The Crystal Legacy (Book 2) (29 page)

“What’s the Astorax?” Hendrel asked.

The patrons turned to see who asked the question. From their stares, Hendrel guessed everyone around there knew about the Astorax. The suspicious, small-town locals wanted to have a look at the stranger.

“Where you from, friend?” the second hunter asked.

“I’m from Hador, and I’m on my way back from Neuyokkasin.”

The faces looked to each other, eyes tightened and lips closed. The regulars studied Hendrel with his full black beard and his dark eyes. Hendrel saw the change in mood. Several leaders at one table whispered as they watched him. Apparently they decided he was like themselves and acceptable to include in their conversation. That, or with enough ale in them, they liked hearing themselves too much not to respond.

“You ever been in them Heggolstockin Mountains west of the river?” the first hunter asked. One eye twinkled; the man’s lowered head focused on Hendrel. His grin suggested it was a pregnant question.

“Well, I’ve passed the mountains a few times coming down river from Hador,” Hendrel replied. “I’ve heard of them, but in my travels, I’ve never been there.”

“Them mountains, they have a dark history, friend,” the hunter said. “Back during the Wizard Wars, them wizards up at The Hall, they used to experiment, like, and they brought some of them experiments down here and released them in the Heggolstockin Mountains. Used to make them farmers up there mad.”

The hunter sipped his ale and looked around the table.

“What does that have to do with the Astorax?” Hendrel asked.

The hunter had the whole room’s attention, and watching the crowd, it was clear he didn’t want to give it up so long as his ale held out.

“Well, seems them wizards was making something from parts when an orc army from Prertsten crossed into Heggolstockin and passed through them mountains. There won’t no time to move that thing they was working on. Them wizards hid it with a spell and run back to The Hall.” He took another swallow of ale. “I’m sure they meant to come back and get it, but they must’ve forgotten it.” The man chuckled.

“And was that the Astorax?” Hendrel asked.

“That it were, that were the Astorax.” The hunter’s expression grew stern looking around to heighten the drama. “That thing be upright like a man. It has big hindquarters and cloven hooves like a bull, but its chest and upper body be like a man. And it has a great mean face with long snout and fangs like a giant woof.” The hunter paused and every eye in the room focused on him. “And that thing has horns like a deer!”

“Horns like a deer?” a voice from the crowd asked. “The Astorax can’t have horns like a deer, too!”

“Come on now, every time you tell that story you add another part,” another man said from a neighboring table. They all laughed, relieving the tension in the room. “Next it’ll have yellow eyes and eagle talons on the hooves.”

Again they laughed. The deflated speaker sat back down as the various groups in the room turned back to their individual conversations. The innkeeper moved around the room with a big pitcher of ale, refilling mugs. The general hum of conversation picked up in the room.

The man with the tale stood up again. “That Astorax thing, they say it eats the farmers’ stock what lives in them mountains.”

He looked about the room. It failed to rekindle their interest. He sat back down and looked into his empty mug.

Hendrel knew a tall tale when he heard one. He drank his ale alone in the corner. After a while, the hunter got up and staggered over to Hendrel. He looked down through his ale-fog and issued a warning.

“If you be traveling north, friend, you be particular about where you camps. People hereabouts says that Astorax comes down out of the mountains now and hunts the lowlands ‘tween the mountains and Girdane.” The hunter, his breath strong, stared into Hendrel’s face, then turned and went back to his table.

Hendrel finished his ale and went to bed.

Back in his room, he lay in bed thinking. He hated people accusing the wizards of Wizards’ Hall of creating strange creatures that now terrorized these town folk. The wizards of old had used their powers for good, not to create bizarre beasts. It was true that occasionally a wizard hadn’t had the strength to control the power he conjured, but rarely did they fall victim to darkness. Hendrel turned on his side and gazed out the window at the stars.

When we get all the problems resolved with the Crown of Yensupov, I’m coming back to investigate this Astorax, he thought.

He was about to doze off to sleep when he heard a terrible commotion in the inn below and out on the streets. Thinking it might be a fire, Hendrel dressed and took his satchel downstairs in case he had to flee.

“What’s all the commotion, innkeeper?”

“It’s just some rumors they’ve sighted the Astorax down by the river. Too much ale I expect. You’ve nothing to worry about, Sir.” The stocky innkeeper continued polishing a mug with the bar cloth. “You should go back to bed and not trouble yourself about it.”

Hendrel took his satchel back up to the room, but he couldn’t sleep. The town folk obsessed about the Astorax. He decided to go out and investigate the sighting. He was sure it would turn out to be a dog nosing around the wharf, but he couldn’t sleep until he saw for himself what stirred up the people.

Hendrel slipped out into the street and made his way down to the river. In the night, it seemed quite peaceful with silent swirling eddies in the current under the wharf’s lamplight. The wizard could hear quite a commotion further down the docks, where a number of men had torches searching in all directions for the dreaded Astorax.

Hendrel walked a ways and stopped, shaking his head. He’d seen hysteria before. Some man who loved the feeling of power from controlling people convinced the local citizens that someone or some group was evil and a threat to their way of life. Once they were afraid, the controller whipped up fear to hate. Convinced of the imagined threat, the controller offered the vulnerable people salvation. He’d come to save them from the imagined evil. Such controllers used ignorance and fear to their benefit, yes they did. Hendrel felt sorry for people misled so easily. He knew the controller was the one to fear, the hated targets were the victims.

Hendrel walked up behind the crowd where the people hung on the speaker's every word. When he paused, they’d look at each other and nod their heads as if mutual agreement confirmed truth. Fear spread like mold across old bread.

“I tell you that beast is lurking about and will snatch your children if you’re not careful,” the speaker said. “Remember this fall, when you’re voting on our town leaders. Them men didn’t keep that beast from this here town. I’ll hunt this beast myself and save your children.”

