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.’

The HUNTER III

                 Raymond gave the matter serious thought.

            ‘You make bets with bags of gold, while the people on your land are starving,’ he stated. ‘What kind of a king are you? I will tell you this… Tomorrow afternoon I will walk around the village, if I see food on every table and animals in the fields I will take your job. If not, I will come and kill you.’

            ‘Are you really so confident that you could kill me?’ the ogre asked.

            ‘You are smaller than a dragon,’ Virgil pointed out.

            The ogre laughed, it was not a happy sound.

            “I accept the challenge,’ the ogre said. ‘I will feed my people, you will kill the dragon, and we will both be very rich!’

            ‘Where is the dragon to be found?’ Virgil asked. ‘And what manner of dragon is it?’

            ‘A Water Dragon, to be found in the south east, where it ravishes the costal towns of Lancashire.’

            Water Dragon. Raymond calculated. Can swim, cannot fly, cannot breath fire. Invulnerable to fire. Vulnerable to steel. 50-60 paces long. 5- 6 ton. Quite easy.

            ‘See you tomorrow,’ Raymond dismissed the ogre.

            He found his bed to the occupied. An unmistakably feminine figure lay there. On pulling back the sheets, he saw that it was Molly. After pausing a moment to admire the smooth curves of her naked  body, he ran is fingers gently threw her hair.

            She woke, looked up at him, and then embraced him tightly.

            ‘I did not know if you would come back,’ she said.

            ‘I don’t die easily.’

            ‘Kiss me…’

            He did. Then they made love. Passionately.

             

            ‘Stay here with me,’ she said, when she finnaly caught her breath.

            ‘I stay here untill the next evening. I have work with the ogre.’

            ‘ No… Stay with me. Here. Always…’

            ‘You should forget such ideas. Men with my job don’t live long enough to be good husbands. Go and tell your friends that you slept with the mighty Raymond, then go get yourself a steady man who treats you right.’

            Then he made love to her again.

            In morning she was gone.

THE HUNTER II

           After lunch, Virgil and Raymond went about the village to get the materials they needed for they plan to terminate the trolls. They needed only simple things; lamp oil, a pick and a bundle of hay. This proved more difficult than they had expected.

            Every where they went they found the same situation: women and children living in crushing poverty. The snow covered fields were devoid of life, not a single sheep or goat roamed them. Barns and huts that should have been sheltering many cows and ox contained only a few chickens, or nothing. Homes were in disrepair, some had huge gaps in the walls were trolls had smashed away doors or windows, and taken the bricks around the doorways at the same time. There was a shortage of food and fire wood.

            Every face they saw was filled with terror and sadness.

            Molly, the bar wench, had told them what had happened. The first that the village had know about the trolls was went a goat herd and his flock had not returned from the forest one evening. Two days latter, two young men had been gathering fire wood at night, and been set upon by a troll. One of them had made it back to warn the village. The next night sheep started disappearing. The next day, Molly’s father had gathered all the men in the village and led them out into the forest. They had expected to fight one or two trolls. Instead they were ambushed by six. After slaughtering the men, the trolls- in a rage- fell upon the village. The trolls broke into the houses and farms. They killed and male that was left, took any objects of gold or silver, and then carried off all the cattle they could lift. The following day, the village had sent a message for help, which had reached Raymond. That had been a week ago. Since they the trolls had come every night to take the last of the cattle, then the horses and goats, then the last of the sheep, then the chickens and dogs.

            The villagers knew that when the troll had eaten all the animals, they would start eating babies.

            Most people were too afraid to leave their houses, and talked to them through the holes in their walls, from the darkness of their homes. The people were unwilling to part with the few things they had, but Virgil was happy to pay twice the normal price, so eventually they got what they needed.

            Raymond tried to put some courage back into the people. He told them that trolls were burnt by light, so they were safe in the day time. He advised them to go to the forest and collect fire wood, so they could build bonfires at night to keep away the trolls. A few of the old women listened to him.

           

            As the sun began to set, they walked into the forest. The snow covering was light under the trees and it shone with the moon light that passed through the bare branches of the trees. Despite this, the forests was dark, and the setting sun cast vast shadows.

            Virgil walked ahead, with the straw and oil in a sack across his back. He had cut a long staff from a tree which he held, and kept his left hand on his sword. Raymond followed, pick in hand, walking stealthily 30 paces behind.

