A Moment of Our Choosing
For the third time since the sparring session had started, Racieus found himself in a difficult position. He blades moved swiftly, knocking aside the thrusts and slashes of his poopnent, but unable to score any hits of their own. Bringing his mind back to the task at hand, the Halfling somersaulted backwards, launching his daggers as he did so. Two more were already in his hands when he landed, procured from various sheathes around his body. Passing up the respite he had gained, Racieus leapt back at his opponent, hoping to catch him off guard. The ploy didn’t work as he hoped, for his opponent had leapt lightly over him and watched as his momentum carried him onward.
As Racieus turned, he saw a bow in his enemy’s hand, and before he could blink, two arrows were in the air. With reflexes honed past the point of perfection, Racieus twisted out of the path of one arrow and, with a flash of movement, caught the shaft of the second as it soared past him. The small fighter dropped the arrow and turned to face his opponent, but his mind began to wander once again, and his concentration slipped. Racieus once again was on the defensive. He was struggling to keep up, quite unusual for the Halfling, and his opponent noticed. Dropping his twin blades to his sides he asked,
“Small one, what is wrong?”
Racieus sheathed his blades, “I don’t know elf.”
The elf, Racieus’ opponent, bent down to pick up a dagger, and made even the simple movement look graceful.
“You are my friend Racieus, and I know you well. If you don’t, it is only because you chose not to know. You are preoccupied. What is it?”
“Sigurd, I… I think I have to leave.”
Eyebrows narrowing, Sigurd turned a curious glance towards his tiny friend.
“I need not tell you that a place is, and always will be, reserved for you here. You know that. Something is pulling at you perhaps?”
Accepting a proffered dagger from the elf, Racieus nodded. “Yes. I’ve had some odd dreams lately. Normally I’d dismiss them, but they’ve been to frequent and too real to casually toss aside.”
“What do they depict?” prompted Sigurd.
“My people. I have heard rumors that they will be choosing a new king.”
“A new king? I wasn’t aware there was a Halfling king. What happened to the old one?”
“There has always been a king. It is not widely known that one exists due to the fact that none of them have done anything remarkable. The word is that the late king died of natural causes. This is normal enough among my people, but I am convinced otherwise.”
Sigurd was already nodding. “The dreams?”
“Yes. I get the feeling that our victory was not as complete as we thought.”
"Our goal was not to destroy all evil. We accomplished what we set out to do.”
“Perhaps there were those of us, who had additional goals in mind.”
“You?” asked the elf, full knowing the answer.
The Halfling turned away. “I cannot say. But I must go. If not for a threat, then I must be there to participate in the election. Perhaps I will be able to put my doubts to rest. I leave in two hours.”