With the solitude of himself at last, Gunnolf wandered out of Domon Valley. Night had fallen and he was low on both food and liquor. To him at that moment, he would’ve preferred the latter. The undead are returning in droves to this land. Damn it! It is this accursed sword. It was my own inaction for not seeing what Zarmhel was up to sooner, blinded by money and drowning my burden in drink. It should’ve been obvious.

  Kill something to relieve the frustration. The haunting voice returned.

  Get out of my head! Gunnolf’s own inner voice barked.

  Gunnolf took each step slowly as he always had, reserving his energy for the unknown duel to the death that could pop out from anywhere here. They sky was partially cloudy this night, no moon in sight but he knew behind one of the massive clouds at least, a crescent moon should be visible. A breeze flowed gently over the grass as he came back to the fork in the road, northwest leading back to Jakara Woods and south would deliver him back to Saha’dryr, his destination.

  The fated dusk played in his mind as he walked onward instinctively. The evening that changed his life forever those years ago.

  962 A.E., last day of Autumn. The war in the Low Lands had raged on for ten months since its declaration. The Illiseans had decimated so many villages and crushed the Low Land forces in over half of their battles. The village of Osinara, on the Field of Khadrak an intense bloody battle took place. Flames consumed the wooden homes and buildings, bodies lay still in the streets, men, women, children, it didn’t matter.

  “Master Irina, are we sure we should be doing this?” a young, black furred kobold asked. His white kamishimo had slashes of gold and green on it as were the colors of Illisea. The fur atop his head was pulled back in a top knot, keeping it from blocking his eyes.

  The red haired elf woman nodded dressed in the same colors but wore a kimono with a trailing skirt, “It is in our contract and that binds us to completing it with our honor intact. Slay the Mayor of Osinara is the contract and intel indicates he has connections with the undead.”

  Abruptly, burly alligator-like men burst from the burning house behind the pair of them. Four burly, green and blue scaled men, two of them with crude, steel spiked clubs. Another had a long bladed spear and the last was wielding a chain with a hook on it.    The elf woman stood firm as she faced them, she carried her tachi still sheathed as the first opponent with a spiked club swung at her and she knocked the cudgel from his claws with the sheathed blade colliding with it swiftly. The young kobold’s katana met the spear wielder’s blade. Irina blocked the next half dozen blows meant to end her life before the sheath came off the Kazesuki-zhuken and the blue-green blade flashed in her hands as both club carrying agariks dropped to the ground clenching their necks. A hint of madness and fury gleamed in her eyes. Only the hook and chain one remained, the man spun it and flung the deadly hook and her blade clashed with it as if dancing to a melody only Irina could hear.

  The young kobold dodged each of the next two thrusts of the long bladed spear before giving a leap to the top of it, pinning it to the round and running his katana through the blue scaled agarik’s chest before twisting it ninety degrees to ensure the heart would rupture.

  Irina spun elegantly but swiftly with her tachi, that chain never able to rake its way into her flesh and then a flick of her blade sent the gator man collapsing on the ground trying to prevent most of his organs from spilling out of his gut.

  Wiping the blade clean, Irina saw a glimpse of a human man through the window of a house not quite in blazes yet. “I have a hunch that is our target,” said Irina.

  Suddenly cries were heard in one of the abandoned buildings that were partially collapsed. Two different wails perhaps. “Master…” the kobold said.

  “Gunnolf, we should focus on our target. The cries of children are not of our concern.”

  His gaze wouldn’t shift from the partially collapsed house, the fire around it had gone out, but the cries gnawed at him.

  “You have much to learn still young samurai,” Irina finally said. “I’ll head for our target, do as you think you need to.”

  Gunnolf nodded as he said, “May the contract be fulfilled.”

  The red haired woman smiled back at him wryly, “May the contract be fulfilled.”

  The pair split off from each other; Irina headed for the two story building she saw the man inside of on the right while Gunnolf headed toward the cries to his left.

  “Wake up fool!” a masculine and thunderous voice said.

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  Gunnolf shot awake, dawn was rising, and he was a good ten paces almost up a tree while a being on the ground called up to him. His hand met his face as he removed the sleep from his eyes. He didn’t remember finding a tree nor did he remember falling asleep.

  “I almost picked you out of that tree,” the booming voice said with a chuckle.

  Inches below, Gunnolf found himself staring at a humongous man with the physiology of an elephant but humanoid in appearance. He had a pair of tusks, and the left one was broken at the tip. Wide, floppy ears and covered in thick, gray flesh with a black haired topknot on top of his head and a long trunk for a nose that could reach the middle of his belly. The massive man had a battle axe, large enough to be two handed by anyone human sized for sure but it would be a throwing axe in this strange man’s hand. At his waist he wore brown trousers that were loose in the legs and a knotted rope served as his belt.

