Free Wand of the Witch by Daniel Arenson

rolled.
    Only one grunter remained standing. It lashed claws, drooling and grunting. Rowyn leaped back, dodging the claws, and pointed his wand. He shouted a spell, and grey smoke flew from his wand. When the smoke hit the grunter, it froze. Its mouth opened, but it could not scream. Its skin turned from green to grey, and soon it had turned to stone.
    Rowyn spun to face the two wounded grunters. They lay in the dry leaves, smoking and groaning.
    "Be gone or I'll turn you to stone too!" he shouted.
    The grunters groaned, clutching their burned flesh. "We will come back for you, elfling! A thousand of us will soon fill this forest. We serve Madrila, greatest witch in the world, and—"
    Rowyn cast a spell. Smoke flew and turned another grunter to stone.
    The one surviving grunter, its flesh burned, scurried to its feet and fled. Soon it disappeared between the trees, grunting in fear.
    Rowyn stood panting. His pulse hammered in his ears, and his fingers shook. He had never seen grunters so deep in Glaswood Forest, this peaceful home of the wood elves. Or elflings, as most call us, he thought, wishing as always that his people were tall and noble like high elves, or night elves, or even the evil underground elves .
    He was sixteen years old, still a youth, an elfling of average height (shy of five feet in his favorite boots), pointy ears that thrust out from his brown hair, and blue eyes that many thought too solemn. In truth, he was neither solemn nor somber, but prone to be reflective. He often thought of his parents, whom trolls killed ten years ago, and enjoyed admiring the woods in silence, while others sang or danced.
    His grandfather, the clan elder, was raising him to be a wizard. Rowyn knew only three spells so far—lightning, fire, and stone—and carried his wand everywhere. Like all elflings, he sported a glowing goldencharm on his forehead. His was shaped as a star, which suited him; he often preferred night to day, and enjoyed contemplating the stars while the other elflings slept.
    "Grunters in Glaswood Forest!" he said and shook his head. He approached the petrified grunter, stared into the stone eyes, and shuddered. The statue seemed to stare back.
    I must tell Grandfather about this, Rowyn thought. Madrila's beasts often slunk around the borders of Glaswood, and sometimes sneaked in to grab mushrooms, walnuts, and firewood. But to find them here, miles deep into the forest?
    Wand held before him, Rowyn began moving through the forest, walking as fast as he could. Red and orange leaves rustled, glided, and covered the ground. Mottles of sunlight moved in the breeze. Moss covered twisting roots that flowed and melted into one another. The trees rose everywhere—birches, beeches, and oaks—their trunks twisting and mossy, their branches holding curtains of lichen.
    Branches creaked.
    Rowyn froze and held his breath.
    Grunters?
    A shadow leaped from the trees. Rowyn yelped. He glimpsed red hair and green cloth. He pointed his wand, and began uttering a spell, when the assailant slammed into him. He fell into a pile of dry leaves, and his attacker pinned his arms down.
    "Got you!" she cried.
    Rowyn groaned. "Ellywyn! I almost turned you to stone."
    The elfling girl laughed and leaped back. She curtsied and gave Rowyn a crooked, mocking smile.
    "You'd never have a chance! If I were really attacking you, your wand would now be broken... and your nose."
    She laughed. An elfling girl his age, she dressed like a boy—in tattered grey leggings, a muddy green tunic, and a brown cloak fastened with a silver clasp. Her hair was red as flame, freckles covered her face, and her eyes were green and mischievous. Her dagger Sunfire hung from her belt, leaf-shaped and forged of pure elfsilver; it glowed like the moon. She stood an inch shorter than him, and a goldencharm shaped like a sun glowed on her forehead.
    "This is no laughing matter," Rowyn said. He pushed himself to his feet, spat out a dry leaf, and brushed dirt and