Elvesbane - Chapter One
by Tank

THE PROPHECY:

All things must have an ending.
So too shall it be with the people.
There shall be a final, terrible war,
but from that war shall arise a leader.
A leader from the race of the enemy,
who shall be hailed as hero and savior.
But too shall this hero be bane.
For by the deeds of this savior shall the seeds
for the final destruction of the people be sown,
and he forever more shall be known as
Elvesbane.


CHAPTER ONE

The dreams were back. He knew he was trapped in a dream but he couldn't escape. There were no colors, only shades of browns and grays. There were no pictures, only vague perceptions of speed and motion. There were no sounds, though he could feel the wordless screams being shouted from raw, panicked throats. Impressions were there, strong impressions and emotions; fear, flight, despair, and finally hopeless resignation. Resignation to pain, and... death?

He sat up quickly, the perspiration which soaked his hair fell to his face stinging his eyes and preventing him from being able to focus on his surroundings. It took a few moments to still his shaking and compose himself. It was black as pitch and no light leaked past any of the edges of his tent, providing no clue to his situation. It didn't matter, for he knew he was lying on his own bedroll, and he was now awake. Memory rapidly reasserted itself to provide the knowledge that he and his companions were presently camped in the Great Woods and had been for the last several days. It was obviously still the middle of the night and luckily his disturbed slumber hadn't awakened anyone else. Grabbing the tunic which lay at his feet, he wiped his face, cursed silently, took several deep breath, and laid back down forcing himself back to sleep. Perhaps, tomorrow would be a good time to move on.

The red-gray of the dawn slid its way under and around the door flaps of his tent but that wasn't what woke him for the second time that morning. It was the pain from tiny piercing claws being slowly driven into his chest.

"What the hell!" The exclamation exploded from his mouth.

"Sorry, big guy, but I was beginning to think I was goin' to have to draw blood in order to wake you from your beauty sleep. Though the nameless god knows that you need all you can get."

Staring up through sleep-fogged eyes it took only a moment to see the source of the rude interruption of his sleep. It was no bigger than a common barn cat, but there would be no mistaking the creature perched on his chest for any cat. Cats don't talk. Neither do they have wings or a strong, sharp beak which could sever a man's hand at the wrist. Ralph did. Ralph was a mini-griff. A mini-griff was the smaller, and according to Ralph, a much smarter version of the fabled half lion, half eagle, griffin of legends. Apparently those larger legendary creatures were too stupid to survive and became extinct long ago. Only their smaller, and more intelligent, cousins had been able to survive through the centuries. No one was quite sure of the veracity of Ralph's story for, even though never in the living memory of man had anyone actually ever seen a fabled griffin, neither had anyone ever seen another mini-griff besides Ralph, either. Also, Ralph was not above altering the facts of his background if the mood struck him. Never let it be said that this mini-griff would ever let truth stand in the way of a good story.

"What's up?" The man was finally awake enough to think semi-coherently.

"Hated to wake you, Tris, but we've got company."

Tristan focused on the orange-irised eyes which stared into his, and seeing no other choice, nodded weakly. He struggled to stand and nearly fell over as he was overbalanced by Ralph, who had neglected to let go of the front of his undershirt.

"Do you mind?"

"Oops." The small brown and gold creature dislodged himself, alighting onto a chest in the corner with a couple hearty flaps of his miniature wings.

"So who's the mystery guest?" Tristan rummaged through his bedroll, finding the wadded piles of leather and fabric which constituted his clothing.

"I think you'd best come see for yourself. The others are already up. We all wondered if you were ever going to get up." The fairy tale creature hopped from the chest to Tristan's duffel bag, curved talons digging into the heavy canvas. "Say, did you hear what the lonely sheppard named his daughter?"

"I don't suppose it would do any good to say that I don't care?" Having drawn on his pants and tunic, Tristan began the search for his boots.

"Ba-a-a-abra." The mini-griff launched himself from his perch, gales of high-pitched laughter issued forth from his golden beak. "Meet you outside, big guy. Maybe our guest has a better sense of humor and would appreciate a good joke." Not waiting to hear Tristan's sarcastic response, Ralph was through the tent flaps and out of sight.

Tristan finished stuffing his feet into his boots, thinking for the hundredth time that he needed to get a new pair before these pinched his toes off. He tried to comb his unruly hair and beard with his fingers but soon gave that up. He wasn't out to impress anybody anyway. At his age, what was the point?

