Twenty-two Years Later....
The Elf known as Flint sped threw the obstacle course, dodging
flaming arrows and spiked maces as he ran. An axe flew out of a trap in
the wall and Flint slid along the ground to avoid it. he came to the
second room which looked perfectly normal. He took a tentative step on
the floor and nothing happened. Narrowing his eyes at the lack of
obstruction, he started to walk across. After a few paces, the floor
gave away suddenly. A lesser being would have fallen into the abyss
below, but Flint had trained for this his whole life.
He jumped up
high and clung onto the ceiling. Even though they are short, (about
five feet or one hundred and fifty centimetres) Elves can still jump
high. The second trap came into play and the ceiling started to
collapse. Flint flipped in the air and ran along the wall for a few
seconds, before catapulting himself to the next room. He had expected
more obstacles, but this room was the finish. There was an old Elf
sitting on a chair with two guards standing next to him.
Flint knelt before them and the old Elf spoke.
“Master Flint. You have done well. You have succeeded as the first Elf to pass this test. And for that, I will reward you.”
One
of the guards walked over to the corner of the room and picked up a
chest. He brought it before Flint and handed him a key. Flint stared at
it for a few seconds. “Go on, open it!” urged the old Elf. Flint
hesitantly turned the key in the lock and opened the chest. When he did,
he had to shield his eyes for a few seconds because of the blinding
glare. When he could finally look, he gasped loudly. Inside was a pure
golden knife. The hilt was carved with beautiful Elvish runes and
ancient letters of magic that had existed long before the Elves. The
blade was about as long as his foot and the point looked razor sharp.
He
picked it up gently and balanced the weight. It was perfect. He thrust
at some imaginary enemies to get the feel of it. He usually was better
with his bare hands but the knife seemed to control his movements.
“Master. . .It is brilliant.” smiled Flint
The old Elf chuckled.
“I thought you might like it. It was carved from the gold inside this
mountain and embed with magic by my brother.”
“Your brother?” frowned Flint,”But Elves can’t do magic.”
“Yes,
well, my brother was a very talented person. The magic runes will help
your skills with it and I believe it has some other, ah, shall we say,
abilities that are better discovered in combat. Oh yes. The blade has a
name. It is called Shimmer.”
“Shimmer.” repeated Flint.
“And
there is another reason I am giving you this blade.” smiled the Elf,”My
brother I would like you to find him. He is no doubt somewhere in the emperor’s fortress.” He said the word ‘emperor’ spitefully, as though it was an insult, but Flint had other thoughts on his mind.
“Break into the emperor’s fortress? By myself?! With all due respect Master, that is impossible.”
“Oh,
you’ll find a way,” said the Elf waving away Flint’s outburst,”And you
won’t be going on your own. You may choose one companion to accompany
you on your journey.”
Flint’s mind was in a whirl. He
would have to leave Arcon for the first time in eight years. And he
would have to cross the desert, which Elves rarely visit on the best of
occasions. Then, after all that, he would have to sneak into a top
security fortress of the emperor and rescue the master’s brother. Any
sane person would refuse, but Flint. . .
“I’ll do it. I will take this quest and save your brother, Master.”
“Excellent.” he smiled,”You must choose your companion, and then leave as soon as possible.”
As Flint turned to walk out, still clutching Shimmer tightly in his hand, the Elf spoke one last time.
“And Flint? Please call me Elk instead. I just hate master.”
Flint smiled. “Of course, Lord Elk.”
No comments:
Post a Comment