The voice was familiar. Hendrel looked around the bird’s nest hat in front of him and saw the hunter from the alehouse earlier, again loving the attention. He’d save them, no doubt.

“We’re gonna make him burgomaster come the fall election,” the woman in front of Hendrel said to the woman next to her. The second woman nodded.

This man is portraying an unknown creature as a monster without any verified evidence, he thought, shaking his head. The people have already judged the unidentified thing. It’s most likely a wild dog, or just someone’s imagination, but it’s too late to stop the condemnation.

Hendrel left the crowd and walked back along the wharf toward the inn. In the silent shadows just beyond the last lamp’s light, two sets of large, dark fingers grabbed the edge of the wharf’s planking. Silver-edged eddies swirled into the dark river just beyond where something large struggled in the undercurrent.

Hendrel froze, waiting to see what was about to surface and confront him on the dock. The fingers just held onto the planking. When nothing emerged, Hendrel walked to the edge to see if his approach would spur action. His chest pounded.

I wish I’d brought my sword, he thought.

Creeping closer, he saw the hands held the unseen creature barely above water under the dock. Neither moved. Then one set of fingers slipped, and the thing splashed in the water trying to get its head above the eddies. Something smacked against the boards. For a second, Hendrel thought he saw the tip of an antler.

“Hello, are you all right?”

The fingers adjusted grips, but no word responded.

“Do you need help?”

Whatever or whoever it is, he must’ve been out for a nighttime swim, he thought. Probably some boy afraid his dad will tan his hide for swimming in the river at night.

Hendrel relaxed but vacillated, and still nothing happened. Then he noticed the hands; they weren’t boy’s hands. He went closer and peered through the cracks between the planks. Two large brown eyes on a wet, furry face stared at him. Hendrel jumped back. His heart raced and his face flushed.

This isn’t a local citizen, Hendrel thought. It’s too large to be any animal with fingers that I know. Whatever it is, it’s not attacking.

“You lost there?” Came a voice from up the wharf.

Hendrel jumped; startled, his heart skipped a beat.

“No, I’m just enjoying the night air, thank you.”

Hendrel spun around to face the man coming back from the gathering.

“I was on my way home and thought you looked lost. You lose something there?” The man came closer down the dock. “They couldn’t find that Astorax. It’s a hoax, if you ask me. I’m headed home to bed.”

“I’m fine, just dropped my pipe.” Hendrel moved away from the fingers and back over to the torchlight. He looked down, pretending to pick up something and stick it in his pocket. “Here it is.” He then walked up the planks to intercept the man and lead him away from the dock.

“Thanks for your offer of help,” Hendrel said.

Hendrel shook the man’s hand, turning him back toward the town and away from the fingers on the wharf. After walking the man down the dock towards home, Hendrel went back to the fingers, but they were gone.

I guess whatever it was went on down the river, he thought. He started back up the mooring to the inn.

“Thank you,” a voice behind him said.

Hendrel spun around and looked into the darkness beyond the dock’s end. That was the voice’s source, but there was no one there.

“Who are you?”

“You wouldn’t want to know.”

“Well, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked.”

There was silence. I wonder if I really do want to know Hendrel thought.

“I’m the ferocious Astorax come to eat your children.”

Neither moved for a moment. A million questions began forming about this much-maligned creature now emerging amid fear.

“Astorax or not, you better get out of there. I can hear your teeth chattering. You’ll get sick if you stay in the cold water.”

Another long silence ensued. Then the hand, seen earlier by torchlight, stirred. A second hand came from the water and grabbed the dock’s planking. Hendrel checked that no one else was nearby. He turned back to what was emerging. “It’s okay to come out. There’s no one else in sight, but stay in the shadows.”

Deer horns sprang from the water followed by a human head. Hendrel froze. The face was elongated. With imagination, Hendrel could imagine someone calling it a snout.

Watching Hendrel’s facial expressions, the creature asked, “Why don’t you run away? Don’t you find me revolting?”

“I see a person different from myself.”

“You’re not afraid?”

“Well, if you were going to jump up and kill me, you’d have done that earlier when I stooped to look through the planking.”

The Astorax is different, Hendrel thought, but he doesn’t look mean. Of course, he is in the dark, so how can I tell?

The Astorax pulled himself up on the bank.

“Careful, you don’t want the water to drip on the planking, revealing where you are. Someone might still come looking for you.”

Astorax brushed the water off his arms and chest, then shook his lower half like a dog. The light caught his fur and Hendrel saw the deer legs. Standing before him was the Astorax, as described in the alehouse, except for the face of a wolf with fangs. It took Hendrel a minute to accept what he saw. The Astorax stood there, watching his reaction.

“Have you been in the water long? It must be awfully cold.”

“Too long, my hands are cold and stiff from holding onto the dock.” The Astorax looked down. “Hooves don’t swim well, and they sink in the mud.”

That lightened the moment and Hendrel laughed. Then he felt the creature might think he was laughing at him, but the Astorax laughed, too. Both stopped and looked around to be sure no one had heard them.

“Well, you can’t stay out here, and I don’t think it would be a good idea to take you back to the inn where I’m staying. We do need to get your wet self out of the cold autumn air, though.”

“I’ll be fine,” Astorax said, shaking again to dry his fur. “I shouldn’t have come to a town, but Dreaddrac’s creatures are moving into the mountains more and more. It’s getting hard to avoid them.”

“The people here won’t accept you; you know that. They are afraid of you. Frightened people tend to turn on everything they aren’t familiar with, as you’ve seen. They’re not bad people, just scared,” Hendrel said, feeling he needed to excuse his fellow creatures. He didn’t feel any better.