DAIN RUTTERKIN

Chapter 6

I turn at an anxious pounding outside my door. I hastily draw back the bar, covering my throat with one hand as I pull open the portal.

"Wolves! They are after your hogs, boy!" Rumford is half-dressed and his face is redder than his bald pate. He dashes back down the hall, with great dispatch for all his girth, and disappears down the stairs. I dress hurriedly, pulling up my shirt collar to conceal my neck, then bound after the proprietor.

In the darkened common room, moonlight streams in through the large front windows to reveal Rumford, the stable boy, and two strangers, all in similar states of dishevelment. They are staring out into the night beyond. The latter two fellows look like fellow lodgers. All start at my approach.

"I found a few torches back of the kitchen," says Rumford. He thrusts the unlit brands at me.

"It's your pigs they're after!" says one of the lodgers.

"Go and drive them off!" says the other.

The stable boy is contrite: "I'm sorry Master John! I barred the doors I swear, see!" He points outside and I see that the bar is indeed in place, resting in hooked iron moorings nailed into the wood.

Then, as I watch, one of the wolves leaps upward to hit the heavy oaken beam with its snout. The bar rattles in its moorings but then settles back into place. There are now a dozen wolves gathered outside the stable. And they are taking turns jumping at the bar! Again and again they jostle it with their snouts, but every time it clatters back into place.

I snort. "Not much defense against wolves or bandits, that."

"I am sorry, sir! It was either that or bar it from the inside and sleep with the pigs, but they smelt so foul! Begging your forgiveness, Master John."

"Forget the pig-boy's pigs! My Bess is in there!" says one lodger.

"And my horse too!" says the other.

"I will go," I say. "But there are too many for me alone to drive off." I thrust a torch at each complainant. Neither looks like a warrior, but both appear sturdy enough to offer some assistance. Both men look at me and balk. "They are your horses," I say. "The wolves will eat them just as readily as they will my swine."

The lodgers look at one another. And finally agree with reluctant nods.

I lead the way outside, torch aflame and brandished before me. The lodgers, who have given their names as Redgrave and Oakhurst, trail behind. I hear Rumford barring the door behind us.

"Fan out around me," I tell them. "And don't run, whatever you do."

The wolves ignore us at first, peculiarly intent on jostling the bar from the stable doors. But as we draw closer, the animals turn about bearing their long white canines. They are huge wolves, bigger than any I have ever glimpsed roaming near Haven. Their fur ranges in color from deep red-brown to smoky gray to dead black. Their eyes are bright slits of green and yellow reflected in moonshadow. I have heard tales of the huge wargs native to the Riftwood, and wonder if I am witnessing legend made flesh.

The wolves slink forward. I form the vanguard, Redgrave and Oakhurst fanning wide on my flanks. I thrust my brand into the snout of the largest wolf, a magnificent black. It snarls and leaps backward to avoid the flame. As another of the beasts, a lean charcoal strider, leaps and catches Redgrave's sleeve. He bellows as the slavering jaws clamp down on his forearm and reflexively drops his torch. I spin about and thrust my torch into the wolf's flank and it tears itself away from Redgrave, its hindquarters singed. Backing away, the gray chews on a swatch of fabric from Redgrave's shirt. The fellow's forearm is bleeding freely, and the wolves have his scent. I swing my torch in wide swathes, managing barely to hold them at bay. From the corner of my eye, I can see Oakhurst is doing a passable job belaying the four beasts attempting to corner him. But the sight of his own blood has cost Redgrave his nerve.

"Pick up your torch, man!" I shout.

"Fuck this, the wolves can have Bess and your pigs!" And he turns about and runs for the door.

"Don't run from them!" I say.

But too late. The lithe gray soars through the air after him, burying its fangs in the meat of his calf. Redgrave screams and stumbles. He is clawing his way up the short wooden steps toward the bolted inn door when the big black pounces, laying his throat open.

I grab up Redgrave's sputtering torch and, back-to-back with Oakhurst, strain to hold the remaining wolves at bay. They snap forward on us, striking at our shins before hastening back to avoid the flames. But their aggression seems to more heavily favor Oakhurst. I find myself warding more of their attacks away from him rather than me. A previously nebulous suspicion now lances my brain like a bolt of lightning.

"Oakhurst!" I shout. The man has gone green. He is caught up watching the other wolves tear open Redgrave's stomach. "Oakhurst! We are going to back ourselves toward the inn. Keep your torch thrust outward before you. When we reach the door, you get inside while I hold them off."

"I cannot," he says. "The body."

"Forget the body. Keep your eyes on the wolves."

Oakhurst nods resignedly. And together we back toward the front steps. I guard his flanks, twin flaming torches outstretched against the multitude of snapping maws. My entire torso and legs are exposed thus, but the beasts ignore the easy meat. They are clearly intent on Oakhurst.

We edge slowly past Redgrave's corpse. The wolves ravaging the poor fellow glance up long enough to snarl before returning to their meal; they have stripped half of Redgrave to the bone already. We ascend the steps to the door and I shout for Rumford to let Oakhurst in. The innkeeper complies, lifting the bar and edging the portal sufficiently ajar for the lodger to slip through. Rumford secures the door again at my order, favoring me with a curious look through the window glass.

I turn about to find the pursuing wolves gazing up at me quizzically from the bottom step, as if to ask why I took away the second course of their meal. I hold the torches aloft as I descend the stairs, but the animals do not move to threaten. Instead they return their attentions to Redgrave's mangled corpse. Seeing them thus preoccupied, I cross the yard warily to the stable. If I bar the doors from inside, they should prove a stout enough blockade to withstand until the dawn. And I am no stranger to the company of swine.

I awaken to the first rays of morning creeping in through cracks in the weathered wood. I pull on my soiled leather shoes. And removing the heavy bar, I crack the stable doors and peer outside.

The wolves have departed. They must have dragged Redgrave's stripped carcass away with them for the bone marrow. No doubt my host will have questions about my peculiar behavior last night, questions I am not yet able to answer myself. It is time to rouse Doxy, corral the hogs in the wagon bed, and be away from here. Rumford will no doubt be happy to have me gone.

Thanks for reading everyone!  See you next chapter!

Much Love,

Dave