Davidor scanned the darkened skies for a clearing, but thick clouds enveloped the flat, green land and the downpour showed no signs of abating. Wait it out? Find shelter? He emphatically shook his head, flinging droplets of water. He couldn’t miss the two full moons again.

The muddy road sucked at his feet as he trudged on, his head bent downwards. A cart pulled by a donkey came up alongside. The driver, a plump, red-nosed man, leaned forward to attract Davidor’s attention.

“You look dead on your feet, young fellow-me-lad. I can give you a ride to the next village, if you’re not minding the smell.”

One glimpse of the portly driver’s gap-toothed smile convinced Davidor the man had no ill intentions. And if he did, then Davidor could always beat him to death with the small crop he used to whip the donkey.

“The name’s Bilk. And what might I call you?”

“Thank you. Call me Dav.” He clambered on and collapsed on his back. Sawdust and bloodstains covered the cart. The man could have been a farmer or a butcher, or maybe something more nefarious. Davidor didn’t care as long as he kept moving forward. A sigh of relief escaped his lips.

In fact, Bilk was a corpse carter. He followed behind marching armies, checking the bodies of the fallen for men who had pinned a cloth to their shirts with their name and the name of their village. Men like Bilk would load up their carts with bodies and take them home in return for a fee. He charged only a few coppers, but business was brisk and regular.

“Now the pig, friendly, loyal and brave. The lion of the animal kingdom. And delicious, too.” Bilk liked to talk, and mainly about his favourite foods. Davidor didn’t mind. Lying there, being jogged back and forth by the movement of the cart, he felt his body recovering. He would need his strength for the battle ahead.

“Goats, not a lot of people know this, can actually be ridden into battle. Very aggressive. And then, after the battle, you simply prepare a nice stew with… Ah, Dav, are you awake?”

The cart came to an abrupt halt. Davidor opened his eyes and sat up.

“We may have a little problem,” Bilk said in a shaky voice.

Davidor turned and leaned over the side of the cart. Half a dozen wolves sat in the middle of the road, some on their stomachs, others on their haunches, yawning and casually licking their huge teeth in a bold display of arrogance.

“Not like wolves to be so brazen,” Bilk whispered from the side of his mouth. “This don’t feel right.” He wrestled with the reins as the donkey attempted to climb out of its harness.

Wolves preyed on the weak. They harried and harassed until they found an opening. They avoided direct confrontation, usually. Davidor wondered if these wolves had been sent to delay him. He hopped out of the cart and strode purposefully towards the pack.

They wolves watched him, their practiced disinterest turning to curiosity. This man came at them alone, and he didn’t have one of those pointy sticks that wounded with the lightest of blows, yet he didn’t give off any scent of fear.

The youngest of the pack, a male sired by the alpha and keen to prove his worth, loped forward and bared his teeth. Davidor took no notice and kept coming. The wolf stood its ground and started snarling. The ones behind it got to their feet.

Davidor kept coming.

The wolf’s yellow eyes took on a manic appearance and its growling grew more fierce, but it took a step backwards, then another. A yip from the rear caused it to stop. An order from the alpha: Stop messing around and deal with the prey. The young wolf lowered its shoulders and pounced.

Davidor’s foot shot out and caught the wolf in the throat. The head snapped back, instantly killing it, and the body flew into the air, landing in a heap. Davidor walked over to the dead wolf and picked it up by the hind legs. With a snap of his wrist, he straightened its body like flicking open a lock knife and swung it over his head. Once, twice, then he released it.

The pack watched dumbfounded. The body landed at their feet and they scattered, only checking their retreat when a rumbling growl sounded from the rear. At last, the alpha rose. His white coat marked him out from his grey-coated underlings, and his dagger-like canine teeth protruded even with his jaws closed. He watched from the back, giving commands and taking the best of the meat, but occasionally he would intervene. Then, his powerful jaws would end the struggle decisively. He eyed up the man still walking towards them, turned and fled.

After that, Bilk wanted to keep his travelling companion on board for as long as possible, gladly adjusting his route to accommodate. The surprisingly violent young man seemed in a great rush to reach the middle of nowhere, but a slight detour made no difference. And the wolfpack could be stalking them, waiting to attack once Bilk was alone.

