, armor for archers. the black cloaked assassin snorted. These aren’t swordsmen I heard about, he thought to himself. They still had to die as the others did. For if they were left to live, they will ride around the mountains, to the Elf Kingdom of Silverleaf, and they would spread word of hired assassins sent to kill the King’s two sons out on a trip to Gitosum.
The assassin stared hard at the two elves. He reached into the folds of his cloak, in both gloved hands he held two fine emerald daggers. Each elf drew their own single scimitar from their belt. The wolves circled around in the shadows, ready to lunge on either of them if their master ordered it.
The shorter elf charged in, thrusting his sword perfectly, but the assassin knew it was coming. He dashed to the side, and gripped the elf’s sword hand. He squeezed it so hard that the elf screamed with pain and dropped the scimitar. At that moment the assassin thrusted the emerald dagger in his right hand through the throat of the elf warrior. Through the corner of his eye, he watched the other elf warrior move behind him. He stood in the position of the final movement of the thrust and listened for the darting of footsteps.
The elf kicked dust up as he charged. The assassin smiled as he quickly pulled back his emerald dagger and leaped high up for a back flip. The elf stopped in dismay as his eyes followed the assassin as he twisted and flipped above him. The moment the assassin touched the hard ground, the elf was holding his neck as blood flowed out of his throat. Elven blood dripped from the two emerald daggers.
As he watched the elf choke on his own blood, the dark shadows were gone and the wolves far away. The sun had turned from orange to red as if elven blood touched the earth. The assassin removed his great hood, revealing his long dark brown hair. His face was shaved smooth with his emerald daggers. With his dark brown eyes, he watched the elf die slowly.
He then kneeled down to the elf lying flat on his back. “Nothing personal,” he went on, “you were just at the wrong place, at the wrong time.” He then stabbed his emerald dagger through the heart of the elf. He wanted a quicker finish, he didn’t want the elf to suffer any longer. Suddenly, the elf shook violently, gurgling on his own blood. After a minute passed, he stopped shaking, and lied silently, finally dead.
The assassin stared at the dead elves for a moment. He felt bad killing two noble creatures of the young earth. His lips thinned as he began chanting a spell. As he chanted the spell, he outlined the dead elf bodies in the dirt. Then he moved to outline the other elf. Still chanting the spell, he stood up straight. As the spell was finished, the earth the bodies lay on swallowed them back into the earth.
“I hate killing good men,” he said to himself as he stared where the dead elves once lay. He wiped the blood clean of his emerald daggers.
He looked over his shoulder and whistled loudly. In a moment, he heard galloping of a horse in the forest, his horse. He smiled as his horse stopped as it came up to him. He petted the horse’s fine white coat before he jumped into the saddle on its back. He fixed himself securely in the saddle, and took the reins into his hands. He pulled the reins to the right to turn the horse east, towards Gitosum. He kicked the side of the horse and they rode on the path towards home.
Trumpets sounded, the many squires stood in the great arena of Gitosum waved flags of many different kingdoms. In the high stands, the people cheered loudly as knights rode into the great arena on top their majestic steeds. The symbol of their kingdom painted onto their shields, the swords held up in the air, and their visor shut. Their steeds jumped to onto their two hind legs, the people cheered even louder.The king in the high stands stood to address the people and welcome to the annual tournament, the tournament that will give the west island a champion knight. The people went quiet to listen to the king’s words.
Outside the great arena was one young knight that was missing one piece of his armor, his helmet. A knight without a helmet could not joust in this tournament, so he is stuck in his tent. He waited for his squire to return with a new helmet so at least he may joust and represent his small village in the north. He stood there in full plated armor. It was strapped tightly about his arms, shoulders, waist, legs, and ankles. Underneath the iron plates was iron chain mail that guarded his torso, but the chain mail that went on his head laid on the table, beside his board sword and shield with a nice wolf painted on it.
The entrance flaps of his tent opened, the young knight turned his gaze towards it immediately. It wasn’t who he had expected, but he was still surprised at who it was. “Brother? Is that you?” The young knight asked. The hood nodded slightly. Out from the folds of his black cloak, the visitor revealed that he was holding a small adorable pup and bottle filled with milk. The young knight’s heart softened at the sight of the pup’s chubby stomach, its small paws, and small mouth that was sucking on the bottle, drinking down the milk.
