Duel, part 2

The poor fellow and his Second trotted over. My Second was already sat on his favourite tree stump, scribbling away in his note book.

The fellow had insulted me when we were both drunk, and now faced the consequences of his actions. He looked a little tired, but on good form apart from that. As the insulted party, he had chosen weapons and had a very professional looking sabre.

I like to make my own weapons, and my sabre is less standard. It resembles a cutlas, in that it is unusually broad, and abit short.

The fellow's Second looked rather cross. I did not recognise him, but he knew my reputation.  

'Butcher!' he grunted at me,' One step out of line and I swear I shall blow your brains out.'

He had a brace of pistols and a sword at his belt, and looked capable.

No matter. I never cheat.

'Are you ready, and familiar with the proceedings?' I asked the fellow.

'Yes,' he tried to smile, and drew his sword.

We stood on guard, bowed, then began.

He slashed at my leg, and I parried.

He went for my chest, and I dodged.

I slashed at his left leg, and he blocked.

He was too slow to defend his right leg.

I cut it, and he stumbled.

I cut his throat open.

His Second rushed to his side.

Too late. I walked away.

Duel

The way I see it, everyone is addicted to something; alcohol, tobacco, opium, money... Personally, I am addicted to killing people. In my youth I was addicted to something far stronger.

That was why I found myself, once again, pacing back and fourth in the early morning mist, in some glade of a wood on the outskirts of the city. Waiting to fight. I never can sleep much the night before a Duel , and I hate being late, so I am often waiting for my opponent. I tried to remember advice from my former fencing master. Only two things came to mind;

'There are  only two things worth fighting for,' he once said, 'Love of Country and Love of Women. And you will only ever be rewarded for one of those...'

'It's all in the wrist,' he also said. 'Just like my love life.'

Not very helpful. He was a strange, but brilliant man. I think that service in Wellington's army had bothered him more than he showed, and extensive travel in the East had changed him more than he let on.

Nevermind.

The thump of horses hooves on icy earth and rotten wood announced the arrival of my opponent. Soon, one of us would die. 

THE HUNTER VIII

            When Virgil and Raymond reached the town of Portshead there was only one inhabitant waiting to meet them.

            There was not one building left undamaged, not one ship in the docks unwrecked, not one person left alive.

            Only the dragon remained, sat on the smashed town gate, waiting for them.

            Raymond first instinct was to charge the monster, but Virgil restrained him.

            ‘This is not a little troll that you can kill with one blow,’ the old man told his friend. ‘It is a dragon, the most dangerous beast to ever live. Be wise… Besides, it will want to talk.’

            ‘Talk?’ Raymond grunted in disgust.

            ‘I have long been expecting you,’ the dragon said in a voice far more gentle and elegant than would be expected from it size and fearsome appearance.

            It was indeed fearsome. Its head alone was as big as a bull, covered in horns and ending in a sharp beak. Its eyes were as cats eyes, but as blue as the sea, and as big as plates. Its body was over a hundred paces long, and long spikes petruded all along its spine. Its feet were webbed, but ended it long talons.

            ‘Virgil the Oathbound and Raymond of Westmoorland…’ the dragon continued,’… they say you are the greatest of living men. It is a pleasure to meet you.’

            ‘Come down here and fight!’ Raymond`` roared.

            “Oh yes, we will fight, but not today. First I have a lesson for you.’

            ‘Now!’ Raymond shouted. ‘I don’t sit around talking to monsters.’

            ‘Wait,’ said Virgil, holding his friends shoulder. ‘Remember the sagas… The dragons always talks with the hero, then there will be ritualized combat.’

            ‘Virgil is right,’ said the dragon,’ that is how it is done in this Age. But it was not always that way. I will give you a history lesson. How many Ages have there been in this world?’

            ‘Three,’ replied Raymond. ‘The Age of Elves, the Age of Men and the Age of Monsters.’

            ‘Wrong, that is what men think. There have been four Ages, the first was the Age of Dragons. We dragons were once alone on the earth, then came the animals, then elves, men and monsters, but all those were as children compared to us. In the Age of Dragons, my ancestors slaughtered your ancestors like sheep. Then the Age of Elves came. The Elves learnt the power of magic, and we dragons were slaughtered like beasts. It was only when our numbers became few, and the Elves learnt mercy, that we dragons became cunning and cruel.’

