Rory lurched away from Rook, wriggling like an eel to escape his grasp. 

"Wait boy," Rook snarled, gripping his shoulders. "You don't know what we have to offer. Charles, hold him!"

But Charles was too late, for as he stretched forth a skeletal hand, Rory elbowed Rook in the gut and snatched Daisy into his arms. 

"Hold on," Rory whispered harshly, sprinting out the door.

He was near blinded by the sunlight and the crowd clapped, then gasped as he pelted past them. His feet seemed to glide weightlessly across the village path, spurred on by the fear of the Inquisitors chasing him, though in his mind the thought of the two hard-faced men running seemed almost comical. Even as he began to slow, there were screams from behind. Something was coming for him.

The edge of the village came and went, and Rory found himself running towards the border, skipping along idyllic, rolling hills. Daisy was laughing and giggling, grasping his shirt between her fists.

"Faster Rory, faster!"

But still, he heard the thunder of hooves behind him. Yet...there had been no horses in the village...had there?

Fearing for Daisy, Rory came to a halt beside a thick patch of tall grass at the bottom of a hill.

"Hide here until I come find you. If I'm not here by sundown, go back to mums," he hissed, pushing her into the thicket. 

"But Rory, you said we could go play!" Daisy whined, trying to stand up.

"Please Daisy, please!" Rory begged, as the hoofbeats grew louder. "It's hide and seek."

"You already know where I am," Daisy replied, crossing her arms stubbornly.

"Mum's playing too," Rory made up, trying to shove her back into the grass. "We're both hiding." 

"Oh...okay then," Daisy grumbled. 

She crouched down just in time, for there was a bellow of rage from the hill above. Rory turned to see an enormous, bullheaded humanoid, thundering down the hill. Its curved horns seemed to point right at him, its nostrils snorting in anger with every step. He had heard of such creatures from one of the local soldiers, who would visit the village from time to time. A Minotaur. 

Rory sprinted on, avoiding the rabbit holes that could easily throw him head over heels or even snap an ankle at the speeds he was going. The Minotaur followed behind, the great snorts of breath and juddering hooves telling Rory that the demon was hard on his heels. 

Soon the crumbling old fort loomed in the distance, marking the border between Hominum and the Great Forest of the elves. Above it, gargantuan tree tops blurred the horizon. 

Rory could see the silhouettes of the soldiers on the ramparts, looking out towards the forest. For a moment he wondered if he could find sanctuary there. But why would they take on a demon, belonging to an Inquisitor no less? The Inquisition were the bloodhounds of the King, acting as investigators who kept watch over the nobility and managed the influx of common summoners. Summoners like him, Rory realised.

Instead of heading towards the fort, he veered around it, forcing himself to run through the stitch that dug into his side. His heart pounded and his breath burned in his lungs, but the Minotaur was relentless, keeping up a steady gallop that ate up the land behind him. 

Soon he was half-running, half-staggering over the white marker-stones that delineated the very edge of Hominum. He remembered how he and his friends had dared each other to see who could go the furthest over the line. Once, Rory had taken a white stone of his own, hurling it after he had lost his nerve, twenty paces in. Now, Rory stumbled past it, breaking the record he had set five years before. Yet, even as he lurched into the shadow of the trees, he tripped over a snaking tree root, hidden just beneath the top layer of soil. 

He waited for the end, gasping for breath like a beached fish. He wondered whether the Minotaur would trample him to death, or simply spear him on its horns. Perhaps it would pummel him like a jungle gorilla, leaving him to die, broken-boned, in the murk of the forest. 

He kept breathing, savouring every burning breath, eyes blurring with tears, side cramping and relaxing as his body recovered from his desperate escape. 

A minute passed. Then another. Rory dared to sit up, dragging himself to the base of the nearest tree. His muscles ached as he clawed his way back. In the distance, the Minotaur paced back and forth along the line of white rocks. As the demon saw Rory looking at him, it bellowed mournfully, like the lowing of a cow with the passion of a wolf's howl.

Rory grinned, clutching his side. It wouldn't cross the border. Not unless it wanted to break the unofficial ceasefire the two sides had been enjoying these past few years. 

"Ha," Rory coughed, using the tree to pull himself to his feet. "You great, lumbering buffoon! I'm free!" 

The Minotaur stared balefully across the way, the black hair of its shoulders bristling with anger. 

"I wouldn't be so sure," a voice whispered from above. 

Rory looked up to see an arrow point, tickling the tip of his nose. 

"Shut your eyes," the voice snapped. "You're my prisoner now." 

Rory was trussed like a chicken ready for the kiln, his knees pressed tightly against his chest, arms wrapped around them. In fact, he was in the exact same position that Daisy would take at story time, albeit on his side. Even as the thought crossed his mind, his mysterious captor pulled him up, so that he was sitting upright with his back against the tree once again.

There was the crackle of a fire and the warmth of its heat against his face, but he could see nothing, for a blindfold had been wrapped tightly around his face. He could not even speak, at least, not easily, with a gag to complete his restraints.

"You will not cry out," the elf whispered. 