            Less than an hour latter, Virgil saw a huge form lumbering towards him but ignored it until it jumped out right in front of him.

            The troll reached for him with a huge, taloned, grasping hand. In one fluid motion, Virgil drew his sword and slashed the trolls paw. It had not expected that, and staggered back in shock. Virgil poked it in the eye with his staff.

            ‘You Die Old Man!’ the troll howled in pain.

            ’Yes, but not today,’ Virgil replied.

            The enraged troll clenched two massive fists and was about to charge.

            Virgil stepped aside as he heard Raymond rush forward.

            Raymond swung the pick and planted it in the troll’s shoulder, then withdrew it and smiled at the troll.

            Faced with overwhelming force, the troll turned and ran. They pursued it, always at least ten paces behind, but always keeping it in sight.

            The troll ran up the mountain, until it reached its nest, a deep whole like a giant foxes den. It ran inside and began howling at its kin. Virgil rushed forward, put a match to his sack- which was all oil soaked straw and threw it down the next. The sudden light prevented the trolls from leaving.

            Raymond was already on top of the mouth of the pit, working at the earth and rocks like a madman. His pick hammered up and down so fast that it could hardly be seen. In moments a huge rock fell into the whole, hollowed by tons of earth. Raymond worked on, smashing the sides of the pit until it collapsed. The trolls were all trapped, or crushed/

            They heard the clapping of enormous hands coming from the darkness of the forest.         

            Raymond had seen many ogres in his life, but the one which strode out of the trees that night was the biggest. Raymond looked up at it, without fear, but with as certain awe- as other men like look at a gigantic meal or a particularly large diamond.

            ‘I am impressed,’ the ogre said, as it stopped clapping and came in sight. ‘But you missed one; it is attacking the village as we speak’.

            Raymond instantly dismissed the ogre, he turned his back on it and ran down to the village. Virgil and the ogre followed.

            As he ran, he could smell smoke ahead, when he reached the edge of the forest Raymond saw the light of a fire, and was concerned that the village was ablaze. He increased his pace, keen to save the village if he could, and if not, to avenge it.

            To his surprise, he saw that the villagers had built a huge bonfire in the middle of the village and were stood around it. The women held their babies in the arm, but in their free hands they held kitchen knifes. Ever child old enough to stand held a knife or some sharp tool.

            The troll stood on the edge of the fire light in shocked disbelief.

            ‘Monster!’ Raymond shouted, ‘time to fight’.

            The troll charged him in a frenzy of frustrated rage.

            Raymond counter charged.

            They meet in a collision that knocked them both to the ground. The troll was up first, and gave Raymond a mighty kick that sent him skidding across the snow.

            Raymond recovered fast, getting to his feet- bloody, but ready to fight. The troll swung a crushing punch, but Raymond caught its fist in both hands and twisted its arm brutally.

            Then he began to turn, keeping hold of the troll. He swung the troll around, and with the pain of its broken arm, and Raymond\s strength, it could not resist. Soon it was off its feet, and Raymond swung in circles of ever increasing speed- like a hammer throw.

            Then he threw it. It flew through the air for 15 paces then hit a stout tree and fell like so many sacks of flour.

            As soon as the women saw it fall, they rushed upon it and hacked it to pieces. They avenged their fathers, husbands and brother.

            ‘Good work!’ the ogre roar at Raymond. ‘Now listen, I have a job for you.’

            Raymond strode towards the ogre. He was in the mood to kill monsters, and the ogre was in his way.

            ‘What do you want, ogre?” Raymond demanded.

            “I have a job for you… This was a test, and you passed. It involves a wager I made last year…”

            ‘I don’t need a bed time story, get to the point.’

            ‘I will pay give you as much gold as you can carry, if you can kill the last Dragon in the World.’

            Virgil started to take an intestest in the conversation.

            ‘There are no Dragans left,’ Raymond stated. ‘Thorfast of Garstang killed the last of them centuries ago. ‘

            ‘There is one,’ the ogre said.

            ‘Impossible!’

            ‘Don’t be so fast to dismiss it,’ Virgil said. ‘I too have heard rumours of a last dragon.’

            

The Hunter

            THE HUNTER

           

“I have never seen or heard of such a fish… But I must kill him. I am glad we do not have to try to kill the stars… But imagine if a man each day should have to try to kill the sun? We were born lucky.”

Ernest Hemingway.

