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“Any strange stories pass through here?”

“You’re a spy I suppose.” The innkeeper replied in a bored kind of way.

Veronique’s master laughed and shook his head.

He was a tall man but scrawny from restraint in diet. His hair was dry and thin like straw. When she had first apprenticed to him it had been dark in patches, but it had long since gone totally grey. He was dressed in shabby rags and a traveling cloak which had seen frequent mending. He carried a sword visibly at his waist which marked him as a bandit, or more charitably, a mercenary, rather than a common pilgrim. It was, she admitted freely, exactly the sort of attire royal informers were said to go about in. Although in her and her master’s case it was a result of poverty rather than duplicity.

The innkeeper took no notice of her master’s denial and just plowed forward with what he had been saying. “You sound like one sure enough. Don’t mind if you are of course. I for one support his majesty. Something goes wrong and a man is liable to blame the king because he’s the one who rules –even if it’s their own fault. Some of the local lords around here could do with a bit of the king’s justice if you ask me.”

“Alright then.” her master replied, choosing to play along. “Where should I go then if I wanted to see about some of these local lords?”

“Well now.” The fat inn keeper scratched at the stubble on his neck as he thought about the question. “Rumor has it that a village on the land of Ser Louis, who styles himself the ‘Iron Heart’, has been beset by murders of the foulest kind.”

“Foul like the result of black magic?” Black magic had become a favorite charge brought against nobles his majesty found troublesome. Any number of things could be considered evidence of black magic and the property of a heretic was forfeit to the crown. Sometimes however that ‘evidence’ could be a genuine sign of something else, something they sought.

The innkeeper winked conspiratorially. “Just so friend.”

“And this Ser Louis, the so called ‘Iron Heart’, did he fight for the crown in the war?”

“He fought for a crown to be sure but not the crown I’m afraid. He took his levy to fight for the bastard false king’s claim.”

“He was granted amnesty after the war?”

“He was captured in the Battle of the White Wood, but he swore allegiance to his highness. Of course, the man’s already broke his oath of fealty once so you can make of that what you will.”

Vero’s master nodded his thanks and placed his coin on the bar. “And such a man might find himself tempted to do so again. I’ll thank-you to point me in the right direction when we depart tomorrow.”

“I’d be happy to do so. The White Feather Inn has never wavered in support for his royal highness.” The man made a broad sweeping gesture with his arm to indicate the cramped and dingy surroundings.

“If I ever see his majesty I’ll be sure to tell him as much.”

Her master left the bar and returned with their tankards to the table where she sat watching the proceedings.

“We’re heading towards that village at dawn I presume?” The inn was loud and the two of them were secreted away in a corner away from the fire so she could speak normally and had little fear of being overheard.

“For the past few days we’ve heard of nothing but these murders. Three every month.” He held up the appropriate number of fingers. “I’m sure there will be some profit in us investigating further.”

“Of course master.”

Vero took only a single pint. Her master, however, took several over the course of the evening and by the end of the night she was forced to assist him both to walk outside to make water and then finally to climb upstairs to their room. They had paid only for a space to lay out their bedrolls in the common area but the private room was unoccupied and the innkeeper hedged his bets as to their possible royal orders. He offered to turn it over to them and Vero felt no inclination to decline his generosity.

There was only a single bed but it was large enough to accommodate both of them as well as keep quite a bit of space in between. Her master fell asleep the moment he lay down his head which Vero saw as a stroke of fortune. After spending the whole day on the road she didn’t feel she had the remaining patience to put up with any of his drunkenly groping advances. She took off her boots and cloak but otherwise remained dressed.

The innkeeper had set out a basin of water for them where she washed her hands and face. When she was finished she frowned down at her reflection in the still water looking back up at her. Her body was lithe and dexterous but waifish thin. She seemed to retain all the awkwardness of adolescence despite her young womanhood. Her fire red hair was cut short like a man’s and she wore breaches and a tunic. Her breasts had never developed so much as her mother or sister’s. Consequently under a heavy traveling cloak and otherwise in men’s attire, she very easily passed for a teenage boy. Fortunately, beards had been out of style in the south for some time so no one would think it odd for a boy not to make at least a passing attempt at facial hair as a display of manhood.

Once she had finished cleaning herself Vero laid down on the bed where her master was already snoring loudly. After years of traveling as his companion she was used to the noise so she fell asleep quickly. If it hadn’t been for the sound she might have assumed that he was dead.

The village was unimpressive in nearly every way and Vero had to deliberately withhold a sigh of exasperation when her master stopped. The old man scanned the motley assemblage of thatch huts and announced. “We’ll speak to the local headman and see what comes of it.” He had been in a foul temper ever since she had roused him at dawn. He had left explicit instructions for her to do so, but that didn’t stop him from blaming her for his hangover.

“Are you certain master?”

“You’ll mind yourself and do as I say girl or I’ll cuff your ear.”

The old man had done so often enough that she was sure he meant it and so Vero was silent as they approached. They walked up to a muddy clear space in the center of the houses and in front of what appeared to be a very modest temple built of wood. On the steps a few indigents sat talking and drinking beer so dark it was black, but conversation stopped as the pair entered the village common. The residents watched their arrival wearily.     

