The Terror of Angil Yvor

The grassy plain spanned the horizon in all directions. No trees. No rock formations. Just slight undulations of verdant terrain bathed in the comforting rays of sunshine radiating from the cloudless, azure sky above.

A well-manicured horse darted across the plain. Atop the saddled steed rode an equally well manicured young man, pushing his mount towards the horizon with the reckless haste of youth.

The pair rode until they reached the edge of a forest. The young man tugged at the reins, bringing the horse to a stop.

This uninspiring cluster of saplings cannot be my destination, the young man worried.

The young man’s disappointment proved short-lived though. His grumbling stomach demanded attention. His mind drifted to his last proper meal.

Breakfast.

A wonderful feast.

Links of sausage. Flapjacks. Fruit picked in the orchard that morning.

Piled high on a shimmering silver plate.

His stomach growled again. And the memory of the morning’s feast dissipated like a puff of smoke in the breeze.

The young man dismounted, throwing an elegant azure cape over his shoulder before landing like a cat on the ground.

He uncinched a brilliantly polished walnut short bow from his saddlebag. And a quiver of arrows fletched with peacock feathers.

The young man nocked an arrow, assumed a crouch and ventured into the wooded area.

Silently skulking through the woods, the young man searched for his next meal.

**

The young man heard a faint rustle amongst the leaves.

A young deer.

Without guile.

Without concern.

No doubt unaccustomed to visitors.

The young man did not hesitate. He raised his bow. Fired the arrow. Without much concern for his aim.

As the arrow hurtled towards the unaware doe, the young man whispered a few words. The silver ring on his left ring finger began to hum. And the azure crystal mounted atop began to glow.

Suddenly, a small breeze blew across the wooded area, rustling leaves. And alerting the doe to the young man’s presence.

The breeze became a gust. The previously off-target arrow changed course.

And pierced the helpless creature’s heart.

**

In a clearing, near a trio of jagged rocks, the young man sat before a burning campfire. Hoisted on an improvised spit, the flayed carcass of the doe sizzled, crackled as its juices dripped into the grasping flames beneath.

As the young man ate, tendrils of dusk slithered across the sky and the world descended into flickering shadows and unnatural stillness.

Until one of those shadows did more than flicker.

A low growl.

The young man turned. Right into the path of a maw full of alabaster menace. Not more than a few feet away.

The brown bear glared at its prey.

And roared!

The young man scurried, shuffling in a half crouch, towards his horse, towards his weapons.

The bear charged with bared teeth.

The young man whispered something under his breath. The crystal once again shone brightly.

The bear, now only a few strides away, lunged.

The terrified young man lifted his hand.

Instead of a futile attempt at defense, the gesture sent a shockwave emanating from his hand, unfurling a gale force wind, clobbering the bear in the face, propelling the beast backward with astonishing force. The bear landed with a thud.

The young man seized the opportunity, springing into action, scampering the rest of the way towards his weapons. After a quick glance at his bow, the young man opted instead to grab a keen edged steel short sword with an ornate ivory handle.

Once again, the young man frantically mumbled under his breath.

But this time, the ring’s crystal remained darkened.

The bear regained its footing. Roared again before approaching cautiously. Circling, edging closer to the young man as he assumed a fighting posture.

“Come on, you beast. Show me what you have,” the young man shouted, full of false bravado.

With unexpected quickness, the bear lunged, striking the young man in the chest. Sending him to the ground.

The young man wheezed. Gasped for air.

But, somehow, he remained intact.

Thanks to his breastplate.

Impeccably forged from an enchanted meteorite, the light but virtually indestructible plate armor had been a gift from his father.

And the armor had saved his life.

At least for the time being.

The bear rushed forward.

As the bear’s razor-sharp teeth plunged towards his exposed neck, the young man blindly thrust the short sword upward, plunging the blade deep, only stopping when the hilt came to rest against the bear’s neck.

And the tip had severed its spine.

