by Max Anthony
“Are you sure this is going to work?” she asked. “I doubt there’s much of a requirement for baskets of cakes to be brought through the woods at this time of night.”
Beneath his cloak, Rasmus was cackling. He liked the idea of springing an unpleasant surprise on something hideous in the woods. It always gave him great pleasure to turn the tables on evil creatures and while he had no definitive information on what was out there, he was fairly sure that it had murdered the missing villagers.
“It’s sure to work,” the wizard said, excited by the plan. “Just imagine the surprise on our opponent’s face! Sneaking through the woods, hunting what it thinks will be defenceless victims and them BAM! it gets a hammer in the face.”
“I suppose that would be quite a shock,” Jera replied, wondering not for the first time what she was getting herself into.
“Then, just when our unknown opponent believes that things couldn’t possibly get any worse, it receives a dagger in the spine for good measure!” Rasmus could hardly contain himself and hoped that he’d be able to stop tittering before the creature found them.
Off they set, Rasmus and Jera. The wizard pretended to lean heavily on his staff as if walking pained him, while Jera held onto her basket tightly and held her red cloak around her to ensure that no glint of her armour was visible. Twenty yards behind them was another figure, this one concealed entirely in darkness and almost impossible to see. This third figure followed watchfully behind.
3
The trail took them past Jardi Spontle’s house, where Rasmus waited for a few minutes, perched on a tree stump. When no sounds of beasts unknown reached him, he pushed himself painfully to his feet, moaning and groaning most piteously as he did so.
“Keep it down, will you?” whispered Jera. “We don’t want Spontle coming out to investigate all of your huffing and puffing.”
Rasmus continued to chunter, albeit at a much-reduced volume and the pair of them made their way deeper into the trees. The night air was cool and the wind brushed gently by. On a sunny day, it would have felt peaceful and calming. In full dark, the effect was different and to Jera it seemed oppressive. By her side, Rasmus gave no impression that he felt concern and she was reassured by that. The wizard had seen much and done many things, yet here he was still fully alive and traipsing through the woods at midnight.
They had covered a little over a mile before they heard it. In the trees to one side, there was a cracking sound as if something had unintentionally stepped upon a fallen branch and snapped it in two.
“Eeeh, it’s a beautiful evening, isn’t it my dear?” said Rasmus in a loud, quavering voice.
“Yes, erm, Grandfather,” said Jera, equally loudly. “Though this basket of cakes weighs heavily upon me.”
“Your grandmother can’t cook for shit, that’s why,” said the wizard, doing his best querulous old man impression. “I’ve broken at least six of me teeth eating her rock cakes.”
They heard another noise – it was a low, deep hacking noise which sounded like a dog clearing its throat. It was followed by a rumbling sound, worryingly close. Jera looked towards the noise – the trees weren’t dense, but neither were they widely spaced. There were ferns growing away from the path. These plants covered the ground in thick clumps, though they weren’t tall enough to hide anything massive. The light from Rasmus’ lamp wasn’t excessively bright, but it was enough to interfere with Jera’s night vision and she saw nothing.
“Be ready, it’s coming close,” whispered Rasmus. Then, in a louder voice, “Do be a good girl and hand me one of those cakes, would you?” he asked. “I feel as though I should remind myself of what horrors I am missing out on.”
Jera lifted the lid of the basket and pretended to rummage around within. The handle of her hammer was there and she grasped it, feeling its reassuring weight. It was then that the creature made itself known. Only ten yards ahead of them, a dark, massive shape was outlined against the trees, more sensed than clearly seen. It was almost impossibly broad across the shoulders, yet looked as though it were stooped. It made the deep rumbling sound again, low and almost teasing.
“Is that your grandmother?” Rasmus asked Jera, as he peered into the gloom. “The silly old bat must have got herself lost again.”
“Granny, is that you?” called Jera, feeling as if she were in the most peculiar of dreams.
