The Elf

I nodded dumbly, reaching out with my hand to take his. His brown eyes were twinkling in the dim light, and I felt like I could trust this man with my life. The pains in my hand and on my neck were all but forgotten as our hands drew closer. I could see the face of the green girl over his shoulder, smiling gently at me. I wondered if Fynn knew who or what she was, or even if he could see her. Our fingers were nearly touching when I heard a commotion behind me that caused me to snatch my hand away in surprise. I gasped and turned my head quickly to see several of Roric’s men trampling through the underbrush. I looked back to Fynn, but he had vanished into the forest along with the strange girl. The Huryl men found me and one took me firmly by the arm.

“What are you doing out here?” he demanded. I could see blood dripping from his axe.

“G-going to the bathroom,” I stammered.

The man grunted and pulled me roughly back toward the camp. All the men were up and alert, holding weapons and peering into the night. Roric stood at the centre of it all, and he looked up with an expression of relief on his face when I was brought into the firelight. I stumbled forward as the men released me with a shove and Roric caught me easily with one hand.

“Careful where you wander, little sheep,” he said. “We caught a Dyrel scout and several armed men lurking around the camp.”

He gestured with his axe to a small pile of bodies that lay at the edge of the clearing. Blood dripped down their pale faces, still frozen with their last thoughts. I shuddered and turned away, not wanting to see more death. Fortunately, none of Roric’s men had been injured in the skirmish, and they had captured the scout alive.

“An elf,” Roric spat on the huddled body. “Nasty race. Use all kinds of tricks to get people to do and say what they want.”

I peered at the elf, which looked like a child in my mind. He was very small, with a round face and orange curly hair. His ears were small with their tips slightly pointed and curved towards his face. He had been tightly bound, and wore a tunic and leggings of the deepest green. He was bleeding from several wounds and staring angrily at me, and the men behind me.

“They send their children out as scouts?” I asked incredulously.

Roric laughed, and the other men joined in. The elf blinked in confusion and his expression became outraged as well as angry.

“A child?!” he exclaimed. I thought he sounded like a cartoon, and I did my best to hide my amused smile. “A child? My dear, I am more than three centuries old and fully-grown. Clearly you have not had much experience with my race.”

An image of Fynn appeared in my mind. “But-“ I stared to say. He looks nothing like Fynn, my mind finished.

“Don’t know what the elves are doing with the Dyrelan army,” Roric muttered.

“Better than an alliance with the murderous Huryl,” the elf snapped.

Roric whipped out his axe and held it steady at the elf’s throat. “Enough. I don’t want to kill you, elf, but if you cause me trouble I will. Looks like we’ve got two visitors for the commander.”

I swallowed. Was I being delivered as a captive, like the elf? What would become of me once I reached the Huryl camp? As pressing as these questions were in my mind, I could not shake the image of Fynn. I hurried after Roric as he returned to his place by the fire to clean his weapon.

“Do all elves look like that?” I asked curiously.

“You’ve seen one elf, you’ve seen them all, lass,” Roric replied.

“So, they’re never tall with long fair hair?” I pressed.

Roric put down his axe and looked at me sharply. I realized I had gone too far, and clamped my mouth shut. The Huryl captain, however, did not look away.

“You’ve seen someone tall and fair haired in the forest?” Roric asked. “With a bow? Pointed ears?”

My expression must have betrayed my answer. Roric nodded slowly and picked up his axe again. He continued to wipe the blade and then took out a stone to sharpen it. The sound of the instrument against the axe was mesmerizing, like the dancing flames of the fire. He moved slowly and methodically, and I stared at him as he worked.

“Keep away from people like that,” Roric warned. “I don’t know what village you’re from, but I thought all the children knew the stories.”

“What stories?” I asked.

Roric stopped his work and examined the edge of his axe. He seemed to be pondering something, perhaps whether or not I was actually from a village. I felt a stab of fear in my gut as I realized I had betrayed too much ignorance. I knew nothing of the war, of the spirits Fynn had told me about, and now I knew nothing about Fynn.

“We’ve a few hours of dark left,” Roric said, lying down by keeping his axe close. “I suggest you get some sleep. And don’t go wandering again, for your own safety.”

Feeling more than a little frightened, I lay down as well, but I could not sleep. I saw the elf on the other side of the fire, tied securely to a tree, and noticed he was watching me. There was also the girl in the forest, which the face in the fire had wanted me to see. If I returned, would she still be there? But if I left the fire again, would Roric have me bound and taken as a prisoner to his commander? The men had all fallen asleep again, and I pondered what I should do.