Young Writers Society

Chapter2

The King of the West

The muscles bulged from underneath the black horse’s glossy coat and he snorted, impatient to get started on the long journey ahead. The rider was a Tor, skinny but strong. He was dressed as a warrior, ready for battle, and his gear shone brightly in the morning sun.

His bright silver helm rested on his head with its high crest and close cheek guards. His two piercing green eyes peered through the ‘T’ shaped opening, looking out at the beautiful morning. He wore a halberd of mail, the individual scales so small that it would amaze even the dwarves. It was long and covered most of his hide boots; on its silvery surface was inlaid a green tree. Such was the skill of the figure that none but the best even knew how it could possibly be done. A small golden ring rested slightly below his neck, a brooch for the long green cloak that then looked more like a majestic cape than a simple covering. Two tough leather bracers were strapped tightly to his forearms, fancy embroidery covering their hard surfaces. His gauntlets were also made of the same type of scale mail as his halberd, and a wide leather belt was gird around his thin waist.

Philip’s arm was in the leather bindings on the back of his shield, and he grasped the handle. The shield was wooden, tear-shaped, and had a very large silver boss, but the shield was still not overly heavy. He rested his hand on his sword hilt and glanced down at it. Usually he kept it with his recurve bow on his back, but he was riding, so he did not worry about its more awkward position. In his normal duty as a forest protector, he sometimes had need for haste and wanted to free his movement.

The sword was both long and strong, with just the right thickness of blade. It was light to wield and sharp to slash or stab with. The hilt was wrapped in brown leather and was perfectly shaped, making it a joy to hold because of its beauty and its deadliness. It seemed to blend into one’s arm, a simple extension of a person’s reach. A large green stone served as the pommel and the cross bar was shaped in the likeness of two golden leaves curving upwards toward the sun, when held aloft. Philip glanced farther down at the gold-inlaid leather sheath. It was like looking at the sun when it is behind a cloud, lighting the white fluffs into shinning gold; you’re not sure which is more beautiful.

Philip looked around at the small group around him. There was his uncle, King Toran, smiling and laughing as he always did. Michel stood next to him, strong, tall, and dark; his black hair blowing in the slight breeze. His hand rested on his fearsome two handed sword; no one could stand before it in the heat of battle. Phil’s dad also stood there, wise and scholarly with his mother standing tall at his side. Then Philip’s gaze drifted aside and he saw Elyan approaching, and although she was not, she seemed tall. Her deep blue dress fluttered behind her, and her hair also blew in the wind. The two large violet eyes stirred his heart, beaming out from her soft face. Her large lips were not smiling but had a sad and concerned look. He felt her deep sorrow and he thought that his heart would burst from the raw emotion. She sighed and looked up to meet his gaze.

“I will come,” she said and now he noticed that she was in full armor as only the elves can make, with a quiver and a bow on her back. Suddenly she turned around and disappeared into the trees of the city.

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Philip was off! His farewells had been made and his last instruction given to him. He rode easily for he was accustomed to horses and had a long way to go. The gate was behind him when he came to a branch in the road; one way led west and south to Orlonn, a Torish outpost, and the other led due west. He took the western branch at a trot.

Philip rode for the rest of the day listening to the sounds of the forest and enjoying his time. He was traveling far and did not expect to see those woods for a long time to come; so he enjoyed the peace while it lasted. The weather was that of a beautiful, early spring, but winter had not yet worn off completely, so the night came early. The sun set before him and the calm forest transformed into almost complete darkness; the shapes of the tree trunks barely discernable among the dark mass of ferns. Philip was not afraid of the forest for he had traveled, even fought, on nights much darker than this one, but he did not wish to tire the black.

Philip made a small fire next to the road and unrolled his bedding. He didn’t need to cook anything for he had enough food in his pack for a good long time and had not brought any thing to cook with. Pots and pans were an unnecessary hassle for such a trip. Philip quickly took off the black’s saddle and lay down to sleep. He was not worried, and fell quickly asleep, for the Dugon had never come this far west or north…yet.

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The next day came with bright sunlight and a blue sky overhead. It was much the same as the day before and nothing much happened. About mid-afternoon the forest on the right, or northward, began to change. Trees became taller and somewhat larger; further apart too. The ferns no longer grew there and the stones were buried under decades of decayed leaves.

Philip made camp and slept on the southern edge of the road. Even still he awoke in its quiet vigil and felt slightly disturbed. The forest was ancient, yet dying, lacking the soft sound of birds singing and streams bubbling. The only thing that met his receptive ears was the creaking sound of wind through empty branches. He looked into its vast depths but could not see much through the thick mist. He thought he saw lights, torches like a group of fireflies through the mist. A soft swishing sound accompanied the ghost like figures as they disappeared into the depths of the forest; wood elves.

In the ancient days, the Tors had a strong friendship with the elves of Itherel, and their lands were united. Yet the darkness came and the wood elves felt it. It came as always from the south, so the wood elves fled back to their secluded mists to brood and slowly die away. The only wood elves who stood and fought were either killed in the wars of old or stood only to guard their northern wood. Now the humans feared the wood, and though the Tors knew better, they did not take the risk of entering the Woods of Itherel. Philip knew that the wood elves would not like the idea of another goblin war and that not much help would come from them. Still, there was one city, the northern part Yreel of Itherel, and the southern Yreem of Hyril, where wood elves and Tors lived in harmony together. Maybe help would come from there.

The high elves of Hythron, on the other hand, had kept their strong relationship with the Tors and even now in the face of war were planning aid for the Tors and men. Men, though valiant and strong, feared the elves. They had some contact with Hythron, but the Woods of Itherel lay between the two, and they would not venture there. The men (who suspicious because the Tors came from “the elf forest”) were generally on good terms with them, and King Faer Holen of the West had even ventured to visit the City of Trees.

And it was Philip’s mission to go to the King and tell him of the plans of war. Then he would ride to the Mountains of Dorain and tell the Dwarves to prepare for war, for help was coming. So Philip rode.

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Philip continued on for the rest of that day and then the next. At near sundown on the third day he saw the trees thinning around him. He made camp early and then got up the next day before sunrise. He knew of an outpost on the fringes of the wood, but a group of human renegades were located somewhere in that area, and Philip did not know whom to trust. So, to keep things simple, he would not let himself be seen by friend or by foe. His horse rode quietly as only a forest horse can. He veered off the road, but stayed parallel to it. Philip could barely see the watch tower off to his left. He passed out of sight.

The sun rose and he rode on. Eventually he passed through a small village, but did not see many people, for they were afraid of anyone that came from the eastern forest. The whole time he continued on the Western Road, as it was called, for it ran all the way from the Teeth of Mist in the east, to the western lands of Anarion. He then came to more populated areas, passing fields of wheat and small farm houses. He had entered the grasslands.

He camped in a field that night and felt strange sleeping in such an open place. He could easily be robbed…he slept with his sword by his side.