He pushed the door flaps aside and greeted the early morning sun by cursing at the brightness assaulting his eyes. It took a few moments for his eyes to become accustom the the light so he didn't notice the newcomer at first. A voice off to his left grabbed his attention.

"So this is the great Tristan desCoyne, adventurer, hero, and the finest example of the human male?" The voice was deep for a woman, but it definitely was feminine. It possessed an almost musical quality that even the heavy sarcasm couldn't obscure.

"Well I see my reputation precedes me." Tristan gave the young lady a short bow. Might as well match sarcasm with sarcasm. "I hope that meeting me has been worth your trip, and that your curiosity has been satisfied, but my friends and myself plan to break camp this day and we have a lot to do before the day gets much older. So if you don't mind?" Tristan turned his back to the young woman and made to return to his tent.

"This is so like you, isn't it. Thinking only of yourself. I would expect you to turn your back and run away, again... Daddy dear." With that stinging indictment, she drew back the hood of her cloak which until then had kept her features hidden.

"Cassandra?"

A greater reaction couldn't have been achieved had a flaming ball of pitch been thrown into their midst. Tristan stood dumbstruck, mouth hanging open in an expression that went beyond surprise right to stunned. Ralph darted back and forth over Tristan's head using one tiny clawed hand to try and stifle his giggling. Tristan's other two companions just stood, frozen in their places, their eyes shifting first from Tristan, then to the stranger, back to Tristan, and so on. There was a slight smile of amusement on the young woman's face, but she didn't let the comical scene diminish her anger, even though she knew that she had to get her personal feelings under control. She needed these people. Well she needed her father, the others she didn't know but she used the time necessary for them to regain their wits to size up the strange company.

Tristan desCoyne was her father through no fault of her own. No matter what her personal feelings on the matter she had to admit that he was still in good shape for a man of his years. The body was still lean and hard, the face still handsome, though more lined than she remembered. The dark curly hair and beard were liberally shot with gray; the only real indication of his middle-aged status. The creature flying about his head she wasn't even going to guess at. She still wasn't sure she understood the joke it attempted to tell her earlier.

The other two companions were interesting in their apparent diversity. The woman was a pure black felis. One of the seldom seen cat-like people reputed to inhabit the forests at the foot of the Southern Mountains. The short, soft fur that covered most of her body gave her an exotic look. It was rumored that as a race, the felis, were nearly extinct, with only a few showing up occasionally in the poorer quarters of the larger cities as burglars and cut-purses. From the cock of her head, the tense carriage of her lithe body, and the undisguised animosity in her half-lidded eyes; it was obvious that this cat lady didn't approve of this new stranger in their midst.

It was the last of the small band who drew her most intense attention. It couldn't be helped. To look at him was to be captured by his physical appearance. He was... well... purple! He was also the first to regain his composure. He leaned against a nearby tree and gave her a smile, revealing bright white teeth, to contrast the dark purple skin. She was somewhat unnerved by the sight of those slightly enlarged and quite sharply pointed canines.

He was obviously some sort of half-breed, not that she would hold that against him since she was one herself. He was shirtless, even in the early morning chill, which showed off a well defined body of wiry muscles, but he was short. The top of his unruly mop of black hair would only come up to her chin. For all that his coloring was distracting, he was a remarkably handsome little man. His ancestry she couldn't figure for certain. He, perhaps, had some gnome in him, or even... goblin? Her attention was jerked away by the rich baritone of her father's voice. That was still as she remembered.

"Cassie, what are you doing here?"

"My what a warm welcome for a daughter you haven't seen in over ten years." Her eyes flashed daggers, while a tiny voice in the back of her mind reminded her that she'd best curb her tongue. But it was difficult. There had been too much bitterness built up over the years to dismiss so easily.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Tristan could only stare. Stare at the beautiful young woman before him claiming to be his daughter, yet obviously not too thrilled about that fact. Had it really been over ten years since he'd last seen her, laughing and playing with the other children? He was ashamed to admit that it had been, but there was no mistaking those features.

Cassandra had inherited her father's dark hair and olive complexion, but she had her mother's features. She was a little shorter than her mother. Tristan could look Cassandra in the eye and though he was considered tall for a human male, he made a rather short elf. She had been blessed with the incredible beauty of the elven race and possessed the deep green eyes of her mother. This, more than anything, brought back the memories and caused Tristan's heart to ache once more.