“We should probably look for somewhere to camp for the night,” said Bilk, sure he could feel lupine eyes staring at him from behind every tree and rock.

“I’ve an appointment to keep,” said Davidor. “I’ll be heading on.”

“In the dark?” 

“Moons will be full tonight, won’t be so hard to see.”

Bilk clucked his tongue. “I should probably keep you company, what with wolves and such. Old Nell here is used to pulling much heavier loads, so she won’t mind an evening stroll.”

“I’d be very grateful,” said Davidor. “It’s not far now.”

Old Nell plodded forward as the dark closed in, but then the two moons rose, so close together they practically touched. Their brightness lit up the surrounding land. The sight of them hanging in the sky lifted Davidor’s spirits. He was going to make it.

Double full moons only occurred once a year, a holy night for most people. Some held festivals with music and dancing. Others conducted sombre religious services. And then there were those who performed sacrifices and indulged in wild orgies.

For Davidor, though, the moons held no religious significance. To him, they merely provided a key. A key to a world he had to return to, no matter what.

The cart lurched from side to side as it trundled along the muddy track. The damn thing threatened to fall apart any minute. Still, thanks to resting for the final few miles of his journey, he felt ready for the fight ahead.

“Are you sure this is the right way, Dav?”

“Almost there.” Davidor rolled over and rose to his knees. “See that copse? Beyond it lies my destination.”

Bilk peered into the distance. “As far as I recall, the only thing past those trees is an empty meadow and a lake. You planning on doing some midnight fishing? Bream—delicious on toast, ah, oh....”

Three figures on horseback emerged from the silhouetted trees, their outlines immediately familiar to Davidor. The battle, apparently, had come to him.

“Friends of yours?” Bilk asked.

“Well,” said Davidor, “depends on your definition of friendship. Don’t worry, they’re harmless. Feel free to speak to them as if they were human.”

“Eh?” Bilk turned to Davidor. “What do you mean? What else would they be?”

The three figures made their way forward. The two in front had very similar builds, both with long hair shining white in the moonlight. They stopped in front of the cart, blocking its way. The horses towered over the donkey, exuding aggression as they pawed and stomped the ground. Their eyes flashed red in the moonlight.

The riders stared at Davidor. They had long, sharp noses, large, angled eyes and ears that rose to a point.

“They’re Elven,” said Davidor.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“Elves? Really?” said Bilk, not sounding convinced. “They’re mighty big for elves aren’t they? And they’re not wearing those pointy hats.”

“You’re thinking of pixies,” said the rider on the left, his voice soft and melodic, but carrying a note of irritation.

“Oh,” said Bilk, “I do apologise, milady.”

The elf started in his saddle. “Is this fool mistaking me for a female?”

“Easy there, Carrick,” said Davidor. “Think of it as a compliment.”

“How is that a compliment?” said the now fuming elf. “And I’m Merrick. He’s Carrick.” He pointed at the rider alongside.

Carrick stifled a laugh and raised a hand in half-salute. “Greetings, Davidor. Been a while.”

“What are you laughing at?” said Merrick. “We have the same face. If he thinks I’m a woman, then he thinks the same of you.”

“Oh no, I don’t have a tenth of your feminine grace, milady.” Carrick started laughing again.

Davidor put a hand to his mouth and, in a very audible whisper, said, “It’s a very secluded society, lots of inbreeding, which is why they all look so similar.”

Bilk nodded. “Oh, I see.”

The third horse came forward, even larger than the other two, but much calmer. It shook its head and rolled its eyes sideways at the donkey. The donkey shuffled from one foot to the next, acting more nervous than it had in front of the hungry wolves.

This rider’s appearance differed from his companions. He had short, black hair and a crooked nose broken numerous times. A scar ran down one cheek. “They look alike because they are twins,” he said to Bilk. “Please don’t spread unfounded rumours about the Elven on the say so of this man.” He waved a gloved hand in Davidor’s direction. “The Saviour of the World has rather a malicious sense of humour.”

“Saviour of the—” Bilk opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. “You’re Davidor? The Davidor?”

“I am he.” Davidor jumped off the cart. “Saviour of the World, Slayer of the Demon God. Thanks for the ride. Much appreciated.”

