The young black horse took to the path like a cougar, both ready and quick. It knew its way, so Phil let it have its head. Elyan’s small white horse followed right beside, being the well trained high breed that it was. They rode in silence enjoying the bright spring morning and the sound of the forest. White light shone through the leaves onto moss covered rocks and loam covered leaves. Bright green saplings lifted their small bows to the sunlit sky, and tall trees towered over all, providing shade and beauty.
Philip rode slowly, enjoying the beauty of the day and all else around. He rode naturally, following the horse’s movement with his body, letting his eyes wander. Elyan, too, rode well, as graceful and fluid as a swan. Her long dress seemed prohibitive, yet she never once had to steady herself. Her hair was pulled back on one side and she had it adorned with a small purple flower.
Phil drew up and Eylan stopped behind him. He dismounted and looked up at her.
“The rest of the way has to be on foot. Horses do not like the guardians of this place,” he said, and Elyan caught a scurry of movement out of the corner of her eye. He continued on slowly, not seeming worried, just careful.
“You see,” said Philip, “the creatures of this place are friendly to me, but strange things have been going on and anything may happen.”
“What are these creatures?” whispered the girl.
“Cyril, giant spiders of the deep forest,” said the Tor, “but they need not be feared.”
The trees thinned out in front of them and the path opened up into a small glade. In the center was a small building that was built half underground. The path found its way to a little bowl against the side of the structure and they followed it. There was the door.
It opened without a sound and they slipped inside. It was dark, so Phil took a torch down off the wall and lit it. The room around them seemed to be made of solid stone, without kinks or mortar. The walls were thick and on them were many runes, engravings, and pictures.
“What language is this?” asked Elyan with wonder as she past her hand over some of the runes.
“Filyon, the language of those who came before, the Ancient Forest Folk.”
“Can you read it?”
“Yes, my grandfather was one of the last of them. I am also one of them.”
“But you said your grandfather was one of the last? How is this so?”
“I am not really one of them, but I have their blood in me. Now, are you afraid of spiders?”
“Not really…”
“Big spiders?”
“I’ll be fine, but now I’m curious. What do you want to show me?”
“The cellar!” said Philip. He went to a small, barely detectable door, and opened it slowly. He took Elyan’s hand and stepped into the gaping blackness. After winding down a ways, the torch revealed a room, much like the first but with dirt floors and walls. Elyan instinctively reached out her hand to touch the shiny substance on the walls, but Phil stopped her.
“Better not touch that. It is spider silk and is quite troublesome to get off. Now look!”
Elyan looked at the end of the room and saw the biggest spider she had ever seen. It was fat and purple and clung to the wall, strangely not falling off. It turned its many eyes toward the intruders and scurried down off the wall. It stopped right in front of them and stared. Her eyes might have been cheating her but she seemed to see the slightest nod of the spider’s head, but then it scurried back to its wall.
“Let’s go,” said Elyan involuntarily clinging to Phil.
“Okay.” He coughed nervously and she blushed as she realized what she was doing. They followed the tunnel back out and went out the door.
The sun blinded them as they left the building and they smiled at the bright blue sky. Elyan looked slyly at Phil and suddenly shoved him playfully onto the grass. He laughed and she tumbled down beside him. She laughed also. He looked at her and looked away quickly as she caught his stare.
Suddenly Philip stood up, for his Torish ears had detected a strange sound. Elyan stood up slowly beside him, her large violet eyes looking worriedly at his face. He turned towards her sadly.
“Can you find your way back?” he asked.
“Yes...but I am not afraid,” she said stubbornly, crossing her arms.
“There is a great group of Dugon approaching. You must go!”
“I can shoot a bow better than most men and I can fight.”
“With what? Please go, you could get hurt.”
Elyan sighed realizing the truth, although she did not wish for it. Phil would need help and people must be warned, but it was not in her blood or mind to leave.
“Well…I haven’t thanked you yet for showing me this place,” she said.
“Some grand outing this turned out to be,” Phil mumbled. She looked at him sadly, and suddenly smiled. Quickly she stepped up to him and kissed him lightly on the cheek, her warm lips softly pressing against it.
“Thank you,” she said. Quickly she mounted her horse and rode off.
Philip Taer strung his bow and whistled for his black horse.
“Well, off we go again on another adventure!” he said to the beast; it snorted knowingly. He rode slowly straining his ears for different sounds.
A clanking sound reached his ears. “Very strange,” he thought.
He reached for a small pouch on his belt and pulled out a thin reed whistle. He blew a couple of soft notes, stopped to pull something out of it, and then blew a shrill whistle. Now to any normal folk near by, it would have seemed like he had lost his breath, for no sound issued from the tube, but to the ears of a Tor it was a high pitched signal. Phil put the whistle away.
