THE HUNTER VII

            The old man loved the sea, so he would not leave her, despite the rumors of great danger.

            He continued to fish in the deserted sea, because fishing was one of the only two things he had left in life. The only other was his grandson. His wife had died of fever two winters ago, and his two sons had been lost in a storm.

            He and his grandson were sailing home on their small boat. They had caught a huge swordfish and were contented with their days work.

            ‘Look at that wave!’ the boy shouted and pointed out to sea.

            It was the biggest wave that the old man had ever seen, and he had seen many waves. If he was not so brave, he would have been afraid.

            ‘How is there such a wave under a clear, calm sky?’ the old man asked himself.

            The wave was three hundred paces out to sea and it already towered above them. They braced themselves for the coming impact that would surely smash them against the shore.

            It did not come.

            Some thing else came instead.

            From out of the wave burst the dragon, it leapt into the air, flew above them and landed near the beach. Then it swam rapidly away along the shore.

            The old man’s boat was rocked in the turmoil that the dragon caused amid the sea, but it managed to stay afloat.

            ‘We are lucky,’ he told his grandson.   

            Refugees from the town of Portshead walked wearily north upon the highway. Men and women, young and old, trudged along together with their few possessions slung over their backs. Fathers held their wives or children by the hand, mothers carried their babies, old couple walked arm in arm, as they had done on happier days.

            They encountered two desperate looking travelers, coming from the opposite direction.

            ‘You, stranger, are going the wrong way,’ the leader of the refugees shouted to the two travelers.

            “No,’ said the oldest of the two travelers,’ we know where we are going. We have work to do in the west.’

            ‘There is nothing but destruction in the west,’ said the leader.

            ‘Destruction is our work,’ Raymond replied. ‘Where are you going?’

            ‘We must retreat to the towers of the Ogre Barons, only they have the strength to protect us.’

            ‘You ought to put your faith in the strength of men.’

            ‘The strength of men is lost, ever since the alliance of Men and Elves failed.’

            ‘The Elves are an old tale, grown tired, and best forgotten,’ Virgil stated.

            They parted on those words.

The Hunter VI

Two massive wolves slept on top of the rock, and twelve more lay around them. Virgil and George crept up to the two closest wolves and raised their weapons above their heads. Raymond, however, walked on with a stealth unusual for a man of his size. He went up the rock and stood by the largest of the wolves. He knew that if he could kill the Alpha Male and Female, the rest of the pack would lose heart. He raised a hand and counted down from three with his fingers.

            They all struck at once.

            Virgil smashed his staff down on the head of his wolf. George struck with his axe and killed the beast instantly. Raymond gave the Alpha Male a crushing stamp on the head then began strangling it. The male was too shocked to other much resistance; it could only lash feebly with its front paws as died. However, the Alpha female was awake and furious. Raymond was hard pressed to keep her away with his boots. She backed off after a stout blow to the nose, but then, as he choked the last of the life out of the Male, she lept on Raymond’s back, and had her jaws around his neck. He fell  forward, onto the corpse of the male. Only that movement, and his hair, stopped the Female from getting a deadly hold on his neck. He gasped for breath, the she wolf tightened her grip and slashed at his back with the claws of all four paws. He reached behind him, pulling at the wolf’s jaws with one hand and stabbing fingers into her nose and eyes with the other. It was no good, the wolf was mad with rage and felt nothing. Her fangs cut his neck as she strangled him, he could not breath and was growing weak from loss of blood.

            Then he heard a sharp thud, and felt a terrible pain in the back of his neck as the jaws ripped away, but the oppressive burden was gone from his back.

            Virgil had given the she wolf a mighty kick across the face, knocking her away. Then he had beat her to death with this staff. Then he went to Raymond’s half conscious form.

            ‘I saw my life pass before my eyes,’ Raymond grunted,’… it was mighty.’

            ‘Get up, lad,’ Virgil said, ‘there is still work to be done.’

            It was true. Many of the wolves were dead or fleeing, but two remained, and they were at George. One was chewing his right arm, stopping him from using his axe. The other was biting his leg. George had lost his knife in the body of another wolf, and has beating the wolves with his fist, to little use.

            Virgil and Raymond rushed over to him.

            But by the time they had reached him, the wolves had dragged him to the ground.

            Raymond grabbed one wolf by the tail and dragged it back, then beat it with the other arm and boot. Virgil beat the other wolf across the back until its spine was broken.

            It was too late. George’s throat was torn, and he bled rapidly from a dozen wounds.

            Virgil knelt beside him, but he saw that there was nothing to be done. He held on to him as his life slipped away.

            ‘Virgil… tell me…’ George whispered. ‘Is it true… that once men ruled this land… that there were human kings and queens?’

            ‘It is true.’

            ‘And… were there really princesses? … Beautiful princesses?’

            ‘Aye. Long ago, I saw one myself.’

            George died with a slim smile on his ruined face.

            ‘He was a brave man,’ Raymond declared. ‘He will be burnt along side his comrades.’

            Then Raymond collapsed beside them, and allowed Virgil to tend to the wound on his neck.

            Five men sat around a camp fire.

            ‘I heard that Raymond of Westmorland once killed a Giant with his left hand, after beating the giant in a drinking contest,’ said John, a tall broad farmer.

            ‘Aye, and I heard that he was blind folded too,’ said Arthur, John’s mate. ‘Because the giant was blind drunk, and he wanted it to be a fair fight.’

            ‘That’s nothing,’ said Bob, their apprentice,’ I heard that he killed 3 ogres using only a spoon.’

            ‘I heard it was four ogres with a tooth pick!’ John stated. “Pass the ale horn lad!’

            ‘Once, so they say, Raymond fought ten trolls alone, because Virgil was away drinking, he killed them all… Each one killed with a single kick’ Arthur continued.

            ‘They say that Virgil can drink ten bottles of wine in a night,’ Bob said with awe. “Because he has special powers, because he is an Elven king…’

            ‘Those are ridiculous lies,’ grunted the fourth man.

            They looked that that stranger with a mixture of surprise and anger.

            ‘Apart from the story about the giant…’the fourth man continued,’… I really did do that.’

            ‘It’s true, I saw him do it,’ stated the fifth man. ‘But I can only drink 4 bottles of wine.’

           

            As they approached the coast, they approached scenes of devastation.

            Villages lay destroyed and abandoned. Town were half ruined, half fortified, and half populated. Livestock roamed freely or lay dead in the fields. Only the hospitals were crowded.

            ‘This Dragon’s got to go,’ Raymond stated.