Whill felt helpless as he watched the elves unleash their devastating power. He and the other four stood at the ready. Roakore’s stone bird whirled by and took another Draquon from the heavens. The elves took the opportunity to focus on the Draquon as well. They raised their arms, chanting in Elvish, and as one the remaining nine Draquon fell from the sky and slammed to the ground. One unfortunate beast landed directly in the fire. Embers and burning wood flew in all directions. Rhunis’s cloak caught fire, as did Tarren’s blanket. Rhunis tore off his cloak and stomped on the blanket as Whill and Abram slashed and stabbed at the Draquon.
Roakore settled his sights on the two closest winged beasts, who were dazed but not down. The stone bird pounded mercilessly back and forth as he guided it from one Draquon’s head to the other until they moved no more. The elves engaged the others with their devastating swords as the Draggard regrouped and charged at the warriors.
Whill again was left to watch in awe as the elves took down the beasts with graceful precision. The Draggard were no match for their power. They fell one after another as the siblings cut through blade and armor, bone and flesh. Roakore let his stone bird fall and breathed in gasps as he took up his axe.
“They’ll not have all the fun!” he huffed, and charged into the fray. Rhunis was right behind him, screaming the Eldalon war charge with a gleam in his eye. Whill and Abram, reluctant to leave Tarren, watched as the others made short work of the remaining Draggard.
With the last killing stroke came again the darkening of the night. Whill thought that with the threat gone, the elves had extinguished the lighted stones. He soon realized that was not the case.
“Be ready!” said Avriel in a hushed tone.
Whill was chilled once again, not because the light had gone, not because there might be more Draggard about, but because there was a hint of fear in Avriel’s voice. The six formed a tight circle around the fire and around Tarren.
“What is it?” asked Rhunis.
Zerafin closed his eyes for a moment. “A Dark elf, a powerful Dark elf,” added Avriel.
“Bah! Bring ’em on!” said Roakore, as he put his stone bird in motion. “I see him hiding.”
“Roakore, don’t!” warned Avriel, but too late. Roakore released his weapon and it disappeared into the night. Just as quickly as it left it returned, hitting Roakore square in the chest and sending him flying over the fire, landing hard fifteen feet away. He did not move.
“Damn!” exclaimed Zerafin. “All of you, hold!”
From the woods where Roakore had sent his stone bird, a figure emerged. He came boldly from the shadows and into the light, twenty feet from the group. He was indeed a Dark elf, with long, black, flowing hair tucked behind his long pointed ears, which were adorned with many earrings. He wore no armor, which unsettled Whill more than a little. Instead he wore a flowing black robe with the hood drawn back, revealing a shining black dragonscale tunic underneath. His face was as fair as any elf’s but for the intricate tattooed designs on it.
Zerafin stepped forward and spoke in Elvish. “Go now and tell your master that you and your band of monsters have failed here tonight, or you will not see the dawn.”
The Dark elf did not move. Instead he laughed, a wicked, guttural laugh. “Ah, yes-the noble Zerafin. Much like your father you are, but a little less brave. As I remember, you left him to die and went sailing away with the other elf children. How valiant do your words seem now.”
Avriel stood beside her brother. “You do understand that your words cannot unsettle us.”
The Dark elf took a step forward. “And the princess of the fallen Elves of the Sun, Avriel. It is such a treat to see you again. I shall enjoy every moment I spend with you henceforth, my love, do not doubt. But for now I have your coward brother to deal with!”
A flash of red light emanated from his hand and traveled toward the siblings. They raised their hands in return, and from them the same light met the attack. The Dark elf laughed once again, never letting up on the attack.
“I see you need the help of your sister to meet my challenge! How fitting. This only shows once again the greater power that is to be found within darkness.”
The elves seemed to be at a stalemate, but the siblings looked slightly taxed in holding the Dark elf’s attack at bay, while he showed not a sign of effort.
“Enough of this!” cried Rhunis, and he shot an arrow at the elf. It flew straight at his head and then stopped dead, floating only inches from his flesh. With his free hand the elf reached out, snapped the arrow in half, and let it fall to the ground.
“Humans, I find, are the most interesting of minor creators. They are brave, I must say.” The elf’s face twisted with rage. “But none too smart!” He clutched the air with his fist and Rhunis was lifted off the ground, his hands frantically gripping his throat.
Zerafin gave a cry of anger and charged ahead, sword in hand. Avriel was forced back many steps, having to hold back the Dark elf’s energy on her own, but not for long. Zerafin quickly engaged the elf, who drew his own sword, and soon the two were engaged in a fantastic battle. Avriel, now free of the energy attack, rushed forward, sword in hand, to aid her brother, as Rhunis, also released, fell to the ground.
Whill watched on in awe as the three exchanged blows. The siblings fought well together; so fast was the fighting that it was hard for Whill to follow. He looked to Abram. “What do we do?”
Near them Tarren still slept, Roakore did not move, and Rhunis kept coughing. “What can we do?”
Whill found himself, for the first time useless.
Zerafin received a slash to the leg but fought on. Avriel scored a minor hit to the Dark elf’s shoulder. He jumped back out of reach and lowered his sword. The elves stood shoulder to shoulder, at the ready. The Dark elf looked at his bleeding shoulder and laughed as the wound healed in an instant.
“Fools! You cannot defeat me. You have felt my blade; you know it to be true. Why fight on when to do so is folly?”
It was Avriel’s turn to laugh. “You are the fool. We have had five hundred years to prepare our blades for the likes of you. Have you so quickly forgotten the ways of the Elves of the Sun?”
“You should have left while you had the chance,” said Zerafin.
The Dark elf soon understood. Zerafin and Avriel locked their free arms and came at him spinning, attacking, going round all the while. The elf was forced back on his heels as he frantically parried blows that Whill, Abram, nor Rhunis could register. Zerafin struck and was blocked as Avriel came around and struck also. She too was blocked but barely; her strike had been at the legs. The Dark elf had to bring his blade low to counter, and when he did Zerafin was there with a thrust through the elf’s chest. As the blade sank, the Dark elf extended his free arm and there was a flash of light. Avriel’s blade flew from her hands and the Dark elf slashed her stomach. Zerafin stabbed again, this time through the neck of the laughing elf.
Before Whill new what he was doing, he charged forward, his father’s sword in hand, a scream escaping his lips.
The Dark elf’s laugh became a gurgle as blood poured from his neck. He slashed again and severed Zerafin’s sword hand at the wrist. Zerafin reeled back in pain. Avriel, gritting her teeth, thrust both hands forward into the open air. A shockwave of energy rushed forth and shattered the kneecaps of the wounded Dark elf. He fell to his knees but thrust forward once again and impaled Avriel through the gut.
Whill watched in horror as the blade stuck through Avriel’s back. He screamed and brought back his blade for a killing blow but stopped dead as the Dark elf raised his free hand. Whill felt more pain than he had ever known as red light emanated from the wounded elf’s hand and hit Whill with steady pulses. The Dark elf laughed a hideous, gurgled laugh as he looked Whill dead in the eye. “Everyone you love will die horribly, fool hum-”