            Raymond listened carefully, he had not expected this.

            ‘The rest you know…’ the dragon continued. ‘The strength of Elves faded, and men learnt the power of fire and the working of metal, the Age of Mankind began. Men and Dragons fought epic duels. Dragons were hunted for sport. Then the Elves left this world, leaving men alone against the monsters. By that time the dragons were thought to be destroyed… Yet I remained. I, the last of my people, who will have revenge for my race!

            I have dedicated myself to the extermination of all mankind! I- the last dragon- will fight Raymond- The Last Hero. I will slay you, then I will slay all of your people… Just as your people slew mine.’

            ‘You must kill me first,’ stated Raymond. ‘That will not be easy. Most likely, I will slay you, and your race will die with you. Lost forever, remembered only in stories for children.’

            ‘We shall see,’ the dragon snapped. ‘Virgil and Raymond, I invite you to my home, and challenge you to a Duel. Come to Bell Isle tomorrow, as the sun begins to set, and be ready for combat.’

            ‘I accept your challenge’, said Raymond. ‘Tomorrow we will meet, and one of us will die.’

            The dragon nodded its head, then was away.

            That night, Virgil and Raymond made camp in the ruins of Portshead. They found a stray chicken and built a good fire to cook it on.

            Both men were quiet that night, lost in their own thoughts.

            Raymond considered the epic task that awaited him. For the first time in his life he considered the possibility that he might loose a fight. He was not afraid of death, but nor did he desire to die. He still had work to do. Also, he gave some thought to all that the dragon had told him- and did not know what to think.

            Virgil did not imagine for a moment that Raymond could fall to the dragon. He considered only the many glorious possibilities after his friend had killed the last dragon. It would guarantee Raymond’s place as the greatest hero in living memory, and that have consequences. It might also set an example to other men, and give humanity greater hope in its battle against monsters.

             Finally, Virgil broke the silence.

            ‘The dragon was wrong,’ Virgil stated. ‘There have been four Ages of this world. First was the Age of the Gods… then the Gods created dragons, to show Their great power. But the Gods went too far, they made stronger and mightier dragons, untill the dragons challenged the Gods Themselves. There was a great war in the sky, eventually the Gods were victorious, but the strength of Dragons was still great… That was why the Gods created mankind- to fight dragons, and all monsters.’

            ‘Long have i suspected that this was the case,’ Raymond relpied.

           

            The next morning they searched the docks for any seaworthy boats, and could find only a tiny rowing boat. On that, they set out for Bell Isle.

            From the outside the Isle was nothing but bare and jagged rocks, but when they sailed around it, they found a barren bay, leading to a narrow river, lined with dense vegetation and mighty trees. The river led to a vast lagoon with clear, still water. The lagoon was surrounded by a golden beach, then gently sloping rocks covered in rare and beautiful flowers of all colours.

            The dragon lay sleeping on the shore of the lagoon, stretched out, half submerged between the blue water and gold sand. It ignored them at first.

            ‘The Dragon is sleeping,’ Raymond said.

            ‘Dragons never sleep,’ Virgil replied.

            They rowed up to the shore, twelve paces from the dragons head. They could see its open eyes gazing at nothing, and its vast body rising and falling with its slow breathing. Behind the dragon was the mouth of a large cave.

            ‘Dragon!’ Raymond roared as soon as his feet hit dry land. ‘It is time.’

            ‘Yes,’ the dragon replied calmly. ‘Welcome to my home. But before we fight, go into the cave and take anything that you desire.’

            ‘I want nothing of yours,’ Raymond said.

            ‘One should know what one is turning down, before turning it down.’

            ‘Sound advice,’ Virgil said.

            They went into the cave and found it piled high with treasure. Heaps of gold. Piles of gems and silver. Marble statues. Suits of ancient armour. Swords, spears and staffs of office.

            Raymond was unimpressed.

            ‘There is nothing here that I need,’ he said, turning back to the dragon.

            ‘Do not be so sure,’ said the dragon.

            ‘Look,’ Virgil pointed to the top of a pile of jewels. ‘It is Freja- Thorfast of Garstang’s sword.

            ‘Correct,’ hissed the dragon. ‘The sword of the last King of men. I took it from his descendents. Now I give it to Raymond.’

            ‘I don’t need a weapon to fight,’ Raymond grunted.

