Chapter 27: Enemy?

"If I recall, you're also wanted, aren't you? A fallen Dark Mage." Murphy shot back, her voice dripping with venom.

"So what?" The mage's retort was flat. "Propose we perish together? Fine by me. My life is constant flight; another bounty is merely an inconvenience. But you? Even if you evade capture, you'd end up just like me—forever hunted, comfort gone, living in fear. Wonderful, isn't it?" His dry chuckle held no humor.

Murphy stood rigid, tension crackling in the air. Finally, with palpable reluctance, she produced a delicate vial from seemingly nowhere and flung it at him. "Here! Your wretched prize, vile human!"

The mage snatched the vial mid-air. He uncorked it, scrutinized the contents under the dim tavern light, gave it a cautious sniff, then finally allowed a grim smile of satisfaction to touch his lips. Silently, he retrieved a tightly rolled piece of parchment from his cloak, placed it on the table, and strode out of the tavern without a backward glance.

Murphy's chest heaved. Fury simmered long after he'd gone. With a subtle flick of her finger, the parchment flew into her waiting hand. She unrolled it, scanned the contents swiftly, then swept out after him.

Under the cloak of night, Murphy dissolved into a swirling cloud of bats, ascending into the chill air. A furious whisper echoed from the swarm: "Filthy werewolves! Damned mages! All tormenting me! Every last one of you deserves to rot! Rot!"

Byek, Dawn

Breakfast barely finished, a knock sounded at Glen's door. He opened it to find the Old Man.

"I request your presence on a journey. Payment offered." His voice was as stiff as his posture.

Glen raised an eyebrow, considering briefly. Feed the pigs later… nothing else pressing today… He nodded. "Agreed. How much?"

"Three silvers." The Old Man's expression remained impassive.

Three hundred coppers. The old timer's definitely got savings… "Fine. When do we leave?"

"Meet me beyond the town border." The Old Man turned and retreated to his own cottage.

Glen shrugged. He tidied up minimally, then headed straight for the edge of Byek.

Outside the town boundary, he settled onto a large rock and whistled sharply.

Moments later, the Beast crashed through the undergrowth, sliding to a halt before him.

"Got an errand. Remember to forage for pigweed. I'll be back soon." Glen scratched the Beast's massive chest.

"Whine?" The Beast's single eye widened in disbelief. You want me to gather greens?

"Yeah. Problem?" Glen grinned, a touch sinister.

The Beast slumped, defeated. Fine.

"It's for your own good," Glen added, patting its head consolingly. "All you do is sleep and eat lately. Getting round. Needs some exercise."

Footsteps crunched on the path. The Old Man had arrived.

Glen looked up, and his eyes widened slightly.

The Old Man stood tall, gripping two hunting rifles. A worn leather pack made of some unidentifiable hide was slung across his broad back. He wore practical, sturdy hunter's attire that accentuated his powerful frame. He radiated grim purpose.

Should I have brought something? Glen glanced down at his own simple clothes and empty hands.

Emerging fully from the town, the Old Man's gaze immediately locked onto the Beast. A spark of genuine admiration lit his eyes. "Fine hound!"

Old man… seriously? Glen thought, suppressing a sigh.

The Old Man suddenly focused on Glen. "Yours?"

Glen paused, then nodded. "Yes."

A flicker of something—perhaps envy—crossed the Old Man's face. "Its name?"

"Huh? Uh… well…" Glen froze. He'd never named the Beast. Commands sufficed. Need to invent one now?

Seeing Glen's hesitation, the Old Man's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He clenched a fist briefly. "Allow me to suggest one."

"Alright." Glen agreed readily.

The Old Man circled the Beast, inspecting it closely. The Beast remained statue-still without Glen's command.

After two slow circuits, the Old Man stopped. "Perhaps… Night Howler?"

"Night Howler…" Glen murmured the name twice. He clapped his hands once. "Works! Night Howler it is." He turned to the Beast. "Hear that? Your name is Night Howler now. Got it?"

The Beast—Night Howler—seemed pleased. Its single eye gleamed excitedly. It bared its jagged fangs in what might have been a pleased grimace, letting out a soft, rumbling whuff.

After giving Night Howler final instructions, Glen fell into step beside the Old Man.

They walked in silence, following the dusty track until they reached a junction. A crude wagon waited there—little more than a plank bed on two wheels, hitched to a single weary horse.

The driver, a wiry, short man, was brushing the horse's flank. He looked up as Glen and the Old Man approached, his expression turning quizzical. "You two… together?"

The contrast was stark: one armed for war, the other dressed for a stroll. They looked utterly mismatched.

"Ask no questions. Drive." The Old Man's voice cut like winter ice. The driver snapped his mouth shut instantly.

Glen followed the Old Man onto the wagon's plank seat. Only when they were settled did Glen ask, "Where are we going? What's the task?"

"To kill." The Old Man's reply was stark.

The driver flinched, stealing a nervous glance backward.

"An enemy?"

"Yes."

Glen nodded and fell silent. The only sounds were the creak of the wagon, the steady clop of the horse's hooves, and the driver's occasional shouts urging the beast onward.

Hidden Point on the Byek-Dud Road

A group of men clad in knightly armor lay concealed amidst dense foliage near the roadside.

A smaller figure, awkward in ill-fitting armor, scurried back toward them from the direction of Byek.

Barbour, lying prone in the grass, narrowed his eyes. He stood up abruptly as the scout approached.

The scout hurried to Barbour's side, whispering urgently. Barbour's face darkened. He cursed under his breath, then gestured sharply. The rest of the hidden men rose silently to their feet.

"To Dud," Barbour commanded, his voice low and tense. "We rest there. Return tonight." A chorus of muttered affirmations answered him.

The Wagon, Sunset

The crude wagon jolted relentlessly, rattling Glen's bones. They had traveled since dawn, and dusk was now painting the sky in hues of orange and purple.

Glen had assumed the destination was close—something achievable before dark. Clearly, he was wrong.

"How much farther?" Glen shifted, trying to ease the numbness in his legs. His spine felt jarred. "This trip seems… unexpectedly long."

"Doubt nothing," the Old Man replied curtly, not looking up from a worn, stained map spread on his knees. "Prepare for an extended journey. The quarry may not wait."

"Then provisions and lodging expenses are yours." Glen stated flatly, adopting a slightly less punishing position. Three silvers might not cover this... renegotiation later.

"Naturally."

The wagon creaked to a stop. Glen braced himself for another pause to water the horse, as had happened twice before. But the driver's voice cut through the twilight:

"Gentlemen… we've arrived."