Chapter 1
In a dark corner of a smoky tavern sat a stranger wearing a black hooded cloak. His right hand clutched a tall bronze mug, and his left arm dangled at his side. An elven sword hung from a leather strap on his belt and was neatly concealed beneath the folds of his cloak.
In another corner of the tavern by a large fireplace stood a big man with a thick black beard. He was dressed in rough leather armor, and he carried a jagged knife tucked under his belt. He was accompanied by three other men who were dressed in the same fashion. He glanced in the stranger’s direction, and his dark eyes narrowed. He signaled to his three companions with a wave of his hand and led them away from the fireplace.
The stranger lowered the hood of his cloak over his eyes as the four men approached his table. They halted at the table, two on either side of him. The stranger placed his mug on the table.
“My friends and I have made a wager,” said the bearded man. “They have insisted that you are not what I believe you are. They have offered me three silver coins if I can prove that you are what I think you are.”
The stranger turned slowly, his face veiled in shadow. “What is that?” he asked, his voice tinged with a soft accent.
The bearded man grinned. “That thieving elf,” he said.
“You’re wrong,” said the stranger, in the same soft accent. He turned away and reached for his ale, but the bearded man reached down and swiped it off the table. The stranger reached for the sword hanging from his belt and wrapped his fingers around its short leather handle.
The bearded man grabbed the stranger’s hood and pulled it back from his head, revealing a tuft of long dark hair, two long pointed ears, and narrow blue-green eyes. “Well, well,” he said. “Trik, isn’t it?”
The elf released the sword from its sheath and held it with its polished blade pressed against the inseam of the bearded man’s leather pants. His blue-green eyes shined fiercely at him. “Brudolf,” he hissed.
The bearded man looked down at the elven blade pressed against his crotch and cringed. “Perhaps,” he said, “I was mistaken.”
The elf nodded slowly, his blue-green eyes fixed on Brudolf’s dark brown eyes.
Brudolf placed the mug on the table in front of the elf and backed slowly away. The others followed him.
The men had not gotten far when Brudolf suddenly turned to his companions and shouted, “Get him.” Two of the men grabbed the elf from the table, while the third man disarmed him. As Trik struggled, the two men dragged him across the tavern and out of the doorway into the darkness.
