Chapter 2

Awakenings

(13497 AC)

The two decided to take a walk one morning, after a good fall of rain. Both had grown accustomed to walks along the river. The water calmed them, and proved an easy landmark back to the city. They had walked the river's banks more times than they could count, and had grown a fondness for the slow-moving water.

Suddenly, off in the distance an Elven horn sounded. Drawing his sword, Avarion said sternly, "Alarm."

Amerye was right behind him, light mace at the ready. Although he was a cleric, his calling to the Elves demanded that he know how to fight. Those clerics who did not master the combat arts were usually those who spent their remaining days in a school or convent. Amerye wanted neither, and learned all he could from Avarion. Today he would be tested.

As they rushed through the woods as quietly as possible they came across two foul-smelling orcs, wielding hand axes in each hand. "Look, Krog, fresh meat!" the meaner-looking one grunted out. The reply came back in the orc tongue, a vile language of grunts and spits. Eagerly, the two charged the young-adult Elves ready to feast on their fallen bodies.

They neglected to notice that the bodies weren't dead...far from it. They were standing their, ready to receive their attacks. Avarion in particular was smiling from ear to ear. He had trained for this day for thirty years now, and he was ready!

The first orc threw a handaxe straight at Avarion, who deftly dodged aside, letting the handaxe fly into the trees instead of his chest. Standing with his rapier drawn to answer the challenge, Avarion engaged the orc with pleasure.

The brush underfoot was nothing new to the swordsman, but the orc had to watch his footing. Avarion feinted a lunge, watching the orc drop the handaxe in defense. Avarion was disappointed to see him not.

Smart, this one, Avarion thought to himself. He knew his foe was more experienced than he let on to believe, so he conceded the offensive to the foul orc, waiting for a nice opening.

One came open, and Avarion made do with it. Swinging his rapier left, he forced the handaxe too far out to be useful. Stepping across, he pulled the rapier back and thrust it clean into the orc's midsection, causing it to double over and fall to the ground. Avarion finished the gruesome deed, and looked to Amerye, who was dealing with his own orc in an old-fashioned thumping.

Amerye was dealing with his menacing problem with a lot less flair. He simply stepped right up to the orc and started swinging with the mace, forcing the smelly creature to block the blows or die by them. In the end, the orc had missed a block, and the mace firmly found a home against the orc's head. The orc crumpled in a heap, and Avarion smiled.

"You liked that, Amerye. Admit it!" he sounded when the second orc fell to the ground. Amerye shook his head, detesting any act that causes death, but knowing that his life was on the line, he simply accepted the dry humor. "Let's go," Avarion said bluntly. "There may be more." With that, the two set off again to find the alarm.

The two set off in an easterly direction, and both knew the area well. Outlanders usually approached through the main roads into the Vale, so traffic through this area was always considered out of the usual.

Avarion was leading the way, with Amerye close behind. Avarion was gliding as much as walking, keeping him closer to the ground. He saw briefly three to the left, and one straight ahead. Three of his own people were coming up from behind and to the right. They must have followed the river. I hope they hurry.

Avarion held his rapier at the ready, knowing the fight was about to become the fight for survival.

A crossbow bolt flew through the air, passing only inches from Avarion's nose. The projectile found it's target, though. Twenty feet away an Elven archer lay on the ground, bleeding critically from the impact.

"You!" the dying archer spoke with a strain, looking at Avarion. "Take Fairheaven and defend your homeland!" His hand offered a bow, struggling to hold it. The Elf fell unconscious to the ground, and Avarion was out of options. Amerye had only one, to save the dying Elf.

Avarion took the bow, and a mellow, strong voice spoke in his head. Take the arrows, friend. You need them. He nodded to Amerye, thinking it was he who was talking to him, and took the quiver off the fallen Elf, putting it on his own back.

Take to the skies and let us rid the Vale of these foul creatures! he heard in his head. He smiled again at Amerye, who was in the middle of a casting. "Strange," he said to himself. “I didn’t know you could carry two conversations at once.” Amerye was too busy to have heard him.

