The air in Leland's lungs was driven out as he impacted the ground, sending pain radiating out from the crossbow quarrel sticking out of his side. The dog-like men gibbered and hooted back at each other. They seemed agitated as several of them indicated at him, whatever they were saying he figured pretty easily that he was the problem.

One of the pair that brought him eventually wandered over to him. “They… think… you… should… have… been… put… down.” It said in his language. He spoke on the exhales with a pronounced huff as he spoke, as if he was shaping his barks into words. “If… you… want… con… tinue… to… live… then… useful… infor… mation… you… must… give.”

He tied Leland to the tree with his arms above his head, and cackled in his face as if his cooperation was a given, rather than a request.

Fear is what the air tasted like to Rebecca. Her own, over what might have become of her father and brother, and collective fear of the people in the temple that were worried of what had become of loved ones, friends and the general dread of the monster showing up to knock its way in and slaughtering them all. So fear permeated the spaces between weeping mothers and children in fitful bouts of sleep. Between the old and infirm, feeling useless in this time of emergency, and Mr. Williams without her father to keep spirits high and people focused through this crisis so they don't realize he had no idea what needed to be done.

Rebecca and Miss Lisa spooned stew into bowls that were passed about to the people huddled in the temple. Rebecca helped feed the hungry, set sleeping areas, and check on the sick and injured to keep her mind off her father and brother, out there and unsure if they lived or not.

“Leland and your father are smart and capable,” Miss Lisa offered, reading the concern on Rebecca's face. “I'm sure they are fine.” she tried to sound sure and soothing. But the worry on her face was plain to Rebecca. Everyone here was hurting one way or another.

In the corner by the Harpsichord, Etta Mae Williams was crying her eyes out. Her mother was flabbergasted as to what the problem was, as every time she tried to ask, her mother couldn't understand through the wailing. Lisa and Rebecca approached cautiously with food, Lisa cleared her throat to get someone's attention. Mara Lee Williams looked up in the middle of consoling her daughter and motioned for them to set the bowls down.

When Ette Mae looked up to see Rebecca her eyes were filled with rage. “You!” She spat, “you are the reason he's dead! It's all your fault!”

“I didn't want to marry him,” she replied, shocked by the blonde girl's sudden attack, “but I certainly didn't want him dead.” Her brothers were also gone, her father and Lee might be as well but spoiled Etta Mae had the gall to attack her, Rebecca thought as tears began to run down her cheeks.

“Heavens Etta Mae,” her mother replied, “what has gotten into you?”

“I didn't want him to die!” Screamed back Rebecca, “I would rather have had the two of you just been happy with each other and left me out of it!”

“Just go away, you little brat,” Mara Lee snapped. “ It is obvious you're upsetting her.”

“Enough,” said Lisa firmly, “she is hurting too. Everyone has lost people these last two days.” Etta Mae choked back her fit and her mother positively wilted, under the cold measured scolding of Lisa Hudson. Rebecca had heard she was a former school teacher. How well she handled the hysterical Etta Mae proved she must have been a capable one. “And now, others may be gone as well and she has to worry on top of it all for her father and… and,” Rebecca could see on Lisa's face her fighting not to start crying herself, “Lee.” The austere former school marm turned with a hand to her mouth and hurried away.

She found Lisa a short time later, scrubbing bowls and pots in the church kitchen, using the water from the sink to hide her tears.

“I didn't know.” Rebecca said softly.

“Know what dear?” Lisa asked as she quickly tried to wipe her face before turning around.

“I didn't know you and Lee…”she repeated before burying her face in Lisa's apron. “He never told us he was even sweet on anyone.” Her words were muffled by the white denims.

“It's nothing official,” she began, “not yet at least. We danced at the harvest festival. By the time we were talking anything serious your mother's passing pushed us to the back burner. Besides, I didn't know how you'd feel about another woman trying to push her way into your family.”

“Are you serious?” The girl said loudly, as she poked her head up out of the woman’s skirts, “another female in that house of all boys? And someone who actually reads to boot?” She squeezed the lady's waist again with all her might. “Of course you would have been welcome.”

“I'm so glad to have your seal of approval. But it isn't anything official, so right now this stays between us girls.” Lisa smiled, returning the young girl's embrace.

“You think they're alright?” She asked, Lisa's hands could feel shaking of her back as the girl was starting to sob.

“Lee is smart, and brave and so is your dad.” the older girl consoled Rebecca, “If anyone would be fine, it is them.”

Hope broke near dawn, the doors of the temple dislodged the Thorne family into its chambers, including Westly and his oldest son. Petunia Thorne, as severe looking a woman as you'd ever lay eyes on, was supporting her bleeding husband and her limping son simultaneously. She was followed by her three daughters and no-one else. If it reached the Thorne ranch, Pa and Lee didn't kill it, was the crushing thought that filled Rebecca's head. They would not be coming back.

“Is it dead?” asked Alderman Williams, in a hushed tone that still carried in the dead silence of the church.

“No!” Said Westley Thorne curtly. The reply practically wheezed out of his mouth. “but four of my sons and every one of my ranch hands are.”

Petunia set her husband and son on one of the benches. And began tending to their needs. Lisa brought over one of the healer bags. Petunia nodded to her in thanks without a change in her sour expression. Thorne employed twenty hands on the ranch, all dead thought Rebecca. It was exterminating them all.

