THE LAST ELF
by
Marcus Johnston
Copyright © 1998, 2011

He never cried.  Not when he was wounded, not when his family was slaughtered, not even when the sacred glade was burned to ashes.  The last time he wept was when the dragons left Aristol Wood.
Delavaen Raeghya walked out of the broken hills down into the valley.  It was covered with buildings, houses, shacks, businesses... all made from unvarnished wood.  The color of the structures barely contrasted with the grainy dirt they stood on.  The place was called Haper's Glen.
The elf spat in disgust and continued down the road into the sprawl.  He remembered when Haper's Glen was a trading post; one tavern and one cabin, caught in the embrace of the forest.  Now there wasn't a tree for miles and Aristol Wood was a memory.  Hmph, he thought, home... but not home.  The forest that covered half a continent was now only large patches of green.
As he entered the town, the smell of humans assailed his nostrils.  Del shivered from the stench but kept going.  There were bands of all kinds moving around; humans, dwarves, gnomes, halflings, half-elves.  Yes, the half-elves, they were all that was left of his race.  We used to call them trash, inferior mortals...  Now they were the only legacy of the forest.
Along the main path (you could hardly call it a road), the lines of vendors and merchants started hawking their goods.  Past the deer meat and calabuya stands, there was a madman yelling some gibberish.  The man was dressed in rags, straggly long hair, and around his neck were garlands of mistletoe and ivy; Del pegged him as a druid.
"Rot and corruption!" the bum yelled.  "All of it, rot and corruption!  This place is an abomination!  Our sacred trees are sacrificed for the sins of man!"
Del kept walking.  Druids smelt worse that they sounded, but he respected them above all other humans.  They continued to fight to save the wood even after the elves were wiped out.  It was a losing battle.
"You!!" the druid screeched.  Del turned and the dirty man had his finger pointed at him.  "Elf!  You've come back!"
Raeghya tried to ignore him, but the druid was attracting a crowd, staying right behind him.  "Elf!  You've come back!  You've come to save us!"
Del shook his head; he had never put any faith in prophecies.  "The forest will be restored!" the druid continued, following the elf.  "You will lead us!"
"You've got the wrong guy, " the elf murmured, trying to pass, but the shaggy man got in his way.
"You will bring the dragons back to Aristol!"
"The dragons are dead!" Del snapped, his eyes burning with pain.  "I saw them leave.  Aristol died with them."
"Magic can restore..."
"Magic is dead!"  Del went to push past him, but the druid held him back.  He pulled free a bunch of mistletoe and handed it to him.  Raeghya was defused and took the gift.
In a daze, the stinky character seemed sane and whispered, "Magic is not dead."  Closing Del's hand around the mistletoe, the druid went off to rave elsewhere.  When he opened his hand, Raeghya held a fully-opened blossom.

The elf quickly found the main lumber yard he was looking for.  The lord of this realm cut down the trees to sell to the rest of the human kingdom.  The lifeblood of his home was being sold as lumber to build homes for the treeless prairie.  Now he was going to work for the man who destroyed his home.  If Del saw the irony, he didn't care.  He needed the work.
As he entered the place, all eyes turned.  Del stood two feet above the tallest man.  If his pointed ears and pale looks didn't draw them out, surely his swords and the bow on his back brought some stares.  The elf was dressed in black wore a devil's grin, and looked like death.
Men backed off as he approached the main building.  As Del went through the front door, he noticed three figures inside.  The short fat man sat behind the desk.  A dwarf and another man with an average build sat against the wall.  The elf went right to the desk jockey and said, "I want to see the Graf."
His face melted from fright to amusement.  "The Graf, eh?  Who are you?"
"The Graf needs a sword and a man to wield it.  I'm that man."
"You're not even a man!" the dwarf chuckled.
"Which makes me perfect for the job."
The clerk sucked his lip, thought about it, then eyed him over.  "Here's the problem.  No one works for Graf Tomas without my say so.  I need to know if you're right for the job."
Del cocked an eyebrow then pulled a knife from his belt.  The dwarf tensed until the elf handed it to the fat man.  The paper pusher snorted out a laugh.  "What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Stab me."
"What?!"
"Stab me," Del repeated, placing his hands behind his back.
