N/A

This high noon sun is absolutely unbearable. The temperature it reaches in the forest at this time is hot enough to cook eggs on a rock, which we’ve actually done a few times in moments of hunger. I slowly recline my head back until the sun beams down on my face. My eyes close automatically to shield themselves from the blinding light. Wasn’t there a breeze not but ten minutes ago? I wish it had stuck around. Something nudges my right shoulder, and I instantly remember that there’s a task at hand. I bring my head down and train my eyes forward. The beast sits hulking in the middle of a clearing. Judging from the size of his dirty, hair tangled head, I’m thinking this one is about eleven feet tall. Probably a few tons in weight. His scaly, reddish back glimmers in the light. His nails are long, protruding from his giant hands like yellowish brown knives. A giant club, well, more like a tree, sits at his side. His weapon of choice. Perched on the decaying branch above this monster sits a smaller, but just as deadly creature. Pale green flesh, with hair spiked into a bright orange mohawk.  He glances this way and that, sniffing the air as if he knows we are here, although that’s impossible. We’ve been out here so long that you can’t tell our smell apart from the forests’. I catch a glimpse of his facial tattoos and giant, rotted bottom teeth. He’s older than most I’ve dealt with before, which seems odd but not alarming. A troll and a goblin. Staples of the Uncivilized. I don’t despise them, per say, it’s just that I’d rather them not be this close to my home. If they didn’t insist on roaming so near to the walls of my city I wouldn’t necessarily have a problem with them. But, endanger my family, even set them ill at ease, and I’ll be happy to end your life with a hasty flash of steel. These particular creatures tend to travel in pairs. At least, every time I’ve seen them they’re together. Maybe they’re friends. Or there’s some kind of hierarchy where one is the master and one is the pet. I’m not too sure. I could learn, I know there are books on Uncivilized culture back at home, but I’ve never been the reading type, which is probably why I’m burning up under this armor, about to end these two lives, instead of being in Dalstard studying in the Librarium with the other scholars. Oh well, this life suits me, plus it’s more exciting. The troll shifts his weight and sends soft tremors through the earth at our feet. The heat seems to be escalating to a temperature so hot that my clothing and armor are sticking to my body with sweat that has somehow turned itself into a mild adhesive. I look to my left to see C’apasja, a small, dark skinned elf with brilliant blonde hair that looks as bright as the sun itself and twirls skyward a few inches until it wraps to a point. Far different from my dark brown mop of a hairstyle. I guess Dark Elves are more fashion conscience than us humans, even on Uncivilized hunting missions. His dark gray eyes are shining with anticipation, and perhaps a bit of fear. He is the new recruit after our old archer, Quill, was ripped to pieces by a flock of Uncivilized attack birds, after all. I’d be scared too. He’s still somewhat new to the Pack, this being his third mission, and has a bad habit of wearing nothing above his waist, leaving his dark skin vulnerable even though he is fully aware of what happened to his predecessor. He also travels barefoot, which is highly frowned upon due to potential traps and poisonous plants that litter the floor of the forest. Archers, arrogant until their last breath. He notices my gaze and matches it, sticking his tongue out at me and pulling his ears. Trying to be silly, when this is no time to joke.

“Stop it,” I bark at him under my breath, “be serious for five seconds.”

His golden eyebrows furrow and his lips curl into a frown, and I see him slowly mouth the word “one”. Shaking my head I look away from him and towards my right. Balor’s long, jet-black hair is pulled back into a tight ponytail that comes to the nape of his neck.  His pale skin is dripping with sweat, and I’m sure he’s having a harder time enduring the heat under all of his armor. He shifts his greatsword to his right hand and looks at me with his fierce gaze. I’ve always thought of him as some kind of character from the tales my father used to tell me when I was young. He seems more myth than man. A giant, jagged scar, rendering it unusable, mars his left eye. The unnatural cloudiness his eye has adopted still gives me goose bumps, although I’ve been working with him for almost two years. It seems dead, and if you look past the white you can almost see that that’s exactly what he wishes he were. It’s unnerving, how such a strong, giant of a man could be silently begging for death. If it were anyone else I’d relieve them of their burden of life, but not Balor. We’ve grown too close and as long as I’m alive I plan to keep him in the same shape. His other eye is a dull, frosty green, and has the look of someone who hasn’t slept in weeks. Despite his being the youngest Pack Leader in history, at age 27, his body and face exude a weariness that only comes from age, or a terrible existence. The kind that leaves you racked with night terrors and ghastly visions. And judging from the stories he’s shared with me, Balor has had the worst existence I can imagine.

“You ready?” he whispers to C’apasja and me.

“Ready to die, for the glory of the Pack.” C’apasja says with his stupid wink. A cute little trademark that surely woos the elven ladies, but I’m guessing it won’t go over as smoothly with trolls and goblins.

“Ready,” I say and direct my gaze to C’apasja, “Remember, a single slip up could be the difference between going home for supper, or the crematorium. So make sure to aim like your life depends on it, cause it does,” I whisper to him, imitating his pretentious little wink.

This causes him to widen his eyes, then slink them down into narrow slits. He raises his finger and waves it back and forth. I think I even hear Balor let out a subtle chuckle.

“Focus,” Balor says, “let’s do this right and supper’s on me.”