“Ho there, what god do you worship here and where is the priest?” Her master called out.

At first there was no reply then one of the most bored looking of the men shrugged dismissively. “Simple farming folk here, we worship the Earth Mother mostly but this is a temple to Luna, or was at least. It was built to ease some noble’s burden of sins before he passed on. Not many offered devotions here and the priestess disappeared some time ago. ”  

 “Who has authority here then?”

One of the older men stood and pointed off towards the horizon. “Ser Louis owns these lands. His manor is still some ways to the south.”

“Aye Ser Louis owns these lands, but I asked who has authority here.”

This comment raised a chuckle from some of the men and the mood began to lighten noticeably.

“My uncle Phillipe is the eldest and has the largest house in the village.” A younger man spoke up.

“He sounds like the man I’m seeking then. Take me to him lad.”

The young man hopped up from where he was sitting instinctively responding to Vero’s master’s authority and led them to a nearby house. He needn’t have bothered as it was plainly obvious this was the largest house in the village.

Vero stayed quiet and tried to remain unnoticed in her master’s shadow as he led the way in. Before passing through the door she turned to find the young man still standing there and gawking at them. A stern look from her quickly sent him on his way.

Inside was a small hall, but it was a mansion compared to the other hovels in the village. It looked larger from the outside. The interior was made smaller by the presence of brewing equipment. The floor was bare earth, but there was some roughhewn wooden furniture and the abode was heated by a large fire pit in the center.

In front of this fire pit sat an old man and nearby him was a woman of his own age which Vero supposed was his wife but might also have been a sister. There were also a number of other much younger girls. They were engaged in spinning wool for the most part, although one who seemed to be pregnant was in the process of repairing something, perhaps a garment, with needle and thread.

Her master strode up directly to the fire pit and Vero followed in his wake. “Greetings, are you Phillipe, the alderman?”

“I am.” He replied. Vero noticed with indignation that he made no move to offer them seats or any other hospitality. It was evident by the man’s posture their reception would be a cold one. “And who are you stranger?”

“I am a traveling Slayer. I’ve come here to find work.”

“Slayer?”

“Aye.”

“I’m not familiar with the occupation.”

“My trade is to remove the unnatural, exorcise spirits, and exterminate abominations.”

“And the boy?” Phillipe nodded toward Vero were she stood beside her master.

“My apprentice.” He replied succinctly before casting the matter aside and returning to selling their services. “Word has been passed by the peasants of each manor within a week’s travel that a creature of murderous inclination haunts the woods on these lands. I can remove this thing that troubles you in exchange for a moderate fee.”

Phillipe chuckled and remained unimpressed. “How moderate, stranger?”

Her master continued nonplussed. “Nothing beyond your means, I assure you.”

Phillipe played at considering the proposal for a few seconds before shaking his head. “No, I’m afraid I’m not willing to allow the village to turn over its hard won produce to a wandering vagabond who claims to be a monster hunter. The bailiff has been told of the situation and the lord will organize a response how he sees best. It’s not my place to circumvent him.”

Looking around Vero couldn’t help but notice that Phillipe seemed to have profited a great deal more by the villagers produce than anyone else in the village but she said nothing about it.

For his part, her master did the same. “There’s no telling how long the lord will be in coming. Surely it makes more sense to take the solution presented to you.”

 “If you are in such desperate need of money stranger, you might find some occupation woodcutting or doing some other such labor. Perhaps your boy could find some way to earn coin.” The alderman let out a low chuckle which made Vero’s skin crawl.

She had an idle fantasy of driving her dagger into the man’s neck but was more concerned about her master’s reaction. Vero knew her master well enough to realize that the prideful old man would be in a profound fury from the elder’s mocking tone and might not be quite so willing to allow his violent fantasies to remain idle. To his credit however, he gave no sign of disquiet save for a slight narrowing of the eyes. The slayer just nodded and offered a curt grunt of a farewell before ushering both of them out.

Her master led her in a silent huff but once they were safely out of earshot he let fly with a number of bitter invectives leveled at the alderman. “That stupid thief. The foolish old baldhead would rather watch his neighbors be torn apart then offer a copper to protect them.”

The foolish old baldhead in question was to all appearances of an exact age with her master though Vero knew better than to offer that observation at the moment. In lieu of this, she offered an alternative suggestion. “We could go to the lord and offer our services to him.”

“Bah.” He waved his hand at her dismissively. “Lords don’t give a god’s damn about the ones who work their lands, that’s to be expected. I thought better of a member of the commons; that he might care about his fellows.”

“I suppose only those without a modicum of empathy ever acquire wealth. Although in that case, why are you still so poor master?”

He waved his hand at Vero again and this time cuffed her, though not hard. “If I’d wanted your jests I’d have asked for it girl. Even worse the logical structure of your argument is flawed. It’s plainly evident that one may need to be a mean old bastard to become rich but it does not therefore follow that one must be rich to become a mean old bastard.”

“Will we move on now?” Vero asked hopefully.