The clerk held the blade for a moment, still deciding if he should strike or not, then jolted forward.  Del jump-kicked the desk, sprawling the fat man, and sending the knife flying.  Raeghya plucked it from the air and brought it to the man's throat.
The dwarf leapt to his feet; the other man stayed still.  Del never wavered his attention from the bloated, beady face.  "Now, I want to see the Graf."
"Release him!" the dwarf bellowed.
"First, the Graf."
"NOW, elf!"
Del pressed the knife closer to the clerk.  The dwarf took his battle-axe and charged, screaming bloody murder as he swept toward Raeghya.  The axe head fell, the elf swiveled, and the blade found itself buried in the desk, an inch from the fat man's head.  Del swept his leg around and kicked the dwarf in the ass.  The momentum sent the short figure into the table, cracking it in two, sending both figures to the ground.
Once the elf got to his feet, he heard clapping behind him.  He turned to the other man, who was all smiles.  "I think you'll do."  He looked past Del and spoke to the sprawling fat man.  "What do you think, Borhe?"
Borhe managed to grunt as he got up.  The standing man laughed.  Del turned to him and nodded.  "Graf Tomas."  It wasn't a question.
"And perceptive?"  The man smiled wider.  "Good.  Cargrah, take him to the castle.  I'll want to dine with him tonight."  The dwarf, struggling to get up, simply nodded.  The Graf chuckled to himself and walked out the door.  Del waited patiently as the two escaped from the remains of the desk.

As the two of them walked toward the castle, Del soon realized that the dwarf was the biggest loudmouth in the duchy.  Cargrah also turned out to be the Captain of the Guard, so Del was polite as the dwarf droned on.
"So," the dwarf asked, "you were from here?  Before the trees were gone?"
"Yeah."
	"So this is like coming home, right?"
"No."
"No?" the dwarf repeated, then thought about it, and sighed.  "Oh.  Sorry.  Guess a lot's changed since then."  He paused, but Del said nothing.  "So, how'd you survive the war?  I mean, with you being a warrior, I figured you were in the army. "
Del's shoulder ached with the words.  Yes, he was there in the trees when the human army struck.  There were so few elves left after the Battle of Seravane that they could no longer face the mortals on the ground.  So they hid and waited for the ambush.  Del watched as the banners proceeded the column; the men seemed so confident.  They were foolish, however, to think they could take the sacred grove.  The archers around him got itchy, anxious for the fight ahead, wanting revenge for their slain families.
Then, a high-pitched cry sang through the canopy.  Hundreds of arrows rained down on the poor mortals.  Their screams of agony sang music to the elves above.  Two more flights were launched before they heard it.  First, a whistle, then a sizzle, then BOOM!
Flames burst in the trees beside him.  By Creshede! he thought, They brought catapults!  The canopy around him was lit by the human's cursed everflame.  This strange mixture was almost impossible to put out, and if left unchecked, would destroy this entire part of the forest.  Del knew he had to take out the machines before they took out his people.
The elf leapt from one tree to the next, desperately trying to reach the siege engines.  Below him, the humans had brought up their archers, putting up a hell of a fight.  Now the elves were beginning to suffer along with the mortals.  Finally, Del reached the spot.  Two machines and their crews raced to fire the next shot.  Surrounded by archers and protected by the same, a fierce volley erupted between the two mortals on the ground and the elves in the trees.  Shields and branches blocked some missiles, but the crossfire remained deadly.
Del took his time and carefully aimed his shot.  With all the massive archer barrages failing to stop the machines, an arrow carefully placed could make all the difference.  The elf watched, searching for the key target, undisturbed by the two arrows that had embedded themselvesin his tree.  Finally, his eyes found the target he desired.  One of the catapult's gunners was hiding behind a shield.  He would have to come out from behind it to aim and fire the gun.
Keeping one eye on the gunner and the other on the crew, Del gauged when they were ready to fire.  Another arrow embedded itself beneath him, but the elf kept a tight draw on his string.  Finally it shifted, the crew moved behind their shields, and the gunner arched out.  That was his last mistake.
