Chapter 1
Trik rode into the village of Endora late in the evening of an autumn day. The road was lined with single-story timber buildings with straw-thatched roofs, and lanterns were pitched along it every fifty feet. A young woman with long brunette hair tied in a pony tail waited for Trik at the jail house, a large single-story building that was stone instead of timber. Trik dismounted there, hopping onto the dirt road.
The young woman stepped up to him. “Trik,” she said.
Trik nodded.
“I’ll take your horse,” she said, with a soft country accent.
Trik glanced at her eyes, catching her gaze. Her eyes were green, even in the dying light of the evening. He took his sword from his saddle and sheathed it in the scabbard that hung from his belt. He took the reins of his horse and handed them to her.
“My uncle is inside,” she said. “He’s waiting for you.”
Trik tipped his wide-brimmed hat to her, and then he made his way past her to the jail house.
Trik stepped inside a candle-lit room, his leather boots tapping on the hard stone floor. A middle-aged man with a mustache and shoulder-length gray hair sat behind a desk at the far end of the room. He was slouching in a chair with his arms crossed over his chest and with his leather boots resting on the desk. There was a wide-brimmed hat on the desk, lying on top of a bastard sword. “Evening, stranger,” he said, his voice a deep baritone.
“Sheriff Norris,” said Trik.
The sheriff nodded. He glanced at Trik’s hat, which cast a shadow over the elf’s eyes. “You ever take that thing off?” he asked.
“No,” said Trik.
“Suit yourself,” said the sheriff.
Trik turned to his left. There were three stone cells along the far wall lined with iron bars. Inside one of the cells was an old man sleeping on a pile of hay. He was lying on his back and snoring.
“My niece tells me you’re the best,” said the sheriff.
Trik turned toward the sheriff. His expression was firm.
“I suppose you’ve been informed about the problem,” said the sheriff.
“A monster,” said Trik.
The sheriff nodded. He reached into a drawer behind his desk and brought out a sack of coins. He dropped the sack on the table. “Four-thousand silvers, up front,” he said.
“You heard right,” said Trik, “I am the best.” He glanced at the sack of coins. “Four-thousand isn’t enough. I want five.”
“Five,” said the sheriff, his eyes widening. “Who told you to bargain with me?”
“I’ve come far,” said Trik, “but not too far to turn around.”
“Five,” said the sheriff, nodding. “Alright, stranger,” he said. “You’ll get it.”
“My name is Trik,” said Trik.
“Alright, Trik,” said the sheriff. He sat up in his chair. “You’ll get your money.”
“Tell me about your monster,” said Trik.
“He’s a man-eater,” said the sheriff. “He’s got arms like a bear, and skin as thick as these walls. I lost two good men in a fight with him this summer. Went into the forest one evening, and never came back.”
“Are you trying to scare me?” asked Trik.
“I’m just letting you know what you’re up against,” said the sheriff. “I don’t need another wannabe hero. I need someone who can get the job done.”
“I’m not afraid of monsters,” said Trik.
The sheriff nodded. “You talk a good game,” he said. “I hate to see another man lose his life.”
“Where is it?” asked Trik.
The sheriff cupped his hands on the desk. “Comes at night,” he said. “Disappears before anyone can catch a glimpse of him.”
“What’s he after?” asked Trik.
The sheriff looked down at his hands, and a pained expression fell over his face. “Young ones,” he said. He leaned back in his chair. “There ain’t a mother in this village who hasn’t feared for her child’s life.”
“Children,” said Trik. Shortly after he said this, there was a loud shriek behind him.
A village woman with a look of terror upon her face burst into the jail house. “My boy,” she screamed, staring at the sheriff. “That monster took him.”
The sheriff’s eyes widened and he got up from his desk. “Where?” he asked.