**

The morning arrived without further incident. The young man packed camp and mounted his horse.

As he rode, the terrain became more rocky. More uneven. But the increased distance from the bear, now a moldering carcass left for unseen scavengers, steadied his nerves and allowed him to regain enough resolve to resume his quest.

Eventually, the rocky terrain yielded to a narrow stream, beyond which stood a sight to behold.

A forest of trees unlike any he’d seen before.

Sprawling.

Massive.

Ancient.

Their limbs twisting, slithering skyward, their dense foliage forming a sun stifling canopy, ushering in a premature dusk.

The young man shook his head and smiled.

The tales fail to capture the majesty of this place.

The Forest of Angil Yvor.

Movement in the distance interrupted his reverie. Through a small gap in the trees, the young man spied a ramshackle cottage. With a plume of smoke rising from its chimney.

The young man coaxed his horse across the stream to investigate.

**

As the young man approached the cottage, a man well past middle aged, his face weathered and creased, appeared from behind a tree. He scratched at his overgrown beard And with squinted eyes, he glared at the young man.

“Turn around. Now,” he growled.

Undeterred by the gruff request, the young man slowed his horse and dismounted, landing with a flourish.

“I have no intention of turning around.”

“Is that right?”

“My destiny awaits within the forest.”

“Your destiny? What is it with young men and destiny? A delusional lot one and all.”

The young man, unaccustomed to such insolence, glared at the old man.

“I am Augustus. Son of Lord Ciel. You will kneel before me, wretch.”

The old man laughed, made no effort to kneel. He simply stood with his arms crossed.

“You dare laugh?”

“Only when something is funny,” the old man replied.

“You would do well to mind your manners in the presence of your betters.”

The old man laughed again. Augustus reached for the handle of his sword.

The laughter stopped. The old man dropped his hands to his side.

His countenance shifted dramatically, like a fast-approaching thunderstorm cutting through blue skies.

“I’m not one to consider a man’s station in life. Only his words and actions.”

Augustus glared at the old man a moment longer. Then he raised his hands in mock surrender and smiled brightly but insincerely.

“We seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. Truthfully, I am to blame. In court, I do not encounter such… frankness. Frankness, no doubt, instilled by a grueling existence here on the edge of the wilderness. Let us start again. I am Augustus, son of Lord Ciel. It is my intention to enter the Forest of Angil Yvor and vanquish the beast of legend within.”

A momentary flicker of surprise danced in the old man’s eyes for a moment, only to be replaced by resignation.

“And that is your destiny? To slay the Terror of Angil Yvor?”

“It is.”

“And I won’t be able to convince you to turn around? To return to what I imagine is an impressive castle and forget all about this place?”

“You will not.”

The old man sighed. Started towards the cottage.

“Follow me then. No sense dying on an empty stomach.”

After a moment of confused hesitation, Augustus hurried after the old man.

**

Augustus followed his host into the modest abode. A single room affair with a bed in one corner. A shelf of dusty, tattered tomes in another. And a fire pit encircled by a circular wooden bench in the center.

Emanating from a cauldron hanging above the fire pit, the smell of garlic and potatoes filled the room. The old man kneeled, inspected dinner, plunging a ladle into the cauldron. He blew softly on the steaming stew before slurping the contents.

The young man’s stomach growled jealously.

“I appreciate the hospitality. But I’m not in the habit of sharing a meal with someone whose name I do not know.”

The old man looked at Augustus.

“Erbe. Call me Erbe.”

The demands of decorum now met, Augustus approached the fire pit and took a seat on the bench.

“Now tell me Erbe, what have you prepared? It smells incredible.”

“Vegetable stew. Potatoes, carrots and a shitload of garlic and rosemary.”

“Is there no meat in the stew?” Augustus asked, his voice indicating disappointment.

Erbe looked at the young man.

“No.”

Erbe retrieved the ladle. Filled two bowls with stew. Augustus accepted his bowl with a grateful nod. Erbe joined him on the bench.