For that was what it must be. An elf. 

"You will not look anywhere but my face. You will not struggle, in fact you will barely move. Those are my terms. Do you agree?" 

Rory made a inarticulate noise through his gag, barely more than a gurgle. 

"Just nod your head," the elf said, impatient, but with a hint of good humour. 

Rory nodded slowly, and the gag was removed first, followed by the blindfold. 

"Thank you," Rory whispered, examining his captor. 

The elf was crouched on her haunches in front of him, balancing on the balls of her feet beside a small fire. She held a sharp skinning knife to Rory's chest, and there was a bow and full quiver of arrows strapped to her back. Her clothing was made from strips of grey-brown fur and leather, and a wolf-pelt was draped over her shoulders like a cloak. Her face was daubed with mud, so that her fierce, sky-blue eyes shone all the brighter through the dirt. Most striking of all, diamond-shaped ears sliced through the sheets of golden hair that framed the elf's angular features.

"I've never seen a human before," the elf said, clearly as fascinated by Rory's appearance as Rory was hers. She stretched out a hand, as if to touch Rory's ears, then snatched it back, embarrassed. 

"No weapons," the elf murmured, her eyes running over Rory's body. "No gear. Not even a coat. What are you doing here boy?" 

"I'm running away," Rory said, lifting his chin defiantly. "You can kill me now, but I'm not going back. I'd rather end my days here in the forest than be captured by an orc in the jungles." 

"A volunteer then?" the elf asked, the flames from the fire flickering copper across her face. The sun was near set, and the gloom around them was slowly thickening, leaving them in a small sphere of light. 

"I didn't volunteer," Rory mumbled. "The Inquisitors came to my village and found out I am a summoner. They send them to fight in the jungles you know." 

"They must have been on their way back from our territory," the elf replied, cocking her head as she considered Rory's words. "They tested a few of our younger elves a few days ago. Even found a few summoners among the children of our chieftains, though only one was willing to go to your academy." 

"But...we're at war..." Rory whispered. Then he paused. "What do you mean, academy?" 

She laughed, removing the knife from Rory's chest. 

"Looks like I know more about your country than you do," the elf said, grinning. She cut the ties around Rory's hands, but left his legs bound. 

"You won't be sent to fight on the front lines just yet," she said, looking into Rory's eyes for signs of deceit. "If that was the case, you likely would die. No, all summoners are sent to be trained as battlemages at an academy called Vocans. You'll even be given a demon to train. It will be a few years before you even see an orc."

"Well, if you're sending one of your elves there, it can't be all bad," Rory said, chewing on his lip. "Why would you do that anyway?"

The elf sighed and settled into a more comfortable, crosslegged position. 

"We used to have summoners of our own, hundreds of years ago. But over time, we lost all of our demons and never captured new ones, at least, that's the story my mother told me. When you lose your last demon, that's it, theres no chance of capturing new ones. So, by sending one of our own to the academy, she will be given her own demon. With any luck, she will be the first in a new generation of elven summoners."

"So what's in it for us?" Rory asked. 

"Peace," the elf said simply, "Even the chance of an alliance. You're losing the war, my friend. The orcs are winning and you need our help. The chieftains daughter who is going to the academy is a hostage of sorts, to ensure we uphold our end of the bargain."

Rory sat there, stunned at the news. Perhaps the Minotaur had been trying to capture him, not kill him. Had he made a terrible mistake? 

He had two options now. Try and escape into the elven lands, or throw himself at the mercy of the Inquisitors. Another thought crossed his mind, one he had not considered. Would his mother and sister be punished, if he deserted his country? The thought was like a knife in his heart.

The elf saw the consternation on Rory's face. She frowned sympathetically and freed his legs with a quick swipe of her knife.

"The peace doesn't come into effect until our hostage arrives at Vocans Academy, but I'm going to let you go." 

"Just like that?" Rory asked.

"Just like that." 

Rory struggled to stand, wincing as twinges of pain ran up and down his legs. In his mad sprint, he had pulled all the muscles in his thighs. 

"Perhaps we shall meet again, after the war between our races ends," the elf said, helping Rory get to his feet. "My name is Dalia."

"Rory," he replied. He clasped her hand, feeling the strange calluses that all archers had on their two fingers. 

"I have a favour to ask," Dalia said, as Rory flexed his arms, trying to restore circulation. 

"If it's in my power," Rory replied gratefully. 

"If you are truly going to Vocans, don't tell anyone you knew about the elf, even after you meet her. I have technically committed treason by telling you it."

"Done," Rory said, shaking Dalia's hands once again. They stared at each other. The two of them were worlds apart, but only separated by no more than a half mile of land. It seemed strange to have lived so close to another for so long, yet never have seen their face.

"Are you going to be okay?" Dalia asked. 

"I'll be fine." 

Rory turned away, the flames at his back, the moon above his only guide in the gloom ahead. 

"Goodbye," he said. 

 Then he walked on, into the darkness.

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This is the end of the Rory Prequel Short Story. If you read The Novice, you'll know what happens next! 

Thanks for reading!

Taran