Chapter Twelve: The Magistrate Revisited

THe man sat there, upon his wonderfully crafted chair. Before him on his desk loomed a mountain of official transcripts, papers,and random items of no certain value.

His head rested in his hands.

There was a knock on the door.

"Come in," he pulled himself up from his lethargic dismal state and fixated his eyes upon the revolving knob.

A single watchmen entered.

He held more papers in his hands.

The magistrate of Westerdaven rose.

"No more...no more reports today."

The guard tilted his head.

"Sir, there's also a man outside. He wishes to see you." The magistrate resumed his pitiful slouch back into his chair.

The guard pressed the matter further, "says he's got something to tell you. I reckon its 'bout that murder last night."

A resounding thud caused the guard to stand still, engulfed in awkward silence as the Magistrate raised his head once more, only to send it back into the desk.

Things had gone bad since the escape of that farmer.

The guard coughed abruptly and backed out the door.

His head popped back in.

"I'll send for him then?"

No answer. The guard turned, but the man was already there.

"Sorry m'lord. didn't know you were going to come so early."

The figure shushed the guard away with a hand and entered the room.

"Rise." His voice seemed puny, tiny and wholly insignificant-the voice of a man just exiting his middle years with a voice strained and quieted by much yelling. Yet despite these imperfections to his vocal superiority, the magistrate felt obliged, even compelled to do so.

The Magistrate grew conscious of his appearance, and began smoothing out his clothes and rubbing his red forehead.

"I'm sorry? Did you have an appointment?" His words suggested a cordial misunderstanding, but his tone was saturated in dislike.

The figure walked to the desk and took a seat before it. He took several long deep breaths.

The magistrate also sat, unsure if this was the right thing to do.

"Sir? You're in my office. Speak."

The figure raised a hand.

"I will speak once I am ready. Silence for now."

The voice of the figure seemed to come from several directions.

Finally, after several minutes of waiting, the same small voice was heard.

"The reports you have been recieveing? Are they of a wolf?"

The magistrate was tired of waiting and tired of having no answer. His calm broke.

"Look, if you have any answer, any at all concerning the mishaps that have been taking place, you will spit them out this instance. i have not the time to dilly-dally and wait for you to catch your breath."

For the first time, the figure raised his head, his empty eyes burrowing into those of the Magistrate. This caused the magistrate to nearly fall backwards off his chair.

"The hell happened to your face?"

The figure rose. and stepped around the desk, leaning closely to the official, while placing and eerily warm hand upon his shoulder.

"Let's say I've been through hell and back to get here."

He gave a wheezing chuckle. The magistrate chuckled once nervously, but sat in silence.

"Is there a description of a rather small man, with black hair and sunken eyes among your reports? See I've lost a dear friend. He's interested in wolves, so perhaps he might be chasing this beast?"

There was something deeper in what he was saying, but the magistrate had too small a mind to understand all such things.

"No reports of a man like that. Just the wolf. Last spotted by the old sages house in the mountains. Last man to see the wolf was probably the ranger Kinningson. Been tracking it for days now. find him, and maybe you'll find your friend. Please..leave."

His voice trailed off in tangible fear.

The figure walked away towards the door turning to thank him for his help.

As he left and faced the Magistrate one final time.

"Did I mention about the murder?"

The magistrate shook his head, an unnatural fear sweeping through his body.

"I killed him."

The figure turned and left, leaving the magistrate frozen in a paralysis of a spell binding fear.