He lifted the bowl to his mouth and noisily slurped his stew.

Has this boorish man never heard of a spoon?

Too hungry to lecture his host on table manners, Augustus slurped his soup. And wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

If the old man cannot be bothered to offer a spoon, I doubt he has any linens.

Despite the absence of silverware and linens, the meal exceeded his expectations.

“This stew is resplendent. You must tell me the secret.”

Erbe lowered his bowl and smiled.

“Throw a bunch of shit that you like into a cauldron and boil the holy hell out of it,” he replied before returning the bowl to his mouth for another slurp.

“I can’t help but think it would be even better with some venison. I’m sure the forest is teeming with…”

The serious look returned to Erbe’s face.

“Lost my taste for meat years ago.”

The tenor of the man’s voice indicated that he would not entertain any more discussion about his eating habits. Augustus changed the subject.

“What can you tell me of the forest? Of the beast within?”

Erbe sighed.

“Finish your stew. And then go home.”

Augustus bristled at the old man’s renewed attempts to dissuade him from his quest.

“Legend says…”

“Whatever legends you’ve heard about Angil Yvor, you would do well to forget.”

“I’m not returning home without vanquishing the beast.”

Erbe set his bowl on the bench and stood.

“Then you are a damn fool.”

Erbe wandered over to the window. Stared into the forest’s depths.

“If you won’t help me, I will be on my way. Thank you for the stew,” Augustus replied indignantly as he put down his bowl, rose to leave.

As Augustus headed for the door, Erbe, still looking out the window, made one last attempt to dissuade the foolish young man.

“Even if you somehow survive your journey, success will not bring what you seek.”

“Thank you much for the stew,” Augustus replied before he left the cottage, slamming the door behind him.

Erbe watched from the window as the young man sauntered towards his horse through the darkening shadows.

Towards destiny.

And almost certain death.

The legends had inspired many young men to venture into these woods. Some capable. Some not. But always with something to prove. But they only ever succeeded in proving one fact.

The legends were, if anything, understated.

**

Augustus rode deeper and deeper into the woods.

The shadows grew darker and darker.

The air became stiller and stiller.

A shiver of trepidation wiggled its way up his spine.

But Augustus pressed onward.

Until his horse stopped abruptly.

Gripping the handle of his short sword, Augustus searched the inky darkness for the source of the horse’s sudden trepidation.

Nothing.

Just a silent stillness.

And a vague sense of unseen eyes watching him.

The young man leapt from his saddle, looped the reins around the sturdy branch of a leafless tree.

Searched the darkened woods.

Still nothing.

I might as well make camp for the night.

This time he did not light a campfire. But he did need to address his grumbling stomach.

Augustus dug through his saddlebag. Retrieved a few hunks of dried venison and the remainder of a cheese wheel. The last of his supplies from home.

He sat on his bedroll, eating, watching the woods around him.

Augustus completed his meal without interruption. Concluding the monster must live deeper in the woods, he whispered something under his breath and laid down.

Sleep came quickly.

**

Not an hour later, an unfamiliar sound awoke Augustus. He slowly opened his sleepy eyes and immediately recoiled in terror, scurrying backwards. Towards his sword.

A jet-black snake, with scarred skin shimmering in the scant moonlight like a rope of razor-sharp glass shards, hissed menacingly but made no effort to advance.

As Augustus wrapped his sweating palm around the grip of his sword, the snake began to rise. Higher and higher. Until the beast stood eye to eye with Augustus.

Terrified, Augustus turned to run. Tripped. Fell.

Fell over his horse.

Lying prone.

Motionless.

Blood pooling on the ground around its neck.

Angered by the death of his favorite horse, Augustus raised a hand. Whispered.

The crystal on his ring shone brightly.

And in an instant, a sudden, violent whoosh lifted the snake airborne, hurling the beast deep into the forest.

There was a crash as the snake crashed into one of the ancient, unyielding oaks.