  “Is there a reason you awakened me, stranger?” Gunnolf asked.

  The elephant man’s trunk reached up and plucked a yellow fruit from next to Gunnolf’s head off the branch. It was round and a little larger than the kobold’s fist.

  “You’re sitting close to my breakfast,” replied the stranger.

  Gunnolf leaped out of the tree and landed elegantly on the grassy ground.

  The large man plucked two more off the tree with his trunk and handed one to Gunnolf. “Dangerous times we live in. The undead walk at night, furry one.”

  Gunnolf took the fruit, it was a golden pomegranate. He didn’t respond as he took his first bite.

  “Have you had many issues with the undead?”

  “Some,” replied Gunnolf. “Who are you, stranger? I see you are one of the hurphantes, a nomadic people, yes?”

  “A wanderer in search of a mortal enemy. I am called H’ren,” the large man introduced himself as he ate one of his fruits whole, the crunch of the fruit was audible and it would be a moment before he could speak further as the clear, supple juices dripped from the elephant man’s mouth.

  “Gunnolf,” the kobold told him.

  H’ren gave a chuckle, “You mean to say the Wandering Dark Wind is you, furry man? I never imagined the great swordsman would be so small compared to the great hurphantes people. I imagined him to be a gigas or a zedron.”

  Slaughter this impudent fool! Gunnolf’s face was enigmatic as the fur concealing his eyes and his stoic face remained unchanged even while eating. “Thank you for the fruit, Sir H’ren.”

  “Aren’t you curious about the enemy I wish to slay with my axe here?” asked the elephant man gesturing toward the weapon on his hip. The axe had a pearl nestled in the head of it and one side was jagged, meant for tearing and ripping flesh while the other was smooth yet sharp enough to split hair.

  “Not particularly, unless you mean that for me,” Gunnolf replied dryly.

  The hurphantes man chuckled, “No, unless your name is really Yenyurt the Nosferatu.”

  Gunnolf stared at him and gave no response.

  “Of course, your name isn’t Yenyurt. You look nothing like the bastard who killed my beloved,” H’ren said with a chuckle that ended solemnly.

  “Sorry for your loss,” Gunnolf said placidly and he began striding away.

  “Where are you going Gunnolf?” H’ren called to him as his trunk shoveled another fruit into his mouth.

  “South,” replied Gunnolf not turning back.

  “Perhaps you could use a traveling companion? I once lived in the west and have roamed this land for some time.”

  “Pass.”

  He heard thunderous steps come from behind him. “It would be beneficial for both of us─”

  Kill, kill, kill!

  Gunnolf spun on him and brandished his now blackened tachi. “Hear me Sir H’ren, I am Gunnolf, the Wandering Dark Wind. I travel alone! I need no companions on the trail! This is the Kazesuki-zhuken and I would prefer not to use it on you due to your stubborn persistence,” his voice was as cold and sharp as the edge of his blade.

  H’ren stopped in his tracks, “You truly are the Wandering Dark Wind! That is something I did not expect this day.” He was calm though as he took a swig from his rather large, gourd. “I suppose I shall enjoy this Bokkah myself.”

  Gunnolf couldn’t help himself but ask, “Bokkah?”

  “Native to my once home. Loosens the body and the mind and made from the labor of my people and the juices of fermented beets, potatoes, berries with a twenty day distilling process.”

  Gunnolf grunted sheathing the black tachi, his thirst for alcohol parched his throat, “How far are you going, H’ren?”

  “Yenyurt is said to have been holed up in some ruin within the destroyed village of Osinara. I wish to go there and seek him out, but I do not know the way and I have no map.”

  “Osinara,” Gunnolf muttered and a silence filled the air a moment. “Fine, we shall go in exchange for some of that Bokkah.”

  “Have you a flask, friend?”

  Gunnolf procured his small gourd from inside of his shirt and H’ren filled it halfway for him. The fluid was a copper color. “When I get to Osinara,” H’ren started. “You may continue your journey. I want to deal with Yenyurt alone.”

  Gunnolf nodded when he received his gourd and took a swig. The taste was rich, earthy, and the alcohol burned on the way to his gut. “Exquisite,” he said after corking it back up. The voice in his head quieted but still encouraged him to slay this generous man.

  H’ren smiled, “So, you will aid me?”

  Gunnolf nodded, “I wish to make a stop in Saha’dryr before we keep going if all is fair.”

  “The City on the Lake? I have never been,” H’ren’s voice boomed. “I suppose that is fine.”

  Together, they began their trek south-southwest on the road. H’ren attempted to make small talk along the way poking and prodding at Gunnolf which the black furred man ignored as expected but the image of the little red-haired girl flashed in his mind’s eye as much as Lylen and the reason, he couldn’t fathom.