Zybishek and the Wolf

Zybishek and the Wolf is a Joran folk tale, about a huntsman, called Zybishek, who is dispatched by Duke Geralt of Loren to slay a great Wolf , which haunts the forest surrounding the isolated hamlet of Prebuz. The hunter kills the wolf, returns to Loren, and is made a nobleman for his great service to the people of Prebuz, founding the House of Revenfeld. 
 
== The Story ==
It is the reign of Duke Geralt of Loren, of the Second Dynasty. The land is prosperous, peaceful, and pristine. 
At the small hamlet of Prebuz, the harvest is coming in. The harvest is bountiful, the people are celebrating, children are playing in the street, horses are grazing in the field, and shepherds are resting with their flocks. Yet...not far into the woods...something lingers...something watches…
Now, from the forest, a dark shape comes. A great beast, slinking through the tall grass, toward a flock and its shepherd. Unseen, it stalked its prey. Suddenly, the breeze shifted. And the sheep began panicking. As one, they got up and fled behind their shepherd, their guardian, their protector. He, confused, stood up, and saw the beast. 
“Wolf, Wolf!” he cried, taking his spear in hand, and readying himself to protect his flock.
Hearing these words, a buzz of activity was heard from the town, women and children hiding inside, men taking up arms and coming to the young shepherd’s defense. The beast, hearing this ruckus, shifted his gaze from the red cloaked shepherd, to his flock. The great Wolf lunged past the shepherd, his great, black form passing aside his spear, and snatched up a sheep in his jaws, before fleeing off into the forest. 
The shepherd stood frozen, still staring off into the woods, as the townsmen came up to save him. 
“What happened, man?” asked the men.
“A great Wolf, it came and took one of my flock.” the shepherd said through gritted teeth.
Many days later, at the court of Geralt of Loren, the chamberlain summoned up the next visitor to ask the Duke of a favor. In came the red-cloaked shepherd. 
“My lord Duke, I come to petition your support.” he said, bowing before the Duke of Joraje.
“What do you need, son?” Geralt replied.
“Near my village, Prebuz, there is a great Wolf. It has stalked our village, hounded our flocks, and tried to attack me. It is the biggest beast I’ve ever seen, at least as tall as I am, and twice as long.” the shepherd described, a look of terror on his face. 
“A wolf, you say?”-the Duke frowned-“We must kill it immediately, especially if it is as dangerous as you say.  I shall dispatch a company of men-at-arms, and the two best hunters in Joraje! This Wolf will be killed!”
The shepherd smiled. “Thank you, my lord” he said, before turning and leaving the chamber. 
The hunters stood at the gate of the castle, awaiting the Duke’s men. The two men stood, Zybishek on the left, and Hencol on the right. 
“So, I hear we’re going after a Wolf.” Hencol said
“Well, someone’s got to do it. They’re saying that this is the biggest Wolf of our age.” Zybishek replied.
“They also say that its the size of a tree, and that its killed 4 knights and a hunter. I don’t believe the tales, its probably just some dog who got lost in the woods.”
“Even if it is just a dog, we can...wait, here they are.” Zybishek stood up, watching as the Duke’s men rode up to the gate. “Took your sweet time getting here, didn't you? There’s a Wolf on the prowl in some town, and you were, what, grooming your horses? Lets start moving already!” 
“By all the Farars, huntsman, you haven't got to be so impatient! Its probably just some hound that got lost out there, is all. You know how peasants get, always scared of the simplest things.” The knight at the head of the company replied. “Now, Mount up, you two, lets set out!’’
The company rode for many days, four knights and two hunters, through forest, field, and meadow. Flying the yellow and black banner of Loren, they advanced quickly toward the village. At last, they reached the edge of the common, and saw the hamlet, the steeple of its church rising above the trees. 
Empty. The town was deserted. But the common wasn’t. A large crowd had gathered near the edge of the clearings. The party advanced on horseback, and members of the crowd hailed the knights. They were gathered around something sprawled across the ground. Zybishek dismounted, and walked through the parting crowd. 