The arrow flew and struck square on the gunner's neck.  The force of the impact sent the man falling on the release lever, firing the catapult.  A ball of eerie flame launched hideously off-course.  Del cheered and jumped on the branch.  The next second, an arrow struck him in the shoulder.  For a moment, the elf was caught between surprise and ill balance.  Before he could decide which to deal with, the tree decided for him.  The bark beneath his feet gave way and sent him hurtling to earth.
As he fell, time seemed to slow for him.  Del watched the glow of the fireball float down the road.  Through the tree limbs, the elf saw where the flame was going.  His surprise turned to shock.  By Creshede, NO! his mind cried, but the projectile hit anyway, right at the heart of the sacred glade.
The shock gave way to pain as Del felt his soul curse himself, his body dropping to hell.  Another moment, a flicker, and the elf impacted with... something.  All sight became blackness, his spirit rejoicing, praying that death would be better than living with the truth that he had destroyed the elves' one gate to heaven.

Del shuddered as he forced himself to look at the dwarf beside him.  "No," the elf lied.  "I was never in the war."

The "castle" was little more than a moat and bailey, constructed from the same plundered trees that had built the Graf's fortune.  The dwarf led him through the gates of the place.  Del's eyes widened to see the large amounts of fighting men harbored within the castle.  Some were training, most were relaxing, but all of them had their weapons within reach.
The elf said nothing, preferring to keep his own counsel, as they walked toward the Graf's quarters.  Even Cargrah was uncharacteristically quiet; the Graf was prepared for war.
The nobleman's quarters were hardly more then a shack placed against the tall log wall.  When they entered, the servants were finished setting the table.  A full spread of boar, gravy, sylvan berries, and mead; it was beautiful.  Tomas was sitting at one end, looking over some charts, when he finally noticed he two standing there.  "Please," the man mentioned, "we don't stand on ceremony here.  Sit."  As the two took their seats, the Graf put his documents away and dug into the food.  The lord and the dwarf ate voraciously while the elf picked at his food.
"What do you think of my castle?" Tomas asked his new dinner guest.
"Small."  Del was blunt.  "Good construction, but poor materials.  Would not last long under siege."  The elf tasted one of the berries while the dwarf's color drained from his face.  "It is well manned, however."
"Interesting," the Graf replied, not even phased by the elf's insulting manner.  "What would you recommend?"
"Fight anyone out in the open, use this as a last resort, and... start building in stone."
"My lord, I..." Cargrah started to protest.
The Graf cut him off.  "Is this your expert opinion?"
"It's the truth."  The elf smiled and drank more of the fine mead.
Tomas joined his smile and chuckled.  "You are a tough one, aren't you?  Sage advice.  The first two I'll warrant you are good, but the last... impossible."
"Why?"
"Why?!  Stone is expensive, my dear elf, and the nearest quarry is hundreds of miles away."  The Graf took another bite of his boar and continued on.  "Besides, once the forest is gone, I can fief out this domain to some farming knights and retire."
"Where?"
"To my castle, of course!"  The Graf thundered, leaving the elf bewildered.  "Certainly, after the war, I built this poor demesne from a wooded wilderness to a prosperous land.  Still, why build a castle when you can marry one?"
Cargrah explained, "His wife is the Lady Enaphe, heir to the Duchy of Mervase."
"Exactly!" Tomas continued.  "When her father dies, she remains the sole heir.  Her castle is close to the capitol... and what's the use of being the power behind the throne if you don't even see the throne?"
While the two enjoyed a chuckle, Del peered off to the side, as if he could see the men out there.  "Why all the men?"
"That's my problem.  The Hierophant's getting more aggressive."
"The Hierophant?"
"Druids.  They've always been an annoyance, but now they've gone too far.  They're gathering support to run me out."
"Hmph!" the dwarf announced.  "What can those lots do against us?"
"Enough," Graf Tomas answered.  "They have the ear of the people, and the Hierophant's a mage... and they're rarer than dragons."
"Dragons?"  Raeghya's pointed ears perked up.
"Yeah," Cargrah bellowed, "that's what this druid is on about.  He says if we return to the forest, the dragons will return and forgive us."  The dwarf took another drink.  "What nonsense!"
"Yes," Tomas continued, "but the people still listen to it.  I've been thinking, elf, that with you as my bodyguard, these superstitious fools might back down.  What do you say?"
Del thought about it as he emptied his glass.  "It beats waiting for dragons."
