I remember the beginning like it was yesterday. We farmed, the Sheriff appointed by the Moot collected our fifth, and the
Big Folk protected us in exchange. They ignored us otherwise and we were content to be ignored. Then, the
High King wanted
Dunedor’s Crown, and the
Big Folk went off to war. We were left alone.
At first, nothing changed. Then one day, the
Kalenish came out of the
forest and across the frontier. I heard later that the
Dunedoran King had promised their Princes gold and aid to do what they did. They came across the frontier, burned the forts, and raided the villages, bypassing the cities and towns. Villagers were slaughtered, crops and livestock taken, and homes plundered. It wasn’t just us, it was the
Big Folk, too.
The Seneschal called out the militias, but most of the fighting age
Big Folk were with the
Marquis and the
King in
Dunedor. The
Big Folk militia were just old men and young boys. Only the
Kuduk would be able to handle the
Kalenish. So, we rosined up our bowstrings, sharpened our swords, and saddled up our dogs. Our family were trappers and huntsmen. There are not many huntsmen among the
Kuduk, but there are a few of us, especially among the
Tallfellows. We also knew the
forest across the frontier like the back of our hands. The
Kalenish Big Folk didn’t actually live in there, leaving it mostly for the
Elves who did. The
Elves stayed neutral and had the bows and swords to enforce it. Before the war, we had hunted what we wished- large or small, deer, boar, or rabbit, all over those
woods. No one cared about us then.
The soldier is but a hunter that hunts people, and when the
March needed someone to defend it they came to us. The
Kuduk in the villages called us "Wolf Riders”, after the
cavalry of old, and I guess we were.
The
Kalenish would camp in the
woods so as not be seen by the
Romen sentries. They out-numbered us usually, but we knew these trees, and we would let loose with a volley of arrows just before sunrise into their camp as they were waking. Once they had gotten their order together and began to fire back we would lead them on a chase, through the underbrush- finally leading ‘em down a gully or ravine. We knew places where our dogs could jump up, but the
Kalenish horses would be stuck in the gully. The rest of us would line the edge of the gully and just began shooting volley after volley into the
Big Folk.
When we went out into the
forest we lined the paths with traps. Once, Lotto snuck into a camp and poisoned their meal with hemlock. Another time, Brun burned down Murdock’s bridge while a group of
Kalenish were in the process of crossing it.
We did not have many actual battles, since most of what we did was sabotage and ambushes that were usually done and over quickly.
Our legend grew, and soon we drew hunters ourselves. I lost my eldest boy to a group of
Kalenish who setup a fake supply caravan as bait and laid a counter ambush.
Then my other sons, my brother, and my nephews were all killed by one animal in an
Elven skin. We began to have our ambushes disrupted by one figure who would come in and shoot a few deadly shots and then when we sent arrows his way, he would up and disappear.
I was the one who finally shot the beast. We came over to his carcass and found out he was an
Elf. His face was branded with ugly scars saying “murder” in Elvish, and his right hand was missing. He had some sort of clamp contraption attached to the stump that held the bow while he shot left-handed. In his bag there was a crude drawing of me and a notice from the
Kalenish for a price on my head. I wondered how they knew my name. I realized that was why he killed the others. My family was known for being near copies of each other and he had been shooting people who looked vaguely like the sketch, and would have continued until we reacted like our leader had been shot. He had just been unlucky in never actually targeting me. I never hated a being so much as I hated that
Elf. I left his body for the crows.
Sometimes people say that the way undead are born to haunt is someone is denied the proper burial, and I apologize to anyone haunted by our enemies. As quickly as we moved, we had to leave a lot of foes on the ground, but that
Elf was the only one I ever did that to out of spite.
More groups came for us, but we could always fall back to the
Big Folk cities and towns to rest and resupply.
Finally, the
Marquis and the fighting
Big Folk came back from
Dunedor. They marched down the Northern Trail out of
Dentisum and started giving the
Kalenish a taste of their own turnips.
Toward the end, we were about to lead another group of the
Kalenish on a grand tour of the woods, when our sentries reported a regular thump-clank sound accompanied by a full drum beat ringing down the path. We went down round the bend in the path to see what was making the sound and there they were.
Marching in an even block and in perfect step were a group of
dwarves covered head to foot in metal- with banners raised over their heads. One banner had had a pair of crossed picks over an anvil, another had a stylized goat, and the final one had a black rock covered in a halo of flame. When they saw us, one called out something in Dwarvish, and the formation stopped in its tracks. Out came a
Dwarf in ornate armor. He introduced himself as Kor, and he said he was over a warhost from the mountains. The
Dwarves had apparently decided to do something other than make weapons and had come down from the
mountains to burn a path into the
Kalenish. The invited us to join in their assault, and were more than happy to deal with the
Kalenish troops that were nearby before they moved on.
We did some scouting for the warband, and discreetly took care of a few sentries but after that, the
Dwarves did most of the real fighting. They were incredibly efficient at what they did, even taking down a
Kalenish tower house and not even leaving the foundations- just a clearing and an empty cave.
I cried when news of peace being declared reached us. It was over.
We finally came home. We hadn’t been back since that first raid. It was a melancholy journey as we had under a fourth of the number of riders that had left, and the ones that we did have were near unrecognizable. Both we and our dogs had gone feral, in a way.
The reunion grew more tragic when we returned. A
Kalenish raid had managed to make it through the
wood without being noticed by us and, in looking for us, had burned half the village. They killed all the rider’s families they found. On hearing this, a lot of the returning riders went off into the
woods and weren’t seen again. That was how the
Kalenish had known that I was the leader, and what my name was. I wept for my family, but mine weren’t all gone. By some miracle, a niece of mine had survived, too young to understand what had happened. She is all I have left now, and I cannot lose her. Marigold was the name my brother chose for her. How I wish that accursed
Elf's arrow had found its intended target and her father had lived in my place.
I heard that the
Marquis decreed that since the
Riders proved themselves in battle we have the honor of being treated the same as the
Big Folk’s “knights”, and the next time a thrice-cursed war breaks out they going to come here and ask for us to fight again. Oh, how I wish no one cared about us again! This is all my fault- I led the
Dog Cavalry. That hunter was after me- this is all my fault.
Brogo Smallburrow
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