The old man grunted and then after a dozen steps or so offered an intelligible reply. “We’ll head out of the village and make camp. Then we’ll see what tomorrow brings.”

“You think something will change their minds master?”

“I don’t know. We’ll find out tomorrow. Be silent now girl.”

Vero was none too pleased by this dismissal but there would be no point in arguing further. It was a pleasant enough spring evening and there was no trace of any clouds in the sky, at least none with sufficient weight to bring rain so they forewent putting up a tent and instead bivouacked beneath the open sky.

Her master sent Vero to fetch wood for the fire. By the time she returned with an armful of sticks she found him already chewing on the dinner he had laid out for them. She built the fire and then took her own meager portion of the tasteless dried meat which bore more resemblance to shoe leather then food. While gathering wood she had taken the opportunity to collect a handful of wild berries which offered a brief reprieve of sweet flavor. With her hunger pangs subsided she lay down on her bedroll.

Because of the season the sun still hung over the horizon, but only barely and the sooner the day was over the better in Vero’s opinion so she closed her eyes and tried to fall asleep. But after a moment she felt a hand fall across her breast and rough fingers work at undoing her belt and realized it was not to be.

Vero sighed and moved her master’s hands away from the mess he was making of her clothes and began to disrobe herself. She could smell his fetid breath as he panted and waited impatiently for her to finish. If she had known he was intent on doing this she would have gone over to his bedroll. She was certain when they were finished her bed would reek of the old man.

Finally, she was finished and lay down in front of her master while he removed himself from his clothes. The slayer was as deft as a dancer in battle; however, his dexterity in other matters left a great deal to be desired. In fact, outside of combat she would describe him as quite clumsy.

Age had had clearly taken its toll on her master and as much as she hated him Vero couldn’t help but feel some pang of pity for him as he stood before her with a trembling hand trying to work himself into a fit state to enter her. His face was crimson, partially from the effort and partially from his own embarrassment. She demurely directed her eyes downwards so as not to take undue notice. The old man had, she felt, suffered enough humiliation for the day.

Once he was ready she sat astride him while he let out a long sigh and for a moment Vero wondered if he hadn’t fallen asleep or gone one better and simply died. But a moment later he opened his eyes and with the initial hurdle accomplished the old man seemed to have regained his confidence.

He rolled over none too gently sending Vero to the ground. He then took up a position behind her like a stallion which he no doubt imagined himself to be. With her face smashed into her bedroll Vero couldn’t exactly describe herself as comfortable but she was at least familiar enough with the old man that there was no pain and mercifully enough it was over quickly.

The old man removed himself from her and then practically fell down next to Vero breathing heavily. “I despair of ever teaching you to master the blade but you’ve all the necessary bits for the bed chamber.” He managed through wheezes.

Vero was hardly listening. She turned herself over onto her back and felt dirty inside. She hoped, once he caught his wind, he would leave but that seemed not to be the case. He rested his head against her and very nearly curled up into the fetal position and so Vero realized that she was expected to provide more comfort.

Vero tuned herself to face him, trying to ignore how slick he was with perspiration. She was trying to decide how best to send him on his way when to her shock he kissed her.

After only a moment he broke the kiss and Vero could only manage to stare at him, dumbfounded as to what had transpired. The old man looked back with a trace of embarrassment in his features. Then he laid down flat with his eyes turned upwards towards the web of heaven above them.

Vero decided against saying anything and just tried to lie down and return to her attempt at sleeping. The sun had by this point slipped down below the horizon though there was still some light to be had. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the presence of the old man.

“I should never have brought you with me.”

Vero wasn’t certain if his words were directed at her, so she thought it best to keep her eyes closed and ignore them.

“You should be married by now with children of your own.”

Vero opened her eyes to find that her master had turned over and was addressing her directly.

“I should have refused you when you asked me to train you. I should have refused.” Her master was blinking heavily as he spoke and Vero began to fear that he might burst into tears at any moment an occurrence she had no notion of how to handle. She decided she needed to do something if only to make him cease his lamentations. She laid his head across her bosom and gently stroked his thin gray straw-like hair.

“Oh my darling little Vero. What would I do without you?”

Vero made no verbal response. She just held him and waited for him to fall asleep. She also eventually found oblivion’s embrace as well, but not until a great deal later when darkness had truly fallen and the moon had fully risen to look down on them from high above.

Her master must have restored himself during his night’s sleep. Vero awoke to find him in high spirits and with his hand between her legs. Again they rutted like dogs before he allowed her to redress. To all appearances, gone was his hesitation of the previous night. Again he was the embittered old man she was familiar with, for which Vero was thankful. She found it a good deal easier to hate him in that role.

Together they broke down the camp, though they did so wordlessly. It was common for them to remain silent for long stretches at a time, but this morning the silence seemed heavier. However, if her master was uninterested in discussing what they had done the previous night Vero was more than happy to put it out of her mind as well.

“We’ll go back to the village and see what fate has brought us with a new dawn.” His voice was so stoic as to give the impression that he had never known a moment’s indecision in his life though Vero could spy that his hands were still shaking.

