Wyvern
Elsbeth calmly nocked an arrow into her grandfather's crossbow and wondered which of the villagers she'd have to shoot tonight.
"Come out, Angus Weaver! 'Tis your doing that the beast is attacking!'
Her door shivered beneath hard blows as the mob outside beat their fists against it and shouted their anger.
"Aye, Angus, come out! You're not welcome here no more!'
She waited until there was a pause in abusing the door before jerking it open to face her adversaries. A line of surprised villagers met her gaze. As one, the crowd took a step back at the sight of the crossbow pointed at them. Elsbeth was no marksman, but at close range she could hit what she aimed for. At the moment, her sights were leveled on the mob's ringleader, Malcolm Miller. Big, muscled, with a shaggy head of dark hair and an equally shaggy beard, he reminded her of a bear—brutish and quick to use sheer force to get his way.
Torchlight bathed the crowd in dancing shadow, lending it an eerie, swaying quality, as if it were a single creature, darker and far more malevolent than the beast that terrorized their village these days. Malcolm's features looked especially cruel in the flickering light, a Fool's Day mask to scare small children. Elsbeth suspected the light revealed much about Malcolm—the beast lurking behind the human facade.
"Move aside, Elsbeth.' He stepped closer, but hesitated when she raised the crossbow a little higher.
"Or what, Malcolm?' Her finger tightened against the crossbow's trigger at the crowd's restless movements. Rivulets of sweat tickled her ribcage. The lump of fear wedged in her throat made it difficult to breathe, but she wouldn't move from the doorway. "Why have you brought these good people out into the night to beat my door down and disturb my grandfather's rest?'
Malcolm sneered, his small eyes glittering with malice and an avarice that sent shivers down Elsbeth's arms. "You know why, woman. We want Angus. He's the reason the dragon is destroying this village and wiping out our livestock.' He turned from her to face the crowd. "Is it not so, friends? We had no trouble with dragon-kind until Weaver came here telling his tales of slaughtering such a beast and showing his dragon armor to all and sundry.'
A chorus of "Ayes!' answered him, and the crowd surged forward again, driven by Malcolm's words to punish the one they considered the harbinger of their misery. Once more they hesitated at the sight of Elsbeth's ready crossbow.
The ringleader jeered at his companions. "It's just one woman with a single bolt! She can't stop us!'
Elsbeth raised her voice to match his. "Aye, just one bolt to kill one man. Which of you lads is willing to take that bolt in the gut so your brave friends can drag a crippled old man out into the cold and hang him?' Her lip curled in derision when Malcolm himself made no move to rush her. "You, Malcolm? Give me an excuse. You've been nothing but a thorn in my ass since we came to live in Byderside.'
Her grip tightened on the bow as Malcolm growled and took a threatening step. So be it. The miller's son would go down first. Elsbeth had never killed a man before, and her stomach churned at the prospect, but she didn't hesitate to take aim.
$6.00 — Available for download here.