“How much longer?” Doric asked Theodore.
Theodore was not certain if the mare could go much farther. It had been a mistake to bring Doric at all, he thought, for the dwarf’s grumbling was wearing down his own spirits.
His only hope was that Kara would have to stop for food and shelter, allowing him to catch up with her. He was sure his horsemanship was better than hers, and he hoped that would count for a great deal.
“Do you see those fires ahead?” he shouted to Doric, nodding his head forward to indicate the flickering flames of the burning braziers that stood either side of the main road leading into the barbarian settlement.
“Aye,” came the reply. “Is that it?”
“It is. Only a few minutes now until we can rest for the night. We may even be lucky enough to find Kara here.”
“Please” he said under his breath as they galloped into the village and passed the wooden paling.
Please let Kara be here.
It was the woman’s jealousy that led to the fight.
She had watched Kara and Gar’rth for an hour, whispering enviously to her friends about the blonde-haired outsider who sat with the mysterious youth.
And the woman’s attention had not gone unnoticed by a young barbarian warrior who had worked hard to secure her affections. The barbarian’s angry eyes focused on Gar’rth. His anger was fuelled by the mocking smiles of his fellow tribesmen.
So he emptied his ale and strode over to the travellers, his every movement revealing his hostile intentions.
He would see how well this lanky youth could fight.
Theodore lowered Doric to the ground, then dismounted. The dwarf grumbled quietly to himself as the demeaning spectacle was watched by several of the barbarian people, but Theodore was too tired to care.
“We can arrange lodging in the hall at the northern end of the village,” he announced, handing the reins to the boy whose duty it was to look after travellers’ steeds.
As they approached the hall, they could hear the noise of a contest within-men shouting either approval or condemnation at whatever was occurring. Then, as Theodore reached forward to push one of the oak doors open, the shouting abruptly ceased.
Something had changed.
He pushed the door inward. His presence drew no attention from those inside, and immediately he could see why.
In the centre of a chalk circle stood Gar’rth. The firelight reflected off his feverish-looking skin, which was coated in a glistening sweat. His eyes were large pools of black, and his nose was just beginning to bleed.
And above his head he held his helpless opponent.
With a roar of anger Gar’rth hurled the man into a table on which stood several men who had sought to better view the contest. The table shattered beneath the barbarian’s flailing body and men and crockery fell about in disarray. In the confusion, the nearest brazier was knocked over and burning coals rolled onto the dry floor. That portion of the hall was plunged into a dull twilight, obscuring Gar’rth in the shadows.
A silence fell. Gar’rth’s breathing was heavy and he slowly backed away against the wall. Much to Theodore’s astonishment, Kara rushed over to him, her hand on her sword hilt, as if ready to fight anyone that dared to attack him. Beside her was Ebenezer, who placed his hand on Gar’rth’s shoulder and spoke in soothing words as a father might do to his young child.
Gar’rth let out a long moan as if he were about to weep.
“What is wrong with him?” Kara whispered in fear. But the old man didn’t answer her. Instead he turned to the young wizard.
“Castimir, run and find his medicine! Go!”
The wizard stood, and as he turned, he caught sight of Theodore standing at the entrance to the hall. Kara noticed his delay and followed his gaze to see the squire, illuminated by the torch that hung above the doorway outside.
Theodore was about to speak when the brazier was righted and light returned to the hall. Then he saw Gar’rth’s face over Kara’s shoulder.
“In the name of Saradomin!” he swore, drawing his sword.
Standing by his side, Doric grasped his axe in readiness for a fight.
Kara knew it was not her they wished to confront and she turned to look behind her, following their gaze to look directly into Gar’rth’s bloodied face.
And immediately she knew why her two friends were so eager to arm themselves, for the blood on Gar’rth’s face was not red. It was black-the same black blood that she had wiped from her sword just two nights before.
Gar’rth was no human. He was a werewolf.