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eyes.
    What manner of demon spawn was this... thing?
    Doubt cared not for lingering in the Beast’s thoughts. These men were most certainly the Wakeful. The muscles of his body tightened, taut as a drawn catapult. Meeting the Wakeful elicited that effect in all living beings. It was as though the waking world knew it was being poisoned by those more at home in nightmare.
    “We seek...” Malachai’s voice droned as he struggled with the rigidity of his lips. “We seek the girl.”
    “Haven’t seen her,” the Beast muttered, his tone an overdue volcano. As far as he was concerned the conversation was over.
    The hissing sound of swords escaping scabbards countered his defiance.
    “We seek the girl. We seek the Gift.” Malachai motioned to the Beast’s chest. Malachai’s armored gauntlet creaked as plates of steel folded into an accusatory finger. The Beast stole a glance at the spot beneath his cloak where the medallion rested. How had Malachai known?
    “I know no girl and have no gifts to offer. Leave me be. Continue your ride.” His blood rolled to a boil and the Beast, very subtly for his size, shifted to a slight crouch.
    He liked his odds despite the six on one disadvantage. The Wakeful began a hasty dismount, but were abruptly halted by Malachai’s swift gesture.
    Malachai stared long and hard into the Beast’s own savage amber eyes, finding his reflection as the Beast had in his. The battle hardened captain was no fool. Though Malachai was neither sorcerer nor Seer, he recognized the unbridled fury only a beast of the wild could know. It was a primal fury without limit or mercy. Malachai saw the certainty of the battle’s outcome.
    There would be no battle here.
    “We ride for the village,” Malachai shouted to his men. He waved the Wakeful onward and they surged past at a gallop, leaving the Beast standing as steadfast as a mountainside beside the road. None looked back as they disappeared around the road’s bend.
    Malachai nudged his horse to a trot. He hadn’t gone far when he pulled on the reigns, bringing the mount to a halt. “I should hope we don’t meet again on the road,” Malachai called back over his shoulder.
    The Beast dashed two lengthy strides in less time than most folks needed to rise from a comfortable chair and was once more eye to eye with the Wakeful captain. His eyes burned a hole straight through whatever black heart Malachai had left.
    The Beast whispered, forcing Malachai to truly hear him. “You should hope we don’t meet again anywhere.”
    Malachai twisted the remains of his partially frozen mouth into a painful slit of a smile. “Indeed.” With a savage kick, Malachai’s horse broke into gallop.
    A gust of wind sliced his cloak, cooling some of the rage gifted by the Wakeful. He knew he would see them again. He knew it as certain as he knew the stars would shine.
     

Chapter 3
     
    While the world slumbered, the ratty doors of the Troll’s Breath tavern remained open for business. It was an ugly squat building known for its terrible food and the cursed odor of its namesake. The tavern’s pitiful thatched roof was notorious for leaking onto many an unsuspecting traveler just as they settled in to their lumpy bed.
    The bronze light struggling to escape from the dirty windows was an easy spot for the Beast of Briarburn. A faint trace of cooked meat filled the Beast’s nostrils. Stomach rumbling, the Beast made straight for the inn. He cut an arrow’s path through the woods, bypassing the final mile of the Great Road’s curves.
    Loud music split the night with each drunken fool staggering through the door. The noise may as well have been a moat filled with burning pitch; merriment did not suit him. He much preferred the song of wilderness silence. He shrugged off a wave of broken chords and gripped the door’s handle.
    There was the small matter of the medallion... And the larger matter of hunger.
    The Beast shouldered the moldy door, nearly bludgeoning a plank