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.