Legends from the Warlock's Chair - Book Two - The Chained

Chapter One - Stryker

THE HUGE WOLF-LIKE DOG BOUND through the long dew-bedecked grass, an early morning sun sparkling off its silver-grey coat. It pulled up suddenly, ears pricking, its attention drawn instantly to a movement in the long grass farther down the field. It sniffed the air, then with a bark, it was off once again, racing away towards the source of the disturbance. 

Rabbits. Thought George.

'Stryker,' he hollered. His voice echoing in the stillness of the early October morning. Although the weak sunshine had warmed the valley slightly there was still a crispness in the air and he was grateful for the thick jacket he wore. Farther down the field where the river flowed, a low mist still hung over its waters adding eeriness to the landscape. All around, the trees of Whytewytch Wood were decked in the glowing reds, yellows and various browns of their autumn colours. 

Soon the leaves would all be gone until next spring.

'Stryker. Here,' George shouted again. His breath fogged the air around him.

Ahead the dog slowed, unsure whether to pursue its elusive quarry or reluctantly obey its master.

'Here! Now!' George called again. This time more forcefully.

Stryker turned and padded back towards his master. As the dog neared, he slunk low, tail between his legs, backside wriggling. He knew he was going to be scolded.

George laughed knowingly as the dog timidly approached him.

'You are not getting around me by putting on that act.' he scolded.

Then the dog leapt at him. Huge paws thudded into George's chest, bowling him into the sodden grass.

'Why you great big...' he started to shout. But the dog's great slobbering tongue licked his face and cut him off.

'Get off me,' George called trying to regain his feet. 

Then the dog was off again barking and racing around him in ever-increasing circles.

'Heel,' he shouted frantically. Instantly knowing it would be a waste of time.

George once again wondered if Stryker had inherited any of his father, Sorrow's, mystical traits. It turned out that Sorrow, Ceridwen's huge wolf companion was really a Vorkun, a race of Shapeshifters who helped protect the forest Guardians through the ages. George had seen the wolf-dog change into a savage horned killing machine more than once. He saw nothing to indicate Stryker was Vorkun or even part Vorkun. But he kept a wary eye on him all the same.

Stryker was still a puppy in all but size, and already he stood as tall as George's chest. Ceridwen's she-wolf, Fenrirr, gave birth to a litter of five pups. All were born okay. Which was quite remarkable, considering the terrible injuries inflicted on their mother during a Goblyn attack. Ceridwen let them have one of the pups—subject to their parent's approval.

Mum had been okay with it. 

Convincing Dad had proved to be more difficult. Too much trouble, more expense, they need looking after, excuse after excuse. But gradually they had worn him down. We need a pet; it will make a good guard dog. Eventually, an agreement had been drawn up, to feed and water, bathe, clean up after it, and most importantly, take it for walks, had been drawn up. 

So here he was, early on a Saturday morning trying to train the seemingly untrainable.

Danielle woke with a start. She lay there, eyes still closed, wondering what it was that had disturbed her sleep.

A dog barking.

She sat up slowly, promptly pulling her duvet close. After the comfortable warmth of her bed, there was a distinct chill in her room. She got out of bed and slipped on her dressing gown. Crossing to one of the windows she drew back the curtains. She had left the window open slightly overnight, enjoying the fresh air and the smell of the countryside it afforded.