The Gryphon's Bond

Chapter Twenty-One

Lucius's cold eyes watched from beneath his tangled mane of hair; he surveyed the small hut in front of him, his chipped but razor sharp knife gripped tightly in his scarred hand.

It was the same knife he had stolen on the day his sister died, the day she was killed.

It was also the very same knife he had used to slit the throat of the trader that killed her.

But that act had brought him no peace, he had looked down at the man's twitching body as he bled out, but after the four year hunt for the man, Lucius had came away feeling emptier then before.

After his sister had died, he abandoned everything. His hut, his food stash, he hadn't even buried her, he only carried his knife, disappearing into the woods, where he wandered and roamed mindlessly.

After stumbling through the woods for what seemed like weeks, he had come across a wolf kill, surrounded by snarling wolves. He could see the glistening of the bloody red meat, the smell of it filling his nostrils.

He was so hungry.

He stumbled forward towards the writhing mass of fang and claw, the growls rattling his bones, his knife in hand.

He didn't care if they killed him, he didn't care about anything at all.

He had run towards the pack, howling his pain and rage, slashing at the hindquarters of the closest wolves. They turned, snarling, ready to shred him.

Then they froze.

Lucius had continued to attack, screaming and slashing, but all the wolves did was drop their heads and move quickly away, easily evading his blade and staring at him reverently.

The wolves circled him, heads and tails hung low.

Giving up, Lucius fell to the ground. "Kill me!" he had screamed at them.

But they had only crouched lower, cowering.

"Please!" he begged them, "it's my fault! Don't you understand?!"

But they hadn't, and one by one they turned and left, leaving their hard won kill to him.

As he turned and began to eat the raw flesh of whatever the wolves had killed, clarity had filled his mind as energy flowed back into him.

He would survive, he would become stronger then the strongest wolf, he took the wolves fear of him as a sign. He would become powerful.

He had sliced a large hunk of meat off, and took off running after the pack.

For a year Lucius tracked the wolves, scavenging from their kills, living on scraps and bones. But mostly he watched them, studied them, learned from him, until he began to make his own kills, and he didn't need them any more. Then, one by one, he killed them too.

He was ready.

And then, after four years of hunting for the man, he had ended him, the trader.

But that was six moons ago, since then he had killed many, many more. Raiding groups of traders. Trying to use bloodshed to fill the emptiness inside.

Tales began to spread, of a shadow that attacked at night, seeming to come from everywhere at once, cutting away at camps until the occupants broke and ran, running into the dark woods, where the shadow was most at home.

Very few ever made it out of his attacks, those that did told twisted stories of spirits, or a towering man beast. Never guessing that this was the work of a broken boy who was only fifteen winters old.

But even as his legend spread, the hole within him grew.

* * *

Lucius was stalking through the woods, when he caught the faint scent of wood smoke.

He began to move quickly towards it, expecting a pack of traders, but as he got closer he noticed the absence of noise.

No angry shouting, or deranged mumbles. Just a peaceful silence.

He crept into a tree at the edge of the clearing, astonished at the sight before him.

There, sitting in the middle of the area before him, was a hut. Not a broken or ramshackle hut, but a clean, well built one. Big enough to almost deserve the title of 'cabin.' Spread out around the hut, was a farm of a sort. Cultivated berry bushes and wild edibles were planted around the hut, cottontail rabbits sat contently in wooden cages. And different kinds of now partially domesticated fowl wandered around the hut.

The tiny homestead was clean, tidy, something Lucius had never encountered. He was used to the filth and disorder of shantytowns and huts. Order was something he had never known, something he didn't understand.

He crept slowly closer, gawking at the orderly rows of plants, the neat stone path to the house, his guard dropping as he grew more and more intrigued.

He heard a splitting crack, and was surprised to find himself on the ground, his face in the dirt. He rolled over quickly, ready to face his opponent, and heard another thwack as his face returned to its former place in the soil.

He moaned, his head swimming, but whoever it was did not maim him yet. He gave up on trying to see who his attacker was and instead pulled his legs up under him to spring forward out of reach.

As he did he felt something grab his leg and yank him back. "Where do you think you're going boy?" Another blow hit his back, pain making his vision blurry.

Lucius rolled over, and this time whoever it was let him, he tried to see who the assailant was, but the blows to his head, on top of the too bright sun, made everything a stretchy blur.
"Trespassing is against the law, don't you know, boy?!"

Lucius blinked at the bleary figure, his vision clearing up slightly, enough to know that his attacker was a small, tanned, bearded, and strangely clean man wielding what looked like a mix between a fighting staff and a shepherds crook.

"Answer me, boy!" he shouted with warning.

Lucius, feeling strangely weak and small in front of this man who was roughly the same size as him, answered, "who is The Law? I didn't do anything to him I swear!"

The man looked at him confused for a minute, then chuckled, shaking his head.

Then Lucius heard another thwack, and darkness slammed into him like a hammer, taking him far away.