As he ran he found himself whimpering, blurting profanities over and over again as he ran, cursing his luck and his parentage and Magistra bloody Gelredida.

A quick glance over his shoulder told him the beast wasn’t close to him yet, but he kept running despite the aching in his arms and legs and the hollow cold in his lungs. On and on he went until he was exhausted.

He reached a wide shelf where he was able to regain his breath, hands on his knees, sucking in the thin air and blowing out cloud upon cloud of freezing mist. He allowed himself the briefest glimmer of hope that perhaps the creature had given up the chase, but when finally he looked up those baleful eyes were once again staring at him through the snow.

It leered at him, this mountain wolf, or was it a bear? Whatever in the hells it was there was no escaping it now.

Waylian stumbled back feebly, slipping onto his backside, and the creature’s howl of victory echoed up through the mountain. It was all Waylian could do not to piss himself with fright. He could only wish that some form of magick might well up within him, might blast this beast into oblivion, but he had not manifested any since that night at the Chapel of Ghouls, and it didn’t feel like there would be a repeat performance any time soon.

He waited. Waited for that last leap. Waited for those rending claws. Waited for those fangs to sink deep into his throat and tear out lumps of flesh.

The beast just stood there and stared.

From behind Waylian came the sound of clinking metal, and then a snort. Reluctant as he was to take his eyes from the monster barely ten feet away, Waylian turned his head slowly. There, through the billowing snow he could just make out a horse and rider. For a moment his heart leapt as he allowed himself to think that maybe, just maybe, he was saved. Help had arrived, and if not help then perhaps someone else for this beast to eat.

He could see the rider was bedecked in bronze, his horse in barding to match. The armour was crafted in a design he’d never seen before; each piece forged to resemble a dragon’s wing … or was it a wyvern’s?

Waylian sat for what felt like an age, his arse getting colder as the beast and the rider just stood there. He began to wish they’d get on with fighting or running, one thing or the other, just so he knew which way to flee himself.

As last, the beast roared. It was a challenge, even Waylian could tell that. In response the rider spurred his mount and it walked forward, undaunted by the noise of the creature, or its talons and its teeth.

The rider dismounted holding his shield and spear confidently.

Then they were about it.

With ease, the warrior hefted his spear, bringing it to shoulder level, poised to throw, whilst the beast shifted its weight on its paws to take a defensive crouch, ready to attack. Waylian scrabbled out of their way, wading into the deep snow to huddle against the mountainside.

The warrior’s throw was mighty, the spear cutting through air and snow, but the mountain beast was already leaping. The spear passed it by as it took to the air and Waylian felt any hope he had melt like snowflakes on a fire. It seemed obvious his saviour was about to be torn open and plucked from his armour like a whelk from its shell. But the knight had other ideas – moving impossibly fast, spinning beneath the beast as it leapt and pulling his sword from its sheath with a violent ring of metal.

The beast landed deftly, spinning around in the snow and the warrior faced off against it, crouched low, shield high. They both waited there in silence and all Waylian could hear above the wind was the chattering of his teeth. Then they both moved in unison, the beast scrabbling for purchase as it powered itself forward, the knight sprinting on through the snow. They leapt, leaving the ground together, but the knight jumped to the side, planting a foot against the hard rock of the mountainside and striking in as the beast shot past. It was a quick and nimble attack, the sword stabbing in and out in the briefest flash of steel. The knight landed on his feet, walking a couple of steps almost casually. Behind him, the bear or wolf or whatever in the hells it was, landed in a heap, the snow beneath it fast turning crimson.

Waylian almost laughed at the knight’s victory. Almost. It was all he could do to struggle to his feet, using the wall of rock for purchase. Endless words of thanks would have come rolling off his tongue could he have moved it, but instead all he managed was a grateful groan.

The knight sheathed his sword, kneeling beside the creature as though examining its worth. Waylian stumbled forward, but the warrior paid him no attention.

‘I say …’ Waylian managed, his shoulders shivering more than ever.