The Graf smiled as he raised his glass.  "Glad to hear it.  Cargrah, refill his glass, he needs refreshment for tomorrow."

When they rode into Haper's Glen the next day, Del felt the trouble brewing around him.  The Graf and the captain were oblivious, but the mercenary noticed everything.  The way people stared at them, how they walked, how they quieted down; none of this was lost of Raeghya.  Finally, he spoke up.  "We need to move."
"What?" Cargrah muttered, still stuck in the monotonous daze of riding.
"Why?" Tomas asked.
"We're not safe."
The dwarf doubted it, but his employer believed.  "Let's get to the yard.  I've got some men there."
Their trot changed to a gallop as they kicked up the dusty innards of the sprawl.  Once at the yard, the once-lazy guards were bright and alert.  The Graf rode up to the nearest one.  "What's the situation?"
"Whole town's a flutter.  Druid's stirring up a storm."
"They've done it before."
"Not so big.  Dey got numbers now."
"So they're heading for us, you mean?"
"Yep."
The Graf turned in disgust and rode into the yard; the others followed suit.  Workers wandered around, going through the motions of work, but their minds were clearly elsewhere.  The trio had barely reached the main building when the trouble hit.
A chant was heard through the air.  "Quay-lan-fant!  Quay-lan-fant!"  Gibberish.  Still, the mob of people began to scurry out of the crowded alleys of Haper's Glen.  As they pressed forward, the Graf barked orders to his guards.  All the while, the marchers kept shouting, "Quay-lan-fant!"  It wasn't until the Hierophant appeared that Del realized what they were saying.  It was horribly accented and badly pronounced, but the tongue became obvious; it was Elvish.  Quelonfa; murderer, deceiver, destroyer of the spirit... there was no accurate translation.  But the hatred behind it was real enough.
The mob slowed down and the Hierophant stepped forward.  The Graf, not to be undone, also came out and faced his rival.  The druid shouted at him from the beginning.  "You corruptor of this land!  Aristol's cursed, and you are the source!"
"Nonsense!  I have built a prosperous city out of nothing."  The Graf turned to the crowd.  "You have all benefited from my wealth!"
"Your wealth is squeezed from the blood of Creshede!"  The druid spat back, intoning the Elvish goddess.  Then, almost as a prayer, he kept shouting in Elvish.  "Mejeune caon faleise Cresieede dae quelonfa!"  The crowd chanted his last word, adding strength to his claim.
"Hold!" Tomas screamed, shocking the mob into silence.  "All of you, ALL OF YOU live in the wood homes I cut from the forest!  Do you curse the butcher for killing the deer while eating its meat?  NO!  If I am guilty, then it is no more than ALL OF YOU!"
"You are the source!" the Hierophant snarled.  "With you it ends, with you it began.  Lifa tralais mur sonehfen!"
"In a tongue I can understand, druid!"
The Hierophant smiled as he translated.  "Life's circle must be complete.  The elf has returned.  The dragons will return.  The wood will be restored."
"The elf fights for me."  The Graf returned his opponent's smile, hoping that it would end the argument.  Already, the crowd was cooling down and Tomas was tipping the balance.
The druid, though, could sense the emotions of the crowd and moved to enflame them again.  "Only because YOU have corrupted him!  Deceiver!  Murderer!  Quelonfa!  Quelonfa!"  Through the Hierophant's direction, the crowd grew angry again, bringing the heat to a boil.
"Can you honestly believe..." Tomas tried to reply, but the crowd overpowered his voice.  The Graf tried several times to get their attention, but the mob's chant grew louder.  Del drew his sword and gestured for his employer to move back.  At first Tomas resisted, but as the people moved closer, he relented and fell back.  Raeghya and the lord pulled back to the line of fighters guarding the gate.
The intensity of the mob grew, but they stayed away from the line of sharp swords.  The elf kept his eye on the druid.  While the crowd fumed, the Hierophant twiddled a sprig of ivy between his hands.  Del watched him so intently that he hardly noticed his brothers in arms falling asleep.  Even Raeghya felt his eyelids drooping as he struggled to stay awake.