The Old Man and The Sea

PART ONE

            Some men must hunt fish to make their living. Some men must hunt rabbits, or deer in the forest. Others must hunt the wolf or the tiger to live. Other men, yet, must sail great ships to hunt whales.

            But Raymond must hunt monsters.

            That is what the Gods made him for.

            Two men stood toe to toe in the snow outside the tavern. The snow storm that raged around them, drive the stars from the sky. One of the men was huge, in the dark he could have been mistaken for a troll. In one hand he held a bottle of ale, the other hand was clenched in a massive fist. The other man was shorter, but strong enough around the arms and shoulders. He had wild hair like a lion, which was whipped around his weather beaten face by the gale.

            ‘This is going to hurt, little man,’ growled the giant. ‘No one insults me and walks away from it.’

            ‘Finish it quickly,’ was the reply.

            The wild man knew that the big man would hit him with the bottle, and try to win the fight with one blow. It was always the way. So he was ready to take a step back, avoid the blow, and hit the big man on the chin.

            The big man fell like a tree struck by lightning.

            The smaller man picked him up gently and put him over his shoulder as easily as a man lifting a child. Then he carried him into the tavern and placed him on his companions table, shattering their bottles and mugs. The big mans mates were horrified, except for one, who had won a wager.

            The wild haired man walked over to his own table, where a tall and ancient man sat.

            ‘More ale Raymond?’ the old man asked him.

            ‘Aye.’

            They had both been in this situation before. It was far too common for a big drunk man to pick a fight with a living legend.

           

            The old man’s name was Virgil. Some said that he was a wizards, some said he was a poet, some a philosopher. No one knew. He had the hands of a farmer and the face of a king. He dressed like a beggar, except for the silver rigs he wore on every finger, and the short sword he wore at the belt.

            It was know that he and Raymond traveled together, but it was not known why, except to Virgil.

            It was also known that he liked to drink ale, and tonight was no exception.

            The next morning Raymond and Virgil woke early, because they had work to do.

            “How many trolls are there? ’ Raymond asked.

            ‘There are said to be six,’ Virgil replied. ‘Could be more, could be less.’

            Raymond closed his eyes for a moment, appearing lost in thought. Then he looked down at his breakfast of steak, fried eggs and bread, then at Virgil’s meal of fried bread and ale, then at his friend’s expressionless face.

            ‘Fun,’ he said at last, then,’ how far to the trolls nest?’

            ‘Not far, be could be there in the afternoon,’ Virgil replied.

            ‘Then we will be there before lunch.’

            Virgil knew of his friend’s hatred of trolls, and understood his inpatients, so he resigned himself to a hard days march.

            ‘Also, there is an ogre on the mountain,’ Virgil added.

            ‘Great, will I have to kill it?’

            ‘The ogre is said to be a reasonable fellow, you may not need to fight it.’

            ‘We will see.’

            The snow was piled a foot thick in the fields, but on the highway it had been crushed down by boots, hooves and wagons. Still it was not an easy road to walk from the tavern in the low lands to the tiny mountain village which was their destination. In places the winding road was steep, and often the compressed snow had become treacherous ice.

            Yet Raymond strode forwards with the agility and stubbornness of a goat. Vigil followed him with the strength of a far younger man. Raymond was usually a man of few words, but on that day he was eager to talk. They discussed their tactics for the coming day and night. Killing six trolls, each one of which could kill a bull with its bare hands, would require more strategy than Raymond’s usual, brutal and direct methods.

            Trolls are twice as strong as most men, and can move fast and have a certain degree of cunning. Raymond knew from experience that he could kill one in single combat, but six was a different story. They had two weaknesses. Firstly, they were so driven by greed and hunger that they were stupid and unreasonable- a child could out wit a troll. Secondly, their place, greasy skin was very sensitive to light, so they only came out at night.

            They also discussed the ogre. Having an ogre on the same mountain where the trolls had their nest made everything more unpredictable. Ogres were wild-cards. Most ogres are greedy and territorial, after that they are unpredictable. Some were bandits and murderers, some semi-respectable mercenaries; some were even merchants or farmers. Most ogres treated their territory as a private kingdom, where they ruled as barons and demanded tribute from any thing inside, some times the tribute was repaid with loyal protection, but not always. Ogres and trolls hated each other passionately, so it was odd for an ogre to allow trolls on his mountain. Either the ogre was too weak to resist the trolls, or the ogre was so powerful that he considered the trolls and the village to be insignificant amid his vast kingdom.

