Untitled (fantasy fiction)

They hid in the trees, bows drawn, spears poised, watching the Orcs march past beneath them. Not moving, barely breathing, hidden by the leaves and the twilight's shadows. Anuen drew his bow back a little further, hearing the enchanted wood creak as he did so. They were waiting for his mark, his signal to begin the ambush. He waited. He knew they were looking at him, wanting to know why he hadn't loosed the arrow yet and he smiled as the Orcish chieftain ran past. The arrow sang from the bow, straight through the brute, impaling another's foot to the ground. The chieftain made a gurgling sound in his throat as his lungs filled with blood and he spun to face his attacker. He collapsed as the other Orc hit the ground and barked in pain, calling the attention of the rest of its tribe who panicked and grouped around their fallen leader as a hail of arrows fired from the elves bows descended on them. They fired their arrows rapidly and with such precision that many Orcs didn't realize they were struck till they were choking on their own blood and seizing on the ground. Their quivers empty they dropped from the trees to finish the last few monsters off. Anuen pulled a spear out of a dying Orc and slashed its throat before throwing the spear into the back of a fleeing brute and drawing his swords; an unnecessary action as the rest of the Illirothil had finished off the last disorganized few and had started cutting the throats of the wounded and dying. He looked around, scanning his brothers, one had a bruised cheek but all of them were accounted for. "Any injuries?" he called to them. The Elf with the bruised cheek pointed to the mark and grinned, "He hit me as he turned to run." They all laughed and collected their arrows and set off through the woods at a slow pace, some of them pulling out pipes and filling them with sweet smelling herbs from the forest, lighting them. Daranros, Anuens brother, pulled a small lute from his pack and started strumming on it as Eloraes started weaving in a melody with his flute. The laughed and joked their way through the woods, back to the army's large camp by the river Lanas. They were only 20 of 60 Elves attached to the Human army on its way to the Orc-kind city of Bal'gor. When they arrived many humans looked up from the whittling at them. They nodded their heads, grinning from under their hoods and continued on to the Elven encampment at the head of the army where they saw a Half-Orc standing in the center of the ring of tents. He bowed to them and grinned, baring his yellowed teeth. Behind him there were two goblins, one with a scroll, the other with a white banner. "We must talk, Fair-Folk. Now."___