Prologue

The Orc sped on through the forest. Every now and again he paused to read the signs. Elves are not easy to track, but he had had plenty of practice. The trouble with Elves is that they leave no footprints, and they are so attuned to the forest that they pass over plants and through trees without disturbing a single leaf or twig. But this one could not mask his sickly, sweet smell. On a windless day the scent was hard to pick up on but where the Elf's shining hair had brushed by a tree or a boulder, the cloying scent lingered.

The Orc came upon the Elf, hiding behind a tree, he had him now. The Orc eyed his unsuspecting quarry, reaching back and pulling an arrow from his quiver. The Elf remained still, unaware of his impending defeat and the Orc drew back the string of his bow, taking aim. He loosed his arrow and its aim was true, striking the trunk of the tree only inches from the Elf. The Orc's smile was a victorious one as the Elf spun to face his attacker.

"I thought I'd fooled you this time," the Elf said in dismay.

"You'll have to do better than that," grinned the Orc, unwilling to admit that this time it had required all his skill to track the young Elf down.