Taking a full wingspan of air made him a big target, so instead he took a running start, which was about twenty feet. Spreading his wings, he left the ground, and found his arms nocking an arrow. Something made him do it, though. He'd never done so before in his life, but the skill in which he drew the arrow, slid the nock on the string, and pulled it was perfect.

The arrow loosed without his will as well, the arrow plunging deep into the heart of an orc attacker, felling him instantly, Before the arrow struck, his arms had reloaded the bow. Avarion was sure he was dreaming. He had absolutely no control over himself.

I hope you're not offended, friend. I know I can shoot better than you. Avarion looked around, but only himself and the bow were flying over a hundred feet above the ground.

He then felt an urge to turn and fire, which with perfect accuracy took down another orc. Nice reflexes, too. Want to take a try on your own? the voice asked.

"Who are you?" Avarion shouted, looking in every direction. Thoroughly confused, he screamed in anger.

I 'm in your hand, Light Elf. Avarion looked at the bow, which was again strung and ready. Yes. Do you understand?

Avarion blinked a moment or two, and realized what he held in his hand. "A talking bow?" he asked the enchanted bow. His fingers released another arrow, and another orc died on the spot.

Yes. You are Avarion, Elf of Light. I have heard of you. Avarion didn’t know what he meant, though it was strange to hear it put that way. His skin was brighter than the usual Elf, but was there something to it?

Willingly, he took an arrow from the quiver and nocking it as he had done before, though he did this on his own. He pulled the arrow back, feeling the power of the bow rise within him. He looked around for the fourth target, and felt it's presence below him. Turning on impulse he saw the orc, preparing to attack Amerye. Angered, Avarion shot and missed by inches.

The orc looked around for a shooter, and found only Amerye, tending to the dying Elf archer. He smiled a ragged smile, and advanced on Amerye.

You have to be calm, Light Elf. Anger only clouds your aim. Calm, and then shoot.. Avarion agreed, and took a moment to clear his mind. He drew another arrow, and took aim on the orc only steps from his best and only friend.

In that moment, Amerye had his own surprise planned. With his mace in hand, he turned on the unsuspecting orc and in a solid swing crushed it's skull. “Garantus be with you!,“ Amerye said with a smirk and returned to the aid of the fallen archer.

Avarion landed beside his friend, looking at the fallen Elf’s wound. He was shot with a crossbow, Light Elf. Something else lurks in the woods. Avarion realized in his own mind that none of the orcs had heavy crossbows, and immediately took to the skies, with a forceful burst of wind that nearly knocked Amerye over.

As he took to the skies another bolt loosed, finding open space between Avarion's right wing and his arm. Looking in the direction of origin, he noticed that his assailant was no orc, but a human, dressed in forest green.

"Hold or die, human!" the Elf shouted as he closed on the location. In a burst of speed the human took off in the opposite direction. Avarion though to himself to let him run, but he found himself flying towards the human anyway.

He has attacked the homeland, Light Elf, and for that he is my responsibility. Avarion was confused, but knew that he could not fight the will of the magical bow. He drew an arrow, quite unintentionally, and set it in place on the string. He took aim on the creature, and accepting the fate of the man running away, he fired.

The human crumbled to the ground and never moved again.

Looking to Amerye, he discovered that with his skill and magic he managed to save the Elf and rouse him to consciousness.

He shot up right away. Immediately he started looking around for something. “Fairheaven!” he shouted. He tried to scramble to his feet, though Amerye held him firm. Avarion headed to him straightaway, holding the Elven artifact in his hand.

“I have it, Elf-friend,” Avarion spoke aloud as he landed. “Quite a bow. Has a mind of it’s own sometimes, too.” The archer managed a painful laugh. Avarion handed back the bow in good manner, and helped the archer to his feet.

“He was poisoned, Avarion,” Amerye explained, holding the poisoned bolt tip in his hand. “He must have Dwarven blood to avoid the fate that should have surely been his.” The archer looked at Amerye with a quiet thanks, smiling but not laughing.

“If it is not too much to ask, I would like to thank you. I invite you to dinner with me,” the Elf told them. “And my name it Bregaros Neidren, Master Archer of the Vale. I am in your debt”