Two men sat in a tavern.
It was a
simple drinking den. One long room with rough wooden tables and benches, and
bare stone walls.
The two men
were the tavern’s only customers, but their table was piled high with roast
meat and they were thirsty, so the Innkeeper was satisfied.
It was
growing late in the night, and the fire in the center of` the room was dying
down to a pile of embers. The bar maid was busy cleaning glasses, but she could
not keep her eyes off the younger of the two men.
Suddenly,
the stout door flew open, and two men staggered in. Both were wounded. They
collapsed on the nearest bench and the bar maid and innkeeper rushed to meet
them.
The two men
at the table watched them carefully, but without action.
The bar
maid rushed away to fetch bandages and water.
“We are the
only ones left,’ one of the wounded men told the innkeeper,’ the wolf pack ate
the rest…’
The other
wounded man could not speak; he just clung desperately to the wound at his gut.
The innkeeper pulled off his shirt to reveal the slash across his belly. The
man who had spoken had cuts all across his face and hands, an empty sword
scabbard hung at his hip.
The bar
maid rushed back in and started taking care of the man with the cut belly. The
innkeeper could see that both men would live, they just needed stitches,
bandages and time, but was shocked at the news he had heard. Ten of the
strongest men in the village- dead.
‘What are
we to do now?’ the bar maid called.
‘Your
comrades will be avenged,’ a man called from the table. ‘I will kill the wolf
pack…. For I am Raymond of the Westmorland.’
The man
with a gut wound looked at him like a child who had made a foolish boast, but
the man with the cuts across his face came to life, his eyes alive with
interest.
‘Is it
true?’ he said. “I have heard of you. I am George of Northton. I wish we had
meet on a better day.’
Raymond
took George’s bloody hand and shuck it firmly.
‘Good to
meet you, George,’ Raymond said. ‘It seems to me that we have met at the right
time…. Tell me, where is your sword?’
‘In the
body of a wolf, I had not time to retrieve it before another set on my. I
killed that with my bare hands. Then we had to retreat, we were the only ones
alive and there were so many wolves… It was impossible.’
‘I have
seen many great and terrible things,’ the old man said, ‘and I can tell you
that very few things are impossible.’
‘You must
be Virgil,’ said George.
‘Aye.’
‘It is an
honour, sir.’
‘Will you
be strong enough to fight tomorrow?’ Raymond asked George.
‘Yes,’
George stated.
‘Good. Now
get some rest. Tomorrow, at dawn, we will destroy the wolf pack.’
George
walked away. Virgil and Raymond returned to there table and ordered more ale.
The bar maid continued to tend to the wounded man.
‘Raymond,
my comrade,’ Virgil began, ‘do you think it is wise to waste time and risk
injury when we have a dragon to hunt?’
‘It is my
job.’
‘Wolves are
not even monsters.’
‘Then they
should not act like monsters… I will slay these wolves. Will you join me?’
‘Of course!
It will be glorious.’
The
landlord was shocked when he saw George the next morning. The man seemed to
have aged ten tears in a night. The hastily stitched scars on his face, the
darkness around his eyes, and the look of determination in his ice cold stare
gave him a grim aspect.
The barmaid
was equally shocked. A man, who she had once considered handsome, now looked
fearsome.
He had
replaced his empty scabbard with an axe and a kitchen knife, He had not slept,
washed or changed his clothes. He had sat up all night, smoking his pipe and
remembering his lost friends.
Raymond and
Virgil were already up and at breakfast. They greeted him, and asked him to
join their meal.
‘Not hungry,’
George grunted.
‘At least
have some ale to fill your belly,’ Virgil suggested.
George
agreed.
Before
long, they were out and at work. George led them through the moors as the sun
rose above the mountains. Soon they came across a monstrous sight. The wrecked
bodies of men and wolves hurled across a battle field. The bog water was red
with blood. The air stank of decay.
‘They will
be avenged,’ Virgil stated.
‘Aye,’
growled Raymond, who was becoming enraged.
George said
nothing. He was thinking of his friends. They would need a proper burial soon.
A great pier to light up the night and send them to the Gods.
Virgil was thinking too. Judging by the number
of corpses, the wolf back must be huge. We wondered how many were left. Also,
it was unusual for a huge pack of man eating wolves to be found in to lowlands.
It was unusual too for there to be six trolls together, feeding off the same
small village. Times had been hard for many generations, since the Age of Kings
had ended and the Ogres came from the south, but this was a new level. He
concluded that the Dragon was driving monsters eastward from the sea. The
wolves and trolls were not invading, they were fleeing.
The tension
became too much for George as they approached the forest, he spoke to break the
silence.
‘Virgil, is
it true that you remember the times when Elves lived amongst us?
‘Elves?’
Virgil replied. ‘To remember that I would have to be over two hundred years
old…’
He let the
statement hang in the air, then continued.
‘Elves
still walk amongst us some times, but most men do not know them…’
This gave
George something to think about. Raymond grunted, he had little time for talk
about Elves.
They
entered a forest of ancient Oaks and Yews.
‘The wolf
den is this way,’ Raymond stated, pointing to the left.
‘How do you
know?’ George asked.
‘I smell
them.’
They
increased their pace to a run, it was important to catch the wolves as they
slept.
Suddently
Raymond held up his hand, and they knew to halt. He held a finger to his lips
and they knew to be silent. They advanced silently for a few minutes, then
beheld the wolf pack sleeping on a huge rock formation in a glade. There were
many.