The shape walked towards them, one languishing step at a time. The light from the lantern reached it, permitting Jera’s eyes to see details that were not pleasant. The creature was at least seven feet tall and covered in grey fur. It walked on its hind legs, with strangely elongated clawed feet that looked as if they’d be difficult to balance upon. Its chest was huge and broad, and it had enormous shoulders, from which came long, muscular arms. It had a short, thick neck, with a head which resembled that of a wolf. The visage was different – there was nothing familiar about it. Where one might look at a normal wolf and see in it the family dog, this one was savage and wicked. Its teeth were long and dirty yellow, its eyes the colour of blood. Its snout was short and blunt, and the creature had its lips drawn back in what might have been a grin of anticipation.
“This one’s likely to be a bit harder than I was expecting,” whispered Rasmus. With that, a thin line of flames came from the top of his staff and struck the creature in the chest. It growled without distress and the wizard saw the muscles of its legs tense as it prepared to spring forward.
“Get over here, you filthy mutt!” called Jera, demanding that the werewolf attack her. As she struggled to free the hammer, the creature’s heavy head twisted towards her and its eyes narrowed. Changing targets, it jumped at the taunting woman, who stepped neatly to one side and struck it with her basket. The beast wheeled about with sickening agility for its size and it threw out one of the long arms. As she leaned out of the way, Jera saw the sharpness of its claws, which missed her face by hardly an inch. More flames leapt from Rasmus’ staff, two times, then three. They scorched away patches of the fur, blistering the skin beneath, yet doing little significant damage. The wizard cursed.
The werewolf advanced upon Jera, almost in a crouch. Its size was intimidating and she’d already seen how fast it could move. Anticipating another attack, Jera swung her hammer, the weapon still caught within the half-smashed basket. She struck one muscular shoulder with a hefty blow and dodged the return strike.
Viddo appeared, emerging from his place of hiding and with his dagger raised to deliver a crippling blow. The attack didn’t land – the werewolf appeared to sense the thief’s arrival and it jumped to one side. At the same time as it jumped, it threw out an arm and it was all that Viddo could do to avoid being knocked from his feet, or worse. Recovering from its leap, the creature turned to face the trio. There was no doubt that it realised it faced seasoned adventurers, instead of untrained villagers. It snarled with hatred and circled slowly around. Werewolves had a certain intelligence and this one was sizing up its chances, to see if it had any hope of victory. It did not. With a wave of his hand, Rasmus cast a spell upon the creature, freezing it mid-stride. In apparent defiance of gravity, it remained upright and unmoving. Its eyes stayed open, still fixed upon the three.
“Spell of paralysis?” asked Viddo.
“Yes,” said Rasmus. “It should last for a few minutes.”
“It wouldn’t have worked on the undead, would it?” asked the thief, looking for reassurance that Rasmus hadn’t been holding this one back during their recent foray into an underground world.
“The undead are immune to this particular spell, though the reasons behind that have never been entirely clear,” replied the wizard.
“What do we do now?” asked Jera naively. She looked at the werewolf and fancied that she saw something human behind its red eyes.
“We chop it into pieces, that’s what,” said Viddo, drawing his longsword.
“Isn’t that a little bit underhand?” asked Jera, aghast.
“This is an evil creat
ure. It has almost certainly murdered several of the villagers and would have happily done the same to us!” Rasmus told her. He gave the werewolf a firm crack on the top of its head with his staff. It wobbled, but didn’t fall over.
“Can it feel that?” Jera asked.
“In truth, I don’t know,” said Rasmus. “I’ve always told myself that creatures affected by this spell don’t feel any pain.” He gave the beast another smack. “It makes it easier.”
Viddo swung a wide slash at the werewolf’s head, opening up a huge gash from which blood squirted. “Just tell yourself that it’s a side of beef,” he advised, taking another swing.
“Go on, give it a bash,” encouraged Rasmus.
“If you’re sure,” said Jera, steeling herself for the unpleasant task. She thundered a strike onto the werewolf’s forehead, knocking it onto the ground.
