Arturian stood, muscles flexing, holding a four-foot stick in his hands. The ancient weapon was known in the Glen as a tog, which Arturian began spinning in circles over his head, from hand to hand.

He stood in the middle of a ring of black shields, with two opponents to his front and two to his rear. A large group of men were watching the fight from outside the ring of black shields, with the red dragon emblems in the center shining in the afternoon sun.

The two men directly to Arturian’s front charged at him, swinging their togs. He dodged the blows easily and brought both attackers to their knees with two quick pokes from his tog to their solar plexus areas. This brought a loud cheer from the excited onlookers.

Arturian spun about, just in time to deflect the blows from the two attackers to his rear. He swept one man off his feet with a quick tog strike to the back of his knees and dropped the second man with a blow to his groin. All four men had been dispatched in less than ten seconds.

The ring of men surrounding the combatants clapped loudly as the training session ended. It had been a rare opportunity to watch the great Hero Arturian in action with his tog, because most days they trained with more common modern weapons.

There was no greater fighter in all the Glen then Hero Arturian. He had mastered all of the weapons of men and was also quite skilled with the elven bow and the dwarven axe. He had earned the title of Hero from High King Tronin for his extraordinary successes in the Pirate War.

Hero and Master were not titles of rank, like captain, lord, or commander. They were more an earned title of respect, granted by the high king himself. Arturian’s formal rank was commander.

Arturian wiped the sweat from his brow. He was an average size man with short black hair and a thin moustache. His body was covered in sinewy, well-defined muscles, marked with various battle scars. He had killed many foes, from pirates to goblins, as well as an errant giant that had wandered into the Upper Glen many years ago.

His Arturian Raiders were currently searching for a band of thieves, led by one known as Bullseye the Bow Slinger. Little was known about Bullseye, except that he always covered his face and was known to be an expert with the longbow; some even claiming that he was the best archer in the Lower Glen, with skills that matched that of the elves.

Bullseye and his group, numbering around thirty, had spent the summer raiding caravans that ran trade supplies between the kingdoms. Arturian had tracked the thieves to this area and knew that they were closing the distance to their prey. He believed that they would engage them within the week.

Arturian was the Commander of the Arturian Raiders, the only standing army in the Lower Glen, although they had travelled and fought in Hogarth Hills and the Upper Glen when needed. His army consisted of twelve squads, with roughly twenty men in each squad. That did not include his training squad of new recruits.

They were well versed in the art of war and constantly practiced their profession. Even though Arturian had easily defeated his four attackers, he still felt that his performance had been a bit sloppy.

“You took it easy on them!” the gritty words came from a black-bearded dwarf that sat under a nearby tree. He was middle-aged, bald, and stocky with a bit of a potbelly. His beard was so long that it just about touched the ground.

A large hammer, nearly matching his three-and-a-half-foot height, leaned against the tree next to him. The long wooden shaft bore intricate carvings, intermingled with an ornate gemstone here and there. The impressive steel head matched the size of the dwarf’s head. Several smaller throwing hammers ringed his belt.

“Yeah, it was a bit sloppy,” the second, lighter voice, was that of a five-foot tall elf, his long blond hair flowing to his waist. He had an elven longbow slung on his back. He sat perched, perfectly balanced in a squat, on one of the lower branches of the tree that the dwarf was resting against.

“Easy and sloppy?” Arturian laughed at his two best friends. “I suppose that you two squad leaders feel that you could’ve done better?”

“Well,” Iron Hammer, the slightly graying black bearded dwarf answered with a twinkle in his eye. “Solaris, my elven friend, may accept your challenge but we dwarves are wise enough to save ourselves for real battle.”

“Rider! Rider!” the alarm sounded from a sentry on a nearby hill, interrupting the three friend’s jovial banter.

Solaris jumped spryly from the tree branch, landing on his feet, and raced past Arturian with a speed that always surprised the commander. Arturian and Iron Hammer followed quickly behind their nimble elf friend. They were not expecting a rider, because nobody knew where they were.

The raider’s camp was positioned in a saddle between two hills, with sentries positioned on each rise. The guard to the south had called out the single rider coming in.

Three of Arturian’s squad leaders, Lords Slayer, Eaglet, and Paladian the Master Bowsman were already waiting by the fire pit at the center of camp. Lord Stoney, Lord Bruiser, Captain Crutch, and Captain Raymer, four more of his squad leaders, soon joined them.

Arturian and his two companions jogged up to the men. He knew that his three missing squad leaders, Lords Quash, Nero, and Snake would not be joining them because they were out on patrol, looking for the bandits.

A cloud of dust in the distance soon transformed into a horseman as he drew near. Arturian immediately recognized his outfit. He was a member of High King Tronin’s White Sash Brigade. Arturian shook his head.

How did the king always know where he was? No matter, if Tronin sent one of his personal guards, then something was definitely amiss.

The horseman raced up and quickly slid from his saddle. He was covered in dust, and both he and his animal looked exhausted.

“From High King Tronin’s hand to your hand Hero Arturian,” the messenger said while he dug a sealed letter out from inside his tunic and handed it to the commander.

“Sir, I must make haste back to Port Turin. We’re preparing for war and my place is at High King Tronin’s side. Can I trade out my horse?” the messenger asked.

“Solaris, take this man and get him a fresh horse,” Arturian ordered, even as the messenger’s words bounced around in his head. Had the man said war?

The elf nodded and led the man, and his worn-out animal, towards some horses grazing in a nearby field.

Arturian opened the letter and read it to himself. His face remained emotionless while he reread the letter a second time. A moment later he addressed his men.

“Strike camp immediately. The seven goblin tribes have invaded the Upper Glen and march on Hogarth Hills at this very moment. Our orders are to patrol Gilead Road and destroy any enemy forces that try to enter the Lower Glen by that route. Make haste men, we’re three horses from there. War is at hand!”