The night was just as bitter as the day on the frigid mountain. The group of men had found nothing in the long hours and paused the hunt to make shelter. The meagre resources they brought was just enough to shield them from the wicked winds. The tents were thin and barely had enough room to sit in, but they kept them relatively dry and eased the burden of the cold rushing upon them all. Gorthum refused to use such method of protection.

He kept his distance from the others, and simply sliced out huge chunks of ice and snow; solid as bricks they were, the sword giving it a fine shape as he hacked them, and after short while, piled them up to create a make-shift igloo house that he could fit into. Kergen watched the man carefully. It seemed to him that Gorthum had not a care in the world. Perhaps to him, this was like a normal hunting trip, whistling a tune and building his ice hut with smile.

“Perhaps he is insane,” Kergen thought. “The man feels not a chill in his bone, old that he is, and makes a home from the ice as if it were his cozy blanket. A bizarre man. A queer sort that takes pleasure in the hunt like no other.”

Kergen adjusted his thin cloth tent and eased back while continuing to watch him.

“Now he laughs at his own creation he climbs into? Pah! Fool of a man. I wonder if the monster is only in his head. Did he bring us all to die out here? Are we fools to be led by such a senseless old fart?”

As he looked about onto the others circled around, he took note that they were struggling to get comfortable and ate some of the dried meat jerky that had been stowed in their small packs. The weather had already froze most of the selection sitting out. Bilto tried to stuff a few under his arm to warm it up. That made Kergen sneer at the thought of what the meat would taste like after being in that sweat-laden pit of death. Twillaf chose to hold in his mouth, and let the heat from his breath unthaw the tough protein. He suckled on it slowly, savouring the flavour and letting it dissolve slowly. The others watched him and mimicked his technique. Bilto remained determined, his method was superior, and ate the soiled meat without hesitation.

“By gods, Bilto…” Twillaf scoffed at him with a disapproving glare. “Surely it has soured by merely touching the sweat that lies dormant under there.”

“It gives it flavour…” The man grinned at him, giving a wry laugh while taking another bite. “Tender and juicy, by gods! Heated to perfection… I will gladly share it with any here…”

The men all quickly rejected the offer as he held it out to each of them in turn. Sotolar and Durgat spat their few pre-chewed chunks at him in protest. That irked him slightly, as he gawked at what a waste of food that was. He would have picked it up, and eaten them himself––but, he second guessed on that idea and chose to leave them where they lay. Bilto glanced back over to the make-shift ice tent of Gorthum and bitterly shook the frozen meat in his hand.

“I say that no-good fool is leading us somewhere to die.”

“The mountain is always cold, Bilto,” Durgat responded in a sigh. “Just because we’re in the thick of a storm doesn’t mean he’s taking us up there to die.”

“Says you…” He spat. “We didn’t prepare properly for the harshness of the winter. He made us rush, taking only what we could carry and little food to eat…”

“Are you to whine on and on like some old woman?” Twillaf mocked. “When the morning comes, we’ll hunt for voles and skewer them for cooking. Perhaps then it will silence your hunger weeping and we can get back to tracking down the beast.”

“Ah, the beast…” He gestured lightly. “None of us have ever seen of it. Have we? I know I haven’t, in all my hunts around the base of this mountain. Have you Kergen?” He pointed. “No? Have you Twillaf? Or you…” He gestured at Durgat, and then to Sotolar. “Or maybe you even? No… you have not. None of us have ever laid eyes on such a creature.”

“Then why come on the journey, you damn fool.” Twillaf grumbled. “Why travel with us to kill this foul beast? Just to complain?”

All the men, but Bilto, laughed at the comment. He sat firm in the snow, chewing on his arm-pit warmed meat stick. The wind blew in the tent, a rush of snow and ice pellets smacking them all as it cut through. Kegan shield himself with his arm and shivered from the extreme cold. As he lowered his arm, he saw Gorthum standing just outside of their tent and looking in.

“Rest is over, we must go forward, the beast lurks in the night.”

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Bilto frowned, “It’s too cold out there. Neither men nor beast would hunt in that.”

Gorthum swatted at the tent bitterly and startled the group.

“Rise, I say! The beast knows when men are most vulnerable, seeking shelter from cold like frightened prey. That is when it dares to strike, to claw them out of warm beds, to feast in the cold icy wind to chill their bones!”

Kergen scoffed and berated the man.

“You are mad! You would dare us on with such words? The mountain air is ice I tell you. It would freeze any fool that would dare to venture out. Skrim to you’re barking at us to go, you senile old fart!”

All the men turned to him in shock. Their mouths wide with disbelief as he folded his arms in defiance.

“Kergen…” Bilto gasped.