When Westley caught his breath he started back into a tirade of shouts. “We set up traps, ambushes, we charged it on the open fields, no good. We launched dozens of quarrels from the crossbows at it. I personally made three perfect shots on it. Head, heart and even its cursed eye. The shots bounced offen it like I was shooting an anvil.” Thorne gave three quick pants before capping it with, “we even stampeded the whole herd at it. A hundred head. It tore through the half ton charging beasts like they were kittens! Newborn Kittens!” He degraded into a coughing fit, spitting up not a minor amount of blood

“So you saw it?” Asked Rebecca coldly.

“I saw it. We… saw it.” He replied, not bothering to hide the fear in his voice as thinking of what he saw dragged up from the depths of his soul.

“What did it look like?” She repeated. All eyes turned to Rebecca Billson and back to Thorne.

“If I was told it was a dragon I'd sure believe it. Bigger than all get out. Bigger than you could believe. Covered in spikes and horns with a scaly hide. Jaws that can swallow a man whole. Six legs, for the sake of the gods, it had six legs, with claws like a badger.” He looked the Bilson girl in the eye, “and a long lizard-like tail with spikes on all sides.”

“You laid eyes on it and lived.” She began to sob, “why you? Why… You!” The sobs devolved into a shaking rage. “You ran from the Whistleton farm! You ran because you only care about protecting what's yours! Now Pa and Lee are dead! You could have stayed. You let your hands die for you so your cowardly behind could escape.”

“Watch your tone girl!” snarled Thorne, “think about who you're talking to.”

“I know who I'm talking to,” she replied with a spit in the ground, “a coward!” At this point she had the attention of the entire church.

Petunia stood up and raised her right hand behind her left ear to swing the back of her hand towards the young girl's face. It stopped short, her wrist gripped tightly in Miss Lisa's fist.

“She just lost her whole family, you still have over half yours. So instead of lashing out at a girl in her grief, you should be giving thanks that you are not in her position.” Rebecca had never seen a steel gaze harder than Petunia Thorne's. But the heat in Lisa's eyes pushed Petunia's gaze aside as her eyes quickly seeked the floor to escape it. She released Mrs Thorne's wrist and her hand fell limply to her side.

Petunia returned to her family's injuries as Lisa pulled Rebecca away from the Thornes before they all did the monster’s job for it. She turned the young girl to face her and pulled her chin up so she could not look away, “first, you spit on the floor of a church. Second, you are not the only one hurting. Before you tear into someone else, put your feelings in order and let others mourn theirs. And no matter how much you are hurting, you do not wish someone else dead instead.” Miss Lisa was a frightening sight when she was angry. She reminded her of her mother when she was mad, even Pa found someplace else to be when that happened.

Rebecca nodded and then and only then her face softened again. She fell to her knees, drawing the girl into a hug and let herself weep as well.

A short while later Alderman Williams gathered the remaining towns folk to announce the final farms had fallen. They were all that remained of their town. Everyone bowed their heads as the tally of who had been lost was read. Their town now had more dead than alive. Hearing Pa and Lee's names was a knife in Rebecca's heart.

“I sent a raven to the castle when we returned while Hamish Bilson and the others made their stand at the Whistleton farm. I got back the reply just under an hour ago.” The alderman paused, and by his face alone Rebecca knew it would not be good news. “His majesty, the king will not be sending the army to aid us…” the rise of gasps and wails and general cries of protest of the townsfolk sought to drown out the rest of what he had to say. But the usually timid sounding alderman seemed to finally summon the strength of Rebecca's father, “people listen to me! If you don't mind, I said he had put a bounty on the beast and sent it to every settlement and trade post in the kingdom. A bounty of five hundred gold sovereigns! With a reward that size we will soon have an army of mercenaries arriving to our defense. We just have to stay safe until they start to arrive. Westley, can you and your son Billy gather and lead a group to board up the temple and shore up its defenses?”

“We can. And we have something back at my ranch that may help.” Thorne replied. “As soon as the sun is up my son and I will retrieve it. But we will get others started on the temple before we leave.”

“Excellent, thank you,” Williams said before turning to Lisa. “Miss Lisa, when the sun is up can you please lead a contingent of the ladies in gathering up any food and supplies we might need left in the town and bring it to the temple.”

“Of course.” Lisa agreed.

“Excellent, I will start the rest on clearing space to store supplies and safe places to cook and prep.”

“Why don't we just leave?” The aged voice of Rex Paulson Interjected. “Get everyone on horses and wagons and leave this cursed land to the beast.”

The crowd murmured, many in agreement. The Thornes were vehemently against leaving what was theirs as were a few like Miss Nona who didn't want to abandon their livelihood. But it was the voice of Rebecca Billson that broke the hullabaloo.

“We can't.” Her voice was strong and to the point. She was standing on one of the benches to be seen yet several people there were still taller than her. “The nearest town is over a day's ride away. If we are gone it will follow. And it would not only run the rest of us down but we could set this monster upon our nearest neighbor. Their blood would be on our hands. There is no running. It must be killed. Here.”

She stepped down to a room full of agreement, except Rex Paulson she noticed. He looked like someone had just written a death notice for him. Lisa snatched her up in a hug and kissed the top of her head. “Oh, your Pa would be so proud.”

The day passed quickly with everyone busy turning the temple into a fort from the moment the sun broke the horizon. Shortly after noon Thorne finally returned hauling behind his horses the biggest crossbow Rebecca had ever seen.

“What in all that is good and holy is that Westley?” asked father Shaw, the fairly loose priest of the temple. His sermons tended to be less rightful wrath and smite of the only other clerics Rebecca had met and more gratitudes and words of encouragement. The people of the town tended to be appreciative of his tendency to run his speeches short, mostly so he could finish his Holy day duties and get to the tavern like a lot of the others in town.

