Young Writers Society

(This has been edited.)

He stood in front of the prison cell, eyes narrowed, frowning slightly. Behind him, two guards were kneeling on the floor. Their heads were bowed and they were trembling with fear. They had been stripped of their armor, clad only in the padded clothing they wore underneath, awaiting whatever punishment the Master saw fit to give them. They considered breaking the silence to defend themselves, but they knew that anything they did would only make things worse.

He ignored them, staring angrily into the cell. It was like any other cell in his dungeon. Ten feet by ten feet, made of cut stone and pure metal, any impurities burned out of it. The stone covered the dirt floor beneath and made up the walls around it. There was a small cot in one corner, now overturned, and a small trough for food or water. The cell's prisoner was known to have a nasty bite.

The only things in the cell that did not belong were the maple tree standing in the corner and the large gaping hole in the back where the roots of the tree had smashed through. He stood well back from the sunlight that shone through the hole.

He crossed his arms and turned to the guards behind him. They kept their heads bowed and their eyes on the floor.

"Tell me," he began. "How did she get ahold of a seed?"

The guards trembled but said nothing, afraid to speak. He took a deep breath.

"Look at me."

They did. Whatever they saw in his eyes galvanized them into action.

"W-we don't know, master. Sh-she was banging on the floor, like she did everyday when sh-she was angry..."

"N-nothing seemed wrong, sire. Sh-she was a bit more temperamental than usual..."

"Yes, and we didn't know until the ground began to quake..."

"A-and old Nimrod got burned when he tried to enter..."

They trailed off, unable to continue. He tsked and dropped his gaze, turning back to the prison cell. The guards slumped with relief to the floor, thinking they had escaped the usual punishment. With a cry of frustration, he seized them both and hurled them into the sunlight. They screamed in agony as the light burned their flesh and they disappeared in a flash of ash and fire.

He smoothed his hair back and took a deep breath, resuming his calm.

"That was too good for you," he hissed. "You've no idea what you've done. Guard!"

With a clank of armor, another guard clamped down the stairs.

"Sir," the guard said, standing at attention.

"Have two more guards replace those idiots. And I want two full squadrons ready to move out. I want someone. Someone who knows the Green Forest." He paused. "Yes, the Green Forest. She'll head there. Most certainly. Oh and have them take my pets. A hunt should do them good."

The guard saluted and clamped off again to do as he was commanded.

He sniffed and stood in front of the cell for a long moment, just staring. Suddenly he thrust a hand into the sunlight, grunting in pain as his pale skin began to flake and burn. He drew it quickly back into the shadows and growled angrily.

"Someday," he whispered to himself. "Someday it will be gone."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The Green Forest was neither friendly nor welcoming. The undergrowth was thick and discouraging, the trees were tall and menacing, and the animals were fierce and merciless. Together, nature worked to keep itself safe. Nothing and no one that was not a native to the Green Forest dared to enter. No one except Jagger.

Jagg knew the Forest like the back of his hand. In fact, he had been living in it for many years. He preferred the peace and solitude the Forest offered, only venturing outside to the neighboring towns and villages to gather the supplies that he could not get inside. To those who knew him, he was considered a bit of a hermit, and more than a bit cracked to want to live in the Green Forest; but also terribly skilled to have survived so long there. He was known every now and then to make a few coins by leading a desperate party through the twists and turns, and was a bit famous in the nearby towns. Jagg didn't really like the idea of his name being known, but did like the fact that most people gave him a wide berth. As long as they left him alone, Jagg would do nothing to quell his small fame.

The day was cool and clear. The sunlight shone brightly despite the roof of leaves, and the branches waved slightly in the westerly breeze. Jagger slid expertly between the trees, sticking to the shadows wherever he could. His clothes were the colors of the forest, green and brown, and a little travel stained, providing good camouflage. He stepped lightly and quietly, trying to avoid making a sound.

The wildboar he was following was making good time through the forest, but even though he was fast, he was sloppy. Jagg wasn't in any hurry, and he was going carefully. Boars were deadly creatures, especially when agitated as this one clearly was. They were extremely hard to deal with, and since Jagg only had his bow and knife, he wasn't going to rush into this.

He stopped and knelt down to inspect a set of tracks that looked different. These were freshly made, barely two hours old. Jagg smiled. He was closing in.

A black shadow fell from the tree to his right. Jagg whipped his knife out of its sheath and held it ready. A panther stood at the base of the tree, tail lashing back and forth. She stared somewhat quizically at Jagg and opened her mouth, revealing white, razor sharp teeth.

"What are you going to do, stick me with your toothpick?" the panther asked, giving a mroww of cat laughter.

Jagg growled and shoved the knife back into its sheath. "Don't ever do that again, Kyri. You scared me half to death."

The panther laughed again. "You don't look half dead."

"If all you came to do was scare me," Jagg said angrily, "then you succeded. Well done. Now go away, I'm busy."

Kyri frowned, looking hurt. "Fine, then. If that's the way you treat me, I'm not going to tell you what I saw about two miles up."

Jagger was immediately alert. "What? What was it?"

"I don't hear an apology," Kyri said, cocking her head to one side.

"Okay, fine. I'm sorry. Now what did you see?" Jagg said impatiently.

"I suppose that will have to do," Kyri sighed. "There's a party of Scrios, maybe thirty or forty, on the eastern border trying to fight their way in. The Flora is holding back as best they can, but the Scrios have sharp weapons. They are asking for your help."

Jagg nodded. "I'll be there as fast as I can. I didn't realize I was so close to the east edge."

"Well, now you do. I suggest you hurry. The flora are ready to kill, if needs be," Kyri said grimly. "They might not wait for very long."

Without waiting for an answer, Kyri shot off eastward, melting into the forest. Jagg followed her, though at a slower pace than probably what he ought to have been travelling. He wasn't prepared to fight a party of Scrios. They were usually hulking big, very strong and very ugly. They wore extremely thick armor made of pure metal that covered their entire body since sunlight was deadly to them. Though they weilded a variation of weapons, none of them were any good. Their strength was in their numbers. They were servants of the Master, the dark lord of Scree, the Scrios' homeland. Lately, they had been seen more and more outside of their dark country. The border villages in Dain (those with which Jagger was most familiar) had little to no protection against the brutes, and lived in fear of raids, which occurred on and off with no warnings. Jagg was sure that war was brewing. He'd heard the call of the warbirds and seen the banners of Scree and Dain in the newly construsted forts.

Though Jagg didn't care much if the two countries killed each other, he did mind the attacks made to his home. Every so often, the Scrios would launch a campaign on the Green Forest, the only place that no one had any power over, but they always failed. Still the Master persisted, and though Jagg didn't know what his obsession with the Forest, he did know that whatever the Master got his hands on it was eventually corrupted. He wasn't willing to let that happen to the Green Forest.

But this raid was different. This was something else. The Scrios never attacked unless they had at least five hundred of their warriors. That there were less than fifty made Jagg wonder what they were up to. Were they searching for something? Maybe. But what? What could be so important that they would brave the Green Forest to find it?

Jagg picked up his pace. He didn't know, but he was going to find out.