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.
Looking back just in time for another dismaying sight, Dragol saw one of the two warriors that had been hovering with their bows falling from the sky. Its steed had been slain by yet another remarkable arrow shot that had come from beneath the trees.
To the right, a couple more of his riders were disappearing below the treeline, through another opening a little farther off. Without pausing even a moment, Dragol cried out at the top of his lungs. He ordered them to come back immediately into the skies.
It was not soon enough, as his own orders were mixed a moment later with the terrible sounds of raging growls and throaty barks, accompanied by the pained cries of Harraks. The noise was followed by the courageous war cries of the two riders, as they faced their adversaries out of Dragol’s sight.
There was suddenly a high-pitched yelp of pain, and Dragol’s heart surged as he guided his Harrak speedily towards the point where the two warriors had descended. The momentary hope was dashed, as his ears captured agonized Trogen cries, mixed with louder, snapping barks and growls.
He bit back impulsive anger as he crossed over the location, and saw the wreckage that had been made of his warriors and their steeds.
There was nothing that he could do for them, though he took a little solace as he noticed that one of the dreadful beasts that had attacked them was badly wounded. It was trying to crawl away, struggling to pull itself away from the opening in the trees.
With his heels, Dragol signaled to his steed to hover in place. His blood was scorching hot as it raced through his veins, but his mind remained cool and resolute.
With a growl in his throat, and forgetting about the skilled enemy archer that he knew was somewhere out there, he sheathed his great longblade and whipped out his own longbow.
Notching an arrow, he poured his rage and malice towards the slayers of his warriors into one single shot, which raced towards the injured beast. The vengeance-driven shot ripped into the creature’s head, abruptly finishing off any chance that it might have had at survival.
Dragol knew that his patrol was unprepared for whatever was below the treeline. Calling out forcefully, and gesturing urgently, he ordered the rest of his surviving warriors to abandon the attack.
He then let loose with a great howl of sheer rage, as his steed climbed back towards the sanctuary of the high skies.
Thwarted and filled with a boiling hostility, Dragol found very little to be comforted about as the remnants of his patrol sped away. The grandiosity of the total destruction of the Saxan patrol had been smashed asunder by the sudden misfortune brought about by the unknown four-legged assailants, and the deadly, unseen bowman.
There was small comfort to be had in such a short period of time where fortunes had changed so drastically, swinging so quickly between extremes. It was true that the Unifier’s armies would soon be swarming through the lands that Dragol now left behind him, but that was no solace at all to his embittered heart.
He could only think of the undignified deaths that several of his warriors had met at the jaws of forest beasts, formidable though they were. The feral images of the unusual creatures were stamped indelibly into his mind. He promised himself to see to it that they would be hunted down mercilessly, and slain wherever they were found, once Saxany was held by the Unifier.
His mind then settled upon the black-feathered arrow shaft embedded in the dead body of the beast he had slain, reminding him that he had already exacted the first fruits of vengeance. While only slight, the remembrance nonetheless brought him a little relief, to help endure the return journey back to their camp.