Lorilian! The memories came rushing back, threatening to overwhelm him completely. Lorilian a' Silvas, gentle, beautiful daughter of the elder of clan Silvas. It seemed like ancient history now, but a little more than twenty years ago a young and foolish lad of twenty six had gotten himself nearly killed by a large stag that wasn't quite dead when he approached it.

He had been a wanderer and soldier of fortune for some time when chance had brought him near the elven village of Lorilian's people and his careless injury. She had been out collection herbs for the clan healer when she came upon his broken and bloodied form.

She had nursed him back to health, and during the time of his recovery something rare and wonderful had happened. While it was not uncommon for the human male to become enamored with the exquisite beauty of an elf maiden, never before had elves found any human desirable. She had found him so. She used to joke that their time together had allowed her to look past his bulky, coarse, physical attributes and see the real beauty that existed underneath. They became mates and married after the fashion of her people. Not a universally popular union at the time, but one that was tolerated. Things weren't nearly as tense between elves and humans then as they were now.

Remarkably enough, and to the astonishment of everyone, their union produced a beautiful daughter, Cassandra. The years he spent with Lorilian and her people were the best years of his life. Still after several years of familial bliss, and after gaining a reputation among the elves as a capable hunter, and leader, he knew he had to leave.

During his time with the clan he studied their ways and their histories. The knowledge helped him understand them better, but it also forced him into a decision that tore him apart. He had to leave. Lorilian understood his decision but Tristan knew that Cassie never did. She was a child and all she could understand was that her father was abandoning her and her mother. He supposed that what she perceived as his betrayal of them had festered all these years and the bitterness had grown. No wonder she hated him. Though why she was here now escaped him. Tristan stumbled forward, trying to put his arms around her.

She pushed him away. "I'm not here for any belated, insincere show of affection." Her voice was cold. "This visit was never meant to be a happy reunion between a loving daughter and her doting father. Those two people haven't existed for over ten years."

"Fine." It was like a mask came over Tristan's face. Where moments before he was on the verge of a very sloppy emotional display, now his features betrayed no feelings what so ever. "Where is the rest of your group. I find it hard to believe that your mother would allow you to go wandering around the countryside alone."

Cassandra sucked in her breath and bit her lip before she spoke. "They are camped about a mile back. Once we knew where you were, I thought it best if I came alone, to talk to you."

"Okay," Tristan nodded slowly. "Perhaps we can then dispense with all these pleasantries and get right to the point. Tell me what is it that would cause you to look up an old man you so despise after all these years?"

Suddenly gone was the self-assured, bitter, half-elven young woman before him. She was replaced by a nervous and fearfully uncertain girl. Cassandra began to pace about the small clearing, as if she needed the physical action to bolster her resolve and gather her thoughts. Her gaze bounced off her father's companions several times, they impassively returned her stares, but she was always drawn back to him.

"I - we," her voice faltered momentarily. "We need your help. I was sent to find you and ask you to come back." She paused to draw in a deep breath. "Elfkind is at war!"

*******

It was quite a hot load to drop into the middle of a family squabble. Reactions were mostly silent, but the sudden chill and tension were thick in the air. Except for Ralph, everyone kept their immediate thoughts private. The little mythical beast started to fly around in an erratic circle, his high pitched voice puncturing the silence.

"A war! A war!" the creature screeched. Ralph landed on Tristan's shoulder. "Say, that reminds me of the one about the elf, the troll, and a goat. It seems that there was this..."

"Shut up, Ralph." A trio of voices shouted in unison while Cassandra stared uncomprehendingly at the mythological annoyance.

"You'd better sit down and tell me about it." Tristan led her by the hand to the dark circle of ashes which marked the cook fires from nights past. He sat her down on a log placed there for just that purpose.

Tristan looked over at his companions. "Teri, backtrack her trail to see if anyone has been following her. Then find the rest of her traveling party and invite them to join us." The ebon felis disappeared into the heavy underbrush before his words quit echoing in the cool, early morning air. "Louki, check supplies and see if we have anything that could provide our guest with a decent breakfast." The purple fellow winked and disappeared into a small tent off to one side of the camp.

"I'm not hungry. I just need to..." Cassandra began.

