Elven Games: Destiny Defined

By Stephanie Ayers

Tribba loves running the local B&B, but hasn't had a customer in a while. When a magickless mage enters her inn, she finally sees an opportunity to get rid of those pesky elves once and for all—by challenging them to a competition, where their castle and her inn are at stake.

Though Edgar is eager and willing to help her, he struggles with his own shortcomings and lack of esteem. If he let her down, she would lose everything. Will the help of butterfly fairies and an unwilling dragon be enough to restore his faith in himself or will Tribba have to finish the games on her own? Can they both find the courage they need to overcome their fears?

If you liked Lords of the Rings and The Shannara Chronicles, you'll definitely enjoy this series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crazy Ink
• Release date: Mar 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386488767

Book preview

The Destiny Defined Series:

Elven Games

*Catching Dragons

*Destiny United

*Destiny Driven

*Destiny Defined

Short Stories

Wings

*Bastard King

*Not yet available

Dedication

To all those out there who never lost faith, this story is for you. You know who you are.

And to the Fab Four—Eric, David, and Shannon—and the Master Class writing prompt—without whom this story never would have started and never found an audience.

Chapter 1:

Let the Plotting Begin

Tribba stood at the window, her breath leaving condensation on the glass as she watched a sand-covered man walk up the road. Her house stood at the edge of her dwarven village, a large city strategically placed in the center of a trifecta with the mountains behind, the desert beyond, and the great forest beside. It was the smaller home on this hill rise, a modest two-bedroom house, short and square like the inhabitants themselves, though smaller ones could be found farther into the village. This mattered not to the inhabitants of the home. They liked the size just fine. Their only regret was the lack of customers, despite being the very first house a traveler would come to after a long journey over the mountains and through the desert. Travelers would pass them by, their eyes set on the charming castle shaped inn not much farther down the road.

That damn castle! Tribba shouted, as yet another traveler passed them by. What do we have to do, Larss, hit them over the head as they come over the rise?

I don’t know, Tribba. The castle has always looked friendlier, Larss answered.

Humph. Yet they still haven’t invited us over. Friendly, schmendly. She pulled an apple pie from the oven and set it on the windowsill. She stuck her face over it, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply. When she opened her eyes, she could see another traveler faint against the horizon.

This pie smells heavenly, if I do say so myself. Let’s see if that will bring them in. If not, then I’m sending you out to repaint the house, Larss.

Larss laughed, loud and hearty. He whipped the newspaper he was reading so the top bowed backwards slightly and peered over the top of his round glasses at Tribba. Repaint the house? Why my dear Tribba, I just repainted it yesterday, silly woman!

Humph, she said again.

She busied herself putting pans of cookies in the oven. She took a hard look at her little house. It was not in bad shape. It was the perfect size for her and Larss, a bit on the prestigious side for a dwarf, but theirs, nonetheless. She kept a small garden behind a white picket fence filled with bright, inviting yellow flowers, and a hodge-podge of colorful violets in each windowsill. Larss kept the front lawn neat and tidy, and the single apple tree out front provided wonderful shade for a hot and weary traveler to rest under. A small stream flowed behind the house and its large backyard, lush greens bordering each bank and a forest just beyond. The water in the stream was always cold no matter the temperature. Tribba sighed. She did not understand what the castle’s appeal was at all, what with its garish purple color and lack of niceties surrounding it, especially since elves inhabited it. She had never understood why they had built such a monstrosity or why it attracted customers the way it did.

Elves, such vile creatures they are. Tribba thought.

She remembered the day they wandered from the forest and trickled into the village. If the dwarves had known they were going to stay, Tribba doubted that their hospitality would have been as generous as it was. Everyone on Savania knew dwarves and elves got along worse than werewolves and vampires. And that said a lot, considering werewolves and vampires were always at war. There were those, like Tribba, who believed the elves came with the intent to take over the village as they had done to many others across Savania. They came under a guise of peace but revealed their true colors soon after they arrived.

