The two knights moved quickly through the forest, stepping as lightly as they could. For many hours they had gone non-stop, for fear of the savage men. All around them was silence. No birds chirped; no animals rustled about in the bushes. They seemed to be the only living things in the forest. Overhead, light could hardly pierce the thick green canopy. A light, cool wind rustled about them.
Despite his armor, Arozal shivered. There was something strange about this forest. Some unnatural forces had power here. "Felimor," he whispered, staying close behind his friend.
Felimor moved swiftly, not looking back. His feet hit the ground softly, avoiding every twig and branch. He moved silently, watching the path ahead. "What is it?" His reply was barely audible, even in the quiet of the forest.
"Something is not right here," Arozal spoke, looking around him. "Though the wind is soft, it carries the scent of evil."
"Thee might be right, but we cannot stop." Felimor still didn�t look back, yet he moved quicker. He too felt the evil that came ever closer about them. Suddenly, he tripped, sprawling forward onto the forest floor. Dust and leaves flew up, scattering about before floating back down to the ground. A great thump resounded about the area.
Arozal quickly stopped, kneeling beside his comrade. "Felimor, are you all right? What happened?"
"I�m fine, Arozal." Felimor pushed himself to his feet. He leaned backwards, laying his weight against the broad trunk of a tree. But even as he did, a great roar sounded.
A harsh voice followed, speaking loudly, resonating throughout the forest. "I am Kurgarr, Lord of the Trees. Thou has disturbed my rest, now my wrath is upon thee!" From the shadows a great beast appeared. He seemed like a wolf, only much larger. His teeth were long and sharp, shining like white razors. He had great paws, with mighty claws upon them. His eyes were green as the leaves of the trees, burning with a fiery anger. His fur was a shade of gray, tinted with blue. His voice was held within it the might and fury of the trees, and glowing within his eyes was the spirit of an ancient evil.
"What is that vile creature?" Asked Felimor, drawing his sword. He held it in a defensive stance, staring intently at the beast.
"So the legends are true..." Arozal stared at the wolf-like creature. He slowly reached downward, grasping the hilt of his broad sword. He slowly withdrew it from its sheath, always watching the beast.
"What legends?" Felimor too looked only at the great monstrosity before them.
Fear was in the voice of Arozal. "A legend I heard as a child... The legend told of an evil beast named Kurgarr that inhabited these woods. He was said to have lived before the days of the Black Knight. It was said to be a dark sorcerer who had taken the form of a wolf, but had been unable to change back to the form of a man. His malice grew ever greater as he became trapped within the wolf form. After many years, he disappeared, infesting part of the woods with his evil aura, and driving from that area all beasts and men."
Felimor took another step back, now standing directly beside Arozal. "And so it seems we now walk in a world of legends. Ready your blade, my friend. Battle lies before us."
Arozal stood ready. He opened his mouth again, this time speaking to Kurgarr. "Being of darkness, hear my words! Thou shall not overcome the fury of my blade!"
And then Kurgarr laughed. The sound rumbled throughout the forests, shaking the trees at their roots. "No mere mortal may withstand my wrath. Thy blade shall break beneath thy own corpse."
"No normal mortal am I," replied Arozal, unwilling to let the dark beast overcome him. "I am Arozal, son of Erozal, heir of Coralis. You have not the power to defeat me."
"Thou does not scare me. I was old when Coralis but was what a child. Only a holy blade, wielded by one pure of heart, may harm me. Prepare yourself, for now I come." Kurgarr leaped forward, swinging a great paw at Arozal. Yet the young knight was too quick.
Felimor stepped forward, swinging hard at the large beast. But the wolf dodged, only to feel the bite of Yeteres upon his leg. He howled in pain, swinging his body around suddenly. His great paw leapt forward, striking Arozal in the chest, sending the young knight flying. He turned, narrowly dodging a thrust from the blade of Felimor. With a mighty howl, he pounced, meaning to crush his enemy beneath his stomach.
But unfortunately for Kurgarr, the blade of Felimor was pointed straight upward, toward the skies. Even as he tried to pull upward, the blade pierced his stomach. He howled, pulling back and retreating several yards. "Powerful knights thou art, but triumph over me thou shall not. The wound of a mortal blade may not overcome my might."
