Once upon an ancient past a seed was buried and from that very seed sprouted a sapling. The tree grew large and tall, a true giant. One day a forceful gale toppled this magnificent plant, and it was taken over by many sorts of decomposers. Even in death this giant completed its calling and spread its vast amount of seeds over the surrounding ground. They too took root, and spread over the whole area. Thus many years later the place became known as the ancient forest…
The tall, magnificent, giants of trees concealed the walking figure in their vastness. His stride was long and confident, though his eyes were constantly roaming the surrounding forest for any signs of danger. He was a young man of average height, with brown hair that covered his ears, and he wore a typical forest cloak; green, thick, and long. The rest of his clothing was also typical; a short tunic, soft hide boots, and a leather belt. To the casual observer there was nothing strange about him. Unknown to this watcher would be the man’s long dagger, quiver, and bow, all expertly concealed beneath the long cloak.
His name was Ricar and he was one of the few members of the Tribe. There were about twenty of them and their home was in what they called Camp Brook, located deep in the new forest (smaller and younger trees than the ancient forest where Ricar was) by a small, bubbling brook. They were experts in the forest and served as protectors for the nearby fort.
Ricar looked up into the clear vaults of the early spring sky and spotted the thin tendril of smoke winding its way up into the blue void. The air didn’t smell like smoke, he was too far away for that, but it was nothing that a brisk walk couldn’t take care of. He slowed down and mentally calculated the distance to the strange fire. It was early and by the time he walked back to the fort and then to the fire, it would be about dark – just right…
Celn was a tall man; strong and fit for his age. He was not old though, only middle aged. His black hair waved slightly in the soft spring morning breeze as he stood looking over the surrounding forest. He was on top of a tall palisade wall, surrounding a cluster of strong log buildings. There was a large gate seemingly carved out of the thick wooden wall, facing the forest path. A large clearing spread out from the fort and most of the clearing, at least behind the fort, was cultivated for farming.
The sound of a quick jogger reached Celn’s ears and he motioned for the gatekeeper to open the twin doors. He could make out the shape of Ricar approaching and smiled as the young man hailed him. He sensed someone walking up behind him and turned around to see his young friend Tor. Tor was the same age as Ricar and looked not too much different. He was taller than Ricar, with brown, slightly curly hair and sharp green eyes. He nodded to Celn and waved at his friend Ricar. Ricar motioned for him and he quickly descended the ladder from the battlements.
“Did you see the smoke?” asked Ricar.
“Yeah; you checked it out?” inquired Tor with a twinkle in his eye.
“Of course! And you know what?”
“Nomads?”
“No, mercenaries!”
“Hmm…” said Tor thoughtfully, “wonder what they’re doing here? How many?”
“Many. Maybe a hundred or so!”
Tor whistled.
“Okay, give me a minute.” Tor turned around and jogged towards his parent’s house. He quickly came out dressed in the same way as Ricar with a beautiful dirk, hidden at his side, and a long lethal bow strapped onto his back with a quiver. His long green cloak flapped behind him in the gentle spring breeze as he made his way to the stables. He entered his favorite place in the whole fort with the smell of fresh hay in his nostrils. An eager whinny broke the silence. Tor approached his long time steed and friend with admiration, for the horse never failed to impress him. Its strong flanks and wide shoulders showed through his glossy coat, and its long, shining black mane.
He mounted bareback and rode out the open stable doors. He met Ricar outside and saw that he had gotten himself a young stallion to ride. So, they rode out yelling back to Celn to keep guard, leaving him bewildered and confused; but he was used to it…
Sagoth was angry. His men were restless and their business was scarce. He had been successful in the south and had raised a big group of mercenaries around him. They fought for a large sum and had defeated their ‘enemies’ quickly and efficiently, but then it was over. He and his men moved on in wealth and fame and, at the start, had gotten numerous offers for their service. Even still none of the jobs had been big enough to make any good money, for the threat was defeated, so they had moved on. What Sagoth wanted was another war…
Tor was watching. He had concealed himself well in a bush and was checking out the situation. The big man, Sagoth he found out, was the leader. They seemed like a normal band of mercenaries except for their gear. They had much ‘loot’ which would be owned by a bandit, not a mercenary. Neither Tor nor Ricar liked the looks of them and finally decided that they were most likely a threat. The mercenaries looked like they needed work and with their numbers the plentiful fort would be a tempting target.
Tor quickly stepped out of the bush and approached the tent were he had last seen Sagoth. He snuck forward and slipped under the flap with his dirk out. Sagoth turned and started as he saw the young man. His face was cruel and jagged, but he was also strong and wore a large axe on his back.
“Who are you?” barked Sagoth.
“A person. Now go back a ways down this path and you’ll see a northerly path; you probably passed it on the way here.” said Tor. “Take it!”
