The Sendari Rangers

Sorry for the lack of updates everyone. For the past few months I was working on a novel, which unfortunately did not end up working out. However, I’m taking what I learnt from that project, and using it in my second attempt. This short story is kind of a trial of sorts for the world, characters and other parts of the novel.

Hope you all enjoy

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The trees of the Sendari forest sprouted from the group like jagged spears, driven into the dirt with no semblance of order or reason. They stood so high that their branches almost blotted out the sun itself, only allowing slivers of its light to shine through cracks in the twisted branches above. Ever since he was a child Sigurd had been told stories about the things that lurk within Sendari, vicious monsters that could tear apart a man as easily as a man would tear parchment. Some even believed that evil spirits inhabited the forest, ready to drag the wicked into the underworld itself. Yet after almost a decade, Sigurd felt more at home in these woods than anywhere else.  It was a place that demanded respect; it’s creatures as capable of killing the unwary as easily as the stories told. But for the wary, those familiar with its ways, the forest was a home that could be as providing and loving as any parent.

Sigurd pondered on this, as he crouched low in the dirt, careful to avoid any broken branches or leaves which could alert his prey. He hands held his oak short bow, half drawn with an arrow at the ready, as his sky blue eyes observed the clearing before him. Quickly he pulled back and released, the arrow flying through the air and catching the beast by the throat. The deer fled in panic as one of their number collapsed to the ground, an arrow jutting out of its jugular. Sigurd moved forward quickly, his bow slung over his shoulder as he pulled out his knife, putting the deer to rest quickly to avoid causing it any more pain then necessary. Careful to keep the deer’s blood out of his long golden braid which hanged below his shoulders.

With the deer slung over his shoulders he walked back through the Sendari, moving confidently through the trees he walked for a good hour, until he finally came out through the tree line, where the other rangers of the Sendari made their camp. A dozen men and women dressed in the same tattered green and brown cloaks as Sigurd, bustled around the makeshift camp going about their duties. Cleaning and repairing weapons, cooking meals and conversing amongst themselves around the camp fire. Sigurd walked towards an empty table and laid his catch on it. Michael, one of the younger rangers, a tall, bone thin man who seemed to bend and sway with the wind, his skin a pale cream same as the other rangers, walked up to the table.

“Good hunting Sigurd?” He asked with a voice that seemed better matched for singing then talking.

“Aye, and so long as were able to keep it from Arthur it should last us for a couple of days.” Sigurd replied with a smirk, which drew a bell like laugh from Michael.

“I heard that Sigurd, you deer humping shit!” Came the deep, guttural reply from the campfire, where a large barrel chested man sat, his tankard no doubt filled with ale given the slight slur in his voice.

“Surprised you were able to get away from food long enough to hear anything Arthur” Sigurd jeered back, laughter filled the camp as he pulled out his knife and got to work cleaning the deer and the rest of the rangers went about their business.

And this was Sigurd’s life, he and the other Sendari rangers worked to protect the forest and its inhabitants, ensuring the surrounding towns would have enough food and timber to survive. It was a simple life, but for Sigurd it was preferably to toiling away in a field.

After an hour he had finished skinning and cleaning the deer, and was in the process of turning the meat into a stew, when suddenly a man appeared, running through the tree line towards their camp. At first Sigurd assumed it might have been one of the rangers, running from some creature which he had offended, yet as he readied his bow in preparation to stop whatever threat came through the trees, he was able to get a better look at him Sigurd saw that the man was covered in scrapes and mud, his clothes little more than rags on his body, and he had a wild panicked look on his eye of something which was being hunted. He said nothing, all the breath taken out of his lungs by the long run he had endured, but his eyes screamed for him, terrified by something.

Sigurd and the rangers readied themselves, realising that they would have to deal with whatever was chasing this man before they could get any answers from him. Not a few moments later a group of two dozen men on horseback came bounding through the treeline the man had come from. Glittering in afternoon sun, they were dressed in polished chainmail coats and hard leather uniforms which gave them away as warriors for some army. They rode upon fine stallions that moved with the fluidity and bearing of a well-trained beast and as they rode closer Sigurd couldn’t help but notice the swords they held.

With a roar the man in front gave commands in a tongue that Sigurd did not understand, the riders spread out into a loose wedge and charged forward.

“Loose!” Sigurd cried, his own arrow flying into the wedge, connecting with the shoulder of one of the riders and forcing him to ground to be crushed by the horses behind him. With only a moment’s delay a dozen other arrows followed suit, connecting with flesh and mail, putting gaps into the wedge but the soldiers discipline did not break, their stride not broken by the losses they suffered.

Realising he wouldn’t have time for another volley Sigurd dropped his bow and lifted his axe from his belt, a grim smile on his lips as he readied himself to do something extremely foolish, adrenaline rushing his through his body. He counted four breaths, allowing the riders to get within spitting distance of the camp, before deftly jumping onto the table he had been using to butcher the deer and jumping to tackle one of the riders on the wedges left wing, bringing him off his horse with a thundering crash that knocked all of the air out of both of them.