The druid shouted, "Now!" and Del sprung awake.  As the crowd charged in, the elf nudged the soldier next to him and met the oncoming fray.  Raeghya stabbed the first man, kicked another to pull out his sword, then sliced three others in a swing.  When he had cleared a circle, the elf spared a glance behind him.  Half the soldiers were dead, caught napping, and the other half were quickly being overwhelmed.  "Fall back!" he screamed, and made several swiping motions to keep the civilians back.  Even so, one of the foolhardy tried to come through his sword and got rewarded with a chop to the side.
The elf's withdrawal soon became a complete rout as the mob poured into the lumber yard.  The few human soldiers left abandoned duty and burst full tilt for the main building.  As Del joined them, he looked desperately for the Graf, knowing he had to get him out of there.  He could hear the druid behind him crying out, but it was muffled by his throbbing legions.  "Destroy it... and carve... bastard son of a... to hell!"
Del sprinted ahead and saw the Graf come out of the main building.  "Get on your horse!" the elf screamed. 
"Why did you..."
Del cut him off in mid-sentence.  "Ride or die!"  The mercenary brought the point of his bloody sword at him then waved it over to show him the rushing mob coming closer.  Tomas got the message and hopped on his horse.  The elf led the way, Cargrah saw what was happening, and covered the ride behind his master.
Raeghya navigated back and forth between piles of lumber and the piles of rushing people.  There was only one gate to the yard, and the fence was too high to jump.  Swerving through the maze, the riders' weapons flashed constantly to kill the hordes of unarmed men and women trying to unseat them.  Finally, they saw the gate was empty, and they raced for it.
On cue, the Hierophant stepped out from the confusion.  He quickly grasped a bit of mistletoe from around his neck, clutched it in a fist, and began incanting a spell.
The elf panicked and bolted the horse for the gate.  The other riders followed suit.  As the glow of the druid's fist got brighter, however, Del knew he'd never make it.  Then Cargrah took his battleaxe, raised it above his body, and threw it at the mage.
The Hierophant panicked as he saw the huge chunk of metal streaming for him.  With a flip of his hand, the energy in his fist released, and the axe exploded.
The dwarf's gambit worked, buying the riders enough time to get through the gate before the mage could weave another spell.  The faceless mob charged after them, but their mounts were too fast, and the trio fled out of the valley.
Once they reached the rim of the glen, outside of town, they finally stopped and look behind them.  The yard was burning, the main building wrecked, and the figures of living and dead bodies were strewn all around.
"I'm going to miss that axe."  The dwarf smiled.
"Those ungrateful bastards!!" the Graf spat out.  Tomas was in no mood for humor.  "I built that town, fueled it, helped it stand... and they have the insolence to condemn me? Me?!"  His flash of anger seemed to smolder into contempt.  "Cargrah, inform the men when we reach the castle that we'll move out in the morning."  Tomas snarled in disgust.  "I'm going to level this town to the ground!"

True to his word, the army moved out from the castle at dawn.  Less than a hour later, they had reached the grazing field at the rim of Haper's Glen.  The druid had known of their advance, and in the early morning light, had assembled a small army of his own.  Now, on level ground, they faced off.
As Del readied his bow, he looked across at his enemy.  The peasants had crafted weapons from wood; pitchforks, clubs, and the occasional mace.  The people of the town were ready for battle.  So was the Graf; on its own, the druid's army had little chance of victory.
That's what bothered the elf as the Graf's own archers moved up front.  Why didn't he ambush us instead of a straight-up fight?  It's not like the druids didn't know how.  Why did they stand?
Then he saw the Hierophant.  He paraded in front of the peasants shouting something incomprehensible at this distance.  The Graf immediately moved to copy his action, got in front of his army, took off the helmet on his metal suit, and began to shout, "Men of Aristol!  It is time to claim your birthright!"  Tomas swept his hand toward the opposition.  "The druids would destroy your homes, burn your fields, and plant trees in your yards!  All in the cause of ‘nature’!"  He changed his tone from sarcastic to violent.  "I say, let nature take care of itself!  We men are masters of the world!  Would you let them overturn your fields?"
"No!" came a couple voices back.
"Will you let them wreck your homes?"
"No!"  It was stronger this time.
"Take your gold?"
"NO!"
"Steal your life?"
"NO!"
"Rape your wives?!"