“That father Shaw, is a heavy ballista, bought directly from the king's army last fall.” Thorne practically beamed. “I intended it to protect the ranch should any enemy army show up on our doorstep one day.” He slapped the main body for emphasis.

“You said its hide was impenetrable.” Thorne's face fell at the sound of Rebecca's voice.

“I said no such thing. Do you even know what that word means young lady?” Westley tossed back, confidently.

“Do you?” She asked as she folded her arms over her chest. She sighed and continued before he could rally a response. “You said quarrels and weapons just bounced off. Im-pen-e-tra-ble. Unable to be penetrated.” This resulted in him staring daggers at the young girl. His face softened for a second, as if a pleasant thought entered his mind. A look Rebecca did not trust for a second.

And Westly remembered another girl, too smart for her own good. Many years ago, she walked the streets of this town like a queen, smart and quick to throw insults. But Anne was a beauty, and being insulted by her was an honor. It meant you had her attention. And he was hell bent on having her hand. He had a ring and a plan, but on the day he planned to ask, she drug Hamish Bilson up onto the grandstand in the center of town and announce their engagement. Petunia wasn't exactly ugly in her youth, and it turned out she was a smart match for him, but no one matched Anne's looks.

The hard edges quickly returned to Thorne's face, “I know what I said, girlie.” He snarled, “I said it was like shooting an anvil.” He nodded to his son Billy who immediately grabbed a small anvil that had been stowed in the framework of the weapon's cart. He lugged it down the road fifty paces and set it on the dirt.

Thorne worked several cranks that spun the ballista around to face the small lump of metal in the street. Billy had run back to the weapon by this time and was helping his father crank back the bow. Billy dropped a bolt into the cradle that was longer than Rebecca was tall. Westley Thorne looked down the bolt and adjusted a few more wheels. With the pull of a lever the whole contraption jumped with the force of that thick beam, sending the quarrel screaming down the street. The tip buried itself into the small metal object, stopping with a small dent pushing out of the anvil's other side.

“Impressive,” remarked Rebecca, “now how do you intend to get it to stand still so you can shoot it?” Thorne stared at the young Billson girl like she was speaking some foreign language, so she continued to expound, “it took you five minutes to aim it before you fired. I doubt that thing is going to just stand there.”

“My plan, Missy, is to pre-aim it and lure the beast to the right spot before I fire. We stake out bait and be ready to loose the quarrel at it.” Thorne was once again smiling.

“So instead of waiting for professionals you're going to continue to set traps.” she childed the older man.

“You can bet your behind I intend to end this beast, missy. We don't need the mercenaries fighting our battles for us.”

The girl finally shook her head and walked away, her patience with Westley Thorne at last reaching its limit.

“Why are we risking our necks with mercenaries and professional monster hunters on the way, Daddy?” Billy asked when Rebecca had at last moved out of earshot.

Westley looked at his son like a thirsty man looks at the empty water bucket, “because boy, five hundred sovereigns goes to whoever kills this thing. That and Hamish Bilson is dead and he still gets more respect in this town than I do. If we bring down the beast, this family will own this town, in land and in their hearts.”

Billy nodded, but his heart sank at the thought that his father spent his life fighting to be the biggest man in town, and he was willing to die like his brothers did to achieve it. And he would drag Billy with him. No one ever called Billy Thorne a genius, but even he knew the respect Hamish Bilson wielded was because he was a decent man. Something his father could easily be if he just stopped trying so hard.

Rebecca eventually made her way to the livery and entered the Stablehouse. Mason and Rex Paulson were fortifying it the same as the temple. The animals wouldn't fit in the church and Mason was determined that they have the same fighting chance the townspeople did.

There was a basket with food, a bottle of water and even a bottle of Miss Nona's rye. “You're staying in here tonight?” The girl asked.

“We have shored up the building as best we can, but it's not the temple. The best chance of their survival is if the beast doesn't know they're in here. If I can keep the animals calm and quiet, it's their only shot.” The red haired man replied earnestly. He was older than Lee, but younger than Pa. And he had been the caretaker of animals for as long as Rebecca could recall.

“But if it does come you won't be in the temple either.”

“If they can't be completely safe, what right do I have to be?” he put it bluntly.

“That sounds like someone with a true love in his heart for life.” It was a high pitched child-like voice coming from above them. Mason and Rebecca both looked up to see a small man dressed in a robe that seemed to be made of moss, standing on one of the roof beams. Twigs and grasses stuck out from his dark green hair and beard. “That makes you people after my own heart.”

The man stepped off the beam and in a swirl of color became an even smaller green bird that fluttered down to the ground near them before becoming the strange green man again.

“I happen to be Bartimus, and I hear tell you have a beast that is running amuck in your woods. Beasts are my specialty.” He stuck out his hand for Mason to shake.

The man just reached Rebecca's waist, which forced Mason to crouch. “It is nice to meet you Bartimus, I suppose you will want to meet Mr. Williams, our alderman. It is he who would award your prize should you succeed.”

“Oh, that I will, sir. That I assure you.” The little man laughed as the three left the stable to find Mr. Williams.

They found the alderman in the temple. Half the people there, which was mostly ladies of varying ages, gathered round to see the man with Mr. Williams. He was a tall human in fancy brown and purple colored studded leathers, a fashionably trimmed beard and a smile like a golden sovereign. The ladies seemed to be asking all the questions as he laughed, resting a hand on the rapier sword on his belt.

“Mr. Williams,” Mason began as they approached, “I believe we found one of your monster hunters.”

