Not All Heroes Are Guiltless

Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Since I was a child, I have always read about the world I lived in. From the dense forests of the outlands of Redland, the deserts of Turmac, and especially the mountains and white forests of the north. The north has never been ruled by anyone. The winter storms cut off the land for the majority of the year. The trees are just as tall as the dense forest, but their bark is lighter color, almost white, along with white needle leaves. So, when the snow covers the ground, it blends all together, lowering the ability to judge distances in a hurry.

During the summer months, the port of Durmoth is full of nobles and other ancient bloodline families from all over the world, who wanted to explore the frozen land for metals, gems, and rare or mystical beasts. We reach the port in early spring when the river is flooding the land and everyone is traveling in simple boats.

We travel through the port city, and I can see the tendrils of my mate wrapped around me and seems the closer I am to him, the more relaxed the tendrils become. When I stop watching something new or interesting, I can almost see the tendrils become impatient. As long as those tendrils are up, no one seems to notice us. Street vendors don’t even speak with us.

The port city streets are crammed with building after building down long lines on both sides of the street. The buildings are lined up against the back and sides with other buildings. Some buildings are one or two flights with overhanging balconies, while others shoot up skyward with five or six levels. The sight is breathtaking after living in areas where two floors in a castle are rare.

We reach a strange tavern filled with wild and drunken men. The walls have taxidermy creatures, heads cut off at the bottom of their necks even jagged from a dull blade, in all manner of species. I’m shocked when I recognize a head that is almost like a giant lizard three times larger than my own head. We make our way through the messy hall with two elongated tables with broken chairs in several places. We reach the bar at the back of the hall. Four large barrels of ale are front and center with a tap broken into each one.

“Black Hunter?” An old man whispers behind the bar, and I almost jump when he shoots up out of his seat and rushes to the counter behind the bar. “It is nice to see you in these parts. Hate to ask what you are hunting for, but I got a couple of nuisances that I’d gladly pay you to take care of.”

“Like what?” My mate says while keeping clear of the wet bar top and stools. I am almost repulsed by the strong alcohol and urine stench. My mate talks with the old man in hush tones, but he doesn’t seem to be concerned about the “nuisances”.

Gazing around the cluttered, dirty, and repulsive hall, I can tell almost everyone in this place is rugged and awful mannered. But they all wear multiple layers of clothing in thick wool and fur even though it is close to summer. A few men are in a daze from obvious gorging of ale while others seem consumed by their thoughts.

“A bear with an owl face?” My mate repeats with a bit of a chuckle. It’s almost as if he disbelieves in the existence of such a creature. My scan of the creatures on the walls, though, would speak otherwise about my own idea of the types of creatures you could hunt. A few rare and bizarre creatures have been seen in the dense forests of the outlands. Nothing, though, would compare to the creatures this hall holds as trophies.

“That’s what they said.” The old man crosses his arms almost like he is upset with my mate laughing at the description.“Says the creature moves around like a bear but has an owl face and owl feathers.”

My mate seems to perk up on the owl feathers. He quickly asks, “Where and when was the last sighting?”

“Ah, so you are interested?” The old man slaps his leg in cheer and jest. “Care to enlighten me? I’ve lived here all my life and never heard of such a beast.”

Now, I’m interested in the beast myself because I’ve never heard of anything of the kind. My mate, though, has a tendril ripple around us, and the old man doesn’t even seem to remember having the conversation with us. He looks at my mate, then turns his head and smiles at me in a toothy grin almost like we just introduced, then turns back to his own seat and goes to sip on his on mug of ale. Strange. He didn't even get his answer, I assume.

I have traveled with my mate for so long and I know when we are in public places, he has that sinister presence which surrounds him, but I’ve actually never seen him manipulate people’s minds the way he did when he was in the dungeon in Redland. I have seen just minor infractions, but I’m positive if he had to nearly everyone in this large port would be under this thrall. Just like I believe when he walks away, this old man wouldn’t even remember who this “black hunter” was and if he had been here before. It was almost like he only recognized him when we walked in, and he saw my mate.

After he finishes getting some information, he motions for me to follow him out of the tavern, and I’m extremely grateful. My nose was beginning to run with the pungent stench of the place. I am now weary of my own smell, and hopefully, I don’t reek of the sewage that the hall.

The port has a large gate that leads out into the frozen expanse. My mate doesn’t even flinch when we cross the gates at dusk when almost everyone seems to be rushing into the safety of the port gates. I can already feel the wind pick up and the chill in the air. Surprisingly, I don’t even feel a tinge of it. The cloak warms me nicely and even seems to keep my socks from getting wet. I rush to walk closer to my mate as night falls.

We reach the white tree woods. The trees are so straight up and down that it's beautiful to see some woods with so little imperfections. The ground is still covered with snow, and even with the small crescent moon, the light reflecting makes it easier for my wolf to adjust to the low lighting.

‘I can’t wait to hunt here.’ My wolf says to me cheerfully. I hate to admit it, but I think both sides of my personality were thinking that. I would easily be able to stalk prey in the white snow, and I’m almost anxious to run through the trees and get lost in the vast frozen desolate kingdom of the white forest.

My mate doesn’t stop walking and I’m starting to whimper because we haven’t found anything to eat since we arrived at the port. He doesn’t even flinch and seems to just ignore me. We exit out of the forest when the moon has almost made a full path over us. We must be at least a couple hours away from dawn. My breath hitches as I stop to admire the landscape. The white forest stretches around a glass like lake so clear and calm you can see the stars in the reflection. Hovering over the top of the trees on the other side of the lake are mountains with sharp points at the top.

The smell of burnt wood drifts over the water, and it brings forgotten memories of roast meat from my childhood. I now can see the small cabin hidden on the edge of the forest and the lake with smoke rising from a little chimney. I’m almost overjoyed at the concept of maybe intruding on the occupant to sample a morsel, and I kept my excitement contained when my mate started to make his way to the cabin.

We reach the cabin, and my mate doesn’t even knock as he walks right in. I cross my arms on the rudeness when I hear a screech, which makes my blood boil on how he could scare the innocent inhabitant of the small cabin.