“I recall you’re wanted too, aren’t you? A fallen dark sorcerer,” Murphy retorted coldly.
“So what? You plan to die with me? Fine by me. I’ve been living on the run for years — one more report won’t make a difference. But you—” his lips twisted into a dry, mirthless smile, “even if you escape pursuit, you’ll still end up like me: bidding farewell to comfort, living each day in fear. How delightful, isn’t it? Heh…”
Murphy stood in silence for a long while before finally giving in. From somewhere unseen, she produced a small, ornate vial and threw it at the man. “Here. What you wanted, despicable human.”
He caught the bottle deftly, uncorked it, examined its contents against the light, and took a cautious sniff. Only then did satisfaction flicker across his grim features.
He drew out a rolled piece of parchment, laid it on the table, and without another word, turned and walked out of the tavern.
Murphy’s chest rose and fell with suppressed fury. She flicked a finger; the parchment flew neatly into her hand. A quick glance was all she spared it before she too left the tavern.
Beneath the cloak of night, Murphy’s form dissolved into a swarm of bats that burst skyward. From within the cloud came her furious muttering:
“Cursed werewolves! Damn mages! Always bullying me—you all deserve to die! Die!”
…
At dawn in Bayek, just after breakfast, Glenn heard a knock at his door. Opening it, he found the old man standing there.
“I’d like you to come with me somewhere. I can pay,” the old man said without expression.
Glenn arched a brow, thinking for a moment.
Other than feeding the pigs, he had no plans today. Why not?
“All right,” he said at last. “How much?”
“Three silver coins.”
Three hundred coppers—so the old man wasn’t exactly poor. Glenn grinned. “Deal. When do we leave?”
“Wait for me outside the town,” the old man replied and turned back toward his house.
Shrugging, Glenn tidied himself briefly, then set off.
Outside the village, he sat on a rock and gave a sharp whistle. Moments later, a hulking beast bounded out from the forest and halted before him, tail thumping.
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“I’ve got to go out for a while. Be sure to gather some pigweed and feed the pigs, all right?” Glenn said, patting the creature’s chest.
“Wuf?” The beast’s single eye widened, as if to say: You want me to fetch pigweed?
“Of course. Why not?” Glenn’s grin turned sly.
The beast lowered its head in reluctant surrender.
“It’s for your own good. You sleep and eat all day—you’ve gotten rounder lately. Time for some exercise,” Glenn chuckled, ruffling its fur.
Footsteps approached. Glenn looked up, knowing the old man had arrived.
Yet when he saw him, he froze.
The old man carried two hunting rifles, a leather pack slung across his broad back, and wore a full hunter’s outfit. With his powerful build and stern bearing, he radiated authority.
Should I have brought something too? Glenn thought, glancing down at his simple clothes and empty hands.
The old man’s eyes immediately lit up at the sight of the great beast. “Good dog,” he said approvingly.
Glenn’s mouth twitched. Dog? Really?
The man turned to him. “Yours?”
Glenn hesitated, then nodded.
A flicker of envy crossed the old man’s eyes. “What’s its name?”
“Uh… well…” Glenn faltered. He’d never named the beast; he always issued orders directly. Should he improvise something?
Seeing his struggle, the old man clenched his fist as though deeply moved. “Allow me to name it, then,” he offered.
“Sure,” Glenn said casually.
Circling the creature with a thoughtful gaze, the old man finally said, “Perhaps… Night Howl.”
“Night Howl…” Glenn repeated softly, then clapped his hands. “I like it. Night Howl it is!”
He looked at the beast. “Remember that. From now on, your name is Night Howl.”
The creature seemed pleased, its single eye gleaming with excitement as it bared its jagged fangs and let out a low whine.
After giving Night Howl a few last instructions, Glenn set off with the old man.
They walked in silence until they reached a dusty road where a simple cart awaited—a single horse pulling a wooden frame on two wheels.
The driver, a short and sturdy man, was brushing the horse’s mane. He eyed the mismatched pair—a fully armed hunter and a man dressed for a leisurely stroll—with clear suspicion.
“You two traveling together?” he asked.
“Don’t ask questions,” the old man said icily. The driver’s mouth snapped shut.
Glenn climbed aboard and sat beside him. Only then did he ask, “So, where are we going? And why?”
“To kill someone,” the old man replied flatly.
The driver flinched, shoulders hunching, and risked a furtive glance back.
“An enemy?” Glenn asked.
“Yes.”
Glenn nodded once and fell silent. The only sounds that followed were the rumble of wheels and the horseman’s low calls.
…
On the road connecting Bayek and Dud, a group of knights lay in ambush at a secluded bend.
From the direction of Bayek, a small figure came jogging toward them.
Hidden in the tall grass, Baber narrowed his eyes and rose. The messenger reached him, whispered something quickly, and Baber cursed aloud before signaling his men to stand.
“To Dud,” he ordered. “We’ll rest there for the night—and return after dark.”
His men answered in unison.
…
The cart rattled endlessly, jolting from dawn until dusk.
Glenn had thought their destination nearby, something that could be done before nightfall. Clearly, he was wrong.
“How much farther?” he muttered, chin resting on his hand. “Feels like my bones are about to shake loose.”
“Don’t doubt it,” said the old man, eyes fixed on a worn map. “Prepare for a long journey. The destination won’t wait for us.”
“Then you’ll be paying for food and lodging along the way,” Glenn replied lazily, shifting to a more comfortable position. “Something tells me three silver coins won’t cover it.”
“Of course,” the old man said simply.
Just then, the cart slowed to a halt. Glenn assumed the driver meant to feed the horse again, but instead, the man turned and said,
“Gentlemen—we’ve arrived.”
