For the past four years, he'd been appointed as the guardian of the king's southern forest. His job was simple--to ride his horse through the vast, densely wooded, mountainous land and make sure that all was peaceful and calm. It was the best job in the world, because the land was beautiful and no one lived there. Gregorex just got to gallop through the countryside and breathe in the delicious mountain air.
Until now.
Gregorex had heard some persistent noise on the southern slope of the Ragged Mountain range. It was the sound of saws and hammers, of timber crashing to the forest floor, of men bellowing but never laughing. It was a sound that didn't belong. So he spurred his horse Spartacus on to take a closer look.
Gregorex reached the top of a cliff and reigned in. Sliding off his horse, he gazed down at the scene below. Sure enough, a group of about two hundred men were slashing a roadway through the king's forest. Trees were being felled and shoved off to the side, making a path through the forest about 20 yards wide. The men had grave looks on their faces, exuding expressions of misery. But they had no choice but work, for taskmasters with whips and swords were driving them ever onward.
Who were they?
Gregorex, who knew every inch of the forest like he knew his backyard, started to head off to the right. He knew of a path that would take him down and allow him to get a closer look. As he turned to head down, he was startled from behind."Hey, Joran, lookee there! It's no deer, but it is an awfully ugly man!"
Gregorex spun around and saw two men approaching. They each had a bow in their hand. Evidently, they were a hunting party, sent to find food for the laborers. The one who had spoken was a tall wisp of a man who seemed to disappear when he turned sideways. The second was an exceedingly fat man who was nearly hyperventilating after coming up the steep pathway.
"Well I be, Jeb, you sure are right!" said the fat man. "Well, I've not 'ad much of a chance to shoot today, so I'm gonna take my target practice right now!" And he drew an arrow and let it fly toward Gregorex.
Gregorex didn't feel terribly threatened by the hunters. He ducked as the arrow flew past him and into a nearby tree. Taking care to grab the arrow, he quickly and silently dashed back toward his horse. He knew that the pudgy fellow wouldn't have the energy to follow, and that the skinny man wouldn't dare to leave the pathway. He absolutely hated to flee--his first instinct was to maneuver behind the mindless dolts and send an arrow through their hearts. But his master had been clear--his job was to watch, not to fight. So he re-mounted his horse and headed back to the northeast, back to Cliffton.
As Gregorex sped through the woods, he was pierced by the uncanny feeling that he was not alone. He swore he could hear the clattering of hooves to either side, but whenever he stopped to listen, the sound disappeared. Ignoring a nagging sense of fear, Gregorex wove his way through the forest. Spartacus need no direction--he knew the way as well as his rider. After four hours of riding, they reached the final ascent--a wide but steep path leading to Gregorex' home village of Cliffton, an ancient village sitting astride Freedom Pass.
Suddenly, Spartacus would not budge. He would not heed his rider's urging to climb the last hundred feet of elevation. He shook his head, turned around, and veered off the path. He whinnied and snorted and reared up on his his hind legs. No amount of coaxing could persuade him to climb the path. In utter frustration, Gregorex raised his eyes and looked up the path.
That was when he saw them.
Two mysterious figures, cloaked in black with hoods covering their faces, stood on either side of the upper end of the path. Gregorex was filled with dread. He knew now that he hadn't imagined those noises earlier, that he had been followed. He was startled by his fear of these strangers, for Gregorex was fearless by nature and would always welcome a good fight. But at the sight of these men, his heart trembled and his hands shook.
"Spartacus, let's charge them!" he cried. But it was in vain. The mysterious fear had engulfed his horse as well. Then the men slowly started to descend the path, relentlessly advancing toward Gregorex. They said nothing, and they made no noise as they moved. One held a spear, and the other held a bow with a notched arrow. Gregorex wanted nothing more than to spur his horse back into the woods and flee from these strangers. But he also had a nagging sense that there was no fleeing from them. Gregorex, a man of instinct, quickly appraised the situation--he would either have to fight his way through, or die in the attempt.
"Fools! Morons! Dunderheads! Iconoclasts! You'll regret the day you ever challenged ol' Gregorex!" he bellowed as he leapt off Spartacus and charged toward the two ghoulish men. The man on the right let his arrow fly. Gregorex instinctively hit the ground. Rolling to the left, he deftly grabbed an arrow from his own quiver and let it fly. Without looking to see where it landed, he grabbed his dagger from inside the folds of his cloak and charged the second man. In blind fury, he dove and thrust his dagger at the man's heart.
But when he opened his eyes, all he saw was two cloaks. The arrow that he'd shot pierced one of the cloaks to a tree, while his dagger pierced the second cloak to tree branch. There was no sign of anyone--of footprints, of horses, of wounded men. Gregorex shook his head, retrieved his horse, and entered the village. His master would need to know everything.
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