Fourth of Harvest

The forest of Narandir had become the source of a thousand legends. Children were told stories about evil creatures that hid among the trees, and whenever a peasant vanished the local townspeople would blame it on the forest. For as long as anyone could remember, Svaleta had maintained a military presence in the area, both to protect the citizens from what dwelt within and to give a sense of safety to those who lived in the Last Outpost, the one major city in the southern regions of the Kingdom. Even the soldiers who patrolled the tree line would whisper stories about what they heard in the night, and most of them even believed what they heard. The latest story, of a family attacked by a mysterious monster, did nothing to ease their nervousness.

For his part, Rangir could see nothing in the inky darkness. The man ahead of him carried a torch, but the flames only lit a few feet before the light was swallowed up by the utter blackness. The moon was hidden behind seemingly endless clouds, and the twenty soldiers strung out in a line found their minds playing tricks on them. All that Rangir could hear was the clinking of swords knocking against steel armour and the occasional muffled curse as someone stumbled on a fallen branch. Except for his captain, they were all new bloods, fresh out of training before being sent to the south to watch over the Dark Forest – Narandir, the older folk called it, testimony to a time that it wasn't feared. That was long gone. A millennium ago, the Kingdom of Svaleta had fought against a nation of mages, or so the tales said. Svaleta had prevailed, destroying all that stood against them, but stories spoken only in the dark told of descendants of the mages who had fled to Narandir for refuge. Since then the forest had come alive, harbouring evils that had no name.

Rangir was one of the few who didn't believe the stories, but there was always an armed presence near the Forest. An old castle stood near the town dubbed the 'Last Outpost', still garrisoned by the King's Guard. And detachments such as Rangir's were sent to patrol the borders of the forest, ostensibly to catch smugglers. Some of the men whispered a different story. Everyone knew that feral orcs wandered into Svaleta through the forest, and no one really knew where the goblin hordes came from when they conducted their summertime raids. Some thought there was truth to the old tales about the forest.

The soldier in front of Rangir stumbled, bringing him back into the present. He helped the man back to his feet, thanking the gods that the torch hadn't fallen and started a fire.

"What's going on up there?" the captain yelled.

"A root, sir. Won't happen again," the man called back, whispering a curse.

"Steady on, Ari," Rangir whispered. "Watch your step."

Ari simply grunted. He and Rangir were at the head of the column. Every third man carried a torch, the two in between alternating watching the right and the left for anything out of the ordinary. It was a bad night for the patrol, Rangir thought, but he supposed the captain had his reasons. If nothing else, it would drum the fear out of their hearts. There was nothing like confronting the darkness to be convinced that it was empty.

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A distant screech caught his attention, but he kept walking as he instinctively turned towards the forest, knowing even then that he wouldn't see anything.

"You hear that?"

"Yeah." Ari swept the torch around but still couldn't see anything. "How far are we from the trees?"

"Got to be at least a hundred feet," Rangir replied. "Why?"

"Listen."

Now Rangir heard it, a brief rustling. Another screech sounded, this time closer.

"Hold the line!" the captain called. "Ten feet left."

Rangir and Ari joined the line as it moved closer to the forest. The rustling increased.

"What is that?" Rangir whispered, getting no reply. He heard something scampering through the grass, then someone let out a bloodcurdling scream. He turned in time to see someone dragged out of the light, blood lining their path.

"Circle up!" the captain yelled. "Draw swords!"

Rangir's heart felt like it was pounding out of his chest as he held his sword at the ready, his shield in place. Another screech, this time only feet away. It was higher pitched now, almost threatening. A quieter snort soon followed, and the sound of claws scratching along the dirt as something circled the group.

"Can you see anything?" Rangir whispered.

"Nothing." The words almost caught in Ari's throat as he moved the torch back and forth. "I can't see -"

It came as a blur. Something massive sped past Rangir, slammed into Ari, and hauled him into the darkness. His screams ended with the sickening crunch of breaking bones. Too late, Rangir realised that the torch had fallen, and he leapt back as the grass ignited. For a moment Rangir caught a glimpse of a long, leathery abdomen, four skinny but powerful legs, and a clawed hand that pulled Ari up towards a head that he couldn't see. An arrow smacked into the creature and bounced into the grass. It let out a screech, dropped Ari's body, and disappeared out of the light.

"What was that?" Rangir whispered.

"Steady! Hold your ground!" The captain was looking around, making sure everyone was in their place. "You are soldiers of the Kingdom. You will not break."

This isn't the time for a speech, Rangir thought. He could hear the creature scampering, circling them, waiting for a moment to strike. But what can move that fast and that powerfully? In an instant he realised that the stories were true. By then it was too late.

With a screech, the creature reappeared, heading straight for him. Whether from instinct or fear, Rangir dropped to the dirt. As the creature raced over him, he swung his sword and cut through one of its legs. He saw its insectoid head with two bulbous eyes swing down and snatch a soldier in its mouth, crushing him with razor sharp teeth before casting him aside. Rangir came to his feet and slashed at its abdomen, oblivious to the captain beside him joining the fight. The creature spun, a leg knocking the captain aside. Rangir slipped and fell to the dirt. He looked up to see the monster's face rushing towards him before a spear rammed its way through an eye. The creature snapped back and roared in pain before collapsing as it tried to dislodge the blade. Rangir sprang up and ran forward, slashing at its throat as his comrades came to his aid. Its legs flayed wildly, cutting at least two others in half before Rangir's blade sliced an artery the size of his fist. Blood sprayed over him, and with a gurgled screech it finally went still, blood seeping into the dirt at their feet.

Rangir ignored the screams of the wounded as he stood over the monster. It was some kind of insect, but the size of four men, powerful as a bear. What demon birthed this?

The captain dropped a hand on Rangir's shoulder. His other arm hung useless, shattered by the beast's blow.

"Well, you're not a new blood anymore," the captain gasped.

"What do we do now?" Rangir asked. "We can't carry this thing with us."

"We burn it," the captain called out, biting back a cry of pain. He slapped Rangir's shoulder. "You did good, Rangir. You did very good."

He took a look around at the carnage and shook his head sadly. "Welcome to Hell."