"NO!!!" came cheering back with full force!
"THEN, fight well, fight hard, and when you do, the plunder of the village is yours!"
"AYE!!!" screamed the crowd.
The Graf rode out of the way, calling out, "Archers!"
"Archers!" was repeated down the line.
The bowmen moved forward; the shieldmen falling right behind them.  Archers were expensive and needed to be protected.  Anyone could swing a sword, but it took special skill to fire an arrow accurately.  Del moved to string his bow, but would not be joining them in the first volley.  His job was to hit accurately for maximum effect.  The elf had one specific  target in mind.
The arrows loosed and sailed through the air.  In mid-flight, they caught on fire.  Del's attention turned immediately to the druid, rubbing a holly branch.  So, he thought, they're depending on his magic. While the projectiles sizzled to ashes above the peasants’ heads, the elf sized up the druid.  His robe seemed larger than before (chain mail underneath), wore an iron helmet (probably snagged from the lumber yard), and his legs were girded.  The Hierophant seemed nigh invulnerable.  Del’s arrows wouldn't penetrate his armor... except for his hands!  Del set his arrow, pulled back, and waited.
A shout of joy rose up from the peasants, and they lurched forward.  The archers were visibly shaken.  They looked around at each other, uncertain what to do.  The Graf was annoyed and shouted, "Again!"  The archers shook off their fear, set another arrow, and loosed again.
Another volley flew through the air, and again the mage twirled a holly branch.  This time, the arrows banked away from their targets, spinning in all directions except towards the druid's army.  The peasants cheered again and marched faster.  Still Del held his shot.  Wait until he gets closer, he told himself.
There was no time for another volley before the armies closed distance.  "Shields!" the Graf exclaimed, and the archers fell back behind the wall of metal.  Swords were drawn and visors clamped shut as the men prepared for battle.
The druid and his army moved forward.  Pitchforks and spears angled to face the shield wall.  Then the Hierophant pulled a sprig of mistletoe from around his neck, placing it in his fist.  It started to glow.
Del knew this spell.  It was too late for either army to back down.  The elf aimed his shot carefully, waited for the fist to glow brighter, and let loose.
The arrow hit square in the druid's wrist.  The Hierophant screamed: his fist opened, and the spell went off prematurely.
The effect hit like a hammer.  A large circle of peasants around the druid were knocked down, making a hole in the center of their line.  The Graf seized the opportunity and cried, "Charge!"
The shield wall was like a medieval bulldozer, crashing into the townspeople's broken front.  Panic swept through the peasants, allowing the Graf's men to roll through into the thick of it.  Soldiers behind the wall spun off to break up the shaken peasant troops.  Tomas took his compliment of armored knights around to strike their flank.  All was in the lord's favor.
Something in the skies disquieted the Graf's victory.  It started as a rumble, then grew to a roar.  In the midst of the fighting, Del looked up, but saw a perfectly clear sky.
Then, a blaze of fire streaked across the heavens, making everyone stop.  Another joined it, and all eyes turned above.  The battlefield grew eerily quiet and the Hierophant rose up again.  Battered and bloodied, he ripped off his iron helmet and screamed, "You see!  The dragons have returned!!"
With a whoosh of air, the scaled beast appeared.  His mate followed, and the light dancing off their multi-colored scales cast a rainbow on the stunned crowds below.
Then Delavaen Raeghya, watching the skies above, felt all the angst of his life hit him life a thunderstorm.  The elf fell to his knees in a scream of pain, cutting the momentary quiet.  The druid managed to stand, turned back to his army, and cried out, "Strike now for your very souls!"
The peasants fell like a wave and crashed down on the Graf's army.  The shock had shifted from the townspeople to the soldiers.  As the druid's men fought with a strength twice their girth, the paid mercenary soldiers fell back in droves.  Their slain were quickly piling as Tomas desperately struggled to rally, wheeling his cavalry to break the counter-attack.
Del kneeled alone, oblivious to the battle around him, and found himself in the greatest calm he had ever known.  His hand reached up to his cheek.  It was wet.  Are those tears? the elf asked himself.  By Creshede, I'm crying!  I'm crying!!!
The thunderstorm broke above his soul and the calm ceased.  The dragons have returned! his thoughts exclaimed.  I can go home!