We’ve been through this routine a million times, well at least me and Balor have, so we aren’t too worried. We know what the outcome will be. And not to sound like my arrogant archer accomplice, but we always win. C’apasja initiates the attack, striking the goblin down with a single, swiftly placed arrow to the heart. Me and Balor then rush the troll, damaging and slicing at his legs with our weapons, causing the heaving monstrosity to lose balance and crash to the forest floor. And the final, sweetest act of our little play involves a lot of damage to the beasts’ skull, rendering him lifeless. I remove the shield and short sword from my back without a sound, readying them into the fighting position. If it weren’t absolutely necessary, I would object to covering my sword in these creatures blood. The pure white blade down to the baby blue hilt, with the words “Honor is Unforgotten” embroidered on the handle. It’s beautiful. I lick the sweat off of my upper lip, and dab my forehead with the cloth around my wrist. Balor nods, and slowly lifts his sword, which is the size of his body, onto his crouched knee.

I glance towards C’apasja, “Do it.”

“With pleasure,” he says with a smirk and his trademark wink, blowing me a kiss and drawing back his bowstring.

I focus forward, waiting for the goblin to drop from his branch signaling the beginning of the attack. My heart pounds even though this isn’t my first outing. I can’t help but to get antsy when we’re this close to game time. I spend a few seconds mentally prepping myself and then I notice that nothing is happening. When there’s nothing but silence for more than a minute, a shoot a look over to C’apasja, and I see that he’s frozen. His soft features catatonic with fear. Bow at his waist, mouth pursed and brow furrowed like they were earlier, eyes flickering this way and that. Before I can diagnose what the problem is, Balor has already figured out.

“Don’t make a god damned sound,” he whispers into my ear. “Slowly look around.”

In the extreme heat coupled with the blinding white of the sun, we’ve missed them. Completely overlooked that these monsters aren’t alone, they have friends. Friends waiting for the opportune moment to cut our throats. This is an ambush, set to capture the three Civilized that have been silently hunting their brothers for weeks. Maybe they are waiting for us to attack first, to see if we are the targets they’ve been sent to kill. Well, my Uncivilized friends, we are. I glance slowly around with my eyes focused on the treetops. I have to squint to realize what I’m looking at, but finally I see it. There are at least fifteen pairs of sickly yellow eyes staring back, glowing with the anticipation of the kill. We can’t fight them all. We are outnumbered immensely, and they have a troll. If we don’t retreat now we’re going to be dead before we can mount any sort of defense. We have to run.

As if he was reading my thoughts, Balor gives the command.

“Run! Run now!!”

Before I can register the order I’m stunned by the sight of the giant that was once semi-peaceful, now turning with a look on his face that could mean nothing but “I want to crush you.” I’ve never seen a troll alive longer than for five minutes, and even then I’ve never seen one with this look, staring into my eyes. It is quite the paralyzing sight. As the troll stretches his arms up toward the sky, tree-club extended far above his head, an arrow pierces his left cheek. The troll lets out a fierce, guttural yell as another voice reaches out to me.

“He said run Cadence!” C’apasja yells at the top of his lungs, slinging his sleek, black bow over his shoulder and turning to retreat.

Upon hearing my name I’m snapped back to reality just in time to deflect a goblin’s attack with my shield. His dagger pierces through and I sling him up and over my shoulder to the ground, where I drive my sword straight through his neck. His ear-piercing shriek fills the forest and I turn my blade sideways to confirm the kill, silencing the beast forever. His dagger shouldn’t have pierced my shield, the most advanced weapon I’ve ever seen an Uncivilized use is a greatsword made of hardened magma. Where did this creature get a steel dagger? A second after that thought is dismissed I’m blocking two arrows with my shield, just before they strike their target, my heart. For Uncivilized, these beasts know a thing or two about combat. A thing or two more than any other Uncivilized troop we’ve run across. Something is up, but I have no time to think about anything besides survival right now. I throw my shield for the head of a goblin and strike him in the forehead with a horrible crunching sound, sending him to his knees in what I imagine is a shriek of agony. To my right, a goblin and his feral pet, we call them Doggen, are advancing faster than I can run so I’m left with no choice but fighting. The Doggen lunges for my calf and in one clean swipe I leave it dead in the dirt, decapitated. The Goblin growls and swings his axe, only to have it deflected and his nose broken with the butt of my blade. Enough fighting, I can’t beat them all. I shackle my weapon and turn, breaking through the woods as fast as I can. As I’m running, wiping the sweat from my forehead and eyes trying to retain my vision, I can see C’apasja far ahead, being the fastest of the Pack and the most comfortable on the forest floor, unencumbered by armor. A little behind him is Balor, dragging his greatsword through the forest floor with one arm. His other arm lies limp at his side, bobbing up and down in unison with his feet. I can vaguely see a spot of red, crimson, dark red beginning to bloom under this limp arms’ armpit. He’s been hit and unfortunately for him we don’t have the luxury of stopping and diagnosing the problem. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen the Uncivilized set an ambush. I’ve barely even heard stories of this happening. And it’s just my luck that I’m caught in one of these mishaps. My thoughts snap back to the forest and behind me I can hear the unnaturally loud roar of the troll as he barrels toward us, shaking the earth and undoubtedly toppling trees in his wake. I can hear the screams and yelps of the goblins. Ear piercing and shrill, causing my head to swell with pain. They aren’t happy about their brethren that I’ve slain.

This cacophony, alarm rather, is not a drill. This is real. The Uncivilized are real, and they are deadly close. These monsters don’t want to lose us. They are tired of Civilized killing their family, their friends. They want revenge. And if we don’t get out of the forest fast enough they will have it.

 

 

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First chapter from a fantasy book idea I had! Check it out! Give me some feedback!