In the middle of the crowd knelt the town’s Farar, Farar Jerice, above the body of a red cloaked shepherd. 
“What the blazes is going on here….” Hencol asked, trailing off as he saw the bloodsoaked body, crumpled on the grass.
“So, you have arrived at last.” Jerice said, the old man standing up shakily. 
“Yes, what happened here?!” the knight asked, forcefully.
“It came naught an hour ago. The great Wolf lunged toward him from behind, while he was guarding his flock, and it ripped out his throat. Before we could muster up a response, it had vanished back to the forest.”
“Did you see it? How big was it?” Zybishek inquired. 
“I did!” called a local peasant. “It was at least as tall as I was, covered in black fur, with muscles rippling beneath it! It was massive, the biggest creature I ever did see!”
“Which way did it go?” Hencol asked.
“It went that way, to the north!” The peasant replied, pointing toward a dark copse of trees.
“You lot! Take these horses and find them some stabling-!” the knight shouted, ordering his men. “And you two! Come with me! We’re going Wolf-hunting!” 
The three men, two hunters and a knight, set off toward the trees. Behind them, the crowd began to disperse. 
“Look there! Blood!” the knight whispered to the two hunters, pointing at a patch of red mud on the ground. Leading away from it, was a trail of large paw prints, and a small trench, as though something heavy had been dragged by it. 
“Shush, lets follow it quietly. Ready your arms.” Zybishek whispered, hushing the knight. “These tracks are fresh, less than a day old. Be careful!”
Following the trail, they came to a gruesome sight. In a small clearing, atop a large stone, was a sheep’s carcass, mutilated and decapitated. On a nearby post, the sheep’s skull stood on a high branch of a large tree, the branch rammed through the back and out the top of the head, its beady eyes staring down at the group. 
“What the blazes is this?” Hencol wondered aloud. 
“Shush, you!” Zybishek whispered to the second hunter. “Can you smell that?”
“What, rot? Of course I can smell rot, there’s a dead sheep, right there, rotting away!” the knight whispered exasperatedly. 
“No, no, the wind shifted...the smell is getting stronger.-” Zybishek replied, quietly “-Something’s wrong, we need to leave, now!”
“What’s going on? Why are we going?” the knight asked, as the two hunters began retreating through the underbrush. 
A low, guttural growl, emanating from the dark shadows of forest, is heard. 
“By the devils!” the knight said, raising his sword, looking nervously at the trees about him. A dark shape shifts ahead of him, just under the shadows of the trees. 
The knight takes a step backward, and then another, and begins following the hunters, never taking his gaze from the Wolf. As they leave the clearing, the growling stops. 
“Well, gentlemen, we encountered the beast.” the knight spoke to his company, as they sat in the common. Following the expected barrage of questions, he continued: “The tales don’t do it justice. It’s quite large, almost the size of a pack horse, and had great red eyes. It stalked us through the woods, but it left us after a while.”
“What was it like?” “Where did you find it?” “How did you find it?” the men-at-arms asked, excited at the prospect of killing a great monster.
“It was a great, black, hulking shadow, I couldn’t quite make it out, all I know is that it would have been more than a match for me. I might have been able to wound it, but it certainly would have gotten me, the bugger!” the knight responded to the first question.
“We found it at a clearing, with some sort of shrine at the center. There was a sheep rotting on this pile of stacked stones, and it’s skull was nailed to a tree. It was only as the wind shifted, that we saw it, this great shadow in a sea of shadows. Were it not for us smelling it, the rot coming off it, at least one of us is likely to be dead.” Zybishek remarked, answering the second and third questions. 
“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go slay the beast!” the second man-at-arms cried, and the other two cheered in agreement.
“You two! Gather the townsfolk! You there, bring us the spears! We’re going to root out this Wolf!” The knight ordered. 