“Why do you want us to leave?! Who are you?”
“Go now or die!” whispered Tor. He tapped the large man twice, quickly on the back of the head, and slipped out of the tent. Tor knew the man would recover soon and most likely would not heed the warning, but Tor had done it for his conscious’ sake. At least the man was warned and would have no excuse if he continued down the path now.
The fort could be defended, but not against so many, and the added number of the Tribe would not make the difference. Still, if the Tribe were able to use their ‘skills’ in the forest; then they could make a difference. Tor approached the place he had arranged to meet Ricar and found him waiting there. Ricar was tired from his first investigation of the mercenary camp so Tor mounted and started to Camp Brook…
The Tribe was ready. They had been warned by Celn and had simply jogged towards the smoke as did Ricar. Their weapons were varied and well taken care of and all of them were armed with both ranged and melee weapons. The men wore the typical forest clothing with the long capes and all. Tor joined them out of no where and whispered out the situation to the leader. The man got the idea of the layout and spread his fellow Tribe’s men in various locations beside the path.
“If the mercenaries are coming it won’t be long,” whispered the tribe’s man as he slipped into the brush. Ricar slid into position beside Tor and gave him a big wink.
“Did you have fun?” asked Tor with a smirk.
“It got boring after a while so I picked off a few just for kicks,” said Ricar dryly, “that is after they sent a troop of men to hunt you down.”
Tor strung his bow carefully and notched a long straight arrow. He waited, loosening the dirk in its sheath just in case. The far off plod of marching feet reached his ears and he glanced out of concealment. The mercenaries were too far to see and he could not distinguish any of the other Tribe’s men. No one ever could.
The marchers came closer and soon the clanking of their weapons and armor was audible. They seemed to be quite heavily armed which would be a big advantage in attacking the fort; hopefully they wouldn’t get there. They came even closer. Then came a quiet call, just a small bird chirping at the disturbance of the quiet evening. It didn’t bother the mercenaries, but Tor knew better. The signal was set and the pieced in place.
He leaped up from the soft forest ground and lifted his bow. The surprise was complete and the Tribe’s first volley of arrows took down about fifteen of them and wounded a few others. His arrow took a man in the neck so forcefully that it went straight through and struck the shoulder of another. The casualties did not do much to their number, so they were quickly ready for the second wave; it never came. They could have searched the forest up and down with Sagoth egging them on the entire time, but it would not have helped. The Tribe had disappeared, vanished into trees darkening with the coming of night…
Tor’s horse quickened its pace with the sound of water in its ears. The men who surrounded him were all tired and many wary of their next move, for the enemy’s numbers were great. However, all of them were capable of the job and their first attack had gone well. The enemies would be better prepared for another such attack and that would slightly hinder the Tribe, but no more. Tor knew they could pull it off again in relative safety.
Ricar rode beside Tor and told him of the founding of the Tribe and the start of Camp Brook. Tor had heard it all before but didn’t interrupt his friend’s narrative for it was of great interest to him. He was not born into the Tribe, as most of its members were, but was born in the Fort and joined as young child; so, Camp Brook was like a second home to him.
They approached the old gnarled oak that marked the camp with reverence, for it had stood through many more storms than they. Its voluminous roots had provided shelter for them many a year, for the camp rested directly below the primitive giant. The door was concealed in some brush and lay in between the two of the large roots protruding from the colossus. The weary men entered, ate, and slept; preparing themselves and their weapons for the day to come…
A bird call resonated through the forest and the Tribe rose. They were positioned on both sides of the path and had come prepared for an attack on the camp. Most of the mercenaries were just getting up and the rest were asleep. The sentries’ eyes were primarily on the camp and the distraction gave time for the Tribe’s knives to do the rest. They aimed their arrows at the enemies and fired. The attack took the camp unawares, once again, and gave the Tribe a chance for another shot. The second round of arrows did not do as well as the first but took care of the stragglers.
Sagoth quickly got the mercenaries regrouped and they charged into the forest where most of the arrows had come from. Quickly a group stationed on the other side of the path fired into the enemies’ backs and then fell farther back into cover. The mercenaries searched around a bit and then started their long march along the path to the Fort. Every time one of them let down their guard, even if only for a second, they were shot by an arrow. The Tribe harassed them all along the path, and their numbers lessened one by one.
Finally, the mercenaries saw the Fort. They, leaving the safety of the forest, marched quickly to it. Celn was ready, and all the men in the Fort were arrayed on the walls armed with many different kinds of weapons. Sagoth looked back and saw the Tribe standing ready at the forest’s edge. He turned his gaze forward and saw Celn pointing to the right. The mercenaries looked and saw a path leading away...They took it.
Funky plot!
). Excuse the bad grammar; I don't like English class. Thanks for your comments though.
