An Attack of Family - Chapter 1

         Myrl Harvoth laid on his back with the tip of a sword pointed at his throat. He stared at the elf standing over him, the tips of his pointy ears going red as he felt the hatred seeping through every fiber of his being. The bodies of the other four that had attacked him lay strewn about the alley, either dead or dying. His swords were just beyond his fingertips, dropped when the last thug hit him from behind. His head was throbbing, but he was determined to face his death with honor.
         A wicked smile crept onto the face of the man as his sword was slowly raised into the air. If only he had had enough time to reach the dagger in his boot, but he knew that as soon as he tried, the sword would be driven downward. The thug stood there, holding the killing blow. Was he savoring the moment, or was he hoping that Myrl would try something? It didn't really matter either way, his father's voice was already screaming in his head.
         What were you thinking? That sprite was obviously leading you into a trap. You should have been more cautious. Now I have lost two sons. One honorably in battle, the other foolishly to common riff-raff. Such a waste.
         And his father was right. When he had received the message about his sister's kidnapping, he rushed out of the tavern. He should have realized that the sprite fluttering across the street, holding his sister's necklace, had been waiting for him. But his anger and fear had clouded his judgment and he foolishly chased the creature into a dark alley.
         When he refocused his attention on the elf standing over him, Myrl saw that he was tensed up, readying to strike. Myrl steeled himself, preparing to feel the blade tear through his flesh when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He started to turn his head, but stopped as his sister, Ciria, let our a screech.
         The thief relaxed slightly and turned his head. That was all the opening that Myrl needed. He quickly reached down to his boot and drew his dagger. Myrl thrust the dagger upwards but missed his intended target as the assassin recovered from his sister's distraction and danced out of reach. Scrambling to his feet, Myrl faced off against the thug.
         Even though it appeared that his opponent had the advantage, Myrl had trained with some of the finest swordsmen in the kingdom. He was ready when the lunge came. Myrl stepped back with his right foot so that his left side faced the thug, causing the sword to pass harmlessly in front of him. Grabbing the elf’s extended sword arm, Myrl plunged his dagger into the exposed gut once, twice, thrice.
         Myrl let go of the thug and watched him collapse to the ground, clutching his gut. He then turned and caught Ciria as she came running up to him. Ciria cried uncontrollably into his shoulder as Myrl squeezed her tightly to his chest. Not knowing the right words, he just continued to silently hold her. Slowly she pushed away from him and looked into his eyes.
         "Oh, brother. It was so horrible." Tears slowly made their way down Ciria's cheek. "I was scared that I wouldn't see my family again."
         Even though their eyes were identical and their facial features were very similar, they were very different. Myrl's muscular, well defined body spoke volumes about his power, determination, and discipline. Ciria's supple and curvaceous body hid her sharp mind and a grace that was seldom seen. While their facial features added to Myrl's aura of intimidation, they gave Ciria a look that caused heads to turn.
         "It's alright now," Myrl said as he pulled her in for one last hug. "They are dead and won't bother you anymore."
         "But you don't understand." Ciria continued as Myrl bent over to retrieve his swords. "There are more of them."
         "More?" Myrl looked at his sister.
         "Yes. They said they were going after father."
         "We've got to go," Myrl said with a worried look on his face.
         Myrl turned, grabbed Ciria's hand, and headed to the end of the alley. He knew that they wouldn't be able to reach their home quick enough by walking, he needed a horse. When he exited the alley he began looking around. With evening fast approaching there weren't many people out on the streets. Myrl began to run, pulling his sister behind, hoping that he would come across a horse soon.
         As he ran down the street, he couldn't help but worry about his father. Even though Johann could be cruel at times, Myrl believed his father loved him. After Myrl's brother died two years ago, he had started his training to take control of the household. This left little time for mourning and that is why Myrl believes his father is such a hard taskmaster.
         After running for several blocks, a rider came around a corner. Not wanting to waste any more time, Myrl headed straight for the horse. When he got along side, he grabbed the rider's arm and pulled him to the ground. A well placed kick to the head forestalled any objections the man may have had. Myrl then helped his sister on to the horse and climbed up behind her.
         Once on the horse, they were able to reach the man or very quickly. As they pulled up to the front gate, Myrl leapt off the horse.
The gate guards were slumped against the wall and the sounds of battle could be heard within. The battle was cut short as a gurgling
scream echoed into the streets. With little thought to his own safety, Myrl dashed quickly into the courtyard. Once he was inside the gates
he slowed to a stop, relief washing over him as he watched Johann pull a sword out of the last attacker.