NINE
The men lay close to the fire, their blankets covering their heads to keep the cold away.
Only the speaker sat upright, his mind pondering the value of the stolen goods. He smiled, wondering whether there were any other dwarfs nearby living in isolation, a convenient target for the stirred hatred of men.
He shivered and moved closer to the fire, contemplating if he should try to sleep once more. He cast a jealous eye to his fellows, each perfectly still, corpse-like, hidden beneath their thick blankets.
He was about to stand when a movement caught his eye. It was the guard, his purple robes hanging loosely about him. The speaker watched him move toward the glow of the fire. The guard sat down opposite, his head bowed, his face hidden in shadow.
“It was a good day,” the speaker said. “A few more like that and we will be rich men.”
The guard laughed, sounding satisfied with everything the night had offered. Then he swivelled his head, peering into the shadows around them, expectantly. Watching him, the speaker continued.
“Wake your replacement and get some sleep,” he ordered. “The monster may take lone women and children, but there are twelve of us and we are all well armed.”
The guard nodded, and yawned.
“This killer is perfect for us to rally people to our cause,” the speaker added. “With the fear so rife we can make the whole of this land monster-free!” He checked himself as his voice rose, a habit from his speeches.
Swiftly he cast an eye over the silent men. Despite his words, not one of them had stirred. That was odd. He knew two or three of them were light sleepers. Then it occurred to him that even the overweight Thwait was not snoring. That was unusual.
He stood up and kicked the obese figure under the blanket, pushing back the cloth that covered him. As he did so he gave a cry and staggered back, his gold coins forgotten. Thwait lay still, unmoving, the blood already dry on his exposed throat, that had been torn open in his sleep.
“Wake! Wake!” the speaker yelled, fumbling for his dagger, pulling back the blanket of the man nearest him. He recoiled instantly when he saw another torn throat, the lifeless eyes staring up at him.
The guard had not moved. As the speaker turned in his direction, he raised his head. Burning red eyes stared hungrily from the shadow beneath the cowl.
“They cannot hear you, speaker.” He spoke harshly, like a feral animal holding back his instinct to enjoy the moment. “None of them can.”
“Where is the guard?” the speaker stuttered, knowing that no weapon he possessed could possibly be of any defence against the creature that had done this.
“I tore open his throat like all the rest, and left him where he fell.”
The speaker felt the tears blurring his eyes. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
He was supposed to be the hunter!
“No!” he said as he wept. “Please, take the money, take the jewels. Take
“You are right. I don’t need you,” the dark figure said. “But I am a monster, aren’t I?”
The cowl fell away from the face. The speaker shouted for mercy as the burning eyes narrowed and the long tongue shot forward to taste his hot tears.
He let the man scream, relishing each second.
It lasted for nearly two minutes. Then the scream ended abruptly, the sudden silence sending the birds flying from their nests, their cries a witness to the atrocity under the first of the dawn light.
A minute later, several goats left the clearing and headed north.
Theodore had not slept. So much had happened in the three days since the girl had arrived-the appearance of the monster, the return of Castimir, his introduction to Ebenezer and to Gar’rth.
He wondered if this was what life was like for a knight all the time. Indeed, he hoped so, for he had loved every minute of his small adventure.
Except for the gypsy caravan. His thoughts darkened at the memory of such gruesome sights. Then again, he remembered, a knight’s life had to be like that. Such evil would remind him of his duty, to ensure that it would never be repeated.
He left Taverley before daybreak, intending to get as far south as he could before halting. Ebenezer had sent Gar’rth to prepare the mare, but she had shied away from him. Even Castimir’s yak, indifferent to much that was going on around him, pushed himself to the farthest end of his enclosure in an effort to be away from the feral youth.
Only when Theodore had soothed the mare would she let Gar’rth fit her saddle. It took careful instructions issued by example for Gar’rth to see how it was done. Theodore wondered what kind of life Gar’rth must have lived to have never saddled a horse before.
As he left the stable the youth bowed his head.
“Thank you, Gar’rth,” Theodore said. He was startled to see the surprise that his words had provoked. Was the young man really such a stranger to kindness and common decency?
Castimir was standing in the courtyard, and Theodore embraced him. The young wizard’s red hair was dishevelled from his sleep, his eyes half-shut as he said goodbye to his childhood friend there under the dawn sky. Even Ebenezer bid him a fond farewell, and Theodore, not wanting to leave with any ill words between them, took the alchemist’s hand.
Then he hoisted himself into the saddle, and headed off along the road to Falador.
He had gone no more than five miles when he pulled on the reins to halt the mare. Her breath was visible in the cold morning air, and she shied a bit, as if aware of the sudden change in her master’s mood.
Theodore stood in his stirrups, looking to the east.
A black pall of smoke was rising from the dense woods not far from the road, and he could see the black shapes of carrion eaters flocking to the south. He knew well what the black wings meant.
Slaughter.
He had no choice but to investigate. Dismounting, he led the mare off the road and into the drifts that carpeted the forest floor. The going was slow and Theodore had to keep the sun before him to ensure that he was travelling in the right direction, for the tall trees obscured his view of the smoke.
After several minutes of stumbling through the soft snow that crunched underfoot, he came upon a track. Here he could see that the snow had been churned up by a large but disorganised body of men that had passed over it very recently. They had not taken the time to hide their numbers, and to Theodore’s eyes it looked as though they had deliberately tried to make themselves known to the forest. He wondered if they were the hunters led by the Imperial Guards that he had encountered. Perhaps the smoke was from a pyre they had used to burn the body of the monster?
Then a cold shiver ran through him.
The smell of smoke grew stronger and the faint breeze could no longer hide its presence. Ensuring that his sword was loose in his scabbard, Theodore followed the trail to the edge of a clearing.
The smoke came from the smouldering remains of a cabin on the edge of the tree line. The road from Taverley to Falador had often harboured highwayman and bandits, he knew, although he had never heard of them attacking the farms that lay scattered and isolated across the countryside.
Warily he drew his sword, his free hand covering the mare’s mouth to indicate that silence was required.
It was the angry voice he heard first. A great shout issued from the ruin, followed by a loud crash as several timbers were knocked aside.
Still Theodore waited, his sword in his hand, craning his head to see. He could make out a small figure, his face blackened from the wreckage, using an axe to dig through the hot embers. Sheathing his sword loudly so that the dwarf would hear, he walked confidently into the clearing, leading his horse by the reins.
