“Come on, you bastard!” I growled as the beast raised its malicious gaze towards me from the torn-out throat of its victim. Its eyes were pitch-black, its sizeable fangs dripping with blood. The blood of my comrades!

The monster looked into my eyes and sprang. Shatterspike, my trusty sword, caught the vermin in the middle of its jump and cleaved the creature in half. Blood and gore showered on the beautiful, green lawn beneath us.

Then I felt teeth closing around my shoulder, and I knew it was a trap. While the creature took my attention, its kin flanked me, and now the blood-crazed beast was hanging on my arm, trying to tear into my flesh with its razor-sharp teeth.

It was a fatal mistake. The little blood-squirrels were cunning beyond the natural, but I surmised that they hadn’t learnt how to fight against men clad in proper armour. Lucky for me!

With a scream of anger, I dropped my sword and grabbed the critter. It was squirming and squealing, its fur matted in blood, its eyes beaming hatred. The beast tried to sink its fangs into my hand. But I gave it no time to chew through my gauntlet and crushed the tiny monstrosity into a bloody pulp.

Disgusted, I wiped my hand on the lawn, smearing the green blades with gore. Then I looked around.

The battle had reached an impasse.

The bloodthirsty critters had attacked the head of our column as it entered the forest again. They took the drivers and merchants by surprise and massacred both humans and animals. Many wagons were overturned in the chaos, their wares littered the path while their crews lay dead in their own blood.

Thankfully, the blood-squirrels hadn’t waited for our whole caravan to disappear into the woods. Many wagons were still back on the glade where we spent the night, and thus, we had some warning. I shuddered. If I hadn’t had the time to don my armour, the critters would have ripped me into shreds.

But the enemy, from stupidity or overconfidence, gave us the time we needed to rally and reorganise, and thus, we repelled their first attack, albeit at a heavy cost. The not so long ago peaceful meadow was littered with corpses now, humans and squirrels alike. Our survivors huddled around the wagons at the end of the column, while the furry little horrors retreated into the forest.

“I told the bloody fools that this road will save us no time,” snarled Beldrak, looking at the carnage around us.

“That dragon really scared the shit out of them,” shrugged Jim. “Can’t say I blame them. It was a big one, for sure. If it caught us in the open while hungry…”

“The beast was plumper than a miller’s wife,” snorted Beldrak. “Anyone with an eye and half a brain could see it gorged itself. It was flying home to its nest. These woods, on the other hand…” he gestured towards the slaughterhouse. “You never know with it. It’s too big and too strange. From ten caravans that make it in, at least one never makes it out.”

“Looks like we are about to become that one,” I mused. “There is no way we can clear the road from all the broken wagons while fending off those damned squirrels. We should turn back and walk.”

“I am not leaving my books here,” answered Beldrak.

“I don’t like it either, but our lives are more…”

“I. Am. NOT. Leaving. My. Books.”

“Then what?” I snorted. “We have what, ten men left alive besides ourselves? And how many horses? I say we saddle up, turn our tail and flee.”

“There is a problem with that,” mused Jim. “You remember that crevice? Where the path goes along the bank of that nice little creek?”

“It would be bad if the squirrels attacked us there,” I admitted. “But who knows what is before us? If we turn back now, at least we have to fight on familiar ground.”

“They'll close the crevice behind us,” said Mordred in a shaky voice. “I have heard of these squirrels.”

“What?!” I snapped at him. “Then speak up, man!”

“These are the servants of the druids who live in this forest… Back in the day, they were even attacking villages and abducting people for sacrifice. Then Golden Grove and Sheepsford both sent out an army. They burnt a large part of the forest and slew many druids…”

“But not all,” I finished. I saw where this was going, and I did not like it one tiny bit. Dis Pater take all the bloody druids and their blasted sorcery! By Jove, how I hate the damned heart-rippers!

“Well,” said Beldrak. “That certainly decides it. The way behind us is already closed in all probability. Even one druid could make that crevice impassable for carts and horses.”

“So, what do we do?” asked Mordred, his face pale.

“We cut off the head of the serpent,” answered the Beldrak. The dwarf wizard’s eyes were burning with determination. He was a cautious little man, always calculating, carefully preparing for all kinds of danger, but once he decided on a course of action, he could move with blinding speed.

“Jim, take waterskins, as many as you can! I don’t fancy spending any time looking for creeks in this blasted heat. Arnold, you go and collect javelins!”

“I’ll see if I can find a bow too." I frowned at the carnage around us, hoping to glimpse a suitable weapon. "I can’t aim bows as well as my spears, but against these tiny monsters, it’s handier.”

“Then take as many arrows as you can, too. I’ll try to rearrange the wagons in the meantime, so the survivors can hold out while we are off druid-hunting.”

“You’ll leave us behind?!” cried one of the drivers.

“You want to come with us into the thick of the forest?” I snapped. “No? Thought so! Then shut your bloody mouth and do what Trueanvil says!”

“Easy, lad,” said Beldrak, amusement flaring up in his eyes. Then he became all serious again and started to direct the survivors to arrange the wagons in a circle. Not that that would give much protection against the sneaky little blood-squirrels.

“If we aren’t back by this time tomorrow, you are on your own,” said Jim cheerfully, as he waved goodbye to the rest of the caravan.

