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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/No-Dog1094 on 2024-11-05 04:39:11+00:00.
“A friend’s loyalty is valuable, but an enemy’s respect is earned.”
Samalk thought of the quote his grandfather told him many years ago. He remembered the times they sat by the window and him listening to his stories, his advice, his triumphs and failures. He remembers the day he died, the sun behind his back as he held his grandfather’s cold hands, his peaceful face, the white nighttime garments he wore, the smell of wood and scented candles. He does not know why he remembered.
His train of thoughts got interrupted as an arrow whizzed past his face. He ducked down to avoid 3 more. 2 bounced due to his armor, but one hit him by the shoulder, slipping between the plates. He cried in pain. He noticed his horse wheezing, he knew that it would not last long. A rider to his right, a spear in his hand. Samalk braced himself to dodge the spear. The rider threw it towards the horse, hitting it in its neck piercing through. Blood gushed from the wound and the horse fell launching Samalk meters forward.
Samalk tumbled forward, the ground fast approaching, he braced himself, tucking and wrapping his tail around his body. The impact sent jolts of pain as he tumbled to the ground. Dazed and confused he saw his horse trying to stand as its life slowly seeped out. Samalk tries to stand, pain reminds him of the arrow that found its mark. His pursuers surrounded him, like wolves to a wounded deer. He draws his sword, gripping it with both hands, ready to fight to the death.
The horses of his pursuers suddenly stopped in their tracks, they tried to gallop their horses forward but the horses would not budge. Samalk turned around, a dark forest, pitch black as the night sky, and no rays of moonlight despite the full moon and clear skies. The wind sent whispers as it flowed through the forest. The trees were huge, their trunk the size of much greater than most…
Samalk sheathed his sword and, on all four, ran towards the forest as fast and far as his legs could take him. His pursuers dismounted their horses and ran after him. He could hear them running, breaking twigs and crunching dead leaves. He did not know where he was going, but he did not stop.
Soon only the sound of the forest surrounded him, the swinging of leaves and the soft whispers of the wind. He catches his breath, with his legs shaking he slumped down beside a tree. As he did, he recalled what brought him here. The burning of his home, the death of his family, the betrayal of the people he served, who he put his loyalty and trust in. Anger boiled inside him.
A sound of twig breaking broke his trance, he scanned his surroundings. He noticed antlers, a deer he thought hiding just behind a tree. He sighed in relief, but as he looked again, 2 predatory eyes stared at him. He froze in fear, an ancestral instinct from their days of being prey, he unsheathed his sword and took a defensive stance, pointing the tip of his sword towards whatever was in the shadows. The trees shifted letting the moonlit sky shine briefly towards the both of them.
It was small, short, a child no doubt he thought. On its hand was a basket of mushrooms and flowers. Samalk noticed the basket shake, it was afraid. Samalk slowly retreated his sword just in time for the moonlight to shine on the child. Its pale white skin, emerald eyes and the lack of fur or scales, and the five fingered monsters that his grandfather often described to him. He had found them, the ancient enemy of all, warriors whose prowess were unmatched, the only monster his old hero respected, Teranians.
As swift as wind the child turned and ran, “Wait!” Shouted Samalk, sheathing his sword he followed the child. The child was fast, dashing through the underbrush nimbly, the likes he had never witnessed before. The child moved like a ghost, disappearing then reappearing further ahead. The thick underbrush made it impossible to navigate, and soon he lost sight of the child.
Samalk slipped out his forked tongue, sensing the smells around him. He found one that belonged to the child. He followed the scent for a while, but it would soon be overpowered by many smells he knew. He saw smoke from afar, he approached with caution. His intuition was right, his pursuers had caught the child, an unfortunate turn. The child was safe and silent but tears flowed from its eyes. He was tied to a stake rammed into the ground, in the center of the encampment. The pursuers were happily chatting and laughing. He could distinguish some words spoken, ones that stood out was, “slave” and “coin”, no doubt they intended to sell the child.