"Triumph over you we shall indeed," spoke Felimor, his voice strong and commanding. He turned towards his friend. "Arozal, he is a beast of the dark. May Yeteres strike the finishing blow, and the light shall forever banish him from this world."
"So it shall be," spoke Arozal. He stepped forward, and with a powerful thrust, he ended the life of Kurgarr, the ancient beast of darkness. He perished before the might of Yeteres, the mighty blade of the light, wielded by the hand of Arozal. From that moment on, that region of the forest was free from the darkness and tyranny, which Kurgarr had imposed upon it for countless centuries.
In that moment, the fallen form of the wolf shrank and twisted, until it was the naked figure of a man, lying dead upon the ground, a great hole in his chest. His eyes were glazed over, and his mouth open agape. All over his body were great scratch marks and bruises, and in his mouth his teeth were tipped in the dried blood of savage men whom he had hunted for so long.
"A great deed have you done, Arozal." Felimor spoke after several minutes. "A great evil has now passed from this world."
"Yet all the praise I do not deserve. If not for you, I should have surely fallen before his might. United we stand, for none may overcome our might."
"And so it shall always be. When we stand together in battle, no darkness may overcome us; no foe may defeat us. But now I fear we must go, lest the savage men again pick up our trail."
"Yes," replied Arozal. "Let us go. Again, my friend, I shall follow you."
For many months the two warriors marched through the forest. They lived off of wild fruits, and small animals that they hunted. Their water came only from the clear, cool streams, which ran through the dense Esgar Forest. It seemed there was no end to the trees.
Arozal lay on the ground, staring at the canopy above. His mail was dirty and battered, his face covered in blood and scars. "Felimor, do you think we�ll ever get home?"
Beside Arozal was Felimor, his eyes closed. His helm was at his side, allowing his long, dark hair to flow down his shoulders. "I don�t know. We wandered alone for so long, amongst the birds and beasts. Oh, what I would give for a soft bed and a warm meal by the fire."
Arozal sighed, turning his head towards the only friend he had ever known. "I fear that we shall never escape this place. But even if we were to find a way out, surely the wild men would find, and kill, us."
"Maybe that is so," Felimor opened his eyes, watching a bird glide by overhead. "So now comes the time when we must defeat them. If we cannot destroy them here, then we shall never destroy them."
"What do you mean?" Arozal seemed confused, but he could sense the determination in the voice of Felimor.
Without answering, Felimor stood up. He held his arms high above his head, calling out. "To those who have slain my company, I call you forth. We shall fight to the death!"
Even as the young knight closed his mouth, forms appeared all around them. Short and broad were they, clothed in the hide of animals. The mightiest stepped forward, and he was, without a doubt, the chief of those whom had slain the companions of Arozal and Felimor. "You fight us? You die!"
The great chief leapt forward, only to fall to the ground, dead. A single arrow had pierced his heart. He lay on the ground, his eyes half closed. "I die..." His last words were spoken, and his warriors scattered. Even as they ran, arrows rained upon them, spears were thrown, and in the midst of the fray was a tall form, wielding a long, slender blade. Many wild men did he slay, before finally there were no more.
Then from the bushes and trees appeared many more, some walking, some jumping from the highest limbs of the great trees. They were clad in green cloth, and many carried mighty bows, long spears, or slender, pointed blades. The one of whom had been seen fighting with his blade was the first to step forward. His hair was shoulder length and gray, tied back in a ponytail. His eyes were blue as the sky, ancient and wise. He was tall and muscular, yet thin. As he stepped forward, he bowed. "You have come, Lord Felimor."
"What?" Felimor was taken aback at being called Lord. He was an orphaned child raised by a noble family, and never had he been mistaken for one of such noble birth. "I am no Lord, kind sir. And how does thee know my name?"
"Many things about you do I know," spoke the man. "Many things that you might not know. As for your name, we have been tracking the movements of yourself and your partner for several days." He paused for a moment. "But am I without my manors? Please Lord, follow myself and my men back to our village, and there you shall be cleaned and fed, and all questions will be answered."
"Do we have a choice at all?" Arozal asked, his blade still in hand. In these woods, one could not be too careful. He wasn�t sure whether or not he could trust the strange men.
