Page 48 of Elf Prince

After glancing around to ensure that he was still alone, Farrendel pulled out Essie’s recent letter. The folds were already worn because he had read and re-read it so many times.

Unfolding it, he read the letter again, letting the words soak into him. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear Essie’s voice echoing in her writing.

She was staying busy, planning an event with Illyna and Fydella. She had also had tea with Machasheni Leyleira again, which she claimed had been pleasant. To close the letter, she attempted a line in elvish. Some of her grammar was not perfect, but he could understand the sentence.

Between the quiet and Essie’s letters, the darkness did not seem as bad along the border as it usually did.

With her words still calming his muscles, he carefully folded the letter and tucked it into an inner pocket near his heart. Yes, it was the gesture of a hopeless romantic. But he liked the feel of having her close. Perhaps he would even get up the courage to tell her just that when he returned home to her.

A clear note blared into the morning air.

He stilled, his muscles tensing, his heart beating. An alarm horn.

Farrendel leapt from his perch, landing lightly on the mossy ground. He raced toward the camp. As he neared, he could already hear Weylind and the commanders calling orders. Farrendel halted next to Weylind.

Weylind’s face was hard. “The scouts have reported a raid to the east.”

He did not have to explain further. Their patrol would muster and attempt to cut the raid off from the gorge.

In minutes, the commanders were leading squads of warriors into the forest. Farrendel fell into step at Weylind’s side as they ghosted through the forest at the head of their own squads of warriors.

Long minutes stretched as they jogged silently until the crashing and clanging from ahead echoed from the rocks of the Gulmorth Gorge and the stately trees on this side of the border.

Weylind motioned that he would lead the others forward while Farrendel circled around to get between the gorge and the trolls. The other patrols were circling around to come at the raiders from the other side.

After one last shared glance with Weylind, Farrendel drew his swords, ice flooding through his veins as he prepared to go into battle. He stuck to the trees and foliage, staying hidden as he crept around the sounds of fighting coming from the woods ahead of him.

He dropped behind a large boulder, his back sheltered by another rock. Ahead of him, a line of troll warriors charged the elven warriors.

With the blast of the elven horn, Weylind led the charge from the forest. His black hair whipped around him as he wielded his single sword. Roots and branches lashed out around him as he whirled into battle, reminding everyone that the elven king was a great warrior in his own right.

The troll warriors faltered, then took a step back as if they intended to retreat.

Farrendel stood and let his magic flow from him. It crackled down his arms and the length of his swords. “Surrender.”

The faltering trolls formed a circle, their jaws hardening and eyes flashing.

Farrendel resisted the urge to sigh as he hardened his own resolve. The trolls would not surrender, despite the fact that they were surrounded and outnumbered. They considered it more honorable to die in battle than to surrender to an elf.

With Weylind and the elven warriors so close, Farrendel could not unleash his magic beyond the tightly controlled crackling coating his swords. Instead, he leapt off the boulder and launched himself at the trolls, stabbing down with his swords. He kicked a troll sword out of the way as he came down.

Reinforced with his magic, his swords sliced through metal and bone easily. He could not let himself think about the blood. The slaughter. The death. Until the ground was littered with bodies and his swords were coated with blood.

Farrendel rested a shaking hand over the place where Essie’s letter remained safely tucked inside his fighting leathers. The light and joy of her words were a distant memory in this place of war and death.

Weylind halted next to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. He did not say anything. He did not have to. His face was just as grim and hard as Farrendel’s in the wake of so much death.

Farrendel forced away the shaking and, instead, swept a calculating glance over the battlefield. “This is small, for a raid.”

Weylind nodded, the thoughtful lines returning around his mouth. “I am not sure what their purpose was in attacking here. There are no villages nearby.”

“Perhaps they wished to catch one of our small patrols.” Farrendel grimaced and tried not to feel the blood covering his fingers. All he wanted to do was scrub himself under scalding water until he felt clean again. “It was just their misfortune that our reinforcing patrol happened to be in the area.”

“Maybe.” Weylind’s frown remained, as if he found that explanation plausible yet still sensed something off.

It did seem odd. Something had changed recently in the troll tactics, and that was never a good thing. What did it mean? What were the trolls planning?

And what would it mean for Farrendel, as the one who would be called upon to stop the trolls?

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