It was an hour before dusk. The woods were totally dark, aside from the torches carried by the motley militia. Nearly every man in the hamlet was out and in the woods, carrying axes, spears, pitchforks, and whatever other weapons they could find, intent on killing the Great Wolf. Spread out in a long line abreast, they walked through the forest, barely making a sound. At last, the company of peasants came to the small clearing. 
“We found it, spread out” the knight ordered the company.
Fanning out through the forest, Zybishek turned back to the sheepskin cairn.Looking about, he noticed that something had changed. 
“Hencol! Come here!” Zybishek turned, and as the second hunter came up: “Earlier today there was a single sheep skull on the trees. Now, there’s two.” he observed grimly.
Hencol came up. “Here, here, what’s this?” He said, bending down and grasping something from the ground. “A bloody rag. I wonder where this came from.”
Just as Hencol and Zybishek begin inspecting the torn piece of cloth, a messenger from the village runs up to the knight.
“The Village, the Wolf is in Prebuz! We must return! Come quickly!”
Hearing the Wolf was threatening their families, the militia turned as one and began rushing back to their homes. 
“How the blazes did it get around us?!” Zybishek queried, starting after the villagers.
“Who knows? The one thing we know is that we have to get back to the town! This could be our one chance to kill the beast!”
As they neared Prebuz, the militia was already streaming into the village. A small crowd was gathered on the churchyard, and the two hunters walked toward the throng. 
“What’s happened?!” Zybishek called toward the group.
“The wolf! It attacked the village while the men were away! It killed Farar Jarice! Come see!” a townswoman replied.
The two hunters pushed through the crowd, and before the steps to the church, was the crumpled, mangled figure of the old Farar, his black robes soaked with blood, his staff broken in two. 
“By Bestie! This beast is terrible!” Hencol said under his breath. 
“Come, Hencol, I must talk to you.” Zybishek said, looking at the crowd around him. “Privately.”
“What is it, Zybishek?” the second hunter asked as they rounded the church.
“I must tell you, I no longer believe that this Wolf is….a mere wolf.”
“What do you mean?” Hancock queried, perplexed. 
“It is clearly intelligent. It knew we were coming. It knew where we would be. Do you remember that clearing?”
“How could I not?”
“I think that was a shrine of some sort. Why else would a creature leave a sheep-skull on a tree, and a body on a pile of stones? I think this Wolf is not entirely of this world.”
“And I think you’ve gone mad. It’s just a large wolf, nothing else about it. Now, lets find some bedding, we've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.” Hencol yawned, turning back around.
“Alarm! Alarm! The Wolf has Returned!”
The shrill cry of the villager pierced the night’s silence. 
The two hunters fell out of the beds in the house they had boarded in, and grabbed their bows and spears. 
Most of the doors and windows in the town were shuttered up, though there were sounds of stirring in each and every house. Militiamen were bursting from their doors, and running toward the commotion at the far side of the common. 
There, just beyond the reach of their bows, they saw three men. Two of them townsmen, from the watch that had been established that evening, and the third was one of the four knights. They were fighting the beast, its red eyes glowing in the darkness. They watched as it swatted one of the men aside, and lunged at the knight, his hauberk doing nothing against the long canines of the hound’s mouth. He collapsed, his throat in the Wolf’s teeth. 
The Wolf, having struck its target, and seeing the mob closing in on it, retreated back to the cover of the trees. 
The knight was dead. One of the elite warriors sent to kill the beast, was slain by it. A double watch was begun, to catch the Wolf before it could kill any more.
It was three days since the Knight was killed by the Wolf. In those three days, little had happened. Zybishek and Hencol had spent the time prowling the forest nearby, hoping to find any sign of where the Wolf could be hiding. They had found naught but the occasional footprint and scrap of fur. 
Also during that time, Zybishek had gotten what he believed to be the proper tools to slay the beast. He had had the village’s smith coat three of his arrows in silver, as well as the tip of his spear. 