“Not in the face!” warned Viddo. “Or we’ll not recognize it when it’s dead.”
Jera had heard of these beasts before, yet wasn’t quite certain what to expect. Nevertheless, she directed her next attack against the werewolf’s chest. She felt ribs splinter and the remains of the basket fell away from her hammer. Rasmus swung his staff a few more times while Viddo had another go at the creature’s thick neck. The werewolf was soon dead and the redness of its eyes seemed to fade as the life fled from its body. Rasmus and Jera stepped away, while Viddo continued to chop with undiminished vigour.
“Isn’t it dead?” Jera asked.
“Most certainly,” Rasmus replied. “But the whole creature will be much too heavy to carry back to the village. It’s at least a mile!”
“Why will we need to carry it back?” she asked. “Aren’t we going to leave it here like we do with everything we kill?”
“Someone might recognize it and we should endeavour to have the creature identified.”
Before Jera could question this further, she saw the hulking body of the werewolf shimmer in front of them. It shrank in upon itself, the thick fur sliding beneath the skin to reveal pale flesh. The creature’s muzzle became shorter, forming into the features of a cruel-faced man. When the transformation was completed, all evidence of there being a werewolf was gone and in its place, was the body of a man who looked as if he’d been strong and cruel in life. With a final blow, Viddo separated the head from the body and picked it up by its blond hair.
“I had faintly hoped it would be that old woman with wandering hands,” said Rasmus, looking at the slowly-spinning head in Viddo’s grasp.
“Mrs Chank?”
“That’s her. Certainly her death would have been a stern lesson against pinching my bottom.”
“She pinched your bum?” asked Jera. She couldn’t help but laugh. “I didn’t see her do that!”
“That’s wizards for you,” said Viddo. “They’re a magnet for the sexually starved elderly.”
“Rasmus, you should have said,” Jera told him. “We could have given the two of you a few minutes alone.”
“I did not wish to spend a moment longer than necessary within range of her wandering hands!” Rasmus declared, not upset at the teasing he was being subjected to.
“You shouldn’t have played hard to get,” said Jera, looking at him sideways.
“Bah! Where did we find this wretched warrior?” asked Rasmus, marching off in mock dudgeon.
Viddo and Jera followed, with the severed head of their assailant dangling carelessly from the thief’s hand.
“It’s a shame you broke that basket,” he said. “Not only would it have made a fine container for this head, but I’d put a four-copper deposit upon its safe return. I notice also that the wizard’s borrowed cloak is spattered in blood – that’s another three coppers we’ll not be seeing again in a hurry.”
Now that Rasmus was able to walk without effecting a heavy limp, they made good progress on their return to The Grumpy Wizard. It was getting on and the owner had not long ago ejected the most stubborn of his late-night customers. He hadn’t yet locked his front door, which saved Viddo from having to spend three seconds opening it, and the fellow was wiping down his surfaces inside.
“Good evening again, Thomas,” said Viddo, feeling that he knew the man well enough to address him by his first name. He plonked the dripping head down upon the freshly-wiped bar. “Got any idea who this is?”
Thomas, for that was the owner’s name, spluttered as he came to terms with the presence of a severed head upon his disinfected woodwork. “I have absolutely no idea who that man is. Or was. Did you kill him? And why have you brought him here?”
“This unpleasant fellow has bumped off a number of the villagers,” said Viddo, tempted to wag a finger in remonstration. “We have done you all a service by disposing of him and bringing him here in order to learn some more about who he was.”
“I see,” said Thomas, coming to terms with the information he was being fed. He shuffled warily closer to the head and squinted at it in the dim light of the room. “I don’t recognize him,” he said. Then, “No, wait a moment. It can’t be, can it? He’s been dead for years.”
“Who has been dead for years?” prompted Rasmus, his curiosity aroused.
