By Sam Beaven
Published: October 16, 2007 PrintEmail
He was tall and broad with a sharp crewcut. As he stepped into the tavern there was a momentary silence: the village of Flick’s Fall was not a large one, and visitors were rare. But he did not seem threatening, he was not masked, and so all returned to their drinks and company. The man sat down at the bar avoiding eye contact. He ordered a tankard of beer and the barman sat a frothy jug on the table. “Four of silver”. The man rummaged around in a bag by on his girdle and pulled out several coins, dropping them on the counter. The barman looked at them and held one up, staring at the face on there, and the inscription that read “Kelarun I”. He sneered. “Thusian coin is no good here.” His eyes narrowed “You’re not from around there are you?” The stranger stared for several seconds, and then shook his head. “No, I’m from Deorl. The coin’s still acceptable down there. I’m sorry, here.” he pulled out some other coins, these with little trees on them and a rougher edge. The barman nodded but said nothing and did not return the coin. The newcomer turned and surveyed the room. A group of men stood by the fire, laughing, pausing, listening intently to stories. In all of the fraca he might not be noticed if he was careful. He inched over and stood by the fire, listening to their word. “And then he said ‘that’s not my sheep!’” the farmers all burst out into laughter, and the newcomer joined them as he took a swig. The rude humour of farmers was something he was familiar with from the last time he had passed through this little nation of Botein, breadbasket of the old Thusian empire. Should he really be here? He couldn’t help it. The newcomer had known lone wolves in his time in the army, but he wasn’t like that. He had to be around people, talk to them, hear them, and be accepted by them. “Here,” said another farmer “did you hear about the beasts prowling around the southern escarpment?” “Ain’t been seen in months, Doric.” “Aye, but they say it was heading eastwards, this way.” The newcomer coughed “From what I heard it was angling northwards. I though it was slain anyway?” The farmers looked at him. “Nay, it was but a wild wolf that succumbed to the trap. Where’d ye come from to hear of that in any case?” “Deorl.” he said “Came up the river Tarn through Eisenhrad. The word in Jungen’s bluff when I walked through was that the beast had fallen, but that was some time ago.” “What do you do?” “I’m a trapper.” he pointed to the fur on his shoulder “not much about of late though, I just sold some skins in Rouric before I came down here.” “Rouric? I heard Rouric burnt down a week ago.” He shrugged “It was a week ago that I was there.” One of the farmer’s narrowed his eyes “What did you say your name was?” “Estaron.” he cursed himself. He should be more guarded about these things, but the possibility of them talking to him… “That’s a Thusian name, isn’t it?” “Common in Deorl too.” “Whereabouts over there are you from?” “Upland regions. Around Kennet.” “Kennet? That region was damn near razed in the war, I wouldn’t have thought Thusian names would be popular there.” they’re onto you “Why do you think I left?” The farmer made a doubtful grunt but returned to his drink. Estaron looked out onto the room. What to do? Leaving now would be an admission of guilt, but if he stayed they might be onto him. He muttered a little too himself in prayer to the hero Charun, stopping himself halfway through in fear that someone might realise what he was doing. A warmth at his shoulder, and he turned to see shining blue eyes that bored into his. His collar started to sweat. “Looking for a little company? Things are slow and I am looking for some entertainment, stranger.” Her chin came to a rest on his shoulder, and he reflexively backed away. But this, this was the out he was looking for. He nodded slightly, and her fingers ran down his arm to his hand, clasping it and drawing him away. He felt the barman’s gaze bore into his back as she led him up some stairs see her legs beneath the dress milky white flesh that you can almost taste it looks so good see the swing of her hips as she walks good body you will take her you will taste her and into a small room, rushes on the floor, a candle on a cheap looking chest filling the room with an intimate light The woman sat down and looked up at him. “So you know, it’s a piece of gold a night.” He nodded and searched around in his money bag. “I’ll take Thusian gold too.” He looked up “I thought it was no good here?” She shrugged “Boran lost his wife in the last war. Vargr took her.” He nodded “I understand.” “Doesn’t matter. I am quite accepting.” her legs opened a little as she sat on the bed, her dress split up to her hip, smooth white flesh of her legs. Her rummaged about in his money bag, pulled out enough coin, handed it to her. She looked at it and bit into it, then looked up at him and smiled. “Would you like some wine first? It may cool your nerves.” “Yes, thank you.” she turned around and he felt a stinging pain, a sudden headache that was gone as soon as it appeared. No. No, he would not lose control. She turned back with two goblets and handed one to him. More pain don’t drink you fool you idiot can’t you see can’t you smell it smell the death came and went. He would not run, he wanted this needed this. He was sure he could control it. Then a darkness appeared at the edge of his vision, and he felt a numbness at the back of his head. The room spun and swam, and he saw the room move, and he started to fall. He did not feel his body strike the ground, and he looked on, up at the bed, and the flesh which covered as the girl stood. She smiled. “Good coin, this.” she said “I need it more than you, I fear.” And then his vision faded. He had a brief memory of being carried, of the barman and the whore, of a knife, and then nothing.
foolish girlthing idiot whore you do not know what you were doing you were driven by what greed yes greed I can smell it on you that hunger for gold and silver well that will not matter any more I see you standing there with your knife but now that you have drugged the Warden I am unleashed yes and now I burst from my prison the warden’s mind fall around me in a storm and I push forwards I hear your scream and it is delicious and my hand shoots out and grips you by the throat cutting it off and then I take my other claw and plunge it in as you beat at my muzzle and push seeking to fight me off but it will not work my claw rips through your organs and I grip your heart and take it and as you die you see me eat it a noise at the door it will hold them but not for too long I will take my kill I see the money it could be useful I swallow some coin and I lift the whore and jump out hear the crash and the shatter ad the glass all around falling in a maelstrom as I plunge groundward feel the mud beneath my feet the rain pounding on my head and fur all the better to cover my escape and I run away out out into the wilds where I belong that foolish warden thinking he can escape me thinking he should run amongst a herd like a sheep but he is better I am better