"No," replied the man. "Unfortunately, you do not. We cannot allow you to move freely about our lands, at least not until your loyalties are determined."
"What do you mean, your lands?" Felimor asked. Could it be what he thought it was? Surely not... The Esgarians were long dead, their hidden forest city merely a rumor.
The man held his hands upward, as if he reached for the clouds. His eyes closed, the sun shining upon his aged face. "These lands, this forest! It is all the lands of my people! A beautiful, bright land it once was, but now, now it is as you see it... The forest has become so dark, and vile creatures have made their dwelling here. Yet in the hidden city, in Dahgoren, there still the land is beautiful. It is there that my people now live, in peace and happiness. Only once in many centuries has an outsider entered our realm. Now with us he forever resides."
"Then it is true," spoke Arozal. "You are the people of Esgar, the last survivors of your people. The descendants of those who escaped the wrath of the Black Knight."
"Indeed we are, Arozal." The man suddenly turned to Felimor, looking into the bright eyes of the dark haired man. "Felimor, thou does not know of whence thou came, does thee?"
"No, Lord," replied Felimor. "I do not. But it seems to me, that maybe you know."
"Yes," replied the man, suddenly becoming silent. "But that tale is not for now. Let us return to Dahgoren, then shall all be explained."
"Show us the path, and we shall follow." Arozal said. He sheathed his sword, bowing before the man. "I trust that you will not betray us."
"Betray you we shall not. Now let us be off." At that, the man and his company turned and began to disappear into the woods. Two men appeared, grabbing Felimor and Arozal. Holding them by the shoulders, they begin the lead the two young knights along the hidden path.
They walked for several hours, crossing many miles. They passed by plants and animals of all kinds; beautiful flowers with shining yellow petals, great tall trees with deep green leaves, long slender vines covered in miniature purple and pink blossoms. In the end, the path opened into a wide valley, filled with grass and flowers. A dirt road ran down the steep mountainside, leading to a village of thatched huts and working people. Birds chirped in the trees that surrounded the valley. As a whole, it was a beautiful sight; a peaceful, joyful place such as was thought to no longer exist.
They walked single file down the path, stepping in between two large pillars. Even as they did, the man turned. He suddenly seemed taller and greater than ever before. His voice was kind, but strong, sounding above the noise of the village. "Young knights, you have now entered the gates of the hidden city, Dahgoren. I am Thileres, lord of the lands and King of Esgar. Now I great feast shall be held, and you two, my friends, shall be the guests of honor."
A short time later, Arozal and Felimor sat at a great table. On the table was food of all sorts. Meats, vegetables, fruits, and everything else that could be found in those parts. A minstrel strummed on a harp, his melodious voice singing of ages past. At the head of the table sat Thileres, clothed in green robes, with a shining golden crown set upon his head. Noblemen, warriors, and peasants alike were gathered for the feast. They talked of the harvest, of their brave king, of their children, and many other things. But most of all, they talked of the two young men who had been found in the forest.
With a wave of his hand, Thileres silenced the people. He then spoke, addressing his subjects. "My people, I bring before you two valiant knights of great importance. One is Arozal, the heir of the paladin who long ago slew Oredun, the Black Knight. The other is Lord Felimor." He then turned to two whose names he had just mentioned. "Please, tell us of what has happened since the fall of Esgaria. Long have we been alone, and news from the outside world is rare."
"I would be honored to tell you of the world, my Lord," spoke Arozal. "Even as Esgar fell, the eastern part of the Black Knight�s forces battled against the Virelian knights, led by Coralis. The dark army was put to flight. They were pursued across the land, and through Esgaria. The army was fully united, but still it fled until at last they came to their black ships. They set sail, escaping to Fezon Oredun with little loss. For many months after that assault, nothing was heard from the Black Knight. Then one night, without warning, a portion of his forces marched forth and assaulted the guard station known as Elernol. The people of Elernol fled, and what few fought were slain mercilessly. With permission from the king, Coralis decided to make a final attempt at ending the war. Coralis, the paladins, and a great many companies of knights left Cirtenia. They arrived at Elernol at dawn, and fought on into the night. Coralis was victorious, again setting the dark armies to flight. Only nine days later, his forces left Elernol. They marched south, and made war upon Rezgal Oredun, the Gates of Darkness. Again, the armies of the Black Knight failed. Many battles occurred within the Dark Realm, but in the end, it came down to a single great battle upon the Oredun Plains. This battle lasted for months; yet again Coralis triumphed. However, the Black Knight escaped. Coralis pursued him into the forest southwest of the body of water then known as Sanghen Behlen. There they fought. In the end, the Black Knight fell. His body was carried to Sanghen Behlen, and there it was dropped. The water then became known as Oredun Otania. Coralis was badly wounded, and several days later, he died of a wound to the right shoulder, which had been poisoned by the dark power of the Black Knight. That was over four thousand years ago, in the year 772. In 907, all of Virelia had fallen under the rule of a race of dark men that had served Oredun. But by 1315, they had been driven out again. So much more is there to tell."
