Chapter One: A Timely Intervention

The moon had reached it's peak. The soft light it gave shone on a worn path, which meandered through a deep forest. A gentle breeze swept through the trees., then died as quickly as it came. In the distance, various animals could be heard, as the hunters of the night continued their search of food. An owl screeched as it flew passed. A chorus of voices drifted over the quiet forest, screams and shouts. Next to the path, a bush rustled. The elf, Christopher, leaped out of the bush, running. Rather than follow the path, he cut across it and dashed into the darkness beyond. He was tall, taller than most of his kind, who on average were still several inches taller than the humans. His slender build a disguise for his superior elven strength. His eyes were angled like a feline's, and his chin tapered off to a point. He was dressed in light, worn traveling robes. Where the fabric had been torn, a steel breastplate could be seen, its original color indiscernible underneath the coat of blood that covered it. Adorning his head was a helm stamped with the impression of an eagle holding a gold flag; the symbol of the Knights of the Council. An elegant long bow was strapped to his back, along with an almost empty quiver. A shield hung on his left arm, with the same emblem as his helm. At his waist was a four foot long-sword in a dark blue sheath. A hilt of dark wood stemmed from the blade. In his hand was a small, white object that glowed softly in the dark.

He pounded along his chosen route, while the shouting crept closer. Blast it, he thought. He had hoped that coming into the forest would discourage the hunting party enough to turn back. He looked at the object in his hand. Whatever this is, it better be worth it. A crash came from somewhere behind him, followed by a loud stream of curses from the men. Humans, he scoffed to himself, the arrogant fools. And still he ran. He ran until he could run no more, and still he kept going.

The loud voices continued to grow closer, until Christopher reached a clearing in the trees. He stopped running as he beheld his surroundings. He was in a bare area of the woods. Blocking his path was an unnamed river, which reached over a mile wide. He spun around to leave the clearing, for it was to open to give any cover, and he couldn't swim across without getting shot by the archers the hunting party was sure to have. Before he could take more than a single step away from the river, a group of twenty men broke through the clearing, weapons in their hands. Half of the group were wielding bows, and were garbed in full leather armor. The others had a arrayment of melee weapons, ranging from long-swords to flamberges to spears. Some had shields equipped, the others had them on their backs. Each had on a set of sparkling chainmail. The one man in the middle, however, was dressed in golden plate armor, with a helm that covered his face. On his left arm was a round shield the same color as his armor. In his hand was a mace with flanged tips. He held up his arm, and the rest of the men raised their weapons. He stepped toward Christopher.

"You've got nowhere to go, elf. Give back what you stole, and I'll make your death as... painless as possible." He grinned, and the rest of the men laughed. Christopher didn't move. "Oi, ain't you got ears, elf? They're stickin' out of ya real nicely. Lay down your weapons, and I won't have to cut them off." Instead of laying his weapons down, Christopher drew his sword and readied his shield. The man in gold armor sighed. "Can't say I'm surprised," he said. "You're savages, the whole lot of ya. Can't wait till we rid the world of scum like you."

The man raised his hand higher, and time seemed to slow down for Christopher. He took in everything in a second: the position of the men, the faint light of the moon, and... and the sound of yelling coming from behind the human line. The men were slow to react, and as a result, a squad of twelve elves attacking from the rear killed more than half of the melee men. The archers turned, ignoring Christopher in a desperate attempt to save their comrades. Running up to them, Christopher behead the entire line in a single stroke of his sword. However, he swung his sword harder than he ever had before, and it flew from his grip and embedded itself in the trunk of a tree twenty meters away. Before he could retrieve it, the man in golden armor stepped away from the throng of men and elves and toward him. Crouching low, Christopher raised his shield above his head as the man rushed towards him, swinging his mace. It hit his shield with a thud, but didn't dent the metal. Again and again the man swung, but no matter how hard he hit, the shield didn't receive as much as a scratch. Sensing his advantage, Christopher bashed the man with his shield, causing him to stumble backwards. Lunging forward, Christopher stabbed the rim of his shield right through the man's golden armor, through his gut, and out his back. The strength of his attack startled him as much as the wound did the man. By that time, the elves had killed all the other men in the clearing, and surrounded the man. He stood up, shield and all, and looked Christopher in the eye. "Savages!" he cursed, and tore the shield out of his chest, splattering Christopher with fresh blood. The man fell, and hit the ground dead. Shock rattled Christopher's bones, both from the horrific death he had just seen and his strength during the battle. He stared at his hands, and saw the small object concealed within. It was glowing brighter than ever, but even as he watched, it went back to normal. He looked up, and one of the elves was right in front of him, holding out his sword.

The elf was dressed in pure white armor, and despite the skirmish that it had just endured, had no spots of blood on it. His helm was the same, and on it was the emblem that also adorned Christopher's shield and helm. In his hand was a large great sword, the tip of which he allowed to dip into the dirt. His face was angular, just like Christopher's. "I think that makes us even, old friend," the elf teased.

A look of joy spread across Christopher's face. He took his sword and raised it in a salute. "Your Majesty."

A look of irritation flashed across the other elf's face. "I've told you not to call me that. We've been friends since before I became prince, and I won't have you calling me anything different now."

"Very well, Samuel," Christopher said, struggling to hide his smile.

A grin flashed across Samuel's face as the two embraced each other. "You're late. The council was expecting you yesterday. I was out here looking for you. Where's the rest of your squad?"

Christopher's expression changed to solemn as he said, "They didn't make it."

"I see." Samuel also looked sad. "Even so, this is no place to speak of such things. Come. After enduring human hospitality, you need good food and a place to sleep." He looked down at Christopher's hand. "You found it!"

"Have I ever failed before?"

"No of course not, I just thought you wouldn't be able to find it. Come, we must hurry back home. My mother and the council will want to know what happened."

The elves began to make their way back to the trail. With one last look at the object in his hand, Christopher caught up with the others just as the first of the carrion birds dove down to feast on the remains of the dead.