Arkan scouted ahead silently, slowly moving through the trees. His dark green tunic kept him perfectly camouflaged against the foliage. His prey thought they had concealed their tracks but Arkan knew the Dark Forest better than anyone.
Broken twigs, imprints in the soil, the smell in the air. There were so many ways to track and the Rangers of the Dark Forest were the best at what they do.
Arkan followed his prey at a suitable distance. Not far enough away for his quarry to be out of sight but not close enough to be detected.
His prey was an intruder of the Dark Forest. A barbarian from over the hills. They rarely made it this far into the kingdom and the Rangers were the last line of defense before getting to the castle.
And ultimately to the King.
The barbarian set his battle axe down and drank from a small creek. His horse joined him, neither one of them aware of their impending doom.
Arkan quietly brought out his bow carved from wood. The same bow that belonged to his father before he died during the War of Swords. He carefully placed an arrow in the nook and pulled back on the taut string.
The barbarian was clear in his sights. Arkan took a deep breath and held it. He let go of the bowstring without hesitation. The arrow tore through the air with tremendous speed, landing in the shoulder of the barbarian.
The barbarian looked down at his wound and howled a battle cry. The horse neighed and tugged at the rope tied around a tree that kept him in place. The intruder picked up his axe and faced the direction of where the arrow came from. Another arrow hit him in the throat, blood spurting from the wound.
The barbarian went to his knees, his eyes glassy, red blood soaking his winter coat. He tried to utter a word but nothing came out. The barbarian fell face first into the dirt, his body drained of life.
Arkan finally let go of his breath. He put away the third arrow that was already nocked and ready to go. He wouldn't it need anymore.
Arkan left his hiding spot and calmed down the horse, whispering into his ear. He went over the dead body and inspected his clothing, digging through his winter pelts.
Nothing of significance.
“Was he a scout, Arkan?” a voice asked from behind.
“Must be,” Arkan replied.
Garel came through the trees wearing the same dark tunic as Arkan. The Rangers always hunted in pairs. “What does it mean?”
Arkan picked up the battle axe and examined it. Dried blood had stained the blade. “There could be a larger party looking to invade the kingdom.”
“Should we alert our brothers?”
Arkan shook his head. “Not yet. Let's first see if there are anymore scouts we need to take care of.”
Garel agreed. “How many could there be?”
Arkan grabbed a few of the pelts off the barbarian and stowed them in his sack. He could sell them at the castle for an easy profit. “If I were them, I'd send out a couple at least. They could cover more ground and be able to report back more information to their leader.”
Arkan looked out towards the edge of the forest. “We should check the opposite end of the forest.”
Garel nodded.
The two set out deeper into the forest, walking five feet apart. The Rangers never left a trace.
Arkan bent down and examined the trunk of a tree. A piece of bark had been scraped away just slightly.
Garel looked over Arkan's shoulder. “He's moving west.”
Arkan nodded and moved on. The forest was unusually quiet today. No birds or animals making noises. Sunlight broke through the tree cover.
It wasn't long before Arkan and Garel found the second scout. The barbarian moved through the woods slowly, looking around for any sign of activity. His eyes peered in the direction of Arkan and Garel but they weren't discovered. Their dark outfits were the perfect camouflage.
Arkan pulled out his bow again and nocked an arrow. He placed the barbarian in his sights but Garel placed his hand on Arkan's and pulled the bow down.
Garel wanted to take the kill and Arkan couldn't argue since he had the last one. He nodded and put his bow away.
Garel crept towards the barbarian, making sure to stay out of his wandering sight. He pulled out two silver curved daggers with ornate handles. Garel was only a foot away from the barbarian's back and he didn't even notice.
The first dagger cut through the barbarian's throat like butter. Blood shot out in an arc. His second dagger drilled into his victim's back. The barbarian was already going down as Garel twisted the dagger in his back.
The whole affair was over in seconds.
“Good job, Garel,” Arkan said. He searched through the body and found nothing noteworthy. The only weapon on him was a old beat up club.
The barbarian tribes over the hills used crude weapons that would barely stand up in battle. They didn't rely on their weapons so much as they did on their numbers. The Kingdom of Danzar didn't have a great army anymore since the War of Swords. If the barbarian tribes united, the kingdom could be in grave danger.
But Arkan wasn't worried. The civil wars between the tribes still raged on and the chances of unification were slim at best.
Nothing he saw today changed his mind. Two scouts seemingly from the same tribe barely constituted a threat. Not even worth reporting to the King.
“Shall we keep hunting?” Garel asked, wiping the blood off his blades and sheathing them.
“I didn't see any signs of anymore scouts. We should go back and get some food.”
Garel nodded and they set off back to camp.