Graf Tomas wheeled his mount around toward the penitent figure.  In a rage, the lord called out, "Elf!  Are you just going to sit there while my army dies?!"
Del had finally realized what was wrong—he was fighting for the wrong side!  His eyes widened with the realization as he quietly notched an arrow in his bow.
Tomas was still mounted and became even more furious.  "Elf!  Rise and fight, you bastard!"
"No," Del whispered as he whipped his bow around, pulled, and loosed.  As always, the elf's arrow found its mark, right into the Graf's open visor.  The arrowhead embedded itself in his former employer's skull, and the ton of metal slid off the horse to die.
The elf abandoned the bow, jumped onto the steed's back, and unsheathed his sword.  Once he compelled the horse to gallop, he was away.  With delicate maneuvers, Del waded into the fight and skillfully carved through the enemy soldiers that once were his allies.
When the peasants saw the elf, a cheer ran through their mob, and they struck harder.  With Del breaking through their line, the soldiers were quickly outflanked, and they ran.
Their enemies fled, the peasants turned to the other bands of soldiers.  Soon the entire Graf's army, without their leader to rally them, fled the battlefield.  A cry of victory went up as the last of the fighters disappeared over the far hills.  The druid's army had won!
Del got off the Graf's horse and caught his breath.  The peasants cheered as they came over to greet him.  Through the admiring crowd, the Hierophant broke through, smiling despite being in exquisite pain.  He was about to speak when someone beat him to it.
"ELF!!" Cargrah screamed, appearing from behind a pile of bodies.  The dwarf, a gash bleeding from his shoulder, held a new bloodied battle-axe.  He looked like he had spent his entire life in battle.
A cluster of peasants instinctually moved to protect the elf, but Cargrah bellowed out, "NO!  That pointed-eared traitor is mine!  Mine alone!"
Del pushed them aside and went to face Cargrah.  Even with the exhaustion, his spirit was lightened by the release of his internal pain.  The elf faced the dwarf with a refreshed strength.
Cargrah was sweating, bleeding, and furious.  "Well, elf, let me teach you pain as you ought you learn it!"
"I bested you once."
The dwarf's fury increased.  "Only by surprise!"
"It matters not the field, only the result."
"Then the field will be mine as well!"  Instantly, Cargrah charged at Del.  The elf shifted to meet the headlong assault.  Just as the dwarf moved to strike, Cargrah pivoted and spun to the side.  Del, fooled by the feint, was barely able to deflect the blow.  Even so, the elf was knocked off-balance.
Seeing his weakness, Cargrah started jabbing with the center spike of his axehead.  Del kept deflecting, but it took a lot to stay on his feet.  Finally the dwarf feinted again, then swooped to catch Del’s feet.  The elf saw it coming and jumped... but not fast enough.  The captain caught the edge of Del’s boot and sent him sprawling.
The elf tried to roll with the fall, but Cargrah never gave him the chance.  Instantly, he was chopping after him, never giving the elf a second to stand.  The captain handled the battle-axe with the skill of a master.
The elf had managed to hold on to his sword and finally swung, deflecting the latest blow.  Cargrah smiled with the knowledge that he had his foe right where he wanted him.  Del barely blocked a lower blow to his legs with his sword, but in his seated position, the elf was overextended.  He couldn't block the dwarf's next swing in time.
Cargrah raised his battle-axe for the killing blow and dropped it down.  Del knew he couldn't block it, so he grasped his sword with both hands and pulled up.  The elven sword caught the dwarf in the crotch before the axe-head could fall.  Raeghya could see the surprise in the captain's face as he lifted the small body with the blade over and above his head.
With a final burst of strength, Del flipped up, swung down, and caught the sprawled dwarf in the throat.  Cargrah gargled a final note as his blood spread across the ground.  For a moment, time stopped, and the elf knew for certain that he was right, that Raeghya had made the correct choice; Aristol would be restored.
Then the peasants swarmed upon his bloody frame, cheering and thanking him, as the Hierophant moved forward.  The druid smiled as he said, "You have proved yourself a noble elf, worthy of Creshede."
With that, the burning glade in his mind cooled and peace came to him at last.  Looking up to the sky, tears in his eyes, Del knew he was where he belonged.
Welcome home.