The whole of the crowd gasped as the green man came into view. “Hunter? Hardly,” Bartimus scoffed, “I intend to calm the beast and send it on its way.”

“Spoken like a gnome,” the other mercenary interjected, “you don't calm a rampaging monster. You put it down.”

“And you are capable of that, Mister, what was it?...” asked the Stable master.

The man flashed his golden smile, “Pendor. Pendor the Blade.” He said with a flourishing bow.

“He was just regaling us with stories of his previous exploits.” Gushed Etta Mae, now seemingly over her heartbreak for poor Bairnard at the handsome countenance of Pendor.

“Well, this thing has killed everyone that has crossed its path.” Was Rebecca's response, “I certainly hope you are as good as you say you are.” She meant it as a warning as to how dangerous the creature, as well as a jab at his confidence. But it fell on deaf ears as the small mob of female townsfolk continued to fawn over the newcomer.

“I am capable in many things little lady. You can count on that.” He replied with a wink.

“A true hero never has to boast,” offered Miss Lisa, who had veritably smelled Rebecca's frustration with the boastful adventurer and decided to move her from the area before any bloodshed, “his actions will always speak louder, and others will boast for him.”

“That's a very smart way to see it,” said Rebecca, “who was it who came up with that?”

“I believe it was your Pa.” Lisa smiled.

There was only a few hours until sunset when the next stranger arrived. He was short. Taller than the gnome but he stood only chest high to most of the adults, and he was as broad as he was tall. His arms and legs were thick and he had a bushy beard that reached his belt. His armor was a mix of chain and thick leather straps. He strode through the temple doors where most of the townsfolk were already gathered. The closer it got to dark the less people wanted to be out. The Thornes were the exception, they were still trying to winch the ballista on top of the general store. Westley wanted it on top of the temple but father Shaw refused to allow it.

Just as he passed the entryway the stranger dropped a rucksack on the floor with a heavy and metallic thunk.

The noise snared the attention of Pendor the Blade, “great, first gnomes now a dwarf.”

“Ye got a problem with dwarves, lad?” He sneered, with a flick of his thumb to his nose.

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“Just that they tend to be bossy, overbearing and expect everything to be done their way.” Pendor shot back as he walked toward the new mercenary. “And you know the worst thing about them is?” He continued as he squared up to the dwarf. The whole church was on edge. Would they fight? Would they spill blood in a holy place? “They are usually annoyingly right.” He concluded, his face suddenly a big smile, that was just as quickly mirrored by the dwarf.

The men broke into raucous laughter, to the confusion of Rebecca, “You two know each other?”

“May I present one of the greatest monster hunters I've ever heard of,” began Pendor, “Baldric MacGranite.”

“I don't know about greatest,” replied Baldric, “I would say proficient.”

“It's a line of work where if you aren't great, you're dead.” Was Pendor's response.

“He's a murderer.” Everyone turned to the image of the diminutive Bartimus standing on one of the tables. “He slaughters innocent creatures guilty of nothing more than behaving like animals.”

“I put down creatures guilty of hurting people.” Said Baldric with a scowl. “I have no hate for animals or nature, but I protect people in danger.”

“This is no animal, Mr. Bartimus.” Said Rebecca, stealing the attention of the crowd now. “It kills everything it comes across and it apparently eats nothing that it kills. It kills for hate or spite or whatever drives it, but believe me it is no innocent creature.”

“I plan to get a look at it young lady, then we will see,” the gnome replied.

“You will get your look when the sun sets.” Rebecca answered coldly. She had liked Mr. Bartimus when she met him but he was wrong, this thing wasn't what he thought. “All the surrounding farms are dead, we are its only prey now. It will come.”

Just as the sun touched the horizon, the last stranger arrived. They were the same height as Rebecca and the red sky illuminated their silhouette. As they stepped inside she noticed they were covered in robes of green and brown. Long white hair flowed from out of the hood and stopped just before the bag that hung at their side. Slender hands pulled out from the sleeves clasped in front of their waist and reached up to pull back the hood. Rebecca would have thought he was her age had she not seen the points of his ears sticking out of the white hair.

“Blimey,” gasped the Dwarf, “an elf.”

He straightened up to his full height and held up a hand with the fingers spread in the middle, “greetings from the Crimson Confederation. I am Alversine. I am here to address your problem.”

“Well, you're pretty enough,” Pendor said with a smile, “you sure you want to risk that face?”

“That is a male elf.” Was the dwarf's response, “put it back in your trousers.”

“It's an elf,” he laughed, “is there a difference?” as the two approached the newcomer.

“So the Crimson Confederation?” Asked Bartimus, “the elven monster hunters?”

“You do not look like a warrior,” commented Rebecca, looking back at Baldric and Pendor comparing their builds to the frail looking elf.

“Oh I am not the hunter young lady,” Alversine said with a smile, “I am just his…” the elf paused as if looking for the best word to convey his position, “negotiator.”

“Then where is he?” Asked the alderman, now arriving to meet the newest stranger.

“He awaits in the woods.” Was his reply.

“Then he is dead,” she responded with her matter of fact tone. “Or will be soon.”

“He merely wishes to remain out of public view. His presence would…” again that pause that worried the young girl, “unnerve the people here.”

“Why is that?” She ventured, not sure herself if she wanted to know.

“He simply wishes to do the job and nothing more.” The elf replied with a smile and a bow. “Now if I can just get the details, we can get this resolved quickly.”

“You seem awfully confident in your hunter, Mr. Alversine.”