Gorthum scowled at him with contempt. To use an ancient swear word like, Skrim (meaning to take the tip of a jagged rusted sword’s blade up the backside), was downright insulting and an offensive cuss that no one dared use on another. Gorthum stormed into the shabby-tent and dove his hand to the man’s throat. He gripped him tightly and brought him face to face. The men tried to subdue him, but were amazed they were unable to stop him in time. Kergen gasped as the old man tightened, gritting his teeth and trying desperately to pry Gorthum’s hands away.

“Skrim? Skrim you say?” Gorthum snarled. “What foul mother bore the likes of you to say such words to their elders? Have you no manners, young whelp?”

Kergen continued to struggle to free himself, but remained defiant despite the man’s ever tightening grip. He spat into Gorthum’s eye and growled at him like an animal.

“You are not deserving of such manners…”

Twillaf intervened as he managed to push Gorthum away, hard as it was to do so with the old man’s tight hold on Kergen’s neck. But Kergen’s spit-attack seemed to distract the old man enough to make it possible. Gorthum was ready to pounce on him again, when Twillaf, Durgat, Sotolar blocked the man from doing so. Sotolar brandished his blade, holding to Gorthan’s throat. He paused and curiously eyed the group of men.

“You would protect such an impudent one such as this? He is without honour. It will not be I that leads you to doom, but rather him, with such adolescent attitudes.”

“We came on this journey together, Gorthum.” Bilto grimaced. “Regardless what you think of him, what he says… or even,” He glanced back at Kegan briefly, disappointedly. “What foul language he spouts to others. We are here to do a job. To end this tyranny of the beast. The cold has made us as bitter as the wind itself. Forgive the blasphemy. If you feel this is the time to go out and hunt, then… we shall go, as you say.”

The others seemed shocked by his statement. He had been the most vocal about Gorthan’s lack of sanity, now he wants to do as he says? The mountain’s cold wind blew through the tent, as if it knew to moment to come during the silence among them all. Sotolar shivered slightly and covered his shoulders with his fur-skin coat. Twillaf sheathed his sword and glanced at Bilto with a nod. Kergen, still rubbing this bruised throat, eyed Gorthum with malice. The old man paid him no heed and smirked at the lot.

“Then, my dear brothers…” He motioned with his head. “Out we go, to slay the beast. Onward, and up.”

As soon as Gorthum exited the tent, the group looked upon each other with defeat. Kergen instantly picked up his sword and gave a murderous stare. Bilto gripped his shoulder firmly and lowered his blade down with the other hand, gently.

“Be at ease, young one. This will not happen this day.”

“I won’t let him get away with treating me like…”

“Kergen…” He said, gripping his shoulder tighter. “Let it go. We need him to guide us to the beast… let him do that. Once it is over, we will decide his fate.”

“Why?” The young man glared at him. “You were only just saying the same about him a minute ago, that he’s a crazy old fool that needs to die…”

“Talk is talk.” He shrugged. “What I say is different from how I act. For now, we will let him lead… for who among us know where to find this creature? I may not like the old fool. I may even want to kill him for dragging us up here…” This caused Kergen to laugh slightly, and relaxed his anger. Bilto gave smile and rebased him from his grip. “But, what he is saying is true. We must go on and slay the beast. That is our quest. Is it not?”

Kergen nodded, “Aye, it is.”

“Then, let’s finish this.” Balto stated, picking up his sword and wrapping his fur-skins around his body. “I want to kill this creature, eat his meat and sleep soundly in his carcass.”

“Why sleep in his dead carcass?” Solotar questionably gazed at him.

“To let the demon know that he will never again have full belly of our dead people. Only the living warriors that defeated him who now sleep and taunt him of it.”

The men all laughed. Twillaf shook his head and picked up his belongings.

“I swear, Bilto, you are the oddest of us all. But I will not sleep inside a curse creature as that… I would rather sleep beside a nice round woman who will curse me for giving her pleasure all night long.”

The men laughed and nodded at his words. Such thoughts were all on their minds, young and old alike. For what man wouldn’t rather be making love with a healthy virile woman, then trudging up a bitterly icy mountain where uncertain death may lie in wait. Scooping up their bundles, and folding away the tent, the group began their long journey up the side of the troecourous terrain. Gorthum, far ahead, stood waiting for the men, with a beaming smile on his face.

Kergen looked up to see the man. The blizzard nearly obscured the elderly guide, he was more like a shadow, holding a walking stick in hand, and motioning them to follow like some forbidding siren luring them to their deaths. What made it even more ominous, was the fact that Gorthum was laughing and singing ballads of fallen heroes of a bygone age.

“Truly he is mad…” Thought Kegan. “And we, just as mad for following him.”