G.E. Sohocki
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When the Elves lost that final battle against the Humans and extinction was imminent, they retreated to the darkened caverns of Mr. Untwer, which is situated a the very edge of the western continent. Disconnected from the source of their power, derived from their ancestral forest homes and the light of the sun, they have now become a people of darkness.
Where once they had been called the Noble High Elves, they are now the bloodstained and vile creatures known now as the Dark Elves. Their creed has become war and death in the name of a Dark God who promises them they will someday walk again in the light and forest of their youth.
Some Elves, like their King Kargon, revel in what the Elves have become, inviting the darkness to enter for the strength and power it imparts. He revels at the thought of a time when he will finally control the world, and then, if the Humans do not bow to him—he will simply destroy them all. His only real fear is the prophecy laid down in the Scrolls of Egelith that foretells the coming of the Shield of Emmon, signaling the end of his reign and the beginning of thousands of years of peace.
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When Ferron realized they were trying to kill him, he had to run . . . but to where? Assassins were trying to kill him and Ferron had no idea why! Who were they, and why did they want him dead? When they told him he was going to kill the king of the Dark Elves with the Shield of Emmon, he was sure they had the wrong man.
King Kargon will stop at nothing to destroy Ferron to keep him from bringing the mythical shield the prophecy says will end the reign of the dark king. With the help of a master thief, magic, and those who share a common goal—Ferron’s journey begins.
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“IF YOU HAVE A TASTE FOR ARCHAIC WEAPONRY,
INGENIOUS MAGIC, HARD-HITTING ACTION THAT WILL
MAKE YOU WIPE YOUR FACE BEFORE IT’S OVER—
RAZORSHIELD IS WHERE IT’S AT!”
“YOU’LL HEAR TENDONS RIP, BONES CRACK, AND SKIN SIZZLE!”
“NO SISSY BOOK HERE!”
“NOT YOUR AVERAGE FANTASY”
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G.E. Sohocki resides with his family in South Texas, where he grew up. In addition to being a father and husband, he has been writing seriously since he was a boy. When not writing, he makes battle-ready swords, knives, and other archaic weaponry. He has been granted a U.S. Patent for one of his inventions, and with the help of two other people, he created a role-playing game.
This is Mr. Sohocki’s first published effort, but he has written many short stories and novelettes. Mr. Sohocki, George to those who know him, would like to encourage those who read his books to e-mail him with their comments about what they liked, what they hated, and what they would like to know more about in future publications. He can be reached at www.gesohocki.com.
As they neared the crest of one of the deeper valleys, there was a great whoosh of wind and Ferron flew from his horse. He looked up and got a face full of hot blood. His horse fell backward, nearly stepping on him, and then came down in whinnying agony. Huge brown wings blotted out the sun like a tent, and the roar of a lion filled the air. Ferron rolled away from his horse, afraid that it would crush him and then looked up. A huge cat-like head glared down on him with enormous black eyes. The animal’s great beak clamped down on the horse, and Ferron heard bones cracking. The horse stopped moving.
Suddenly, an arrow whizzed over Ferron’s head, burying itself in one of the creature’s eyes. It rolled backward, screaming. The thing pawed at the shaft, slinging viscous skeins of bloody fluid while, at the same time, it used its enormous wings to right itself. When it was on its feet, one of Haffiest’s throwing daggers magically appeared in its chest, then another, and then another—all of them driving in to the hilt. It unfolded its wings and tried to gain the air, but an iron bolt slammed into its chest and another into its neck—it went down in a screech of feathers and agony.
The creature roared again and stood. It backed up a hill and Ferron was sure it was going to run if it could find a way through the briars and branches, but a tree with a trunk about six-feet thick stopped it. It seemed that men were coming from everywhere, screaming and running at the creature with swords drawn. The griffin suddenly turned like a pit hound and charged, bearing down on them with terrible force. The men dodged the enraged animal like chickens running from a bull.
The beast continued past Ferron, intent on escape. Ferron turned, thinking the animal gone, but saw a solitary rider charging the monster from the other direction with a longsword in his hand. The man stood high in the stirrups as if about to jump from the rushing horse, when suddenly the horse balked in apparent terror before the griffin, and the man lifted into space. Surprise registered on the man’s face, and he collided into the beast with a bone crushing suddenness. The impact was so great that the man’s sword plunged through the griffin, and the bloodied tip emerged from the creature’s back.
The animal danced back trying to un-impale itself from the treacherous blade; this gave the man a chance to roll clear of its bulk and get to his feet. Instantly, men swarmed the beast like an army of ants beginning their cruel work—a moment later it moved no more.