“Of course he is Rebecca,” said alderman Williams, “the Crimson Confederation have been the greatest monster hunters for centuries. Isn't that right Mr. Alversine?”

“The Blackwood has been overrun with beasts both mundane and magical since the dawn of time.” The elf began, closing his eyes and spreading his arms wide, as if the tale he was spinning was some kind of ceremony rather than just a story. “It is said that all the monsters of the world began in that accursed stretch of forest. The Crimson Confederation arose to combat the horrors that creep out of the trees to prey on the poor souls that make the surrounding areas their home. The hunter I bring is the best we have ever trained.” He paused, pulling a large tome out of the confines of his robes, “we have been fighting monsters for centuries. But not just slaying no, also categorizing and chronicling.” He set the book on a table and placed a hand on the cover of the book, closing his eyes, “Metrion.”

When he opened the book Rebecca could see the pages filling themselves out as he turned them. Written in a tongue Rebecca didn't read or understand. But the pictures, the pages overflowed with pictures accompanying the strange glyphs. Six-legged cats with tentacles on their backs, bear-like creatures with the heads and feathers of owls, of beasts that looked half lion half eagle. Rebecca felt she could spend weeks joyfully looking at this book.

“Now I will need information on the beast and someone to show where it was last spotted.”

“You want one of us to accompany you?” Asked the alderman.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Alversine replied, “but it is better to draw the beast to the hunter to best protect the people. Fighting it here endangers everyone.”

“Excellent point.” Baldric said, grabbing his pack. “Lead the way.”

“It appears in the dark and the sun is already setting.” Mr Williams informed them.

Alversine smiled as he closed his book, “then the guide best explain on the way.”

“Do we have a volunteer?” the alderman called. The room was silent. Suddenly the floor of the temple was the most fascinating thing imaginable.

“I will.” Rebecca spoke up.

“No,” countered Lisa. “Rebecca, you are just a child.”

“I was old enough to marry off just yesterday.” Rebecca countered, “And besides, everyone I had is gone. My family and even my betrothed.” She stepped up to Miss Lisa to give her a hug about the waist, “I'll be with the monster hunters. That should be the safest place I could be. I can take cover while they kill it. I'll be fine, Miss Lisa, I promise.”

The crowd murmured as she stepped up to the hunters, some in agreement and some in worry for the last Bilson. But the Bilson girl was steadfast.

“Show us the way.” Smiled Alversine.

The doors were unbolted and swung open, spilling the orange light of the setting sun into the building. “We will have to cut through the wood to reach the Thorne farm before full dark.”

The woods had never been scarier in Rebecca's life. Even in the dark she had felt them just another part of her home. But the musty smell of dirt and loam gave her no comfort gave her no comfort when the beast could descend on them at any moment. Rebecca had done her best to quietly tell the odd group of monster slayers all they had found out about the creature as quietly as she could while they stalked through the forest. The dwarf assured her when she called it impenetrable that it was the lower grade of human steel that was to blame.

It was a good way into the trek when the gnome commented. “Where are all the animals?”

“I told you Mr Bartimus,” Rebecca whispered, “My father knew from the first attacks, this is no beast, it is not an animal. It slaughters every living thing and leaves the corpses to rot.”

“Then where are the bodies?” Asked Pendor.

Rebecca stopped and turned to the dashing mercenary, “we don't know. Something has been following the beast and snatching up its kills. We just haven't seen what yet. You kill the beast, and I am sure we will.”

“So where is your hunter, Alversine? How will he know where we are?” the dwarf asked, trying to steer the conversation.

“He will find us.” the elf stated confidently, “it is what he does.”

The trees opened like curtains to a play to reveal the cattle fields of Westley Thorne. Even in the growing dark, the stains of blood on the grass stood out like shadows on a sunny day. The fences on both sides of the field were smashed to kindling. The approached the house to find it and the barn missing a wall, support beams splintered and the rents in the wood as her pa and brother found at the Whistleton farm.

The dwarf looked over the claw marks with a wizened eye, “if you didn't claim to be sure otherwise, I would swear it was a dragon for sure.”

“But nothing is burned.” Added Pendor, looking around at the surrounding buildings. “Never known a dragon that wouldn't burn at least something to the ground. Living fire pits, dragons are.”

“I told you it is like nothing anyone has ever seen.” Rebecca said, the frustration in her voice barely hidden. While the hunters examined the barn the hole in the side of the house met Rebecca's attention. Like the one the burning Whistleton house had, but no fire to mask the fury that had torn it apart. But now, something was moving inside. Too small to be the beast, she began to wonder if one of the Thorne's had hidden and survived.

Rebecca crept out of the barn as the mercenaries investigated. No sense in interrupting them if it was nothing, or having them kill a survivor by being too quick on the draw. She approached the hole in the house, the dark within concealing any other movement from her vision. She debated calling out, but she didn't wish to attract the beast. Then the survival of the survivor would be short lived. As would she in fact. The interior was stripped out, all items and furniture had been strone about like the dirt from a mole hole. A rattle of a falling object shattered the silence of the night.

“Hello,” she whispered. What returned was not the reply she was expecting.

The heavy growl stopped her in her tracks. The dark shape that emerged from the kitchen was nowhere near human. As it moved into the moonlight spilling into the hole she was met by a face like a wolf that had its nose smashed in. A wuffle from above behind the upstairs banister told her it was not alone. Rebecca backed out toward the hole to the outside, as the canine creatures stalked at her. She just cleared the hole as the third she was unaware of waiting outside leapt from the side of the hole. The other two had been routing her into an ambush.