On another morning, she might have managed some impertinent remark. Though that morning, Vero felt much too lethargic and only managed a very beaten sounding “Yes, master.” The moment the words had left her mouth she immediately experienced a surge of self-loathing for so easily taking on the demeanor of a whipped dog.

They returned to the village and the walk in the crisp morning air had done Vero some good in revitalizing her. Although she hoped she would not incur any brazen comments from the villagers as at that moment she felt her temperament was easily hot enough to kill.

The sounds of weeping reached them well before they entered the village proper. Despite the impiety of the act Vero watched a smile creep across her master’s face. “It seems someone pays the price of their fool alderman’s arrogance.”

Under normal circumstances Vero could not maintain her master’s callousness with regards to the victims of the things they hunted. The old man had chided her for her overabundance of empathy on more than one occasion. On that particular morning however, she found herself in possession of a great deal of disgust and hatred which she readily shifted onto the convenient target the village provided. She smiled back at her master and her blood quickened both at the misfortune of the fools who had humiliated them and at the prospect of a coming hunt.

Smiles vanished and they entered the village to find a crowd gathered around the bare space in front of the elder’s residence. There were few enough people present, though given the number of huts she saw; Vero estimated that it must have been the majority of the village’s population.

The alderman Phillipe considered them as they came closer and his look was no more welcoming than that they had received the previous day. He stood on the front step of his home and before him, stretched on the ground, was the form of a boy of about thirteen or fourteen, not much younger than Vero had been when she had first apprenticed herself to the Slayer. Over the body, a woman had prostrated herself in tears. Looking at her, Vero suddenly saw her own mother’s image appear before her and experienced an intense feeling of shame at taking satisfaction from their tragedy.

Her master stepped forward and carefully peeled the mother away from her son’s corpse. The woman watched him but did not resist. No one in the village said a thing as the Slayer examined the boy.

Vero already knew what had happened to the boy. It was obvious to the trained eye even at a distance and what they already knew about the monster confirmed it. Still, her master had told her frequently that a bit of showmanship in front of the uninitiated could often be quite profitable. That villagers could not determine the cause of death on their own would mean nothing to them, they would value the slayer’s work only if they believed it had been difficult to accomplish.

The boy’s neck had been mauled by powerful jaws and his chest had been opened and entrails roughly pulled free with monstrous claws. The neck bite had been the killing blow; it had happened quickly, that much had been merciful. The other wounds were the result of the killer hunting for the choice meats. A number of his organs were gone, the boy’s liver and heart would never be found; they were already in the thing’s belly.

“This was the work of a wolf man.” Her master declared authoritatively once he felt enough time had passed to impress the peasants fully. “It is a curse levied in the name of Queen Luna that under the moon’s full gaze a man loses all reason and takes on a horrible bestial shape.” A murmur ran through the crowd and a number of eyes drifted towards the abandoned temple. Her master didn’t acknowledge what must have gone through everyone’s minds and pressed forward. “There have been attacks like this in the past?”

This question he directed at the mother who nodded in response.

“Three killings in this area, one month ago?”

The mother nodded again.

Her master bowed his head solemnly. “You have my utmost sympathy for your son. Two more will die and this will continue every month until the village is gone or this monster is destroyed.”

All eyes then shifted towards the village alderman who in turn focused intently on Vero and her master. He tried to project a mood of calm contemplation yet for the space of an instant Vero saw a look of absolute fury directed squarely at the two of them. Phillipe already knew he was caught. Although he was the one giving the announcement and making a show of his internal deliberations the mob had already ruled.

At last, when the alderman had decided he’d spent enough time conducting his own bout of showmanship, he stood up straight before his neighbors and very seriously spoke. “We among us in this village have no warriors or hunters with the skill to meet this threat. You are a trained slayer of monsters. We offer you the bounty of our village, will you hunt this creature?”

Vero’s master smiled again.

Once they were away from the village and safely far enough from prying eyes Vero and her master began their preparations. Creatures cursed in the name of the moon goddess could not abide her holy metal, silver. Her master’s enchanted blade was engraved with silver inlays for just such a reason, though as a mere apprentice Vero’s own meager dagger was not. She handed it over to her master who in turn replaced it with his small crossbow. Using the little coin in their purse, the pair had procured a handful of silver bolt heads several seasons ago, although only three still remained.

Her master believed that the monster laired in the forest. Slayer lore claimed moon beasts sought out such places so that the canopy would hide them from Luna’s gaze. So they spent the rest of the morning trying to familiarize themselves with the terrain, at least as much as possible with the time they had.

After lunch they retired for a few hours of midday rest since the hunt would certainly take much of the night and exhaustion could prove deadly. That evening just before the sun set, her master began the final arcane preparations for the night’s hunt. He removed his boots and held out his palm moving his fingers rapidly in a complex set of motions. He sliced his hand with his blade intoning an ancient slayer working of concealment and stealth as he did so. Once he was finished, he spread the blood spilled over the souls of his shoes.

“Hold out your hand.”

Vero did as she was told and performed the same working, reciting the same words and performing the same motions. Her master nodded in reply, which was as close as he ever came to praise, and cut open her hand to finish the spell.

“How long since you’ve last had your woman’s blood?”