"Much has happened, it seems. Yet for now, I need not to hear more. Later shall we meet, and discuss much of what has happened." said Thileres. "Long have we remained cut off from the outside world. Yet that is the way my people prefer it to be, for our lifestyle is that of peaceful forest dwellers, not of knights and war."
Thileres paused, his piercing eyes staring across the table, fixed upon Arozal. Again did he speak, his voice rising clear across the silent chamber. "Now I shall tell a tale. I shall tell you of many years ago, when I was but a young prince, unable to understand why contact with the outside world was forbidden."
The minstrel began to strum his harp. The melodious sound filled the air. The music was slow and soft, speaking of times long past; times when the land was peaceful, and wars were but legends. Then the music took on a darker tone. It sounded deep and ominous, telling of the darkness, which was never far away. To each it had a different meaning. To Arozal it meant that though times may seem light, they were on the brink of falling into darkness. To Felimor, it told of the great times long ago, and of the coming of Oredun, and the near destruction of Anglemour.
The music became quieter, throbbing in the background. Thileres began to speak, his voice fitting in perfectly with the pattern of the music. "It seems like ages ago, the times when my father was king, and I was but a young prince, craving adventure. I often wandered far and alone in the forest, into places of which no mortal had set eyes upon in many thousands of years.
But on one bright day, seemingly by chance, I wandered too far. I found myself in a land of bright plants, sweet air, and graceful waterfalls. The wind seemed to carry a kind voice; soothing and comforting it was. I stood atop the greatest of the falls, looking at the raging rapids below. The waters crashed about, falling over one another. Caps of white, shining bright as the armor of Coralis, rose high, and then came down with a great force, swirling about in the deep blue waters. Then came a voice that was fair beyond imagination.
The voice sang, but mixed in amongst the words were tears of sorrow. I was enchanted, and so I followed the voice, until I came across a lone maiden, standing at the riverside. Her eyes were a deep blue, and from them flowed a stream of tears.
And so I spoke to her, asking her name. And she replied that she was Cirya, the last of the elves. There had never been many of her people, and so most men thought them to be naught but myths. One by one, the dark wolf Kurgarr had slain the elves. Until at last, only Cirya was left.
She wept for the loss of her people, yet even as she wept, a strange joy filled her heart. And so she smiled, and her face was as fair as her voice, her eyes shining like the brightest gemstone. From that moment, I knew I loved her. We returned to Dahgoren together, and there we were wed beneath the stars."
As he finished speaking, a slender figure stepped from the shadows. Her eyes were as blue as the sea. Hair as black as night flowed about her body, reaching far down her back. Upon her head was sat a tiara of gold, and in the center was a glittering green emerald, pressed against her brow. She seemed like a flower, so beautiful and fragile. Her eyes met those of Felimor, and for a moment all was still. Then, with great effort, she turned away, stepping towards Thileres. "Father, the hour grows late. I have become tired, and so I beg you, please, allow me to return home." For she was Erenis, a half elf, daughter of Thileres and Cirya. Her beauty surpassed that of even her mother, and yet she was rarely seen. She spoke softly, always watching silently.
Thileres smiled, standing up to his daughter upon the forehead. "Indeed, the hour is late. You all may go home. Erenis, please, tell Cirya that I shall return soon. I must speak to Arozal and Felimor concerning matters of great importance."
She nodded. "Yes, father." Erenis turned and left, walking quickly from the room.