“Oh, ah, yes,” said Bilk. “You’re very welcome. My, I can’t believe it. Davidor.”

Merrick leaned forward in his saddle and sniffed. “You smell like death. Although, still a marked improvement on how you normally smell.”

Davidor pulled back his fist and let fly. Merrick leapt from his saddle, hitting the ground rolling, and rose to his feet in the same motion, screaming, “Why did you punch my horse?”

The horse lay flat on its side, tongue hanging out, eyes closed.

“I didn’t like the way it was giving me the eye. You want to teach that beast some manners. Now, Captain,” he said as he turned to the dark-haired elf, “shall we go? I’m eager for my audience with the Queen.”

“I regret to inform you the Queen won’t be able to see you tonight,” said the Captain, not sounding regretful at all. “Perhaps next year?”

“After I’ve travelled all this way? I’m sure she’ll have time for a quick visit. Where’s Roo, by the way? I thought she’d be here.”

“Lady Roona did not receive permission from the Assembly to leave The Vale.”

“You mean she didn’t receive permission from her mother.”

“Indeed.”

“Captain, how long have you known Roo?”

“Since the day she was born,” replied the Captain. “Four hundred and twelve years.”

“And when was the last time she did anything her mother wanted?”

A woman’s voice answered from behind them. “Four hundred and eight years ago.”

They all turned. A white mare cantered towards them, smaller than the other horses but no less impressive. A woman sat on its back, her hair short and wavy, her face glowing in the moonlight.

“And my mother isn’t the only Elder who can give permission to leave The Vale.”

“Ah, finally,” said Davidor, throwing up his arms. “You’re here.” He rushed forward and threw his arms around the horse’s head. “Did you miss me, girl?” He kissed the horse’s snout. It nickered in response. “You see? This is how a horse is supposed to act.”

“You know,” said the woman in the saddle, “I sometimes wonder who it is you come all this way to see.”

Davidor released the horse and smiled. “You look very nice, Roo. I like your hair.”

“I should stab you in the heart. Where were you last year?”

“I tried to get here, really I did. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not me you should be apologising to, it’s—”

Davidor grabbed the lapel of her riding jacket and dragged her out of the saddle. Her legs followed, swinging under her until her feet met the ground.

“I’m sorry.” He pulled her in close.

The composure in Roona’s face crumbled. Her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears. She threw her arms around his neck and plunged her face into his chest, squeezing tight. He wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed back.

The dark-haired elf turned his horse away from the reunion. “Carrick, go on ahead and let the Queen know we’re coming.”

Carrick nodded and pulled back on his reins. His horse pivoted on its hind legs, twisting to face the opposite direction in one motion, and set off at a gallop.

“But Captain, the orders...” said Merrick. He had his horse’s head in his lap as he stroked its sinewy neck. Its open eyes  still somewhat dazed.

“The orders were to let the Queen know if he returned. Those two have defeated armies, I doubt we’d be much of a challenge. Get your horse back up.” 

Merrick yanked on the reins and the horse jerked to its feet, staggering like a newborn foal.

Davidor released Roona from his embrace. She took a step back, wiping her eyes with the edge of a sleeve.

“Come on, let’s not keep them waiting.” She took his hand.

Davidor glanced over his shoulder. “Aren’t you supposed to be escorting us? Well then keep up, you slanty-eared bastards.” He turned back to Roona, grinning provocatively. “No offence.”

Roona shook her head, refusing to rise to the bait. He only got into this kind of mood when spoiling for a fight. No doubt he would get his wish. They set off, hand in hand, like a couple going for a moonlit stroll. The white mare followed behind without needing to be told.

“Ho! Saviour!” Bilk stood and raised his arm. “Do you want me to wait?”

“No,” Davidor called out. “I’ll make my own way back. And hang on to my cloak. The scent should keep those wolves at bay.”

Bilk looked in the back of the cart and found Davidor’s tattered cloak rolled up into a makeshift pillow. He picked it up and held it close. It smelled awful. He quickly unfurled it and threw it around his shoulders, immediately feeling more secure. A hero’s stink would protect him from whatever the night had in store for him, of that he was sure. When he looked back to offer his thanks, the group had disappeared.