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.