A small excerpt from the novel I'm working on

Note: A Tor is a creature, slightly smaller than a man, with teardrop-shaped ears that can hear very well. Dugon are evil 1/2 goblin, 1/2 dwarf.

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 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 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.

They 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 hanging on his back. It was a wooden mask; stained various hues of green and brown. He put in on.

Philip started forward through the trees until he reached a large clearing and stopped at its edge, merging in with the woods. 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 wargs 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 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 creatures 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 Philip fired a quick arrow at the dashing creature and it turned in its berserk fury toward the new target. Philip drew his sword. The shining steel slid through the charging wolf’s ribs as it lunged at Phil.

Philip stepped back and concealed himself behind a large fern and whistled quietly for his horse. The black popped out suddenly and Phil mounted. The full battle was on and hiding from the wolf’s great sense of smell would be impossible. So, Phil took off the impeding mask and galloped into the clearing.

Realizing the weakness of his position, he charged at the right group of Dugon, 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 !” Philip yelled, and he blitzed forward, knocking the dwarf’s axe aside. He raised his shining sword and it reflected 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.