The creature's enormous jaws were inches from her face when the arrow, longer than her whole arm, entered one ear and exited the other, pinning it to the outer wall of the house. An enormous, vaguely humanoid form was on her in but a few strides, driving a blade up through the bottom of the jaws of the wolf she had forgotten. A quick back spin ran another blade through the side of the head of the third. Both canines collapsed to the floor as the figure withdrew hunting knives longer than some swords Rebecca had seen, and cleaned them off on his thighs before sheathing them into wrappings on its lower legs. It had legs like a dog, big padded paws with that back bending knee. It was covered in wiry black fur, with arms nearly twice as long as a man's that almost reached the dog knee. And its head was canine like, with a tangled mass of fur from its head and down its back. It strode over to pick up its dropped bow that looked like four military longbows like her fathers bound together with one string. It rivaled the ballista Mr Thorne had.

“Gnoll!” Came the cry from Baldric, rushing out of the barn with his ax in his hands.

“Good work Nanak.” Shouted Alversine, “gentlemen, and miss Rebecca, this is my hunter.” The gnoll simply stood there, head bowed.

Baldric nearly fell on his face as he slid, trying to stop. “A gnoll?” asked the dwarf. “I'm used to exterminating their kind.”

“What better monster hunter than a monster?” Commented the elf as the rest of the group joined. “Nanak is very good in fact, his current count is over three hundred confirmed kills. One of ours found him as a pup, among a pack that was picking off humans from a small mining settlement. We had never seen gnolls that young before. We could usually only tell males from females after examining the bodies and had never seen young before. Turns out in the three months it took for our hunter to return to the Blackwood Nanak was nearly the size he is now. But Rakcien, our hunter that found him, had discovered he was a quick learner and managed to be taught by our ranger enough to help him kill five monsters before he arrived at the Crimson Confederation. So we began the great experiment, to see if we could train a monster to kill monsters. Nanak has been enormously successful.” The elf was beaming with pride by the time he had finished speaking.

“Merciful goddess,” gasped the gnome, who seemed to be attempting to keep out of the gnoll's sight behind Pendor.

Rebecca was amazed by the nearly seven foot beastman. She had seen pictures of animals on the northern orc plains called hyenas. This Nanak looked like one of them, standing up like a man. His eyes however, Thorne had an old hunting dog who passed from old age several years ago, these were the same. Sharp and alert, but filled with what seemed like sadness. Thorne never let Rebecca pet the dog when she saw it. He said he didn't want it to go soft, and be useless for hunting. Westley Thorne didn't even bother giving it a name, he just called it dog.

“Come Nanak,” Alversine commanded, and the gnoll followed him to the barn.

Rebecca approached Mr Bartimus, the gnome still shaken. “Are you alright?”

“Y…yes.” He stammered, “quite alright my dear.

“Gnomes are the favorite prey of gnolls.” Offered Baldric, “they sniff out gnome homes and dig them out...”

“Thank you Mr MacGranite,” the gnome interrupted, “suffice it to say we don't get along, my child.” he moved to the canines as the two walked away, and examined them. “Wargs. And they are emaciated. They haven't eaten in days.” The gnome looked over their raw feet with blood dried on the pads. “It looks as though they have been keeping barely a step ahead of your beast.”

“Well, that's not a bit unnerving.” Replied Baldric.

“Poor things,” said Rebecca, with a surprising amount of pity for creatures that had nearly killed her moments ago.

“What is really unnerving,” added Pendor, he watched the other two enter the barn before looking down at the girl, “is that Nanak is simply the elvish word for weapon.”

Westley Thorne had to threaten Mason for the goat. The damned fool was more concerned for the stupid animal than the safety of good honest people. But he managed to get his hands on it. The mangy ball of fur and horn was tied to a stake in the square, the ballista aimed right at it. Once the beast swallowed it, it was just a pull of the leaver and the beast would be properly skewered. Then those five hundred sovereigns would be in his pocket and he would be the hero of the town. All he lost would then have been worth it. The sun had set hours ago, the goat wouldn't shut up, but the monster had yet to show its ugly face. Westley was so agitated his hands shook.

“Where the blazes is that thing?” He spat quietly. The sun had set hours ago, and a fog was beginning to roll in.

“Pa, maybe we should forget this and get back to the temple.” Cautioned his son, Billy. He had already seen this thing slaughter most of his family, and he was not as confident as his father in this plan.

“Are you daft boy?” Westley snarled, “this is our moment, this is our time. This town is about to be ours.”

Billy Thorne did not want the town. He didn't want the gold, he just wanted to live. He would have been content to just be a farmer. But he couldn't face his father to tell him this. His father always seemed too large for this town, facing up to Westley Thorne was like squaring up against a giant.

Billy looked out at the square rather than attempt to look his father in the eye. “Where is the goat?” He asked.

The town below had become a sea with roofs of the buildings as little islands sticking out of the water that the fog had seemed to imitate. It was thick and obscured everything below the easements of the roofs. Westley Thorne felt the icy grip of fear clutching at his heart. That cold heart nearly stopped when the sudden bleating of the goat shattered the quiet. They couldn't see the goat but it was still there.

“Pa!” Shouted billy, pointing down to the space between the buildings.

“Shush boy” Westly hissed at his son, as he too saw the spikes of its hide breaking the surface of the fog. It skipped the goat, it was looking for them. The damned thing was too smart, it knew what it was doing.

“We're safe up here, right Pa?” Whispered Billy.

As if to answer the boy's question, the entire building shook underneath them as it smashed through the outer wall of the back of the store. When it hit the first inner wall, the back wall began to collapse.