He turned around, intending to leave the child’s fate to the gods. It was not worth the trouble, if he gets caught, all his progress would be for naught. He started to walk away but could not, he remembered his mother’s words, “A true noble protects the weak and defies injustice”, the memories of his own children rushing through his head. He thought about it hard, he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, he decided.
A dogman was patrolling the perimeter, a torch in hand and a spear on another. He heard a rustle in the grass and smelled the air, his nose was useless, there was something in the forest messing with his senses. He shined his torch towards the noise, a patch of grass rustled but as he parted it with his spear, a small creature ran, scaring the dogman. The dogman sighed in relief but as he turned around, a sword pierced his throat, green scales and red eyes staring at him in anger. Blood gushed out coating his white fur in red. Samalk lurked in the dark avoiding torches, hiding behind cover careful as to not be spotted. He dispatched 3 more enemies, inching closer and closer to the center of the camp.
He should thank himself, the amount of warriors in the camp were minimal, most no doubt dispatched to search for him. He was mere meters from the child. 4 pursuers stood around the fire, guarding the child. He could take down three, but he would struggle with the fourth, a bearman, large, intimidating and strong, he would be a challenge. He pulled a dagger from his waist holding it upside down.
The bearman sensed something wrong. He turned towards the dark, a dagger was already flying towards him. He blocked with his bracers briefly obstructing his eyes. A clash of metal and the sound of flesh followed by a bellowing shout of pain. As he scrambles for his weapon he sees Samalk killing another of his companions. The third, scared and off guard due to the ambush, ran and dropped his spear, where Samalk took and threw it, hitting the poor wolfman right in the neck.
Samalk turned to the bearman, he reacted too late as a hammer struck him in the chest, denting his armor. He flew a few meters and crashed into a few water jugs. Samalk gasped as the wind was knocked from his lungs. He tried to stand but his chest throbbed in pain. The bearman was on top of him, his warhammer raised high, ready for another strike. Samalk willed himself, rolling to the side barely avoiding the hammer. The hammer smashed the ground with a force that sent dirt and rocks into the air. Samalk scrambled to get to his feet, ignoring the pain in his chest. He looked towards the child, signaling at something in the ground, he panned towards the general direction, a white flute with a broken string, he recognized it as it was hanging in the child’s neck earlier.
But he had a more immediate problem. Samalk and the bearman locked eyes, sizing each other up. The bearman was formidable, but slow. Samalk took a deep breath, despite his disadvantages he was confident he could find a way to win. The bearman charged forward, swinging his warhammer. The bearman’s armor was thick, his strikes breaking the wind, but Samalk was dodging his blows. As the bearman winded up for a swing, Samalk charged forward. The bearman swung barely missing Samalk as he slid under the strike. Samalk thrusted his sword under the armpit of the bearman, blood flowed like a waterfall, painting the ground red. The bearman cried in pain and fell to his knees clutching the wound in shock. Samalk breathed a sigh of relief.
Samalk rushed towards the child, picking up his dagger on the ground, using it to untie the child. The child rushed for the white flute, clutching it with his hands. However it was not over, the commotion had attracted a lot of attention and Samalk’s pursuers were already surrounding him, spears pointed and bows drawn. Samalk clenched his weapons, he put himself between the enemy and the child, his chest ached from the bearman’s blow, his options were limited and time was not on their side. The circle of warriors slowly tightened but he was unfettered, and his eyes steely, ready for whatever came next.
A high pitched screech broke the tense situation, it was the loudest sound Samalk ever heard like a screech of an eagleman, only louder. All of them were covering their ears except the child, who was blowing through the flute as hard as he could. As the sound slowly dissipated, the piercing sound left Samalk’s ears ringing, he saw as others were in the same boat as him. As they recovered, one of the pursuers charged at them, but stopped as a shout took everyone’s attention. Over the horizon, as the sun began to rise, a figure stood silhouetted against the dawn. It was tall and imposing, with an overwhelming presence. Another joined the figure, then another and another, the glints of armor and weapons shone like fireflies, the white bone helmets bore the faces of their prey.
Som…
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