Now, the only way to get an elf to leave was to challenge them to a competition, with both party’s land and home at stake. Every so often, the battle would be over crops or livestock, but those were few compared to the number of vacant homes in the center of town. The elves left the homes empty. The elves had such little regard for the dwarves, and this angered them. They could at least do something with the properties they won instead of leaving them to decay and ruin. The dwarves never considered it was their own laws and biases that left the properties vacant. This made the village less desirable while the elves continued to build fancier homes around them. To top it off, the elves were highly athletic and as such became the victors of most of the games. The last time a dwarf won, the challenging elf died. It was a stroke of luck, but the dwarves in the village heralded the Great Ohms as a hero anyway. Things changed a bit about the village after his victory. Little by little the dwarven council, the group of elected leaders for the village, had started a fund to buy back the abandoned properties no elves cared to fill. The center of town may not look like much more than a shanty now, but there was evidence that would change in the near future. The worker dwarves welcomed the extra income that came from deconstructing the homes and rebuilding them.

Tribba chewed on her fingernails to keep from clenching her fists. She did that whenever she was angry. Elves owned the castle next door, and she believed they used their elven magic to seduce the travelers, no matter who they were, to pass by her house. She just could not prove it.

Larss, I think it’s time, she said.

Larss looked at her, stroked his long, gray beard, and laughed out of habit. He found most of her words humorous. Okay, it’s time, he replied, setting his newspaper aside. Time for what?

It’s time for you to challenge the castle to the Games.

Larss looked at Tribba for a few minutes before he doubled over in laughter. You... you, he wiped tears from his eyes You really want to challenge the elves? Hahaha. When he finished laughing, he straightened up. Tribba, have you lost your mind? We are in no shape to beat them! I know they are an eternal thorn in the side, but we have a comfortable life here. Let’s not risk it over a few travelers!

A few travelers? When was the last time we had any at all? No, they are cutting into our livelihood, our pay, for frosh’s sake. The only reason we’re still here is because the dwarven council is afraid of those damn elves. We both know that. We have failed miserably as Greeters. This comfortable life we’re living could be over in seconds. She wrung her hands together, weaving her fingers in and out of each other as she spoke.

She looked out the window. A quick smile crossed her face before it disappeared. I know how we can get around the elves. No one said one of us has to compete. What if we got someone else to represent us?

Intrigued, Larss asked, And who would do that for us?

Tribba pointed out the window. The traveler had just crested the rise. She went to the window and waved a towel over the steaming pie. A beam of delight crossed her visage as the traveler caught the scent, turned, and came through their gate. Tribba slapped Larss in excitement as she prodded him to meet the traveler at the door.

Larss studied the figure. The traveler wore a thick brown cloak covered in grime, the hood of which covered his head, hiding his identity.

Tribba, this traveler could be anybody. I don’t like this, he said. He’s not short enough to be anything but an elf, a troll, an orc, or a human.

Oh, frosh, Larss. They all cover themselves coming through the desert.

Yes, Tribba, but they don’t all stay covered once they leave it.

Fine, if you don’t want to let him in, I will. Tribba pushed Larss out of the way. Humph. Look. He took his hood off already.

Larss looked out the window. It was true enough. The traveler was but a mere slip of a boy, tall and lean, his mousy brown hair tousled and knotted, his youthful face half hidden behind a coat of filth.

Tribba released a deep and hearty chuckle. And you were scared—

You can’t be too careful these days, is all, Larss responded quietly.

Tribba laughed again as she opened the door, a warm, moist towel in hand. Welcome, traveler! I am Tribba, wife of Larss Hegi, and we are your official greeters to Willowglen. Please, won’t you come in and rest awhile?

The traveler nodded, a look of gratitude appearing on his face as he entered the house and wiped his skin. I am Edgar. Thank you for your hospitality, Tribba, wife of Larss Hegi. It has been a long journey and yours is the only safe village to rest in.

Indeed. It is what we are here for. We welcome all races. She led him to a small table. Your timing is perfect as I have just finished cooking. Please, join us?

Tribba served up a hot meal and quizzed the young human as he ate.

Where are you traveling from?

Edgar dabbed the corner of his lips with a cloth. I come from Northend, a city in Tylunand, where most of my brethren live.

Tribba nodded. I have never been to Northend. Not past the Barren really. What’s it like?

Our cities are surrounded by tall walls, mostly white. Our homes are like yours, except we have hard roofs rather than straw or thatched like most, Edgar paused long enough to swallow his stew. "Big iron gates wait at the top of each city’s archway in case we are ever invaded. Farmers tend their land outside the walls of