“It’s taking the building out from under us!” Westley screamed just before his son disappeared through the crumbling roof. “Billy!”

The beast continued its charge through the general store, shattering wood studs and panelboard alike, not slowing a step as it moved. The store continued to buckle like a playing card structure. The back wheels of the ballista fell, pointing the bolt nearly straight up, before the beast exited the front, dragging the front wall with it. As the ballista sank rapidly into the crumbling structure the leaver gave way and fired the eight foot long bolt over the town and into the trees beyond before the building buried the siege weapon in rubble.

Westley Thorne disappeared into the mist as he fell, tumbling over the top of the front wall and hitting the ground. For long drawn-out heartbeats, the elder Thorne felt as if he was under water. Cold from the mist, unable to draw a breath and unable to see a foot in front of his face. When his muscles relaxed from the impact on his back and his lungs dragged in air with a rasping wheeze, he scrambled to his feet. He needed to get to the church before the beast turned around and made another pass at him. The man spun in three circles, unable to see a single landmark, he eventually ran in a direction that matched his best guess as to the temple's bearing. The stone building was less than fifty yards from the general store. He had to get their attention quickly if they were to open the doors to allow him entry.

Westley suddenly found himself, once again, splayed across the ground. He frantically felt about to find what had tripped him and found a rope. As he pulled on the rope, it yanked a face up to his that screamed. He was in the center of the square, next to the goat. He had run past the temple in the fog and would have to backtrack. He stood up, still holding the rope when he heard the growl behind him. He turned slowly to look as teeth, the length of his arm erupted from the mist.

The goat ran off into the fog choked night, dragging the severed rope Westley Thorne had been holding behind it. In the dark and the mist, the wet sounds of blood splattering on the dirt and deep guttural growls echoed into the night.

The night was split asunder by a crashing boom, just before the ballista bolt shattered the tree less than a foot away from Pendor and buried itself in the ground. What Rebbecca had mistaken for the scream of another girl turned out to have emanated from Pendor.

“What in heaven's name was that?” Alversine whined.

“That was the sound of a building collapsing.” Baldric answered calmly.

“No, I'm fine!” Said Pendor sarcastically, as he looked over the bolt that nearly ran him through, “thanks for asking. I just need to change my breeches!”

“That was from Mr Thorne's big crossbow.” Rebecca gasped. “The town. It's in the town right now.” Rebecca sprinted for the town.

“Wait girl!” Cried Baldric.

“Young Miss!” shouted the gnome as well.

Rebecca tore through the woods, fearful the people she cared for were already gone. It was supposed to follow them, away from town. The branches whipped at her face and grasped at the denims. She slit to a halt as she noticed the trees ahead falling, the crash and snap of splitting trunks reached her ears next, and Rebecca realized what the only thing it could be heading for her.

Before she could even react, large furred hands grasped her, tossing her into the air and forcing her to grab the tree branch above. As she gripped the bough to keep from falling back to the ground, the beast impacted the gnoll, sending him flying back past the others, neither having seen the other until they collided.

The rest of the mercenaries stopped as the shape of the beast in the fog pawed the ground with the footblong claws of one of its six legs. From above Rebecca could tell they were facing it in the open ground of a dried up creek bed.

“Spread out,” whispered the dwarf, “don't get bunched up. We want to keep it from attacking more than one of us at a time. Alversine, take cover, see if you can get to the girl.”

The gnome suddenly flittered off, assuming his bird form before the others could blink. Baldric inched his way left, and Pendor swung right.

The little green bird that was Mr Bartimus tried to land on one of its horns, when the tail of the monster speed around in front of the beast, threatening to smack the gnome from the air, he was forced to quickly adjust and fly off in a different direction before the spikes impaled the bird in midair. It growled and tracked the bird, almost ignoring the dwarf and human as they got onto a position flanking either side of the creature. Baldric brandished his ax, Pendor drew his blade, and Bartimus landed in front of it, resuming his gnome form.

“Give me a chance,” he pleaded, looking at the two others, “if I can calm it, there may be no need for anyone to get hurt tonight.”

“Look at it Bartimus,” hissed Baldric, “that is no animal, there's nothing natural about that.”

Still the gnome stood his ground and held up a hand in front of the monster. A large heavy snuffle blasted mist aside, as it slowly approached the small man. “That's right. I am a friend. We are all bound by nature.” A pale green light emanated from the gnome's hand and eyes.

“Mr Bartimus, run,” whispered Rebbecca, as Baldric and Pendor readied to strike. “Please Mr Bartimus.”

“That's right, calmly.” The gnome continued to whisper as the growl of the monster rattled off the trees. The mist parted in front of the dark shape revealing a mouth filled with nothing but sharp, tearing teeth. On its brow were horns like a bull while horns like a gazelle sprouted foreword from its chin. Its face was like a scaly bulldog, and its eyes, Bartimus could now see its eyes, dark, flat and unreflective. Eyes that absorbed all light, and left no reflection. It is said that eyes were like a window to the soul, but this one was into a dark, never ending abyss. They only reflected hate and rage. There was no animal, no soul to appeal to within. “Merciful Gaia,” Mr Bartimus whispered, just as the head snapped out and closed its toothy maw around the Gnome.

“Mr Bartimus!” Rebecca screamed.

The dwarf charged in, swinging his ax, sparks flew from the hide as the metal drug across the scales. “Skite!” He cried. “That is some hide!”

