Jessi: Thank you for your review SirusLivesOn as well as pointing out the rating. I meant to set it to PG-13 but put it on G by mistake. That's been fixed now. Enjoy.
Chapter Two: Forest
Targ glanced up at what little sky was visable through the leafy canopy. It was just gone dawn and the golden light hit the ground in brght lances. The trees here were far larger and older than any he'd seen back home.
There was no sign of human's touch or of any civilasation, but that just showed the skill of the inhabitants of this forest. Any trespasser in this place could, and in all likelyhood would, be shot before they even got a glimpse of another living creature.
Rhawn snorted bringing the dragonslayer back to Faerun. He'd been unwilling to let such a fine animal stay one of the nearby towns where your horse could be on the autioneer's stand, with parts of its coat carefully dyed, in an hour.
Instead Rhawn was led on the end of a halter rope while Menji trotted in front trying to catch any scents.
Before setting out Targ made sure that the little token was visable against his plate mail. The token was made of silver and in the shape of a falcon, its wings curved down around a glittering sapphire. On the reverse side an elegant elven rune was etched with acid.
It was worth a lot of money, but Targ would never sell it. Not only did this token, hopefully, allow him safe passage through this forest but it had been given to him by a good friend.
The dragonslayer continued onward, his thoughts on his absent daughter.
Targ heard the battle cries the same instant that the orc burst through the undergrowth.
His battle instincts, dulled by years of farming, were slow to react and Cau was only halfway out of its sheath when the orc reached the dragonslayer.
A streak of reddish-brown hit the orc as Menji rushed to protect his master. The long, sharp teeth tore out the monster's throat and the moorhound howled, bloody prize disappearing down his gullet.
More noises were coming a little way off and Targ ran through the path the orc had made in the undergrowth.
A group of maybe ten orcs had surround a smaller group of three exchausted elves in this wide clearing. Bodies of both species littered the ground, two elven corpses still in their bedrolls around a dying campfire, their bodies pierced by many arrows.
It was clear that the elves would lose if something was not done.
Not bothering to undo the halter rope, Targ swung up in Rhawn's saddle, naked blade in his hand. Digging his heels into the war horse's sides he sent the mount charging forward with all the speed those powerful legs pocessed.
The orcs were taken by surprise and at once Cau took an orc's head off, another of the monsters vaished beneath Rhawn's hooves and Menji's already blood-stained fangs dug into an exposed leg. Targ brought his sword down to part an arm from the torso and a crimson fountain came violently into life.
The elves, standing back-to-back, worked their slender swords furiously as they began to edge towards the trio of newcomers. One of their number put his foot down in a slick pool of blood and stumbled, losing his balance for a second.
That second was all that was needed for an orc to plunge their blade into his side, between the ribs. To their credit the two remaining elves responded well, continuing towards Targ.
Menji was tearing at a second orc, the first lying dead in the grass. An orc slashed at Targ, who caught the blow on his armour and opened up the orc's throat. Cau sang as the strike reversed and killed another. Rhawn abruptly lashed out with his back legs, one of the monsters falling to the earth with a broken neck.
The two elven soldiers spun, one orc falling to the ground, his throat opened from ear-to-ear, the other trying to hold in the slippery entrails that were escaping his body. The enviserated orc lashed out with his blade in a wild strike and only one elf remained.
Cooly and methodically the final elf drove his blade into the neck of that orc and the dragonslayer finished of the last one.
Targ dismounted from Rhawn and wiped the blood from Cau on an orc's cloak. As he looked up he saw the surviving elf fall to the ground.
"Shit!" the fighter cursed and ran up to the pale warrior. His finger sought a pulse and found one.
Luckily it was normal and regular, most likely it had been exchustion that caused the smaller being to faint. The elf would have been barely shoulder high to Targ. He had the pale blue-tinged skin of a moon elf, his long, black hair tied back from his face. Fine chain armour covered his slight frame and the thin, slightly curved sword was a masterpiece, patterns of leaves etched into the blade.
Not only was he small but he weighed barely nothing as Targ discovered when he placed the elf over Rhawn's saddle. He wondered how old the surviver was. The dragonslayer was not a brillant judge of these things but the elf looked barely past his first century.
"We'll find you some aid when I find Lledr. He'll know where to take you," he whistled sharply, "Menji! Come!"
The moorhound left his investigation of an orc corpse and followed his master out of the clearing, leaving the bodies of the dead behind.
Looking back Targ realised that he should have waited for the elven warrior to wake up before continuing to the elven city. It looked very incriminating, espically to the elven patrol who were aiming bows at his head.
Hindsight is always perfect.
The patrol leader said something in rapid Elvish. The dragonslayer could speak enough of the language to get by but that swift speech was beyond him.
"Slower... please, slower," he replied in rusty Elvish.
The patrol leader did not comply and Targ lifted the token in the air,
"Teithr? Lledr Teithr?"
This caused another bout of Elvish from the group and two warriors came forward to seize one of his arms each.
Targ saw nothing of the elven city. He had been blindfolded for this walk. But now they removed the blind to reveal a good-sized entrance hall. An elegant curved stair way lead upwards.
Two of the patrol gestured him up the stairs, hands on their sword hilts.
The stairs came out on a sunny balcony. Plants were set to best catch the sun and a small table also stood there. On one of the two chair reclined an elf who looked at them over the rim of a tea cup. He gasped, inhaling some tea in doing so and began coughing.
Targ moved forward and thumped the male elf on the back, until the coughing dissolved into laughter.
"Targ? Targ Anner? What in Corellon's name...?" the elf waved off the two warriors before standing, "I don't believe it! It's been..."
"Twenty years... You haven't changed a bit... Lledr."