“A week master.” Surely he should have remembered given that she was required to keep him informed when she bled, but Vero pushed down her indignation.

It amused her to no end remembering how apoplectic her master had become not long after they’d begun travels together when he’d tried to enter her and found blood. He’d ranted for hours about defilement and the necessity to ritually purify himself before performing any workings. She certainly found the memory quite humorous, but he did not share her feelings.

“It should still be viable then. Get out your rag.”

Vero did as she was bid. From her pack she removed a glass vial with a stopper containing a bit of old rags stained with dry blood. She had puzzled at why her master insisted that she keep such a thing. He wouldn’t even allow her to cast any spells in his presence while she bled, warning of the direst of consequences for working magic while her humors were unbalanced in such a way. On her own of course, Vero had performed a number of minor workings and faced no repercussions. In fact, workings against sickness had even helped to relieve some of the other ill effects that accompanied her monthly bleeds.

Her master continued. “Now this is the first moon beast you’ve hunted alongside me so pay close attention girl.”

Vero sat on the ground and looked up at the old man imagining herself to be in one of the great slayer academies of old and listened to him lecture.

“It is commonly known that such beasts hunt during the full of the moon and fear silver. Peasants claim that they fear wolf’s bane, in fact it proves effective in only a limited number of instances, similar to a vampire’s fear of garlic.”

He paused to give Vero the chance to elaborate and demonstrate her knowledge. “It holds no true power, save for the power of suggestion. If the monster was told as a human it repels such creatures and believes it then they flee. The same principle applies as the priest’s false miracle: if a petitioner has been told by a priest he has been cured or cursed his body will react in such a way to match his beliefs.”

The Slayer gave another nod to indicate that the recitation had been satisfactory. According to him, the old academies had given written examinations but as her teacher was illiterate he had to settle for testing her orally. It was just as well since Vero’s own grasp of her letters was tenuous at best.

“Peasants also claim that such a creature’s bite is infectious. This is a confusion caused by the fact that because of their curse born regenerative abilities they become carriers of many diseases which fail to sicken or debilitate them but may be passed through a bite, the foremost of these being rabies. Such a victim may sicken, but such a bite will never transform you into a moon beast; although some who are bitten and recover do become ravening lunatics.”

“Based on the same false miracle principle, because they expect to become a monster.”

Another nod. “Avoid being bitten and if you are then clean and purify the wound the moment the battle is over. The curse itself is cast by the moon goddess herself, by a miracle, or by her essence through a mortal’s working. Because the curse of a moon beast and the curse of a woman’s bleeding emanate from the same source, the moon, there is a sympathetic connection between them.”

“So a working designed for tracking, cast using my blood will lead us to the monster?”

“Precisely so. I cannot leave myself ritually impure directly before a hunt so I will teach the proper words and signs to you and you will conduct the working.”

The old man did exactly as he claimed. Slayer workings were all based in blood magic so using the substance held little trepidation for her, although Vero was not precisely keen to learn that the ritual entailed burning her rag and standing over it; inhaling the fumes while chanting and performing the signs.

For his part, once his instructions were given, Vero’s teacher remained as far away from the proceedings as he could manage, holding his cloak over his mouth and nose for fear of contamination. Once the fire was well and truly out, he approached her cautiously.

“How do you feel?”

“A little sick from the smoke.” Vero coughed expelling a bit of the burning from her lungs.

“Yes of course, but can you sense anything? Where is the beast?”

Vero examined herself mentally and physically. Even though she knew it would make her master cross if she had bungled the ritual she could find no change except for that caused by the mundane smoke inhalation. “What should it feel like master?”

“You inhaled the smoke; it should affect you there first. Try smelling for the creature.”

Vero sniffed at the wind. At first there was nothing, and then there was something just on the edge of sensation; a smell like animal musk.

“I know the way.”

The Slayer allowed Vero to guide him as they ventured into the woods. The underbrush was not especially thick and so they kept a good pace, though Vero routinely was forced to stop and wait for the old man to catch up. Vero always felt a thrill on a hunt but the effects of the ritual to sharpen her senses had given this thrill a primal edge leaving her practically mad with anticipation when she had to wait for her master.

At last Vero could tell that they were near their target. The stench of the thing was almost overpowering. Ahead of them was a small clearing surrounding an entrance to a cave. She brought her master up short.

“It’s inside.”

“A den. We’ll go inside, but be careful if there is a native pack of wolves here they may have accepted the beast man as their alpha and in that case we will need to contend with them as well.”

Faintly, the sound of wailing could be heard inside.

Vero nodded and readied the first silver bolt in her crossbow while her master drew both his sword and her dagger and placed himself in a stance to fight with both simultaneously. Although her blood called out to her to lead the charge, Vero assumed a deferential position behind her master as they entered the monster’s lair.

Immediately inside the cave a pile of bones and scraps littered the floor. Her master bent down to examine the remains. “A pack of wolves certainly did reside here, although the beast seems to have killed them.”

“Surely that makes our job easier master.”