The beast pivoted, lining the dwarf up with its horns as the blood of Bartimus still ran from between its teeth onto the ground. As if swung around, Pendor was forced to jump as the tail swept by. The fighter tucked his arms in and spun like he was rolling over in bed to lad on the other side of the appendage. He drove the silvery blade of his sword at the rump the tail sprouted from only to scrape across its scales leaving only a shallow scratch behind. Pendor shouted “It's like fighting a whet sto…” he began before the tail lashed back, catching him with its base, but still sending the brash warrior hurtling into the trees.

Baldric was running, it out paced him in the open ground but the dwarf turned every time he passed a tree, forcing the beast to smash through the trunk and change tack.

As he turned once more a large shape dropped out of the tree and hung on its horn. Nanak wrapped one bulky arm around the horn as his feet dragged the ground, and with the other pulled out one of his huge buck knives to begin stabbing the monster over and over, attempting to impale it in the eye. The blade eventually found its target as the beast howled when the blade sank into its ebon eye. The beast tilted its head and ran the horn the gnoll hung from through the next tree.

Nanak put both feet on its shoulders and shoved off before impacting the trunk, rolling to a stop just as the wood shattered.

“This is futile,” the dwarf screamed as he crashed back out into the creekbed. “We need to retreat, regroup, strategize!”

“Agreed,” yelled Alversine, from a tree a few trunks over from Rebecca, “it has the upper hand, and we have already lost one of our group!” Rebecca watched as the elf reached into his fine white pouch and produced a glass bottle.

The gnoll ran out into the clearing, the beast only a few paces behind. He was incredibly fast for something his size, and she now understood how he got to her so fast when the wargs attacked. But the beast was faster, quickly gaining on the beastial man.

The elf tossed the bottle, the beast struck the gnoll through his arm with its horn and tossed him to the side as Pendor emerged from the bushes firing a crossbow that glanced off the scales between the beast's eyes. The beast refocused its attention on Pendor as the bottle smashed upon the pebbled ground before it. The potion inside flared into a blinding white light that caused the creature to screech in anger. Alversine expected it to run away being a nocturnal predator, but the light seemed to simply anger the monster and it instead tried to physically attack the light. It stomped and slashed and attempted to crush the magical light into the ground.

“The light will only last a few moments!” Cried the elf landing by the base of his tree and rushing over to the fallen gnoll. “We must retreat!”

Baldric rushed under the tree Rebecca was in to catch the girl as she dropped out. “Which way back to town?”

Rebecca pointed to the heading and soon the remainder of the party dashed off through the woods for town. They had barely made it a hundred feet when the bright beacon of light behind them abruptly snuffed out.

“We won't make it to town before it's on us again.” Yelled Baldric.

“I've had girlfriends less tenacious than this thing,” screamed Pendor.

“We may not have to.” Replied Rebecca, looking around at what landmarks she could in the fog. “This way.”

The crack and shattering of the trees behind them let them know the beast was once more on their trail. The girl led them through several clusters of trees and finally into what looked in the fog to be some kind of washout gully. At the bottom were two large sections of rock that formed a fissure. Everyone slipped inside, with the exception of Nanak, who had to squeeze leaving blood streaks from his arm, just before the monster smashed against the rock, too massive to squeeze inside. In frustration, it continued to scratch and claw and ram the rock. It growled and roared and threw a tantrum trying to reach them.

Rebecca led them on, the cave seemed to continue on, just keeping them out of reach of the long tail the beast had begun to force into the crack in an enraged attempt to get at his escaping prey. Rebecca seemed familiar enough that the pitch dark didn't slow her.

“What is this?” Alversine asked.

“It leads to an old well outside of town.” She explained. “All the couples in town seem to make it a point to climb down and carve their names in the wall when they get betrothed.”

Pendor fished a cloth from his pouches and let it fall open, revealing a moonstone that glowed with a soft light. It illuminated various engravings on the walls. Pairs of names joined by a plus, happy in their futures. Rebecca stopped by one such engraving, Hamish+Anne it proclaimed as she ran her fingers along it.

“My Ma and Pa,” she said softly, “both gone now. Like the test of my family. Killed by that thing.” Close to it was another, fresher engraving Lee+Lisa. “Nothing official indeed,” she mumbled as she touched it.

The sun was rising as she climbed the ladder out of the well. The beast would be hole up again, somewhere. They all climbed out except Nanak, whose presence was likely to panic the townspeople, so he remained in the well for now. Most of them were limping into the square, when the doors opened on the temple.

Alderman Williams rushed out to greet them, his face full of hope, “is it dead?”

Rebecca shook her head, “as Mr Thorne and I were arguing, its scales were impenetrable. And we lost Mr Bartimus.” She looked about and saw the pile of broken wood that was the general store, one end of the ballista bow sticking out of the rubble, “Is he still with us?”

“They never came back to the Temple last night.” Answered the Alderman.

Petunia and her daughters rushed to the pile that was the general store. The last place she saw her husband and son. Others quickly followed to aid sifting through the rubble. Rebecca looked at the big red spot in the town square next to a stake and part of a rope, and feared that she knew all too well what it was from. She joined the search of the rubble, digging the ballista out when she heard a soft moan.

Billy awoke to the face of Rebecca. She smiled to his face as two men were dragging him from under the ballista. The siege weapon had landed on top of him when the building collapsed. That object of death had protected him. Still, one of the wheels had shattered and Billy had suffered several broken ribs and limbs.

The boy looked up at Rebbecca with sorrow already in his eyes, “Pa?” He asked simply.

Rebecca shook her head, “something we now have in common, I guess Billy.” she took his hand for him to hold as they carried him to the temple.