            Raymond had met many ogres in the past, some were wild beasts that needed to be put down, others had been valuable allies. As a general rule, he liked to fight them.  

            It was long after midday when they reached the village. It was nothing but a few run down long houses, a lot of shacks and an inn, perched on the side of a mountain and surrounded by dark, snow covered forest.

            The inn was a smallish stone building with wooden roof that sagged under the weight of the snow. The only sign of life was a little smoke coming from the chimney, no light or sound came from inside.

            Raymond thrust open the door.

            ‘I am Raymond of the Westmorland, and I have come to slay your trolls!’ he announced.

            There was no reply. The room was empty apart from the bar wench who looked up from washing a mug. She looked the two men up and down, looked at them a second time, and managed a faint smile.

            ‘Two pints of your finest ale,’ Virgil ordered.

This was more familiar territory and the girl got to work with the automatic reflexes of some one who knew there work, but was utterly exhausted.

            ‘And a meat pie,’ Virgil continued.

            ‘Three meat pies with plenty of bread,’ Raymond added.

            ‘Sorry m’lords,’ the girl looked close to tears. “We ‘ave no pies, nor meat.’

            ‘What do you have?’ Virgil asked.

            ‘Fried bread or porridge.’

            ‘Fried bread or…’ Raymond controlled his disappointment.

            ‘T’was the Trolls, you see m’lords…’a tear started to form in her sea blue eyes.

            Raymond put a hand, reassuringly on her slender shoulder, ‘Don’t worry lass, bread and porridge is good enough for us. Tomorrow the trolls will be dead, and you can get this inn back in order.’

            She said nothing, but the gentle touch of his huge hand reassured her. She served the ale.

            Virgil took one huge swig, then actually spat it out on the floor. Raymond took one sip, then went outside and threw the ale out onto the ground.

            ‘Sorry m’lords, the ale is a bit old, the last delivery was ambushed by the trolls, and this is all we have.’

            ‘Do you have wine? Virgil asked.

            ‘Yes, we still have a flask of the good wine.’

            ‘Excellent!’ Raymond declared. ‘Fetch it, if you will. And we will need rooms tonight, but we will be going to bed very late.”

            ‘As you say,’ she replied.

            “May we speak with the land lord?’ Virgil asked.

            ‘My father? Dead, m’lords, the trolls…’

            ‘And you mother?”

            The serving girl could take no more. She sat down on the floor and wept. Raymond sat beside her and put an arm protectively around her. She buried her face in his shoulder and cried softly.

            Virgil went behind the bar, poured three mugs of wine, drank all of one, then went to the tiny kitchen and started cooking.

            ‘Will you really kill the trolls?’ she whisperd to Raymond.

            ‘It is what I do.’

There is nothing...

Am currently unable to finish There is Nothing Outside The Forest.
Not in the right frame of mind for it at all.
Shall finish it at a later date.

Shadow Dancers

The shy is vast and
So far away, yet it
Dances in front of me,
A party of ghosts,
Ring of white shadow
Dancers, Shadows are
Darkness, reflected from
Light, so what white 
Shadows dance silently?

Wrote this last night. There is some damned odd weather out here, and the nights so often appear haunted. Have also been quite preoccupied with the concept of light and shadows, in an aesthetic and psychological way. 

THERE IS NOTHING OUTSIDE THE FOREST, part 7

   The sound of drums grew ever louder, and the land rose in a way that I did not understand. It was like the bank of a river, but far longer, when I looked ahead I could see that the trees were higher than me, and when i looked back the trees were lower. On we rode, and it became for difficult. We had to get off the bull and lead it carefully around huge rocks and up the strange land. I felt like a spider climbing a tree.

   Once I fell, for it was so hard to balance on such uneven land. I could not hide my shame, for I had lived my life hunting among the trees and had not lost balance since I was a baby.

   ‘You have never walked up a mountain before,’ he said.

   I shuck my head. I did not know what a mountain was, but I guessed I would see.

   The sun set, and still we climbed.

   Soon I saw the light of a huge fire above us. It cast a wild light and the shadows of many trees. I thought the Orc could have made the fire, so I held my weapons ready, but Tomm showed no alarm.

   I looked around me and saw that I stood between two Sleep Trees. I was entering some People’s land. Looking closer, the Sleep Trees were wrong, for both Yew and Oak had human bones, and there were skulls of deer, boar, rabbit and bird. I did not like these Shaman People.

