Showing great bravery and fortitude, the one that Gunther had assumed to be their leader suddenly rushed out and grabbed her, pulling her unceremoniously towards relative safety by a nearby tree. Gunther could see the outrage on the foreign man’s face, and the woodsman certainly could not blame him for his furor, as the girl had put both herself and her rescuer at great, and very unnecessary, risk.
Gunther then flinched inadvertently, as an arrow struck the ground where the female had been standing. Looking at the arrow in the ground, he quickly guessed at the trajectory and looked up to find that a second Trogen warrior had taken up a hovering position under the one marking the area. The Trogen archer was already poising to fire another arrow.
Knowing the Trogens as well as he did, remembering their ways and tendencies, he turned and looked back, behind where the group’s leader had dragged the fear-paralyzed woman. As he had expected, a third Trogen had taken advantage of the tumult, and had quietly gotten itself maneuvered into position behind the humans.
It was silently hovering even closer to the treeline, its bow drawn back with deadly intent. The two humans on the ground had no awareness of its presence, occupied as they were with the other Trogens. Their backs were readily exposed to its line of sight, providing easy targets to a skilled Trogen warrior.
There was no time to wait, as the war cries of other Trogens were filling the skies. Honing his focus upon the third Trogen, Gunther hit that zone within his mind where the Trogen and its steed were the only things that existed in all of the world.
In the flash of a moment, with immaculately steady aim, Gunther let his arrow fly for the thick neck of the Harrak. There was no doubt about the elite skill that Gunther had developed through the years, and that adeptness was demonstrated once again. The arrow penetrated deep, punching through the winged creature’s long fur into the underlying flesh of its neck, as if Gunther had thrust it there from close range with his bare hands.
The Harrak was killed instantly, suddenly becoming dead weight as its lifeless body plunged towards the ground below. It carried its rider towards a doomed fate, though the warrior had remarkable presence of mind as it jerked free from the straps securing it to the saddle, in the desperate hope of avoiding being tied to the beast’s movements.
The hapless rider screamed defiantly as it pitched from the saddle. Gunther watched as the bodies of both steed and rider violently struck the upper tree branches, the sounds of snapping and breaking wood accompanying the fatal descent.
Without further hesitation, Gunther readied another arrow and turned back towards the archer that he had originally seen. The Trogen warrior that had previously been circling had joined the fight, hovering near the first.
Raising his bow, he calculated his next shot.
DRAGOL
Dragol cursed with rage as he saw the arrow streak out of the trees and drop the Harrak out of the sky. Even his steed Rodor gave a rumbling growl at the brief yelp that came from the stricken steed, as its wings ceased flapping and it began to fall. The shot had been exceptional, killing the steed nearly instantly and casting one of his warriors to certain death.
In an act of desperate futility, the doomed warrior somehow managed to free himself from the saddle straps, only to be bludgeoned repeatedly by the thick tree branches that rushed up to greet his falling form. The sounds of the cracking branches lasted just a couple of moments, as Dragol gazed down hotly upon the trees that were hiding their unknown adversary.
Calling out orders quickly, he commanded a group of warriors near to him, indicating for them to begin descending towards the ground.
If their enemies were armed, skilled fighters, then having the Trogens all out in the open air would do little good. A few of their number would have to reach the ground, so that they could engage the enemy from both below and above.
There was no time to linger above the treeline, searching for the most favorable spot possible to descend, as they were clearly in a very dangerous position, within range of at least one enemy bow. Dragol could not believe what had just occurred, as it far exceeded his estimation of the bows that they had already seen carried by the Saxans.
It was a new, deadly revelation, one that he would have to keep in mind for future adjustments.
The Trogens obeyed his directive without hesitation, gliding down to just inches above the treeline. They looked hurriedly about for an opening to take their steeds to the forest floor. They were now in a very precarious position, well within the range of the normal Saxan bows, as well as the stronger kind that had just brought the Harrak down.
Dragol guided his own steed downward as he pulled out his great longblade from his sheath. He clenched the leather-wrapped hilt tightly in his powerful hand, his ire rising with each moment as he steeled himself for the impending combat. The invigorating rush that he always felt at the cusp of battle did not overwhelm his discipline, channeling into a fiery resolve and heightening his senses. He swore to give a hundred times more in retribution for the slaying of one of his warriors.
Sparing a quick glance upward, he saw two warriors steadily hovering as they looked for targets for their next arrows. Dragol watched intently, hoping that the enemy bowman who had just felled one of his warriors was more focused upon the two archers, such that his other warriors were unimpeded and allowed the time to find a propitious area to alight.
Three of his warriors flew just ahead of him, and he watched their progress even as he slowed Rodor’s pace considerably to look for a potential point of descent. The warriors brought their steeds to a momentary hover, and then started to slowly disappear beneath the treetops. He saw that they had found a wide enough opening in the tree canopy, where the strong wings of the Harraks would not be inhibited as they carefully worked lower, descending towards the forest floor.
Dragol reached the spot a few moments later, and wasted no time in following the trio, guiding Rodor down towards the breach in the forest’s canopy.
With flashing speed, three large forms suddenly exploded from the trees and beset the three Harraks setting down just beneath him. The Harraks cried out in agony, as a flurry of movement ensued that was almost impossible to make any sense of at first. Huge claws swept through the air, and powerful jaws snapped before the Harraks had any chance to respond to their assailants.
Reflexively, Dragol jerked upon the reins, and Rodor’s wings snapped powerfully downward, abruptly ceasing their descent. Dangerously close to the explosion of fighting, Dragol got a good look at the melee before Rodor lifted upwards. He had never seen creatures such as the ones now assaulting his warriors. They were very large of body, somewhat dog-like, with short, broad muzzles. Their forms rippled with powerful muscles, with long legs that ended in huge paws. They were creatures of both speed and power, and Dragol only had to glance at the structure of their jaws to recognize their bone crunching potential.
Rodor was spurred by the commotion, flapping back vigorously towards the sky as it took Dragol away from the danger. The Trogen chieftain continued to watch the scene in dismay as he was carried back up, mere seconds seeming to take ages to pass before his eyes.
The ambushed riders below had no time to react before their steeds were mortally wounded, crashing into the ground as the four-legged attackers barreled into them. The warriors could not pick themselves up from the disorienting fall, still secured to the saddles of their steeds.
Trapped, unable to maneuver, and having incurred several injuries in the violence of the impact, the beleaguered Trogens were quickly smothered by the horrific, ferocious beasts. The cries of the warriors were cut short, as the beasts’ jaws ripped and tore at them in a frenzy, finishing them off swiftly.