Prologue

The forest rustled in the pre-dawn light.  Wind grazed over the tallest trees, and rattled the smallest bushes. Shadows bathed in every corner, creatures stirring in their depths.  And the sky was of an indigo, with streaks of scarlet scorched in ominous patterns across it.  The soft thud of leather boots crushing leaves in a frantic motion rang through the forest.  A parting in the thorns ahead revealed a woman.

She ran swift, un-human in fact.  She was an elf.  Fear gripped the elven woman’s body and stung the air with its pungent scent.  As she ran, another pair of foot steps followed.  It was less swift and graceful, less quick and speeding.  Though they both held an urgent hiss to the unreal melody.  The elf was wearing royal green robes, with gold fabric at the fringes.  Her hair was of dark copper, almost vibrant amber that gleamed in the night.

The second pair of footsteps belongs to a wolf; large wolf, with shimmering silver hair with black streaks through the ragged pelt.  The wolf snarled, and kept the pursuit.  The wolf’s body was lean and muscled; the harshness of it collided with the stunning grace of a hunting predator.   The wolf briefly stopped and howled.  The elf was cornered between a rock face and the wolf, a few stiff pines too close together for her to pass through stood on her left.

The elf turned to face the wolf, and strung her bow, her flaming red hair flying in the movement, to reveal her face.  Green eyes settled over a perfectly curved nose and full lipped mouth over a gentle peaches and cream complexion.  Her eyes sparkled like liquid emeralds, reflecting anguishing hate and sorrow.  Her eyes were rimmed with half moons under them, and tear streaks stained her face.

A wooden arrow with red swan feathers whizzed through the air.  The Elven lady’s face revealed brief surprise and her cheek was grazed.  The wolf snarled, and leaped onto a shadow figure, almost identical to the one of the trapped elf.  Silver glinted in the moonlight as a topaz-gemmed dagger embedded itself into the wolf’s scruff.  The beautiful creature yelped, and fell to the ground, the curved dagger emitting from its neck.  The Female elf cried out.  “Cassondra!” and fitted a light and dark blue swan feathered arrow onto the strung bow.  Her face clenched in preparation for battle.

Crackling laughter chilled the night.  The shadow moved, and glossy black hair fell to the shoulders of an almost identical looking elf.  This woman was clothed in silver trimmed, black armor with red silk shining on the sides.  “Tut tut tut tut.” The black-haired elf said.  Her eyes flickering copper like molten fire.  “Anamista, my dear elder sister, you should have more sense that to allow your companion fight your battles for you.”  She flashed a gleaming smiled with her canines stunningly brighter than all possible.  Anamista, the red-haired elf, was poised in an arching crouch, ready to let loose the arrow.  She tightened the string as her sister spoke to her.  “Although, you were never tactic in the art of war; you let your dearest advisors deal with those matters.  Look at who has lost the war now honey.”  A hawk screeched over head and circled the hazy night sky.

Anamista fired her bow.  The arrow fled into the night, and the black haired elf caught it in her left hand, smirking as she grabbed the deadly missile before it snagged her chest.  “Oh dear, if you’d pulled a little lighter, I might not have been able to catch it.”  She cocked her head.  The red haired elf cursed.

Anamista spoke, “Rahline, why did you betray us?  Why are you trying to murder me?  Is it for my throne in the castle of our land of Arvedue?”  Her voice rang like a trickling stream, and was as soft a rose buds.  She dropped her voice into a whisper.  “Why did you kill Fredric….?  Rahline scowled and snapped the perfectly crafted arrow that was still in her hand in half.

“Of course it was for the throne!  You’re not fit to be queen, sister.  You know nothing about how to rule.  I am the Leader now.  I claim this land, and in rebellion from the past, I rename Arvedue.  For now on, it will be called Dodianmere.  All oppose me shall die one of most painful deaths.  And you, Anamista, will be the first.  As for your little boyfriend,” she laughed in her husky and rendering voice again, “I wanted to see your face when he died.   It was lovely to see you suffer a living death, only hours ago.”  Tears streamed down Anamista’s face, and she shook her head defiantly.

                “Sister, but why?”  Her hand roamed around her belt, passing a blue velvet pouch sealed tightly and finally resting on the hilt of an emerald-encrusted sword.  She sheathed the elven weapon, silent as the wind.  Tears still pooled in her eyes, clouding her vision.  “That’s not all you did to him, is it?” the red-haired elf whispered.  Her voice cracked with exhaustion and sadness.  Her royal green gowns ripped and stained with blood and grime.  Rahline stepped closer and parried with a topaz studded sword.  Less elegant that Anamista’s, but the hilt was shaped and designed like ivy, the silver blade gleaming, with streaks of golden down the points.

Rahline smirked, “What, he never told you?” she chimed mockingly and swayed the blade.  Sparks flew as Anamista counter-attacked.  She elegantly twisted the blade and dove into her sister’s defenses.  Magic was not used in the fight, for it would be a cheat, the easy way out.  It just wouldn’t be as much fun.

Rahline parried and swung with a demanding grace.  Once that would terrify and fascinate the mortal mind.  She swiped the sword and knocked Anamista’s out of her grip, and into a rock.  Wind billowed around them, and the black-haired elf raised the sword to her sister’s throat, sneering.

Anamista dropped to her knees, giving up.  Her bow dropped into the dusty leaf mold, and her head swayed in defeat.  A wound in her shoulder oozed blood.  “Well then,” Rahline said, “As it turns out, your darling Fredric just happened to sleep with me.  You should have been there, it was lovely,” a wicked grind gleamed back at her, “It was so…forceful and dark.” She laughed. “You may be pure sister, but you’ll always be tainted by those you love.”

                Rahline grinned even more and continued, sheathing her sword, nor noticing Anamista retrieve the pouch.  She opened the leaf-like clasp and shook it.  A small emerald looking orb rolled on to her shaking hands.  It was totally ordinary, except it was inscribed in beautiful print, and in a perfect sphere the size of a Walnut.   It read Neirsha, the elven phrase for ‘Hope Wielder.'

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                Rahline continued.  “I always knew that one day it would come to this.  You bowed before me in your last moments.  You had no right to the throne.  Father was a fool.”  Only then did she see the orb.  She let out a hissing gasp and snarled.  “NO!”

                Anamista ignored her and started speaking in the ancient tongue, the language of the elves.  “Larnza rekka Rahline helfie appearhea fremdis loncharnick crame.  Mysa syris yerlame hheis jorrandor lasha ryem. Darnza synces Neirsha Adel enf Arvedue dregh lough.  Mayha knosh beru truf!”  The Ancient language was of power and magic.  Those who speak it can only tell the truth in those words.  It is magic, pure energy and magic. ‘May you and all after you be cursed, Rahline.  May you live a cursed life of short and dread.  The hope wielder will return to right your wrongs and avenge me.  May my love and life regain the throne, and unite Arvedue once more under the races of this world.  I sacrifice myself to save our future and the Elven race.  For without blood of the throne, nothing will survive!’  Would have been the translation of these sincere words.

The orb glowed, and the markings changed.  It became an intricate symbol.  Emerald light changed fluently to a teal, and a humming sound rose.  Anamista raised the small orb and cried out in pain as it sent shocks of electricity through her body.  For an instant, there was not color or sound.  It was plain white, emptiness, as if time stood still.  Then the orb exploded.

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