Elfborn: The Quest

Chapter 1: From a Cold Sea

"I said ..."

"I heard you," the man finally said, his words touched by a strange, soft slur and rolled 'r's' as they interrupted the armored man's words.

"Then answer me, boy! What are you doing here?"

"You're no lord over me," the man flatly pointed out. "I owe you no explanation."

The armored man sputtered in disbelief and anger at that. How dare this half naked peasant speak to him like that!

"I'll have your answer, boy, and your respect," he snarled as he began to step forward. "On your knees! Or I'll cut you down!"

The young man watched the armored fellow advance a step or two, his metal-shod boots grinding against the smooth gravel, without expression. Then, slowly and carefully, he stepped over the unmoving form at his feet to stand protectively above it.

By this point the others on horseback were nearly upon them, a fact that didn't escape the young man. He was about to be outnumbered, and badly. Realizing this, he brought up his fists.

"Come then, tyrant," he hissed. "You'll find me ready!"

Growling, the armored man charged the remaining few paces, sword ready. And when he was close enough, he swung hard, aiming for the young man's head. Only to find his blade whistling through empty air.

Before he had time to be astonished, however, a battering ram of a blow cranked off the side of his helm, instantly rendering him senseless. He managed a pair of running steps past the young man thanks in great part to momentum before he staggered then dropped unevenly to the gravel. Where he slid to an awkward stop, head ringing.

The young man turned enough to watch the armored man tumble to the ground. Then he was returning his attention to the rest of his comrades, now arriving on horseback along with a fair number of uniformed soldiers on foot. As the first one had, they quickly slipped out of their saddles and pulled free their arming swords before, almost as one group, they charged forward.

Only to skid to a halt when an unusually large man in armor coming up from behind bellowed from his saddle:

"HOLD!"

The young man watched warily as the big man drew his mount up beside the others before one of the soldiers stepped forward to take his reins. Then, despite his size, he easily climbed out of the saddle and began to stomp towards them.

"In the king's name, sheath your weapons!" he growled, sounding more bear than man, Pulling off metal-backed gloves, which he tucked into his belt, he then removed his helm, handing it to another soldier that had followed him. In doing so, he was revealed as a scarred, craggy-faced man with bushy eyebrows and thick,dark hair, a trimmed beard and hard, brown eyes. Over his armor he wore a surcoat of black and green, with a double-headed eagle crest on the chest.

As the newcomer saw the young man look at him, he held up his massive hands in a gesture of peace as the other armored men reluctantly began to sheath their swords.

"You'll have to forgive my more enthusiastic comrades," the big man said, his Anglo touched by the slightest hint of an accent. "They charge before knowing the conditions of battle."

"So I noticed," the young man replied without changing his ready posture.

Hearing the wary note in the young man's voice, the big man let his hands drop. Wary, not angry or threatening; that eased the danger this unexpected visit posed by a significant margin!

"I am Sir Larent, a knight in King Frederik of Germanse's service," he carefully introduced himself. "You've landed a mere couple of kilometers from the perimeter of one of Frederik's Questor camps, which attracted the notice of these good knights behind me, out exercising their mounts."