“Mallafest Fenris…” the young knight smiled.
“Grodafest Fenris,” Mallafest replied, holding the helpless pup in one hand, as the other removed his hood. The young knight looked like a younger Mallafest. He smiled warmly at his little brother. “Look at you! Father would be proud.” Grodafest snorted as his smile faded away. He looked at away.
“… Yes he would,” Grodafest said coldly and sighed. He paused for a moment. “So what do you call yourself these days? I heard a lot about the prestigious assassin, Martin Band’In.” Mallafest smiled faintly. “I heard two elf messengers went missing a few days ago. There was word in the slums of Gitosum that an assassin named Martin was sent to kill the two Elven Princes.” Mallafest’s lips thinned.
The older one didn’t say anything back for a good while.
“What are you even doing here?” Grodafest asked.
“I come to learn of the where the maps are,” Mallafest answered. Grodafest snorted, somehow he had known. The maps that father had come across. Maps that showed the many entrances to the Underdark, that go deep into dark elf territory where there were tales of an ancient magical item of great magic. He shook his head. He knew where to find the maps and His older brother had the only key that opened the chest that held the maps.
“Who wants them now?” Grodafest yelled. “Whose foolish enough to go on such a suicidal journey? Aye?” He stared dead in his older brother’s eyes. Mallafest didn’t say a word. He merely placed the small pup on the table. “Please, just leave.” Mallafest did just that and walked towards the entrance. He stopped for a moment, his head hung low as he sighed.
“Winter is coming,” Mallafest said quietly. “And the price of that knowledge could get the village by for at least five more winters, long enough for the drought to end. Oh well.” He took another step and was gone. Grodafest licked his lips as he looked towards the flaps of his tent. He heard crying as he watched the helpless pup lose his bottle. At that moment, the pup turned into an iron helmet. Strangest of all, the visor of the helmet resembled the beak of a dog. Grodafest smiled.
He moved towards the table and strapped the helmet on. After he made sure the helmet was secure he walked out of his tent. As he walked into the sunlight, his horse was waiting at the door. His smile grew bigger as he jumped on his horse. A squire ran up to him and handed Grodafest his shield and lance. He kicked the horse and galloped in the great arena. There he was welcomed with great thunderous cheers.
Hour after hour he watched other knights joust. Finally his name was shouted throughout the arena that it was now his turn to joust. It was his time to test if his thrust can hold true in the eyes of the gods. His horse galloped to one end of the arena and his opponent to the opposite.
The air was calm, the arena silent, and his armor shined brightly in the sunshine. He gripped his lance tightly, and took a deep breath as he gazed at his opponent at the far end. If he won, he would recieve prize money that will insure his village would not starve this coming winter. If he was to lose, his village would starve. All because he didn’t train enough, the long hours of thrusting his lance perfectly would mean nothing.
He shut his visor as the trumpets sounded. The flags waved, and the horses sped down the middle. The people’s cheered so loud it was deafening. Grodafest didn’t hear them. All he heard was the beating of his horse’s hooves, the clanking of his armor, and his slow breathing.
His lance shattered against the other knight’s shield knocking the other knight off his horse, and the flag of the wolf was waved wildly. The people cheered all the louder. Grodafest let go of his lance and took off his helmet as he looked around in disbelief. He couldn’t believe he had just won. It was a miracle. He rose his right hand in triumph. He was the happiest he ever could be.
In the stands, the black cloaked Mallafest smiled. He felt so proud of his younger brother. Mallafest was proud that father would be proud of Grodafest. The Fenris house would finally be recognized as noble blood on the west island. It was a day to remember, a day he will never forget.
The helmet Grodafest was wearing turned back to the small pup again. The pup sat on his bum for a moment as it gazed around. He sniffed at the air, trying to find his master’s scene, because his master was calling to him. He licked his nose once, and the scene was clear as day. He ran after his master in the black cloak that was walking out of the great arena.
© Copyright 2007 Stories Unlimited (FictionPress ID:455437). All rights reserved. Distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of Stories Unlimited.
1 comments:
its good hopes to read this n more of your other works in the future still
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