"Never in my life have I seen one of such beauty," whispered Felimor to Arozal.
"Indeed," he replied. "She is fair beyond words."
Thileres called to them, breaking up their whispered conversation. "I wish to tell you both of something now, and then beds shall be made ready for you both."
"Thank you, Lord," spoke Arozal, standing and bowing.
Felimor followed suit. "Very kind are you. We owe you much thanks for your kindness."
"My tale begins seven years ago. As I still often do, I was wandering alone in the forest. The forest was unusually calm, the silence broken only by the soft sound of wind amongst the trees. A great cry broke the silence. A man came crashing through the underbrush, a dark haired child only hours old cradled in his arms. He yelled for help, coming swiftly towards me. He claimed that wild men had attacked him, and he had only narrowly escaped. There was an air of dignity and power about him, even though his clothes were ragged and tattered. We returned to Dahgoren, where he revealed to me his name and origin. He named himself Silmarris, Prince of Serassia. For indeed he and his son were the last of the Serassians. Long ago, their ancestors and several others had escaped from the ruin of Serassia by some strange turn of fate. For thousands of years, they had remained a hidden people, their origin and history passed down from father to son.
But in the end, their numbers had dwindled to two: Silmarris, and his wife. His wife had died only hours before, giving birth to their child. For seven years they stayed here in Dahgoren. On one day, Silmarris decided that it was nigh time he and his son go. He opted that they would go to Cirtenia, and reveal their lineage. Although I tried, I could not convince him to stay. And so he left, and never again did I see him. The winds brought many tidings, yet the last tidings they brought were the saddest, and most joyful, of all. Silmarris had been way laid by wild men, and had fallen. Yet even in the midst of his defeat, a group of Virelian knights came upon them. The boy was rescued, and brought the Cirtenia. No more tidings were to come after that. That boy was indeed you, Felimor. The moment I saw you in the forest, I recognized you. You have the eyes of your father."
Felimor was silent, his eyes fixed upon Thileres. He opened his mouth, but no sound escaped his lips. With much effort, he finally spoke. "I thank you for telling me. It eases my heart to at long last know of whence I came."
Arozal placed a hand upon the shoulder of his friend. "Always have you been mighty, indeed, my friend. Yet never did I guess that you might be of royal blood. I am honored to be in your presence, Lord."
Felimor looked at his friend. "Yet still I am the same person you have always known. It is my belief that no matter what one is born as, that all are equal. Please, do not treat me as any more than you always have."
"I shall honor your wishes, Felimor." Replied Arozal, removing his hand and smiling at his friend.
"Wise are you, for you speak the truth." Said Thileres. "Truly noble you are."
"I again thank you for your kind words. I fear to appear rude, but very weary are myself and Arozal from our long journey," said Felimor.
Thileres nodded. "I apologize for keeping you up so late, my young friends. I shall now take you to your place of rest."
He turned, motioning for the two young knights to follow. He walked down a long hallway of polished stone blocks, the walls covered in paintings of all sorts. One painting stood out amongst all the others. It was painted with soft, dull shades of blue and gray. It depicted a young boy, bent over the dead body of a man, who seemed to be his father. The boy was crying, his eyes bloodshot. His clothes were torn and ripped, covered in dirt. A small dagger hung at his waist. Arozal stopped, staring at the painting. "Thileres, may I question you about this work of art?" He asked.
Thileres stared at the painting. "That was created during the war against the Black Knight. It was meant to show the despair of the young, as their fathers and elder brothers marched to their deaths. It was a sad time indeed. Now, let us continue. I, too, have grown weary."
Arozal nodded, beginning to walk again. Alongside him, Felimor marched in silence. The long hallway veered right, opening into a wide room. Along the eastern side were two great doors of wood, enlaced with gold. Thileres motioned to the guards that stood before the doors. The great wooden doors swung open, revealing two sparsely furnished rooms.
"These are your rooms," Thileres spoke. "I hope you find them to your liking. If you need anything, just ask the door wardens."
Felimor and Arozal nodded their thanks and entered their rooms, the doors shutting behind them. Arozal removed his mail, letting it drop to the floor. Yeteres he laid carefully upon a polished wooden table. He collapsed forward onto the soft bed, drifting quickly into sleep.