“This should do the job.” the Hunter remarked, admiring the arrow. “Its a bit primitive, but it should work.”
“Well, then, now that you’re feeling ready, shall we go hunting?”
“We shall indeed. Gather the knights. We’re going to find this beast.”
The clearing had changed. No longer was it just the skull of a sheep, but now there was a knightly helm on the tree as well. The two hunters, and the three knights, stood in a ring about the cairn. There they stood, on guard, spears and bows at the ready, waiting to hear rustling in the underbrush.
A low growl. 
Movement.
North.
Zybishek loosed a single arrow into the trees. Off it sailed, into the forest. The others turned and looked, expecting to see the hound burst from the trees there. 
One of the knights screamed and fell, a great mound of black fur upon him from behind, his scream heard for miles about. The other two, stunned for a time, set upon it with their spears. Ignoring them, it continued to maul the poor ritter.
A pained yelp was heard, as Zybishek’s silvered arrow bore into its hide. It stopped, and stared at the hunter, who nocked another, drew, and released. This second found its mark as well, and the beast turned, and lunged toward him. 
"Look out!" Hencol yelled, diving between the two opponents, spear in hand. He would see the Wolf dead before it reached his comrade. Standing his ground, spear ready, he was attacked by the beast, which bit at him, and he stabbed back. 
Crying out in pain, the hunter fell to the ground, though he drew his dagger, and slashed as it as he collapsed under the hound's mass. Zybishek, trying to save his friend, loosed a second silver arrow. The wolf looked up from Hencol, snarled, and turned to flee.
Zybishek threw down his bow and rand to his wounded fellow. 
"Hencol, talk to me!" he called, kneeling down over his fallen friend.
"Im not going to make it...but..." Hencol said, gasping"...You can end the wolf. Go, now! Kill the beast before it can kill more!" he struggled out, and died. 
Zybishek stood up, took his bow in hand, and said to the two knights "Follow it! Quickly now!" and jogged off, following the bloodied dirt that marked the Wolf's passage.
It was noon. The three neared a lone cottage in the forest. They had tracked the Wolf here through the forest. There, through the open doorway, they could see a large puddle of blood on the floor. 
The two knights charged in, with spears and shields held ready. One was attacked bythe Wolf, who ripped through his hauberk with his sharpest of teeth, and the other retreated back through the door. The Wolf, pierced by two arrows of silver and wood, followed, and pounced on him. 
Zybishek took his last arrow, and loosed it into the creature's blood-matted hide. It fell in a heap, it's jaws still around the knight's throat. The hunter walked carefully forward, before unsheathing his knife, and stabbing it in the eye. The Wolf was dead, as were the two knights who has joined him. 
There was celebration in Prebuz that night. The terror which had plagued them was dead, and they could now live freely again, without fear of the great Wolf. 
The villagers, overjoyed that they were saved, hailed Zybishek as a hero. They gae him many thanks, and much silver alongside, as well as giving him a cart to return the carcass of the beast to the Duke. 
At the Court of Loren, Geralt welcomed him. 
"You have killed this beast, a great threat to my people." the Duke said, congratulating the hunter. "You have my thanks. Seeing it now, not even a Hundred knights and ritter could slay this abominable creature. Yet you, you have done it, and for this you must be rewarded in kind."
"Milord, I am thankful for your kindness, but I simply cant accept anything.." Zybishek studdered.
"Kneel, now, my huntsman." Geralt commanded, interrupting the hunter.
As Zybishek did, the Duke drew his sword. "You have done a greatr service to me, my people, and my realm. For this, I dub you Sir Zybishek, Ritter of the New Fief of Prebuz, and Marshall of the Ducal Hunt!"
Zybishek rose, now a nobleman, and bowed before the duke. The great honor was his. He would take up the arms of four deer, a raven, and a Great Grey Wolf, and would adopt the name "Revenfeld". Thus, the Revenfeld Dynasty would be formed, and Wolves would nevermore threaten the town of Prebuz.
Category:Literature