“You certainly know how to raise the morale of a few desperate survivors,” I observed dryly.

“It does no good to sugar-coat things,” shrugged the tiefling. Then he stepped into the forest.

Jim was the best woodsman among the three of us, or woodstiefling rather. He knew his way around the pathless shrubbery and kept a fast pace despite the circumstances. But it was still an arduous march.

Ancient roots sprawled on the ground, and when I didn’t look at them directly, it was as if they had maliciously wriggled so that they could trip us. The twigs were like so many claws, reaching for us to stab us with thorns and spikes. That was a vain hope on that part since we all had proper mail.

“Are we going in the right direction?” asked Jim after an hour, when we stopped to catch our breath.

“We veered off a little to the right,” answered Beldrak. We didn’t need to ask how he knew it. Beldrak Trueanvil was a master of divination, and he knew many things he really wasn’t supposed to. We had seen him peer into the future and return to us with a valuable piece of information often enough.

Mostly, he just saw glimpses. Those were useful too. He saved me from a wound many a time by yelling out a warning in the middle of a fight. He also always knew whether to bargain with a merchant or walk to another stand on the market.

But sometimes it was much more than a glimpse. Beldrak saved our lives once, acting on information that he found while trying to divine his own future. In fact, that was how we met.

“You think we can kill those druids?” asked Jim. “You remember… Even when it was just that one, alone…”

“We have already thrown their plans into confusion,” I answered confidently. “They certainly didn’t count on us coming down from the path, into the woods. We’ll just have to keep hitting them, so they can never regain their balance.”

“If you say so…”

It took another hour before the blood-squirrels finally came again. We were ready for them. I had seen how the red, furry creatures massed on the trees around us. Their tails fluttered and shook with excitement and bloodlust as they drew their circle closer and closer.

Finally, they were close enough that I could take a shot. My arrow flew true, the cursed rodent shrieked and fell to the ground, lifeless. Then, all hell broke loose.

The squirrels attacked us in droves, a swarm of the damned critters hurled themselves towards us through the air. I only had time for one more arrow, before I was forced to discard my bow for my shield and sword because our attackers were on us.

Beldrak chanted one melodic word, and the woods came alight. His outstretched palms spat fire, and the shrieking squirrels were roasted in the air, their charred corpses littering the ground around him.

Jim fought with a dagger this time, the light blade flickering in the light of Beldrak’s flames. The tiefling’s weapon moved with grace, and the bloodthirsty shrieks of Jim’s attackers were soon replaced with cries of anguish.

Beldrak fought with sorcery, the tiefling relied on a swift blade, and I used my shield and my longsword. Shatterspike wrote steely circles into the air, and wherever it went, it cut off small tails, severed minuscule heads and cleaved tiny bodies in half.

Like the wheatsheaves lie down before the scythe of the reaper, like the dough thins out on the board of the baker, like the grapes turn into liquid under the feet of the treaders, so did the rodents lie down one by one in our wake, their droves thinning, their bodies crushed into a bloody pulp.

The Sun was on its zenith now, and its warm yellow rays stroked our flushed faces gently. Even the cloudless blue sky seemed to smile approvingly at our handiwork.

And then the undead came. They emerged from among the trees slowly, in their own, clumsy, menacing way. Zombies stumbled in tree-roots, skeletons faltered through the bush, right under our blades. Beldrak’s flames flared up again, while I grabbed Shatterspike at the edge to use the pommel as a hammer, and Jim took a mace in his hand. Undead were indifferent to cuts and stabs, but their joints were weak, and we smashed them into useless piles of bones as they came.

We fought for almost a quarter of an hour when the attack finally ceased. We bled from multiple wounds, we were out of breath, and it was unbearably hot in our armours. But the remains of our enemies littered the floor, and we were still standing.

“What now?!” I shouted defiantly to the woods. “We beat your minions, you bastards! Will you come out to face us, or will we have to scour this blasted forest after you? Will you die like men, or will we have to hunt you down like the rats you are?” If this doesn’t draw them out, nothing will.

“Famous last words,” chuckled Beldrak. “You seem to have a talent for these, Arnold.”

Our enemies, on the other hand, didn’t find my speech amusing. An angry, chilly wind broke, the trees moaned, the bush hissed. A cold, stern voice started to speak in the wake of the squall.

“Who are you, cursed outsider, that you dare to speak to us like this?! We are the lords of these woods, and we do not take such insolence lightly! You will regret these words soon enough!”

The voice didn’t even stop when I heard a dry twig silently snap behind us. I spun, raised my shield, just in time to block the clawed paw of a giant brown bear. The druids had already sneaked up on us!

Should have attacked while we were occupied with your servants, I thought with glee. Our enemies had made a fatal mistake, and we were about to make them pay.

Then a boar crushed into my side, knocking me flat on the ground. The glee vanished, and it gave way to pain, terror and self-pity. The boar was over me, grunting with satisfaction, its teeth were already searching my throat.

While my hands were frantically searching for my dagger, there was only one thought burning in my mind.

How in Dis Pater’s name did I get into this mess?!

Well, that is quite a story, be sure. The only problem is that I don’t really know where to start with it.

…

You know what? I will start the story where it really began. And that was in the year of Publius Decius Mus and Publius Sulpicius Saverrio, among the rolling hills of Apulia, not far from the city of Asculum.