   As we climbed further I saw a thing sat by the fire, beating a massive drum. The thing was the shape of a tall, thin man, but it had horns like a stag and was covered in fur.

   ‘The Shaman,’ Tomm said. ‘We must wait for him to finish.’

   I did not know why he had taken me to see this thing. He sat down a few paces from the thing and waited. The bull walked off the graze.

   Suddenly it screamed like a dying deer, stopped drumming and fell down. Tomm was not surprised, so I did not move.

   The thing rolled around for a moment, and then sat up.

   ‘I hate coming back down,’ the thing said in a deep, dry voice.

   ‘Great Shaman!’ Tomm greeted it.

   ‘What?!’ it demanded. “I have been running with the deer herd all day, I am hungry and tired, what do you want?’

   ‘It is I, Tomm Rider, and I have boar meat for you.’

   The thing stood and took a step closer, it looked at us carefully.

   ‘Tomm, my boy! Good! You have boar, that is good… and a girl, that is interesting. Come, sit and eat.’

   We did so. I inspected the thing as they cut up the meat. It was an old man, the oldest I had ever seen. He wore tree branches tied up in his hair to look like horns. Most People wear only animal scin trousers, and cloaks when it is cold, but the old man wore scin and fur everywhere apart from his face, hands and feet. He had trousers of boar fur, and wore deer scin on his chest and back, and rabbit scin on his arms. He had a belt of rabbit bones around his waist, and bird bones around his neck. I did not understand.

   Tomm and the Shaman talked about mundane things as they ate. The weather, the movement of the great aurox herds, and the quality of the meat.

   Suddently the Shaman turned to me.

   ‘You are the one who dreamed of life outside of the forest,’ he said.

   ‘How do you know,’ I replied.

   ‘I am Shaman, I live in dreams just as you live in this land of tree and meat. I know of dreams.’

   ‘Then what do you think? Is my dream real?’

   ‘All dreams are real… in their way…’

   ‘But do you think there is land outside the forest? Will I find it?’

   ‘I have marched for many moons with the aurox herds… I have climbed great mountains with the giant black bear… I have hunted with the wolf in the wildest valleys… I have dug beheath the earth with the fox and seen the vast roots of tree… I have flown with the eagle across the Great Lake… But I have never seen anything outside the forest.’

   ‘Then there is nothing outside the forest?’

   ‘No… I did not say that, only that I have not seen it yet, or dreamed of it… I cannot know. Maybe I will dream it tomorrow… who knows?!’

   ‘Do you think I can find?’ I don’t know why I cared so much for this strange old man’s opinion.

   ‘If you dreamed it, it is real some where, so maybe you can find it.’

   ‘That is good enough for me,’ Tomm said.

   I agreed. Soon after we slept.

   In the morning we could not find the Great Shaman, I guess he was flying with the ducks, or with the Great Bear on the Great mountain by the Great Lake where the great Herds go.. or some thing.

   Its seemed that there were many Great things in this part of the forest. Nothing is big enough to be called Great where I lived. There were very big trees, but I have never heard of any being called a great tree.

   I had been told that I was on a mountain, and it seemed that mountain means ‘land higher than a tree and easy to fall’, so I thought the Great Mountain must be very hard to climb, and very big. I hoped I would not fall off.

   The Great Shaman was not very big. Maybe he got bigger when we was with the giant bear… he must, or they would eat him.

   We went back down the mountain, going slowly because Aurox and I are not good at walking on mountain, and we did not want to fall. When the mountain stopped, I rode the bull and we travelled fast.

   We reached the river before sunset and rode along it. It had grown even stronger. When darkness fell, we stopped to eat and rest.

   ‘Tomorrow’ I asked, ‘are you going to start calling the river, The Great River?’

   ‘You learn fast.’

   For ten days we traveled down the Great River. It became over 300 paces wide, but it flowed more gently, so I could swim in it when I bathed.

   Those days passed peacefully. Looking back, I remember it was being a glad time in my life. Tomm did not annoy me so much in those days.

   I had never loved a man before. I think I was falling in love with him at that time. I liked the way he treated his bull, in some ways they were like family, and the huge beast seemed to respect him. I started to like the strange way he talked, and how he was so often silent. I understood that it was because he was normally alone. His life was not happpy. I liked the way he seemed to always know exactly what he was doing. I really liked the way he believed that my dream of life outside of the forest. Maybe I loved him.

