A Little Teaser, Part 2

As promised, here is part 2 of the cut content from my book. As with part 1, names have been changed, and small alterations made to prevent giving away anything pertinent to the book in the works.
Enjoy, and please leave a comment!

Beyond the mountains which lay to the east of Svartalfheim, Chief Ingvar brooded over the failure of the elves to defeat his sworn enemy, Chief Hafnar. From his spies, he had heard of the elven girl's futile attempt to kill Svartalfheim’s infamous chief. Worse, that her life had been spared when Hafnar had shown her mercy, for surely now she and her brothers knew of the trick Ingvar had played when he sent back her father's head. Then there was the prophecy of the skald, which weighed heavily upon his mind. Ingvar feared that Hafnar's merciful treatment of the elf was confirmation of his fondness of her, and a sign that the prophecy might be fulfilled if the elven princess was not swiftly destroyed.
No matter, he told himself bitterly, for he had other plans in mind. He sent for his son, Brynyar, who was a fearsome warrior. The dark elf entered his father's hall and knelt before him. His long black hair fell across his severe face as he bowed his head. He had the same burning red eyes as his father, his chiseled features and strong brow bearing so strong a resemblance that people often commented that he appeared as a younger, handsomer version of Chief Ingvar. Rising to his feet, the younger dark elf stood tall and of a mighty stature. He wore a thick bearskin cloak over heavy leather armour. His weapon of choice was a massive battle axe which he carried at his hip. “You wished to see me, father?” His voice was deep and rough, more like the rumbling growl of a beast than that of a man.
Ingvar smiled conspiratorially at his son. “I have a small task for you, my son.” He answered.
Brynyar’s fierce eyes stared fearlessly at his father. “What would you have me do?” He asked.
Ingvar stood from his throne and walked towards his son. Stopping to stand before him, he studied Brynyar’s stony face. “There is the matter of the elven girl, the princess of Alfheim.” Ingvar began, speaking slowly, his voice low. “She is a threat to all that we have worked to achieve. She must be killed.”
Brynyar’s brow furrowed. “And you want me to do it.” It was a statement, not a question. His father gave a curt nod. “How is a girl a threat?” He asked.
Ingvar turned away, walking across the hall to stand before the blazing fire. “The skald spoke of a young woman, one of Vanir blood, who would be our undoing.” He answered, the memory of his meeting with the ancient skald still fresh in his mind, her words chilling him to the core. “If Hafnar claims her, we won't stand a chance of defeating him.”
“Claim her?” Said Brynyar, confused. His father gave him a penetrating glare. “Kill her, perhaps. But claim her? Hafnar would never do such a thing.”
“It would be enough if Hafnar should kill her and drink her blood. If the girl is as powerful as the skald claims, Hafnar would become godlike!” Ingvar explained, a note of urgency in his voice. “We must not let that happen! Do not rest until the girl is dead! You must not fail me, Brynyar!”
Brynyar was thoughtful. “What of Chief Hafnar, father? Should we not be focusing on weakening his defenses in preparation for our war against him?” He suggested.
Chief Ingvar smiled grimly. “Leave Hafnar to me.” He answered. “His hold over the clans is waning. Several of the nobles have already sworn their allegiance to me, and the others will follow when they realize that I would give them dominion over the elves and lead them into Midgard once again!” Ingvar's burning red eyes flared with excitement.
“The Aesir have forbidden the dark elves from entering Midgard.” Brynyar remarked.
Ingvar's expression turned to one of fury. “Damn the Aesir! Their time will come as well, and we will ride into Midgard in defiance of all who would stand in our way!” He roared, baring his teeth, the sharp canines glinting in the flickering light of the torch lit hall.

Brynyar set about making his plans and preparations for the task of killing the elf. He was not worried that the girl would put up much of a fight. The real difficulty would be getting past the other elves undetected, but he was a skilled hunter. Stealth was something he was good at.
Alone in his private quarters, Brynyar pored over maps of Alfheim. A bottle of Blut Wine sat upon the large round oak table. He poured himself a glass of the deeply red liquid, swirling it in the crystal chalice from which he drank. After a while he stood, stretching with a groan. Stomping across the room, he pulled open the door and called for a servant.
“You called, my lord?” Said the dark elf who came to answer Brynyar's summons.
“Send a messenger at once to fetch the half breed, Olaf.” Brynyar commanded. The servant bowed and scurried off to fulfill his master's orders.
Going back to his seat, Brynyar resumed his study of the maps spread across the table. He rubbed his strong jaw with a rough hand as his eyes scanned over the layout of the elven realm.
Some time later, there was a heavy knock at the door. “Enter!” Brynyar called out.
The door opened and a tall, lean man entered. His long blonde hair was pulled back into a braid. His narrow face and soft angular features were in stark contrast to the harsh appearance of the dark elf prince, giving him the look of an elf, but his blue eyes held an strangely subtle glow. Bowing upon entering the room, he looked up to meet Brynyar's gaze. “You sent for me, my lord?” He asked, his voice smoothly resonant.
“Yes. Come in and close the door.” Brynyar said. Leaning back in his chair, he looked up at Olaf. “I need someone I can trust to go on an errand for me.”
“What would you have me do, lord?” Olaf asked.
“Go to Alfheim. Find yourself an elven guide.” Brynyar began, pausing to refill his glass. “I need as much information on the elven princess as you can gather. Find out everything about her. Where she goes, what she does, who she knows. Everything. But don't give yourself away. No one can suspect you.”
Olaf held Brynyar's fierce gaze unflinchingly. “I understand, lord.”
“When you have learned all that you can, report back to me. You are to leave at once.” Brynyar commanded.

At dawn the following morning, Olaf set off for Alfheim. He would travel alone, and upon arrival in the elven realm, would hire a guide. It would be no difficulty to assume a false identity as an elf, for Olaf's own mother had been an elf. People might notice the luminescence of his eyes, but that was easy enough to excuse.
It would be weeks yet, before the first signs of spring would begin to appear, and the seas were always dangerous this time of year. Though there were few who would sail in the winter months, it was not impossible to find a ship setting out to sea. It was over a week after Olaf reached the coast before he was able to barter passage upon a merchant ship whose course lay to the south, followed by three weeks at a stormy sea, but he reached his destination at last. He acquired lodgings at the inn for the night, and sitting in the pub that evening, listened to the chatter of patrons as he sipped his ale.
The next morning, he hired a horse, and quietly rode out of the town.
With winter nearing its end, the snow in the mountains began to recede.