Arozal moved slowly across the open plains southwest of Cirtenia. His deep brown eyes surveyed the scenery passing by. Standing to his right, lost in thought, was Felimor. Somehow the two of them were now several feet behind the others, who talked gaily as they marched.
"What do you make of this, Arozal?" The deep, calm voice of Felimor broke the silence. Alike to Arozal he was, yet so different. Both were mighty warriors, and both were so often silent, sharing their thoughts with no one. However, Felimor was much more outspoken about his views. Unlike Arozal, he cared little for upholding tradition. Rank, class, it didn�t mean a thing to him. He showed respect to those who deserved it, no matter what positions or rank they may hold. Yet, if he did not deem one worthy of respect, even be it a king, no respect would he shown. Arozal and Felimor both had a strong sense of justice. However, Felimor cared little for rules or regulations if he believed them to be unjust. Arozal, however, was hesitant to break any laws, be it just or not.
For sixteen days the young warriors marched across the plains. They went on despite exhaustion, hunger, and harsh weather. They stopped only for several hours each night, to eat and sleep for what small amount of time they could. Then they would again arise at the crack of dawn, marching hard and swift across the plains. Midway through the sixteenth day, they came at last to the eaves of Esgar Forest.
The group stopped, casting themselves down upon the thick grass, or leaning their backs against a sturdy tree trunk. Arozal stepped towards the edge of a forest, setting his back to a particularly large tree. The bark was a soft golden brown, and the vibrant green leaves moved ever so softly in the light wind, which swept across the land.
Felimor laid himself down on the grass next to Arozal. His blue eyes looked upwards towards the birds, flying so gracefully from tree to tree. They chirped softly, the only sound that could be heard save the deep breathing of exhausted knights to be. The armor of Felimor was encrusted in dirt and grime, having not been cleaned, or even removed, since he set out upon this journey. His muscular arms were crossed over one another on his chest.
Arozal suddenly perked up. Was it his imagination, or had he heard something? It had sounded as if a herd of animals moving through the forest in the distance. The young knight shook his head. No, it must have just been his imagination. But just as Arozal began to relax, he heard it again. This time it seemed to be accompanied by a harsh voice. But like before, it lasted only half of a second.
Turning to his friend, Arozal spoke almost in a whisper. His voice sounded worried. "Did you hear something, Felimor?"
The dark haired boy sat up, listening intently. For a moment, all was silent, but then the sound came again, louder than ever. This time there were many cries accompanying it. But instead of dying down, the sound only became louder, until the voices of men could be heard yelling amongst the crashing of feet.
Fear was in the eyes and heart of Felimor, and it seeped into his voice as well. "Wild men of the forest!" He yelled, jumping to his feet. "Gather yourselves, fellow warriors. There is no escape from the foul men. This shall be the first test of our strength." He reached to his side, drawing his large broad sword from its brown leather sheath.
Arozal stood beside Felimor. He drew his sword from its sheath, the white blade sparkling in the sunlight. His fist clenched tightly around the black leather grip, as he brought up his other arm. He grasped the sword in both hands, holding it diagonally across his body, in a defensive stance. Together, he and Felimor took several paces backwards, so that they stood just in front of the others, who had drawn their weapons as well.
Arozal spoke in a low whisper, his voice unsure. "How many do you think there are?"
Felimor shook his head, listening as the sounds came ever closer. "I�m not sure, but judging from the sounds, there are at least twenty of them. We are in for quite a fight, it seems."
As Felimor finished speaking, they appeared. Twenty-three men, clad in animal hide and armed with spears appeared from the trees. They were short and broad, their eyes slanted and dark. They stood side by side, silently watching the eight young knights. In the middle of the line of savage men stood one who was taller than the others obviously their chief. His deep dark eyes shine with an intelligent malice. His great spear was sharp; it�s point shining brightly in the sunlight.
A crude helm was set upon the head of the chief of the wild men. It was made of the sturdy leather hide of an animal, and covered in thin plates of stone. His armor was of animal hide, like the others. Yet the hide that he wore was thicker, and it was encrusted in a smooth, thin stone that covered most of the chest area. His hair was a dark brown color. It was unruly, covering most of his face. His thin lips were curled upwards into a hideous snarl.
And then the wild men�s chief spoke, his voice deep and rough, ringing loudly throughout the suddenly silent lands. He attempted to use the common speech, but it was obviously not the language to which he was accustomed. "We kill you now." At that, the savage warriors rushed forward. The shining blades of the young knights met them head on.
Swords clashed against spears as the young warriors tried to fend off the wild men. Arozal stood at the front of the battle, sword in hand. He moved quickly, attempting dodging the spears of his enemies. He turned and swung with a mighty overhead stroke at the nearest savage men. His white blade met with the skull of his opponent. The head of the wild man was cloven in half, and he fell to the ground, lifeless.
Arozal turned away from the fallen man, and as he did, a spear was thrust at him. There was no dodging the attack. So he closed his eyes, and waited for the blow that never came. He opened his eyes, and standing before him was Felimor, locked in combat with the chieftain of the wild men. "He must have deflected the spear. God bless him..."
Arozal leaped back into action. He threw himself forward, crashing into the nearest wild man, knocking him to the ground. And with a single thrust of his blade, Arozal had taken another life. But even as he defeated one, two more were upon him. His sword was knocked from his hands as he beat away his enemy�s spears. He could now feel their fists beating down upon his armor. He tried vainly to shake them off, but to no avail.
Through their battle cries, he could hear a single voice yelling loudly. It was that of Felimor. "Run, Arozal! Run! The others have fallen!"
Arozal grunted, bringing his left knee up and into the abdomen of the wild man grasping his right arm. He then swung around his right arm, catching the second wild man in the jaw. He dropped to the ground, dodging the spear of a third savage warrior. He picked up his blade from the ground, thrusting it upwards, piercing the heart of his enemy. He withdrew the blade, turning and running full speed.
Felimor plunged into the forest. Tree branches scraped his armor, and whipped backwards, cutting open his face. Arozal followed close behind, pressing his way through the thick underbrush. After going several hundred yards, the two stopped, crouching down behind a large bush.
Arozal sheathed his great white broad sword, panting loudly. "This is horrible..." The pain in his voice was great. His face was dirty, and he was covered head to toe in scratches and bruises. "Are the others? Are the others really? Are they really dead?"
Felimor nodded, sighing deeply. A great hole was torn through the right shoulder of his mail. Blood seeped from the wound, trickling down his body. "Yes... We never stood a chance against those wild men. But for now, we cannot grieve. I fear that they may pursue us. We must soon leave this place, and search for shelter. Our only concern now must be getting home."
"You are right, my friend," Arozal said. He looked at Felimor, his eyes resting on the horrible wound upon his friend�s shoulder. "You are wounded..." He reached down into a pouch at his waist, and pulled from it a green leaf, now dry and beginning to turn brown at the edges.
Felimor looked at him questioningly, trying to ignore the pain burning in his right shoulder. "What is that?"
Arozal took a step towards Felimor, crushing the leaf in his hand. He sprinkled it lightly over the wound. "It is a leaf my mother gave me before I left. I know not its name, but she tells me that it will remove poison and disease from a wound. We can only pray that it truly works." He took a step back, having sprinkled the remnants of the leaf onto his friends shoulder. "I have many more leaves, if ever we are in need of them."
Felimor attempted a smile. "I thank you for your kindness, Arozal." He looked about them, searching for a path through the dense forest. "But now we must again move, lest we are found here."
Arozal nodded. "You have more skill with navigation than I. Where you lead, I shall follow."