Feats of Heroism

A deep, haughty cheer of thunder seemed to mock Regulus as he dared to burrow a route into the grim, wailing forest. He knew the lore of the Woods of Horlon well. Many decades ago, Horlon, a mercenary scout riding under the banner of Salfall, had discovered a vast forest on vernal soil. He deemed it exceptional land for farming, and so he set his men upon it, and they hacked through trunk and root until the current crescent-shape was fashioned. Over time, the farms seeded by Horlon and his pioneers were overgrown by persistent weeds and grass, and with the weakening of Salfall’s kingdom, the old settlement collapsed and was replaced by empty fields – the town of Farstead and a few lone roadside barns were the remnants of Horlon’s venture.

Hoof prints filled with water lay shimmering under the scant night light. The assailants had fled with the horses of Salfall. Hope of finding his quarry strained thin in Regulus’ mind as he felt overwhelmed by the loss of his steed and the chaos discharging from the skies. Slower now, he trudged into the woods; far enough that the canopy became compact and eased the pelting of the rain.

The air was calm along the forest floor, but above the shaking of the leaves was loud and constant. Each step that Regulus took was met with a damp squelch from the mud. There was a cumbersome tension about the place. He drew his sword.

Nothing happened for a few seconds, and then there he noticed a metallic glint to his right. Regulus pounced at it, and as he did, he stumbled over something and the trees around him seemed to hiss. In the darkness, he could only brace himself for the unknown – a barrage of stocky logs and blocks tumbling over him and thumping him into the sodden earth.

In moments Regulus was gasping and flailing, held on his back by the suction of the mud and thoroughly dizzied by the trap he had sprung. He could hear a song far away, and then some being was standing over him with a bent blade.

“Justice will find you, fiend,” Regulus spat. His curse provoked a growl from whatever was ready to kill him, and the knight of Salfall closed his eyes. The singing was amplifying in his ears, as if emanating from the opening gates of the afterlife, beckoning him to pass on.

The shrill cry of a woman drew the attention of the beast, and it barreled off to the source. The song was audible to Regulus now, and it was crudely bellowed to such volume that it belittled the storm above.

Lords of hammer, axe, and stone.
Know ye not that friends of dwarves
Do never walk alone!

Glorin synchronized the chant with the slashing of his axe, rending through the waist-level flesh of the hairy creature that had come out from the brush. Iantha managed to fell another, swinging Thud with so much force that the hammer sundered an attempted parry and smacked right into her foe’s head.

“Regulus?” Iantha called out, surmising that her kill was the last of them. Rather ashamed, Regulus struggled in the mud, then responded:

“I’m here.” Iantha and Glorin waded through the undergrowth to Regulus and helped him to his feet. He was bruised and stiff, but otherwise healthy.

“You’re not much use on the ground, sir knight!” Glorin teased.

“Indeed.” Regulus exercised his limbs gently, testing his body. A pulsating ache in his shoulder spread to his neck as the rumble of thunder and rain seized rule of the air again.

But then the feral growls were heard once more, and even though Glorin’s eyes were mildly capable in dim light, they all three clutched their weapons blindly, for woods were concentrated enough to conceal a giant at ten paces.

They were spared the trouble of an ambush, however, when several arrows whizzed past them and were received with yelps from the hidden enemies. The trio looked to the forest edge, where there stood a familiar yet anonymous cloaked man.

The dwarf was the first to remark.

“Bit dark to be shooting arrows, wouldn’t you say?”