            ‘Take the sword. I wish for a fair fight… Once, long ago, dragons were noble being, and I wish we could be so again…’

            “I will take it, for it is a pretty sword, and you are a noble foe. It will be glorious to slay you.’

            ‘We shall see. One of us shall die, and the hope of our people will die with us… the heroes of men killed my parents when I was young, and I will avenge myself on mankind, or die in the effort.’

‘Enough talking, time to fight,’ Raymond told the dragon.

So they did.

In an instant, the dragon grabbed Raymond with his huge, taloned hand and picked him up off the ground. The air was crushed out of Raymond’s chest by the vast strength of the dragon as he was lifted towards the dragon’s open mouth.

Before the dragon could bite of his head, Raymond lashed out with the sword of kings, cutting the dragon’s face.

The dragon was forced to withdraw Raymond from his face, and became intent of crushing him to death.

Raymond swung the sword down, slashing the dragons paws. It took two blows of the mighty sword to sever one of the dragon’s fingers.

The dragon hissed with pain and rage, and dropped Raymond to the ground.

Raymond had only a moment to catch his breath and get to his feet before the dragon attacked again.

That time he was ready.

The dragons came at him head first, jaws gapping. Raymond leapt aside and stuck the sword into the dragon’s eye. He thrust it deeper, into the dragon’s immense brain- and slew it.

Raymond looked into the dragon’s cold, dead eye.

           

Virgil had known Raymond since he had been a child. The old man had found Raymond, a boy, sat on the dead troll in the ruins of his village, and he had never seen his comrade cry. Not even as a boy beside the corpses of his parents.

            Virgil saw the legend cry that day.

            ‘The dragon was my brother,’ Raymond said. ‘He understood me. A part of me dies with him. A part of the world dies with him.’

            ‘But was it not glorious?’

            There was silence. Then the wind rustled the leaves.

            ‘Aye,’ Raymond laughed. ‘It was mightily glorious!’

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.   

           

THE HUNTER V

           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.

THE HUNTER IV

            But she had not gone far.

            He found her down stairs, easting breakfast and drinking wine with Virgil.

            Virgil passed him the bottle and he took a swig. Ale would have been better, but as far as wine went it was good. He was about to ask if there was any bread left when a tough looking, exhausted men strode into the room and put a big basket down on the table. It smelled good.

            ‘Pies, m’lords.’ The man grunted, then walked out.

            A moment later came the sounds of cows, goats, sheep and hens, followed by the roars and grunts of the men who herded them up the road.

            The ogre must have had his minions working all through the night to keep his word.

            The basket contained 3 beef and ale pies and 3 game pies. The ogre knew who he was working with.

            The ogre had a deal. The dragon would be hunted.

            It must have been a hell of a wager.

            ‘What is happening?’ Molly asked

            ‘The ogre is finally being a proper king, and I’m going to hunt a dragon.’

            Virgil had already got a knife and was carving up the pies, he wished the ogre had sent some ale- but that wasn’t part of the deal.

            ‘I don’t understand…’ Molly said. “Why is the ogre giving us pies? Where are the animals from?... A dragon? Why would you want to hunt a dragon?’

            ‘The ogre thinks there is one last dragon,’ Virgil explained,’ and he has made some extravagant wager that Raymond can kill it. Raymond refused to hunt the dragon unless the ogre fed the village.'

            Molly looked at Raymond with renewed admiration, and then frowned.

            ‘Why would you want to go and fight a dragon? A dragon for the Gods sake?'

            ‘It’s what we do,’ Virgil said.

            Raymond’s mouth was full of pie, so he nodded enthusiastically.

           

             Two men walked down a mountain. Down in the valley the snow was beginning to melt under the afternoon sun. They followed the road westward, looking for an inn to spend the night.

            The road turned south as it hit a broad river, and eventually led to a stout stone bridge. They met another traveler at the bridge, who was heading north.

            ‘Good afternoon fellows,’ the young traveler greeted them. “Where are you off to?’

            ‘West,’ said the old man, who walked with a younger man.

            ‘I go up the mountain,’ said the young traveler with a grin. ‘They say wondrous things have happened. A troll slaying last night! And a great feast… because of the great troll slaying! Like in songs of ancient times…Have you heard of it?’

            ‘No,’ the old man said. ‘I have not heard of it. I have seen it.’