Tristan halted her protestations with a wave of his hand. "Well I am. There is nothing that says we can't eat while we talk this out."

Louki came over with an arm load of bread and some sort of small sausages. He set them down at Tristan's feet and turned his attention to building up a new fire. He flashed Cassandra a wide grin, the white teeth nearly blinding in comparison to the darkness of his skin. The size and sharpness of his canine teeth gave him a feral quality which for some reason made her uneasy, but she couldn't look away from him.

Meanwhile, from somewhere, Tristan produced a large iron pan, and soon the smells of cooking sausages were filling her nostrils. She hadn't till that moment realized how hungry she really was. It had been days since she'd eaten anything beyond nuts and trailbread.

"Suppose, now, you tell me exactly what is going on, as calmly and clearly as you can." Tristan handed her a thick slab of bread topped off by several hot sizzling sausages. She gratefully accepted it but kept her eyes averted, staring at her feet. Between mouthfuls she haltingly told her story.

Apparently during most of the years that Tristan had been away from his wife's people things had been quite peaceful. Contact outside of Woodholme, the spot in the Eastern Forest which clan Silvas called their own, was rare. But what there was of it was quite civilized and even at times, friendly. Cassandra's mother had hoped that it boded well for a time to come when elves, humans, and all the various folks of the world could live, work, and play in peace and harmony. Lorilian always was a dreamer. As it turned out such dreams were not meant to be.

About six to eight months ago the elves noticed an increase in bandit raids into their territories and trading with the outside world suddenly ceased. It was similar to the times when Tristan had first lived with the Lorilian's people and had made his mark as a battle leader against the roving bands of bandits and brigands. Only this time the bandits seemed more organized and less interested in what they could take. They were more blood thirsty and reveled in the killing for its own sake.

Rumors coming out of the larger cities of men finally reached the elves and told of a new power in the church of the nameless god. Someone who called himself the 'Divine One'. This priest had gathered a large following in a short time and he'd done it by preaching human superiority over the other races which shared this land. It wasn't long before any chance encounters the elves had with humans was met with hostility and scorn.

The elders of the two major elf clans called for a conclave a few months back. They could see the way the attitudes and sentiments of the humans were leading and they feared it. Not more than a month later their worst fears were being realized. No longer were they greeted with scorn and hostility but with open hatred and armed conflict. It had begun.

Having been able to merely foresee the coming conflict was not nearly enough, the clan elders felt they needed to act. They each retreated deeper into their respected habitats. Clan Silvas melted farther into the deep woods while clan Eldas moved higher into the mountain reaches of Stoneholme. They knew this was only a delaying tactic at best, that other measures would have to be planned and implemented but they were at a loss as to what to do.

Elves made good hunters because of their abilities to blend in with and utilize their natural surroundings, coupled with their natural grace and athletic skills. But they were also, by nature, quite a passive and peaceful people, seldom given to any violent displays. They killed only when necessary.

Also there really wasn't any central authority in the clans. The elders acted more as teachers and arbiters in minor disputes then they did as lawgivers or enforcers. Elves tended to live in an extended family type atmosphere which may help them pull together in times of hardship and crises, but it did little to prepare them for the horrors to come. They were ill prepared for a war. They needed a strong leader.

This was why Cassandra was sent out to find and bring back Tristan. They needed someone who knew the ways of war and conflict. Someone who could formulate and lead battle stratagems. These things he had proved himself expert in during the time he'd spent with them earlier. If not for Tristan's skill and cunning, the raids of several large bandit bands back in those days would have caused untold misery and devastation to those gentle people. The elves knew him, trusted him, and would follow him. They felt he was probably their only hope against the better armed and much more numerous human host beginning to array themselves against the elves, and the other non-human races.

Tristan didn't speak, letting Cassandra get her story out in one long telling, but many emotions played across his face as she touched on one aspect or another of the tale. He didn't trust himself to speak. He sat, wringing his hands and staring unseeing at his breakfast, long cold, lying at his feet. He knew what it had cost her to come here and beg a man she thought betrayed her family for help. And by the unknown name of god he desperately did want to help. It twisted in his gut like a bent knife, but he knew he couldn't, he didn't dare. He also knew that Cassie would never understand.

"So you can see why my feelings in this are of no importance. You must help my people, or all is surely lost."