Satisfied that he had dispatched the beast, Augustus smiled.

Until he heard something unexpected.

A deafening, teeth chattering ROAR.

**

Augustus grabbed his bow in his shaking hands. Hastily readied an arrow. And waited.

Nothing.

The silence was deafening.

He took advantage of the lull in the action. Dumped the quiver of arrows. Jabbed each one into the soft earth at his feet for easier access. Then he waited.

A rustle.

Augustus fired blindly.

A fleshy impact.

A grunt.

Augustus grabbed another arrow and waited.

Another rustle.

Then, emerging from the shadows, a shadowy form appeared, an arrow lodged in its chest.

The beast approached, shedding the cover of darkness, revealing more detail.

The young man’s eyes widened in terror.

Before Augustus stood a truly frightening sight.

Standing on two legs, a monstrous wolf, its matted fur jet black as if the beast had emerged from a lake of oil, approached Augustus.

Augustus fired an arrow.

Then another.

Then another.

Each arrow had found its mark.

But the beast continued its advance, despite a torso littered with arrows buried to the fletching.

Advancing.

Without any sense of urgency or acknowledgement of pain.

Augustus frantically mumbled something.

The crystal began to glow.

Faintly.

In response, the monster roared ferociously, shaking the trees.

Augustus raised his hand, hoping to summon another shockwave to repel the beast.

Another gust of wind.

Whirling.

Swirling.

Leaves and branches tossed about.

The monster halted.

Crouched defensively, absorbing the brunt of the magical gust.

And summoned a deafening roar from the depths of its wounded chest.

Augustus watched in horror as the crystal shattered.

The wind stopped.

The sudden silence suffocating.

The beast… smiled. With a mouthful of yellowish razor-sharp fangs. And a frighteningly long blood red tongue dripping with saliva.

Savoring the young man’s terror, the beast swiped a massive paw across its chest, snapping each of the protruding arrows effortlessly.

Then the beast lunged…

**

“Wake up.”

Erbe, lying on the ground, naked, became aware of a voice and three very unpleasant booted kicks to the ribs.

He groaned and sat up. Squinting against the midday sun, the tired old man blinked several times. Everything came into focus. Not the least of which: a dozen armored soldiers surrounding him in a semicircle, glaring menacingly.

“What?” Erbe growled.

The soldier, the one responsible for the rude awakening, glared at Erbe with a mixture of anger and puzzlement.

“Cover yourself,” the soldier barked, throwing a blanket to Erbe.

Erbe ignored the blanket and stood. Took a closer look at the armor of the soldiers. Particularly the insignia forged into the breastplate.

“I’ll save you some trouble. The purpose of your journey is over there,” Erbe said, gesturing to the edge of the woods.

“Be warned. You won’t be happy.”

**

Some hours later, wearing another man’s clothes, Erbe found himself bound about the wrists, tethered to one of the soldiers’ horses by a long rope tied into a noose.

A noose wrapped snugly around his throat.

Traveling on unsteady feet, Erbe struggled to keep pace with the procession. He lost his footing on several occasions, falling to the ground in a heap. Each time the soldiers’ response had been immediate and definitive.

Erbe looked out across the grassy plain. To the horizon. To the setting sun.

“Are you sure I can’t persuade you to end this affair right here, right now? Before this situation is out of any of our control?”

The nearest soldier, riding the horse to which Erbe found himself tethered, laughed.

“Lord Ciel would be quite displeased if we granted his son’s killer a swift and merciful death. No, no, your death will not come quickly, and it will not be pleasant.”

As the last of the sun’s rays faded, the horses all halted in unison.

Began pacing in circles restlessly, tugging at their bits, struggling to free themselves of their riders.

The frustrated soldiers barked at their horses, demanding they continue along the path.

But the horses resisted.

The soldier, the one responsible for the prisoner, turned to face Erbe.

The grizzled old man’s eyes blazed, radiating a sickly yellow light.

“You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”