"It doesn't matter," she countered, her silver eyes molten with fury.
"He's right, Listle," Kern said grimly. It had been his mistake to agree to the green elf's test Now he had to bear the consequences.
"Shut up, Kern," she snapped. "We already know that your skull is full of rocks." She angrily poked a finger against Primul's barrel chest. "Release him from the bargain, Primul. Now."
"Fine," the elf spat in disgust, his green eyes tinged with fiery crimson. "I'll release you, human, and you can run away with your dishonorable tail between your legs like a cur."
"No, Primul," Kern said calmly, surprised at the grit in his own voice. "I gave you my word. I won't back down." He held up a hand before Listle could protest. "I know what you're going to say. I have an important quest to complete. That's true. But if I break my word, then I am not a man of honor, and I don't deserve to be a true paladin. Tyr would never allow me to gain his hammer, anyway. It would all be for nothing. At least this way"-he gulped-"I die like a paladin. Tell my parents I died with honor." Kern's heart beat wildly in his chest
Listle stared at him, too stunned for further protest
"I'm ready, Primul." Kern knelt and bowed his head.
"Excellent," the massive elf said, easily hefting the heavy battle-axe in one hand.
Kern whispered a prayer to Tyr. He hadn't expected things to end up this way, but he hoped Tarl would not be too disappointed in him. At least he had preserved his honor.
"Prepare to meet your creator, human," Primul said with a deep, hearty chuckle. He raised the axe.
Kern forced himself to stare ahead. He was determined not to flinch. He would not show himself a coward.
"Now!" the green elf bellowed fearfully.
Kern steeled his will. He heard the axe whistling through the air as it descended. But Kern tapped an inner reservoir of strength and determination he did not realize he possessed. He did not even bat an eyelash.
At the last possible moment, Primul turned his fatal swing. The bright edge of the axe just brushed the skin of Kern's neck, nicking it. Kern felt a small, hot trickle of blood run down his back. Primul's good-natured laughter filled the chamber.
"Primul," Listle scolded, "if this is all your idea of a joke, let me be the first to tell you that I'm not laughing."
"It is no joke, Listle. Here, on your feet, human." He reached down a big hand and hoisted a rather stunned Kern to his feet. "If Kern here had begged for mercy, or had shown any sign of fear-even the slightest flinch-I would have happily hewn his head off." He put a friendly arm around Kern's shoulders, squeezing so hard Kern thought his eyes would pop out. "You showed yourself a man of courage, Kern. That was the test. The hammer is yours."
Kern couldn't suppress a jubilant grin, not in the least because his head was still attached to his shoulders. "Thank you, Primul."
"Don't thank me," Primul said, crossing his arms and tossing his long tail of golden hair back. "Honor the gift. Defeat your foes. That will be gratitude enough."
Hardly believing his good fortune, Kern slowly picked up the magical, beautifully marbled warhammer. "I will, Primul. I promise."
"Humph!" was all Listle said.
The young archer pulled back on the bowstring until the arrow's red-feathered fletching just brushed her cheek.
"Bow, make this one fly like a hawk," she murmured. The polished ashwood bow seemed to reply with a faint, humming resonance. She released her hold. The bowstring twanged brightly, and the red-feathered arrow streaked through the chill, mist-laden air. It arced almost impossibly high above a rocky defile where a mountain stream raced over granite boulders. Then the arrow plummeted toward the far, heather-covered slope. It passed straight through the center of a small straw target and buried itself up to its fletching in the damp turf. The archer lowered the bow with a grin of satisfaction.
"You did it, Daile!" the tall man standing next to her cried excitedly. "That target is three hundred feet away if it's a step." The man was a lean, rangy fellow, handsome despite a somewhat weathered appearance. The red-gold of his neatly trimmed beard and shoulder-length hair was shot with gray, and long years of trekking in the outdoors had tanned his face like leather. But he was still obviously a hale man.
"I had a little help from the bow," Daile said, smoothing her thumb along the well-polished arc of wood.
Ren had made the bow for her over the summer. It was a long, diligent process. First he had searched the forest for the right sapling, one in which he could see the natural shape of a bow. Then he had stripped its bark, split it, and soaked the wood in water before shaping it into a long graceful arc and curing it over a slow fire. Ren had carved many bows in his life, but this time he added one different step.
For several nights he sat up late, smoothing the pale wood of the bow with two small dark stones. They were ioun stones, and magical in nature. Usually he kept them in the hilts of the daggers he wore in his boots. As he polished with the ioun stones, the bow took on a deep, vibrant luster. Finally, he could feel the weapon humming in his hands, and he knew it was ready.
He gave the bow to Daile for her birthday. Instantly she had realized there was something unique about the weapon. Once she began using it, she found she could aim more accurately and shoot farther than she had ever dreamed possible.
"A bow is only as good as the archer using it," Ren noted with a wolfish smile. "I imagine the next orcs who wander into the valley are going to be surprised when they find arrows sticking out of their throats with no archers in sight." He laughed loudly at that, slapping his leather leggings.
"That is, if you leave any orcs for me, Father," Daile replied. She knew her father all too well. Orcs that wandered within a dozen leagues of him seemed to have a difficult time keeping their heads attached to their bodies.
"Humor an old man, Daile. Killing orcs is my only real fun these days."
She sighed dramatically, as if making a terribly great sacrifice. "Oh, very well, Father. You can behead the orcs, if you absolutely must." She smiled mischievously. "But the kobolds are mine."
The man snorted. "Selfish child." He laughed deeply. "You're my daughter, all right."
"Whether you like it or not," Daile answered. She gathered their possessions into a leather pack, then slung the pack over a shoulder. She and Ren often went out on all-day sojourns through the woodland and heath of the Valley of the Falls. It gave her a chance to practice her forest skills. And though her father never said so, she knew these wanderings also gave him the opportunity to tramp and explore the land he loved.
"Let's head home," she said, plunging into a grove of ghost-pale aspens. "I'll make supper."
"What are you cooking tonight?" Ren asked.
"Orc stew."
He made a gagging sound. "You're joking."
Daile didn't answer.
"Please say you're joking, Daile." His voice was a trifle desperate this time.
Daile only a hummed a cheerful ditty, deftly picking her way along a faint forest trail that would have been invisible to an untrained eye. All Ren could do was shake his head and follow, grumbling under his breath something about where he must have gone wrong rearing his troublesome daughter.
Leading the way up the forested slope, Daile emerged from the autumn-colored forest, finding herself on the high, rocky crest of granite that Ren affectionately dubbed Dead Orc Ridge. The ridge bounded the west side of the Valley of the Falls, the valley that had been Daile's home for all eighteen years of her life. She paused, surveying the patchwork of forest and glade below. The valley was a deep, steep-sided bowl, carved long ago out of the rock by a glacier. Running through the valley's center was the narrow gorge where Daile liked to practice her archery skills. The stream had its source in a waterfall that tumbled down a sheer, thousand-foot cliff at the valley's north end.