“Yes and no. We won’t have to divide our attention however it shows that this thing is so wild and uncontrollable that even the simple social structure of the wolf pack is impossible for it to maintain. It may be beyond even the basic instinct for self-preservation so be prepared for it to rush you in a berserker rage giving no thought to the defense of its own body as it attacks.”

“Yes, master.”

The pair continued forward through twists and turns while as the passage became quite cramped. As they did so the sound of wailing continued to grow louder until they reached the back of the cave which opened into a large chamber with a fire pit in the middle of it. On the far side of the fire was a young man, in torn scraps of what once may have been clothing. It was the man who had led them to Phillipe’s home in the village and beside him was the alderman himself.

It was from the young man that the wailing emerged and at that moment Vero knew him to be the moon beast. Phillipe stood over the monster with a hand on his shoulder attempting to comfort him. The beast continued to lament and took no notice of them, it was the village elder who spoke to them as they came near.

“Have you found what you’re looking for slayer?”

Despite the heavy derision in the alderman’s voice Vero’s master didn’t bat an eye.

“Indeed. Your hesitation at hiring me certainly makes more sense now. At first, I’d thought you were just a greedy pig. You should know the lad grows ever more bestial and soon he won’t even be able to recognize his uncle.” Then her master smirked. “Or his paramour.”

Phillipe was affronted, but only for a moment as his face slid into a look of solemn resignation. “Oh what does it matter now? Yes, we were lovers.”

“How did he become cursed?”

“It was that bitch priestess who did this to him. She’s the one who laid the curse.”

“But not without reason I expect. He had something to do with her disappearance I’m sure.”

The alderman nodded. “She discovered us together. Whether by some foul work of divination or by simple eavesdropping, I don’t know. But she demanded, she demanded,” He emphasized this last phrase. “that we reveal ourselves to the village or she would do so herself. We couldn’t very well just give in to her demands.”

“Oh, I understand quite well. Philandering with comely young men is all well and good for nobles and priests and perhaps even the rich merchants in the city, but not something villagers look for in their alderman.”

“Hot headed young Jean fell into such a rage that he killed her on the spot. There was nothing I could do to stop him, though I dare say that even if I could have I may still have stayed my hand. It was nothing less than the whore deserved.”

“The villagers claimed she had gone missing so you must have hid the body.”

“That very night.” Phillipe confirmed.

“Under a clear sky no doubt and so your crimes were revealed plainly before the goddess. Or perhaps the priestess levied it on you directly with her dying breath; such things do have great power. Regardless, the results are the same. And we have a contract to fulfill.”

Vero’s master readied his weapons and she did the same. Realizing the full weight of the situation, the alderman became suddenly frantic searching for some way clear of his troubles.

“You know ancient magic master slayer. Surely there is some cure for his condition.”

“This curse is levied by a god. No mortal working may end it. In some cases it may be ended by making proper restitution to the offended deity, but his crime,” Vero’s master indicated the still wailing beast. “is that of murder and so only the toll of blood vengeance will lift the goddess’ wrath towards this village. You are the patriarch of his family; will you offer yourself for his crimes?”

The alderman made some noncommittal noise and pulled a face as though he was embarrassed, but said nothing.

“I thought not. In that case, I bring a more direct solution. Stand aside or I cannot guarantee your safety.”

“I can pay you twice the amount we agreed. Please just go.”

The alderman was clearly floundering. Regardless, it was this final comment with caused her master to truly show his wrath. “I have been given a contract and taken it before witnesses. A slayer’s honor is not yet so cheap as to break his word and leave a village of innocent people to the depredations of one of the very monsters I have sworn an oath before all the gods to hunt. Stand aside now or I cut through you!”

“No!” At this the young man leapt to his feet and before their eyes began to alter and shift. Fur sprouted across his frame as his muscles bulged and grew. Hands and feet twisted into claws and his once human face transformed into a slavering wolf’s maw. Yet still Phillipe moved to interpose himself between the Slayer and the monster.

Vero, however, was all but ignored. She used the opportunity to slink aside as the two combatants began to circle around each other, both as of yet unwilling to cut down the man who stood between them. Unnoticed, she waited until she had a clear shot at the monster and then loosed a silver bolt directly into the creature’s chest. The wolf man howled in rage and leapt towards her, knocking his protector off to the side as it did so.

Expertly, her master sidestepped and brought down his blade along the thing’s back as it tried to pass him in its haste to strike at Vero. She had fallen backwards from the suddenness of the attack on her, but fortunately her master’s blow had brought the monster up short and turned its attention back onto himself.

Vero hurriedly pulled herself to her feet and clumsily tried to load the next silver bolt into the crossbow. Her hands betrayed her as the excitement caused then to shake and the bolt fumbled out of place. The ritual had turned her nerves into a storm of energy and she longed for nothing more than to leap into the fray directly with her bare hands.

The monster raged but the slayer maintained his wits and danced around its blows in a way that seemed effortless. Vero knew that it was not so. Her master wasn’t attacking; every bit of his concentration was dedicated to keeping out of reach of the beast’s claws. He knew he had the thing’s attention and was waiting for Vero to loose the next bolt.

