The Unbreakable Arrow

Wulfric the Wanderer

De: Charles Moffat

Narrado por: Virtual Voice

The stranger arrived in the village leading a dying injured horse.

The village was nameless, a collection of huts and stone buildings surrounded by the dense trees of an endless forest. The bedraggled people stared out of their hovels at the strange man with his injured horse, many a greedy eye on both of them. The look of desperation in their eyes was also one of hopelessness. These people had seen dark times and had taken to living in the woods to avoid the darkness enveloping much of the world.

The stallion was a dark grey roan and its flanks were speckled with injuries from arrows, presumably from bandits that plagued the road to the west. Most people would have simply slain the horse and put it out of its misery, partially because the meat alone was valuable, but this man did not. He led the horse to the nearest water trough and allowed the steed to drink for a long time before gently pulling the horse away.

The wanderer was tall and broad of shoulder, with a bushy black beard covering a handsome yet roadweary face, with a mane of unkept black hair with hints of grey around the temples. He was dressed simply in blood spattered clothes and carried a similarly blood spattered arming sword on his hip. The bandits would be burying their dead tonight. He had no armour or other weapons to speak of. Just the sword and the clothes on his back.

Further up the road was the stables at the top of the hill, surrounded by immense pine trees. The stranger walked up the rocky hill dense with tall cedar trees, past the blacksmiths pounding away on their forge next to a gully littered with the old bones of deer, elk and woolly rhinos. They were making swords with handles made from antler and ivory.

The stranger had seen such swords before, in the hands of the bandits who had attacked him on the road. The stranger led his horse further up the hill, slowly, almost gingerly. His horse was breathing heavily. When they arrived after much time he paid the stable boy with copper coins out of a hidden pocket.

"I dunno iffen dis horse will be livin' through da night melord," drawled the stableboy, a skinny uneducated lad of perhaps fifteen winters with a face of pimples and pock marks from surviving the pox. "He be lookin' ta drop dead as a doorknob any moment now."

The stranger produced a gold coin from an unknown location. He held it up for the boy to see. "This is the finest and bravest horse I have ever seen. I want you to wrap his wounds with clean linen and make certain he is well fed, groomed and kept warm during the night. If he lives until morning when I return, this coin will be yours. If any horse deserves to live, this horse does." The stranger gave him a small knowing smile, belying an untold story that made the lad curious to learn more. "Now where can I find a place to sleep?"

The stable boy pointed north. "Ye be gonna walk thatta way. When ye see da forest glade wid all da purdy flowers then da inn will be da tall-like building on da right."

The stranger walked north, following a trail through the tall trees and past wooden huts with quiet villagers who were busy worshipping their dark god. This village was not unlike others he had visited recently. These were dark times and whole villages now worshipped foul gods in an effort to stay alive, falsely believing that if they worshipped a dark god that the dark god would spare them from destruction. Dragons and demons roamed the land, and these villagers had made their homes in a thick forest, hiding from the sight of any dragons that might fly over, and praying they did not attract the attention of any wandering demons.

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A Sword & Sorcery novelette featuring demons and dragons. Learn more about the author by visiting fiction.charlesmoffat.com.