He reached up to wipe a wet spot off his cheek when he caught himself. The black looked at Phil out of the corner of its eye, and he grinned.
“Getting jealous now, are you?”
He rode on steadily and quietly, covering much ground in little time. The black was a young horse, but was also a forest bred horse and could find his way through the thickest of brush. If a horse of the black’s quality did not want to be seen in the trees, he would not be.
Philip saw a slight thinning in the trees and slowed down. He dismounted and the black slipped out of his view. Once again he pulled out the whistle and made a series of signals. Responses came echoing through the trees.
A cord was around his neck, and an object hung on his back. It was a wooden mask; stained various hues of green and brown. He put in on.
Philip slipped forward through the trees until he reached a large clearing and stopped at its edge, merging in with a bush.
Around twenty Dugon riders were there in the clearing all mounted on wolves. The beasts were sniffing and wondering at the strange whistles that they had heard. Meanwhile the part-dwarves were busy trying to find why the wolves had stopped and trying to get them moving again.
Philip Taer, a captain of the Torish, strung his recurve bow and pulled an arrow out of his green leather quiver. He drew it taut and for one second his eyes met those of a giant wolf not far from him. The arrow ripped through the wolf’s throat and the rider was sent sprawling. At the same time, eighteen or so more arrows went flying from the once peaceful wood to penetrate hide and flesh alike. Shrieking Dugon were sent flying and wolves charged willy-nilly into the woods, not to return.
One wolf, smelling Tor flesh, came cascading toward Philip and he proceeded to put an arrow down the creature’s gaping throat. A Dugon charged across the clearing and a Tor stepped out to meet him. An especially large wolf turned toward the revealed Tor and charged him head on. Seeing the dire situation, Phil launched a quick arrow at the dashing creature and it turned in its berserk fury toward the new target. He drew his sword. The shining steel slid through the charging wolf’s ribs as it lunged at him.
Philip stepped back and concealed himself behind a large fern and whistled quietly for his horse. The black popped out suddenly and he mounted. The full battle was on and hiding from the wolves’ great sense of smell would be impossible. So, he took off the impeding mask and galloped into the clearing.
Realizing the weakness of his position, he charged at the left group of Dugon, so as to not expose his weak left side. He came abreast of his enemy and leaned to his right, stabbing into the scout’s exposed throat. A nearby Dwarf raised his infamous Dugon-style crossbow. The crank was locked and the bow taut; bolt in place.
Now Philip was not a captain for nothing and had some experience in battle. He had no shield, so he had drawn his curved hunting knife with his left hand. Simply, he twisted around and sent the knife flying toward the crossbowman.
The knife flew toward the Dugon and missed, but the dwarf ducked anyway. Philip came upon him and struck him down. A large Dugon threw himself out from behind a big rock and hooked the bottom of his axe around Phil’s right arm. His sword clanged against the axe blade and he was wrenched off the black horse. He landed, rolled, and then leaped out of the dwarf’s reach.
“Orion (means ‘charge’ in Torish)!” Philip yelled, and he blitzed forward, knocking the dwarf’s axe aside. He raised his steel sword and it glowed with the waning light of the afternoon sun. The Dugon collapsed with a helm cut in two.
Captain Philip Taer turned around to face the main force of enemies. He stood, his legs slightly apart, pointing his sword toward the violators of the woods. He stood solidly as they came towards him but his plea was not left unheard. The Tors charged; he smiled grimly.
The energy throbbed in Philip’s ears and the light of battle came into his eyes. His wavy hair blew in the wind as he stood ready. Then he leaped forward to meet the onslaught. His sword swung this way and that; slicing one enemy and then another. The enemies were too slow for him and died without knowing what hit them.
Suddenly his eyes encountered an extremely large dwarf, with a commanding look about him, and he veered towards the Dugon. The Tors hit the enemies like a tidal wave and Phil dropped and rolled, slipping through the confusion, but the captain he had espied was no where to be seen.
Philip turned back to the noise of fighting. A small group of the forest violators were left surrounded by the Torish; defeated. Weapons and bodies lay strewn across the clearing and he looked sadly at a nearby fern. It was a beautiful green and had many large leaves; it had been crushed and trampled. “Is this what things are coming to?” thought Philip. “Must we sacrifice our home to rid us of our enemies?”Suddenly he saw a strange shape on one of the fern’s leaves. It was the track of a large boot, and it led off into the forest.
“One escaped!” he yelled to his comrades. “I’ll go after it.”
They nodded and busied themselves with the after battle duties: helping the wounded, stripping the bodies, burying the dead, and finally taking the prisoners away. Philip walked into the woods.
-greenjay
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