Vero stilled her emotions and readied the crossbow again. As she raised it she saw the alderman was back on his feet. She tried to shout a warning but was too late as Phillipe attempted to grapple her master from behind.

It was all the edge the monster needed. A slash of its claws left a ragged gash which ran the length of her master’s belly.

Vero fired another bolt which hit the monster at the base of the spine. Even with his injuries her master took advantage of the distraction. He drove the dagger in his left hand into the alderman’s leg. Phillipe screamed and released his grip. Once he was free her master sprung forward in a leap that looked more like a fall, to slash the wolf man across the chest.

The creature howled and then chose discretion as the better part of valor and broke towards the exit of the cave. Vero followed. She fired her last silver bolt to hit the monster just over the shoulder before it rounded a corner and disappeared from view.

Vero felt something knock against her foot and looked down to see her master’s enchanted blade. He had slid it across the floor to her from where he lay on the ground. Phillipe had followed him to the ground and the pair grappled with one another. It took her aback and she spent a moment gawking.

“Damnit girl, keep your wits about you! After that thing!”

“But what about-”

“I can handle one old fool, for the gods’ sake kill that thing!”

Vero turned her attention away from where the two men fought, picked up the sword and chased after the beast. Although it was already out of sight Vero could still sense the creature ahead of her. The monster led her out of the cave the through the forest. The scent began to grow weaker and weaker though from the trail of blood left behind it was clear that the wolf man would not be able to maintain the pace for long. The wounds had been inflicted with silver and would fester, boil, and refuse to heal.

At last, the scent began to grow stronger and it was clear that the monster had stopped. Vero came upon it sitting on the rock beside the stream which ran down a small waterfall just beyond them. The monster had his back turned to her and was preoccupied with prying the silver bolts from his body. The wounds had already turned swollen and angry.

Vero attempted to approach unnoticed but evidentially the stealth working she had placed herself under had begun to lose its effectiveness. She was a few feet away when the monster turned to face her.

Quickly she threw all her force at a single blow aimed at separating the monster’s head from its shoulders but it raised its arms defensively just in time. Vero sliced cleanly through its left arm but the movement was sufficient to redirect the blade into the monster’s shoulder where she felt it shudder to a stop against the thing’s collar bone.

Vero tried to dislodge the weapon but found it stuck fast. She had to release her hold to leap back and avoid a swipe from the creature’s one remaining claw.

The monster, however, was uninterested in continuing to press the attack and turned to flee with the sword still inside him. Vero could only imagine the punishment her master would inflict if she managed to lose his enchanted weapon and so heedless of the danger she surged after the monster unarmed.

The beast’s pace was slow and ungainly. Vero maintained a pace with it easily as they splashed into the water of the stream. It came to her mind that they were very near the edge of the waterfall but only dimly, the rest of her focus was dedicated to the thrill of the coming fight.

The creature slowed to turn and see if she still pursued him and it was all the advantage Vero needed. She leapt and grabbed ahold of the grip of the blade and clung to it as desperately as she could.

The monster began to twist away from her violently. At first the weapon remained stuck sending Vero forward and off her balance. Then all at once the sword came free with a sound of the snapping of bone and tendon.

The beast roared in utter agony but Vero had no time to appreciate it. Stumbling forward on the slick mossy stones she found herself face down in the water and then carried along farther in the same direction by the current. Then the ground vanished beneath her. She fell and a knock on the head deprived her of consciousness.

Vero regained her senses soaked to the bone and with the sky nearly pink. A frantic search for her master’s sword revealed it a few feet further down the stream. Her head throbbed but she supposed that she ought to be thankful she hadn’t washed up in a position to drown.

There was no sign of the wolf thing so Vero climbed back up to where the fight had happened and there retrieved the two silver bolts the monster had removed before she had interrupted. The shafts were fragmented but Vero wrenched off the bolt heads and threw them into her bag. There was no trace of the third bolt, and she hoped it was still in her prey. Given their finances it was too valuable to replace.

Thinking of her master Vero rushed back to the cave as quick as she could manage. By that time the sun had crested the horizon. She found the cave exactly as she had left it and went inside to the back room.

She found it much as she had feared. A form lay prostrate on the ground slashed to ribbons with her dagger still embedded in it. At first she believed it might have been her master but kicking it over revealed it to be the Phillipe, long dead.

A cough emanated from a dark corner. Her enhanced senses had failed and only small fissures of light illuminated the cave through cracks in the ceiling. Vero’s eyes adjusted and she saw her master in a sitting position up against the cave wall in a pool of coagulating blood. There were marks on the ground in crude sigils where he had tried to perform a working to heal himself with all the spilt blood, but from her master’s position it hadn’t seemed to have worked. Vero knelt down next to him.

“Did you kill it?” He managed to rasp out through another coughing fit and Vero shook her head.

“Gods damn it girl. You have a contract and you will uphold it, understood?”

Vero nodded an affirmative.

“Now you know who it is. If you let him transform again you won’t stand a chance, don’t let night fall.”