Quickly coming to his senses Sigurd lifted his axe and hammered it into the rider’s chest, ruining the shining mail with the owners gore. Lifting himself back up with a groan, his eyes turning back to the camp as the other riders crashed into the rangers. Most of the rangers had taken cover behind upturned tables and other cover, intent on avoiding the initial charge, unfortunately Arthur in his drunken state was unable to move fast enough and Sigurd watched a rider run him down, an explosion of red pouring from his back where sword connected with flesh. Michael had dragged the terrified man behind him, out of the way of the wedge which was now thundering through the camp, tearing down tents and equipment under hoof.

Sigurd ran up to engage the riders, as his fellow rangers moved out of hiding with sword and axe in hand, engaging the riders with speed and agility, avoiding the soldiers trained thrusts and ripostes and responding in kind. He rushed towards the closest rider, her back turned to him as she fought with a small ranger, barely into adulthood the sword seemed ridiculous in his hand as he clumsily defended himself.  Sigurd grabbed her by her shoulder and with a sudden jerk pulled her off her horse, his axe swiftly moving to meet her as she landed on the ground, crushing her skull with its swing.

Sigurd turned to give the young ranger a pat on the however he saw one of the riders crawl across the floor, his legs crushed by his fallen mount, with an axe raised above his head. He threw it with surprising accuracy, his last act in life was to hurl it at the man who slew his comrade. Sigurd acted quickly, pushing the younger man to the side he pushed his hand out in front of himself and bellowed “Tlas!” and watched as the axe was pushed aside by an invisible gust of wind. Unfortunately this force also pushed back against him, and the awkward angle in which he had pushed sent a sharp pain through his shoulder.

Rubbing his surely dislocated shoulder, Sigurd observed the now ruined camp, reduced to tattered canvas and splintered wood, the lush green fields they had been camping in now stained red with blood and gore. He even saw the deer which he had hunted, a sad sigh escaping his lips as he saw its broken form in the dirt, covered in hoof prints and completely inedible now.

The others quickly got to work surveying the damage and trying to see what they could salvage. None of the riders had survived, all slain before they could ride away and report to whatever army they obviously served, and of the rangers only two had died. Arthur, who still had a look of shock on his face from the sudden slice across his back and an older woman who Sigurd remembered was named Holly, with greying hazelnut hair and a lithe powerful body that had been so full of life in her years among them.

Michael had grabbed the man the riders were chasing and was in the process of dragging him to the centre of the camp, determined to ensure he would not run off before they received answers.

“So, care to tell us why those men were so intent on chasing you?” Asked Orva, a pale giantess of a woman whose blond hair was cute short against her head, and was well known amongst the other rangers as a bold and blunt speaker.

The man, who had been staring wide eyed at the bodies of the men who had been chasing him, looked up suddenly, his eyes only now seeming to acknowledge what had just happened. When he spoke his voice hoarse, as if it was a struggle to force the words out. “They attacked Avarsek, my tribe, claiming this land was now tribute to the Neean Empire, and those who did not pay would be sold into slavery as payment for our “crimes””. He spat out this last word, his thoughts on what crimes the Neeans thought they had committed was obvious to all who were listening.

“Shit. We just killed Neean riders?” Sigurd paled as he said this. Moving over one of the riders corpse, to see the crest of a bellowing Minotaur on their shoulder, the device of the Neean Empire. All of the rangers had heard of the Neean empire, but they had never come this far north before, and had certainly never claimed the tribal lands.

“When we tried to resist they butchered half of the tribe, those who remained were forced into slavery anyway. I escaped into the forest, and have been chased by those bastards since. That was last night.” As the man spoke Sigurd saw how fatigued he was, his lips cracked and dry from the lack of water, and he looked as if the slightest push would send him hurtling to the ground. Michael also noticed this, and helped the man over to one of the few stools that remained intact, and passed him a water skin which he emptied in seconds.

“So what are we going to do now?” Orva asked, her eyes moving to look over each of the rangers questioningly. “We can’t just allow this slaughter to take place, these are our people”

“Our duty, is to protect the Sendari. Not the people who live nearby.” Said Pearce, a severe and hawkish looking man, his face looked sickly as he stood amongst the corpses.

“You want us to just ignore this?” Orva asked, the outrage at the mere thought evident on her face.

“I would have us do our duty, not get involved in some war that has nothing to do with us”

“Nothing to do with us!?”

“Enough!” Sigurd ordered, his head creased in thought and annoyance. “You two arguing is not going to help. For now, we need to buries our dead and the riders, and salvage what we can of our camp. As for the Neeans, for now we will treat them as any other outside force, so long as they don’t tamper with our home, we will leave them alone in kind.”

“And what of him” Orva asked, pointing to the man who was half asleep from exhaustion as Michael helped tend to the wounds he had suffered during the chase.

“He will be fed and given a place to rest. After that, his life is free to do with as he pleases. But we will not attack an entire empire for the sake of revenge.” Sigurd answered, his arms crossed and the look on his face offered no argument. After a moment of pause, and grumbling amongst some of the rangers, they go to work checking the camp for what could be salvaged, while Sigurd looked for someone who could help him sort out his shoulder.

Their duty was to protect the Sendari, not to get involved in wars. But Sigurd had a nagging feeling that this would not be the last time his axe tasted Neean flesh. Nor the last time he would have to bury one of his brothers.