Tristan rose to his feet slowly, suddenly feeling every one of his years and more, weighing on him. A tear glistened in the sunlight like a jewel on his cheek.

"I'm sorry, but... I can't."

"What!" Cassandra jumped to her feet, scattering plates and food alike with equal indifference. Her suplicant-like demeanor was instantly gone and back was the angry young woman. "What are you saying?" Her voice cracked and she tried unsuccessfully to regain it.

"I would like to help, really I would... but I can't." Tristan waved his hand in a sweeping gesture, indicating the world beyond their tiny camp. "There has to be someone else who can..."

"Someone else! You know what elves are like. You know how hard it is for them to give their trust. There is no one else." She turned her back to him and beat her fist into the palm of her other hand. "Of all the things I thought you were over the years, the one thing that never entered my mind was that you were a coward." She whirled and faced him again, emerald lightning flashed in her eyes. "I guess I was wrong!"

"Dammit, Cassie!" It was Tristan's turn for a bit of anger. "You stand there proudly flaunting your elven heritage, begging me to save *your* people. Yet if you truly did embrace the way of your mother's race you would know why I had to leave all those years ago. And you'd know why I can't go back there, especially now, especially for this reason."

Cassandra stared uncomprehendingly at him for several moments, her brow furrowed in anger and confusion. "You can't be... You don't mean... the old prophecy?"

"Of course, the old prophecy! Do you think I would have stayed away from you and the woman I love all these years out of choice? Those were the happiest years of my life."

"But that prophecy is just an old folk tale - a fable used to entertain children at the nightly firetalks. No rational younger elf believes in any of those old stories."

Tristan shook his head sadly, trying to think of the right words to say, yet knowing that it wouldn't make any difference. Cassandra always had a mind of her own.

"Those tales and the prophecies are an integral part of the lore and traditions of the people you so proudly claim to be one of." Tristan wished she could understand.

"Those old tales are the imaginings of elves long dead that can have no possible bearing on the world we live in now, or the peril we face." Cassandra shook her head in frustration. "I can't believe you'd let the ramblings of a few ancient story spinners keep you from doing what you know is right. That they'd keep you from helping us. It goes against all sense or logic."

Tristan snorted derisively. "Who said the world was a logical place. I can not take the chance. I will not, through my actions, cause the destruction of a people I admire and the family I love."

"Fine!" In a show of pique Cassie kicked dirt into the fire, wishing something, or someone else was on the receiving end. "You can't allow, through your actions, the destruction of my people. What a noble sentiment. Instead you allow, through your inaction, the same thing. Some choice!"

Tristan's fingernails were cutting bloody half moons into his palms as he let his daughter's scorn wash over him in palpable waves.

"I see no reason to stay here any longer." Her voice was flat and chill. "The mighty Tristan desCoyne has rendered his judgment and found us unworthy of his attention. He has turned his back on me and my mother's people. I guess I truly am an orphan now." She pulled her cloak a little tighter, stood and turned to go.

A blade of ice had suddenly plunged into Tristan's heart, instantly sending a chill throughout his body, and his soul. Cold sweat began to form on his forehead.

"Cassandra!" She stopped and turned to face him once more. "What did you mean by that?"

She scowled at him. "What do you care? You've made it very clear that you're not interested. It's not your problem."

He reached out and, grabbing her by the shoulder, shook her. "Tell me!"

She violently jerked herself out of his grasp. Her eyes smoldered with undisguised anger, but a tear also stole its way out of the corner of that eye. "Okay... here!" She reached inside her cloak and threw something to the ground at his feet.

It was a long, silky, green-gold braid of hair. There was never a moment of doubt in his mind as to whose hair that was. The memory of his dreams came rushing back with a new, more terrible meaning. He could barely tear his eyes away from the beautiful braid long enough to look questioningly at Cassandra. She was crying fully now.

"This was found draped over a tree branch a few days before I left the Valley of the Mists." She absently wiped at her tears with the back of her hand. "There were signs of a struggle and they found some torn cloth which by the color looked like that worn by the Church's soldiers." She paused to draw in a shaky breath. "Mother has been taken by men of the Divine One, and is probably dead by now... or worse."

The shared moment of personal grief was suddenly interrupted by the sound of Louki clearing his throat unnaturally loud. Ralph, who, up to that point had remained uncharacteristically silent, flew up to and perched on Tristan's shoulder.

"Hey, big guy, I think we have company."