Vero nodded again to demonstrate her understanding. As her master was wracked by another coughing fit she fished the silver bolt heads out of her pack and pressed them into her master’s hand. “I recovered these for you master. I don’t know where the third is but-”

Her master cut Vero off by weakly throwing the bolt heads back against her chest. “What are you giving me these for damn fool girl? Fix them to new shafts once you find a town with a descent fletcher.” He reached down to his belt and pulled off his coin purse and also threw that against her as well though it was so light she didn’t even feel it. “You’re entitled to what little’s left. You’ll want my chainmail as well, damn thing cut straight through the belly but you’re shorter than me and anyways it’s better than nothing.”

Vero felt her mind chugging and some far away portion of it remarked that her thoughts resembled a horse wading through mud up nearly to its hindquarters. “Master?”

Her master continued as though he had taken no notice of her vocalization. “You’ll not have it until I’m all the way gone though gods damn you. I’ll not have you pawing me to scavenge my things while I’m still drawing breath.”

“Master, are you going to be okay?”

Her master tried to box her on the ear but it bore more resemblance to a limp wristed slap and at any rate it missed her widely. Vero felt moisture in her eyes.

“I’m dying, stupid girl. Gods help me that my apprentice is such a dullard, but I suppose it can’t be helped now. I didn’t think it’d be some old fool and his catamite that’d finally do it, but there it is.”

“You can’t die master.”

“I assure you I can and that I am.” He held her gaze for a moment and then his features softened. “People die every day my little Vero and today I’m among them. You’ll be fine, there wasn’t that much more I could teach you. Everything else you need to know you’ll pick up with experience, I’m sure.”

A few drops of some liquid landed on her master. Vero tried to speak but couldn’t think of anything to say. She wanted to say that she loved him or that she would miss him, but she knew that both would be lies and it seemed extremely impious to lie to a dying man. It was simply that she couldn’t comprehend what it would be like without him.

“No crying now Vero, it’s nothing but a waste of moisture better spent elsewhere. I’d like to send myself off by giving you a right good ploughing but I’m afraid my body hasn’t got enough blood left to manage it.”

“Yes, master.”

“There are no priests of the Mistress of Bones about so you’ll just have to burn the body. Don’t worry; once my soul is free I’ll make it to the White Lady’s mausoleum on my own. I’ve dealt with restless shades often enough that I don’t intend on becoming one myself. You caught everything I said?”

“Yes, master.”

“Good.” Her master reached out a hand for her though it was evident his vision had already gone so dark that he could no longer see her. She took his hand and guided it to her chest. He cupped her breast for a moment and a wry smile crossed his face before he turned solemn and spread his hand out flat over her heart. “Your apprenticeship is over. In the sight of no man, but before all the gods and demons that care to listen, I name you a slayer and inheritor to all that entails.” One last time the smile returned to his lips. “Good luck, Veronique, you’ll need it.”

And he died.

It was fully morning before Vero had sorted through all her master’s things to determine what was valuable enough to keep, what was too heavy to carry alone but valuable enough to try to sell, and what was useless enough to burn with her master.

It was midday by the time she had dragged the body to the clearing and gathered enough wood for the pyre. She watched the body burn and burn and felt as though something inside of her was being scorched as well. When it was done only ashes remained and she left.

It was approaching evening when she finally arrived back at the village. The villagers eyed her with suspicion but she ignored them as he walked directly towards the elder’s house. The old woman, who had been of an age with the now deceased Phillipe, opened the door and Vero immediately barged past her and inside.

There were gasps and murmurs from the girls inside, but they stayed as far away from the intruder as they could manage. The entire room stank horribly of gangrene. A figure on a pallet weakly made a move attempting to rise. Vero already knew its identity.

The old woman attempted to interpose herself between them. “Please, you don’t understand.”

“Get out bitch!” The old woman shrank back from Vero’s roar. “Leave with the others and don’t come back into this house until I walk out or I swear by any god that gives a damn I will kill you too.”

The old woman looked helplessly, first at Vero then at her son who had finally managed to pull himself into a sitting position. He nodded and the woman ushered herself and the other girls present outside. The figure was covered in bandages though they were soaked through with blood and puss and required changing. The wounds they covered wouldn’t mend until he transformed that night. One of his arms was severed completely, that she didn’t suppose would heal no matter how many moonrises came and went.

“Are you going to kill me?”

Vero slowed but did not stop walking towards him. She drew her sword. “Yes I am.”

He began to quiver and tried to rise further but his body betrayed him and he collapsed back onto the pallet. “Please, it’s only one more night, you could take me out of the village and chain me away from people.”

“I could and then next month the cycle repeats. Lunar curses are very regular and unavoidable I assure you.”

The monster held his remaining arm up defensively but closed its eyes. “Please, I’m scared to die.”

“People die every day.”

A single movement separated the moon beast’s head from its shoulders.

Vero retrieved her last silver bolt from the table where the monster’s family had placed it after they had removed it. She collected her reward and despite the wailing of the bereaved mother no one dared to gainsay her demands. She sold all of her master’s gear that she couldn’t carry with her, at whatever price she was offered, taking no effort to haggle. She advised the villagers the burn the corpse for their own safety, but couldn’t have cared less whether they took her words to heart or not.

With her business concluded she left towards the south and never returned to the village.