“I can’t say for certain, because I was only a nipper at the time. This looks like one of Baron Valps’ lieutenants from way back when. Cruncher, he was called. Or was it Crancher? It was one of the two anyway. A cruel bastard, he was. I thought he’d died years ago, along with his master.” The bar keep looked dazed, as though his brain was telling him that the information from his eyes couldn’t possibly be correct.
“Thank you, that is most useful,” Jera told him, feeling that she had to say something.
“Can you get that head out of here?” asked Thomas. “It’ll put tomorrow’s customers off their drinks.”
“We shall see that it disturbs no one,” Viddo reassured him. “Come, Rasmus, let us place this head somewhere safe.”
They left the tavern briefly and made their way to the outskirts of town, with Jera wondering why it needed all three of them to get rid of one head. She was feeling tired and was desperately keen to fall asleep. The reason soon became clear, when Viddo bet Rasmus one gold coin that he could throw the head over a two-storey dwelling and into the stream on the other side. The wizard accepted the bet, which he promptly lost, causing him to tender the requisite single gold piece.
“You two are incorrigible,” said Jera with a shake of her head. With that, she turned in the direction of The Grumpy Wizard and made her way to her room, where she dropped gratefully onto the clean, soft sheets and fell asleep.
4
The next day, the three adventurers were up at an hour that was unusually late for them, that being half past eight. They descended into The Grumpy Wizard’s sitting area where they partook of thickly-sliced bacon, eggs, mushrooms, beef sausages and still-warm bread.
“Well I must say, that was fabulous!” exclaimed Rasmus, pushing away his empty plate. “Thomas, that was one of the best breakfasts I’ve ever eaten.” The owner gave a half-wave of acknowledgement from his position behind the bar.
“What’s the plan for today?” asked Jera, astounded at how many sausages the wizard had managed to pack away. “I guess that our path will somehow take us towards the castle which we have heard mention of on more than one occasion.”
“You have guessed correctly,” Viddo told her. “It seems to me that if we continued on our journey to Trilbus without intervening, it would not be long before other misfortunes visited these poor villagers. My thief’s senses are tingling and they tell me that there is something amiss in that place, which we would do well to investigate.”
“I would not be surprised to find that this Baron Valps was an exceptionally rich individual,” Rasmus added, waggling a single eyebrow in a feat of unusual facial dexterity.
“That means we are in the unique position of being able to perform two good deeds. The first good deed will be to the people of these lands, in that we will destroy any evil that is lea
king from the old castle.”
“And the second good deed will be to ourselves, by raiding the Baron’s long-forgotten treasury of any illicit goods that may remain,” finished Rasmus.
Jera had long since given up questioning the logic behind her companions’ conclusions. It was generally best to go along with things and see what happened. After all, their guidance had already seen her earn a sizeable amount of gold and platinum, much of which she’d left behind with her parents in Gargus to cover their mounting debts. She was also wearing magical armour and holding a magical hammer that she had plundered in their company. Most importantly, she was learning much that might otherwise be denied to her if she’d chosen to venture out with less experienced adventurers.
“It could be interesting,” she told them by way of acceptance.
“Of course, it’ll be interesting!” said Rasmus. “Abandoned castles are amongst the most lucrative places for we adventuring types to search.”
“While we are rooting out evil, of course,” added Viddo.
“Of course,” nodded Rasmus. “However, before we set off, it is important that we stock up on supplies, and I must visit the local magic shop in order to see what scrolls they have for sale. This staff I acquired from the lich has a variety of uses, but it can only cast magic at a very low level. It was hardly able to scald that werewolf, let alone give it a serious injury. How I wish I had just a single day with my spellbook. I have no doubt that the magic shop in such a small village will be sparsely stocked and overpriced. We shall likely waste an entire day on haggling.”
With that, they rose from the table. Viddo asked The Grumpy Wizard’s owner to put seventy-five sausages, sixty bacon rashers, twelve loaves of bread and one tomato into a sack, ready for collection in an hour or two. Incapable of fulfilling that order from his larder, Thomas nodded and dashed off to his supplier in order to stock up for these most hungry of adventurers.