   Now I cannot know.

  

   Then I thought I had reached the end of the forest.

   I saw something that I had never seen before- no trees ahead of me.

   The river joined a huge pool of water. Truly huge, too big to swim, maybe 2,000 paces across. Beyond it, the land rose to the height of 200 trees. The top of the land was pointed and white. It must have been the Great Mountain.

   Above the land and water was the sky. I did not know it was so big. I could see the sun. It hurt my eyes, but it was beautiful.

   For the first time in my life, I saw a lot of blue instead of a lot of green.

   ‘Look!’ I shouted.

   ‘The Great Lake,’ Tomm did not share my excitement.

   I looked closer. There were trees all around the lake, and all over the mountain.

   We still had far to go.       

THERE IS NOTHING OUTSIDE THE FOREST, part 6

   For three more days were walked. Each day the river grew wider, and we left its banks only to hunt.

   ‘We will never get to the end of the world at this speed,’ he said, on the afternoon of the third day.

   He called to his bull and patted its side, and it began to trot. I had to run to keep up. It was not easy. We, The People, are made to walk and climb. We can run fast or far if we need to, but we do not like it. I did not want to be left behind, or to show weakness, so I ran, even when my legs and breath were fire.

   When he stopped at sunset I jumped into the river to drink and be cold.

   ‘Tired?’ he asked.

   ‘No, just hot and thirsty.’

   ‘Good. Try to catch some fish when you are in there. I am going to look for duck.’

   He jumped off the bull and walked up down river. The bull came down to the river bank next to me and drank. I looked into its huge, black eyes. It ignored me. It was three times my height, and maybe ten times my weight. I felt I was nothing to it, not even food.

   When it stopped drinking it looked at me, and took a step closer. Its head was in reach of me, and I could feel its hot breath on my face. I must admit that I was afraid. We cannot trust a bull aurox, the bull aurox fight for fun, like the Stag Deer and the Orc. It moved slowly closer. I stood still as it opened its mouth, a mouth big enough to eat my head in one bite. Then it licked my face with its huge, rough, wet tongue. Then it nuzzled me gently, its head again my body, carefully keeping it horns away.

   I had seen aurox do this in their herds, and I knew the bull was my brother then.

   I don’t like eating fish, and I was too tired to hunt, so I sat on the bank of the river with my feet in the water. The aurox lay down beside me.

   The next day I wanted to ride the aurox, so after Tomm had climbed on its neck, I climbed up it side. I held its long hair and pulled my way up, like climbing vines, untill I was sat on its shoulder with my legs over the side.

   Tomm turned and looked at me. He smiled a thin smile.

   ‘Hold on,’ he said, then patted his bull on the head and called for it to trot.

   I had to grab the bulls hair in both hand to stay on it. Its shoulder moved up and down as it trotted. It was dificult to balance, and soon bacame painful. It was impossible to continue that way, so I was forced to move. I swung myself forward and sat beside Tomm on the neck, my legs around his legs and my hands holding the bull’s hair.

   He said nothing.

   At midday we saw a boar and gave chase. I wanted to throw my knives, but I needed both hands to hold on as the bull charged. Tomm did not need to hold on, but he did not throw a knife. We gaining on the boar, but I did not know how we were to kill it.

   Then I saw.

   The bull came behind the boar, lowered its head, and butted it. The boar flew like a leaf in the wind. The bull slowed and trotted to where the boar lay. The boar was dying, it rolled in the leaves and roared terrably.

   I jumped from the bull, and finished the boar with my axe.

   It had been a mighty boar. I had hunted boar in the past; it took ten people a day to kill one, and some times the boar killed one of us. The boar are strong brothers and we respect them. I did not like to see the boar die to easily, but we needed to eat.

   I cut off its huge head and held it high.

   ‘You were a might boar,’ I told it. ‘Have better luck in your next body, and try to keep away from bulls.

   Our bull grazed on leaves, grass and plants as we butchered and ate the boar.

   After eating and resting, we climbed on the bull again, and it walked on. Not towards to river, but deeper into the forest.

   ‘The wrong way.’ I said.

   ‘No. The right way to The Shaman.’

   ‘What is a Shaman?’

   ‘You will see. If we are going to the end of the world, we need to talk to The Shaman.’

   ‘Why do you call it the end of the world? We are looking for outside the forest.’

   ‘The forest is the world.’

   I heard distant drums.