Revelyn: 1st Chronicles - When the last arrow falls Read Free Page B

immediately. The man was gifted with extraordinary hearing, able to hear conversations quite clearly from improbable distances. When he was young this had seemed completely normal and he had assumed that all people could hear as well. He soon learnt however, that no one could do so, and that he was able to judge the mood of a crowd, even of a small village by the tone of the conversation which reached his ears from some distance away. This night was no different. In the gloom he came upon a rough and untidy sign stating that the village of Efilon lay beyond. A dull murmur reached his ears; the sounds of argument and unhappiness, of discontent and cutting comments. Drawing closer he could more clearly distinguish the sounds of drunken revelry, and approaching as he did, tired and wounded, in the early night when colour had fled away, it struck him that this was not a happy place, this Efilon. But that being as it may, the man could go no further and so he stumbled into what was a short main street of unpainted wooden shacks which gave way to several larger two storey buildings, an Inn and storehouse and then several more sheds and shanties, a couple of canvas tents and handful of mangy dogs which barked at him and everything else, and each other. It was a soulless place to be.
    He had arrived uneasy and increasingly desperate. All the way he had trudged, limping with his right leg causing more pain and discomfort, and with the distinct feeling that he was being followed. Many times he stopped and waited, peering back into the gloom. He feared that one of the Wolvers had recovered and was on his trail once more. He knew this could not be true, but exhausted as he was with his thoughts tending to flights of fancy, he sensed he was not traveling alone.
    Just before he entered the small unwelcoming hamlet he took his bow and quiver and hid them in a hollow tree trunk off to one side of the path, marking the place in his mind so that he could return for them when he left. As an afterthought he boldly wrapped the Wolver’s cloak about him and attached the sword and scabbard to his belt, thinking that if he appeared to be in the King’s service it would be an acceptable cover, at least initially. Of course it could also get him killed, by one of the many enemies of the royal despot.
    He had grimaced at that thought; how ironic that would be .
    As he stood in the centre of the township a soft and misty rain began to fall and the temperature dropped quickly. There was no one about outdoors, and he paused, thinking hard about what his next move would be. It was clear that the only building offering any hope of a bed for the night was the rundown two-storey Inn from which the sullen sounds of gloomy conversation and bawdy behaviour emanated and which he recognised as the sounds of a lifeless, dispirited people who found little beauty in their themselves or each other. Lanterns stood in the windows casting long shadows which danced eerily on the dusty roadway on which he stood; but of drunken men and stupid women he was not scared, or so he told himself.
    I’ve killed three Wolver’s today, why should I worry about a bunch of drunken villagers?
    But in his heart he knew that the outcome of deceit and evil in any human could easily match the ruthless predictability of a Wolver .
    Gathering all his remaining strength and assuming an attitude of smug superiority which his attire suggested, he opened the Inn door and boldly entered a largish, room with a ceiling so low he realised immediately that its usual occupants were not very tall people at all. Indeed they weren’t. Without exception the room was full of noisy, boisterous dwarfs. As he entered, all conversation ceased and as he walked to the serving bench, stiffly and unable to hide his injury, all eyes were upon him. The crowd parted and allowed him through. He realised they were somewhat in shock. It was not often that a stranger visited Efilon especially unannounced and at night,