Aran and Cale crept through the forest, moving towards the flickering light of the campfire. The air was still, leaving no sound except that made by the beasts up ahead. Aran scanned the area ahead of them for sticks and dry leaves that would give them away, but a recent rainfall and steadily cloudy days had made this the perfect night for a hunt.
Cale started to move over to the right while Aran moved left. The other hunters should also be almost in position for the attack. Aran scanned the ground again, then moved his right hand to the hilt of his sword. Yes, the air was still and the leaves damp, but the werewolves might still catch their scent on an unfelt breeze of hear the rustle of a bush. These occurrences all became more likely as the group of hunters closed on their encircled prey.
Aran could see the fire up ahead between the trees and the large, hairy figures gathered around it. They were moving too much for him to get an actual count but that didn't matter. There should be more than enough hunters to fight this pack. Aran gauged his distance from the fire and slowly started to draw his sword. The soft hiss of his blade leaving it's leather lined sheath masked by the crackling of the fire and the barks and words of the werewolves.
When he had pulled it from his sheath, Aran tested the silver on the blade for sharpness and was satisfied when it cut cleanly through the dark test cloth. Again, he started to creep forwards one step at a time. He was very close to the clearing now where the werewolves had their camp. Around the edges of the clearing, he could see the occasional glimpse of fire on silver. He reached into a belt pouch and pulled a smaller, wrapped package from it, then opened his mind's eye.
In it, he pictured the package float from his hand and start to hover upwards and out, over the clearing. It would move high, out of the normal sightline of the werewolves and over the fire before dropping into it. He wrapped the movement of the pouch in magic and, his spell now formed, released it. The pouch smoothly glided from his palm and over the fire. From high above the heads of the pack, it dropped and exploded.
The black powder in the pouch ignited in the flames and detonated, sending small slivers of silver through all of the surrounding werewolves. Shrieks of pain emanated from the clearing as the werewolves were hit by the silver, their pelts and flesh seeming to part of their own accord in the mere presence of the mineral. Then the hunters rushed in.
From all around the clearing, the 12 hunters dashed into the werewolves with their silver edged swords flashing in the firelight. The werewolves around the fire were still shrieking, screaming and crying in confusion and pain from the explosion of silver while the ones on the outside barely had the time for a surprised bellow before the hunters were at and upon them. Aran sprinted in and slashed in an uppercut, cleaving a monster in half before bringing his sword down through a second werewolf. He didn't slow his pace and continued moving into the center towards the largest of the pack.
The Alpha of the pack had been sitting in the Alpha's Place at the head of the fire and had been grievously wounded by the impact of the silver from the bomb. Even as Aran cut his path towards him, however, the Alpha's skin began to close and his fur to regrow. He stood and picked up a large sword that had been taken from a hunter, long dead. Several of the werewolves around him also carried the swords of killed hunters.
Cale formed up on Aran's right and the two of them bellowed a warcry as they slashed their way through the pack members between them and their target. The Alpha returned their cry with a roar of his own and, flanked by his other sword wielding pack mates, charged towards the two hunters on all fours. Aran opened his mind's eye in the wild form of realtime magic and sprayed his opponents with the silver speckled dirt from around the fire. He was rewarded with shrieks of pain from the werewolves before both sides combined momentum threw them together in a melee.
Aran and Cale had a distinct advantage as the blinding pain and rage of the werewolves distracted the beasts. The two swiftly moved and began deftly sweeping arms and heads off of the Alpha's wildly swinging guards before stepping forwards to confront the Alpha himself. The new cuts that covered the Alpha's head and shoulders were already healing even as the great beast stood on its two rear legs and roared.
Cale ducked in low, but tripped over the arm of a dead werewolf and sprawled on the blood covered ground. The Alpha moved to attack him, but Aran used his magic to apply force to the monster's chest and pushed him away from Cale, directly onto the fire. The Alpha howled in pain and rolled off the fire. A smaller werewolf moved to attack Cale as he stood but was cut down by Aran before it could leap. The Alpha stood once more, its sword held before it and the burns it had suffered healing over with fresh, pink skin.
Aran gave up on an easy victory and darted forwards, eyes watching both his footing and his target as he stepped rapidly around the fire. Cale moved just behind him, blocking and repelling attacks that came his way as he closed on his prey. Again Aran used magic, but this time, to slide one of the corpses over to just behind the Alpha's feet. Aran closed to just beyond sword range, then pounced. He leapt forwards and curled his legs up under him, ready to kick or block an attack from his enemy's blade.
The Alpha reacted as Aran had predicted and stepped back onto the corpse, giving a momentary distraction but it wasn't enough. The Alpha blocked Aran's stroke as the hunter came down and reached out with a claw to grab the man. Aran pushed his sword against the Alpha's and moved backwards, taking the beast's claws down the side of one arm. Blood dripped from the wound and the Alpha appeared to smile. His teeth were caked in blood his prominent fangs bared.
Aran reacted with magic, sealing his wound and simultaneously applying immense force to 3 parts of the Alpha's leg. Both fighters sagged to their knees as the cracks from where the Alpha's leg bones snapped pierced the night and Aran's magic took its toll on him. Breaking the monster's leg had been an act of desperation. Aran had prepared a lot of energy for the fight, but the beast was an experienced Hunter killer as was shown by his many swords. He was also an ancient beast, shown by his extreme regeneration.
Aran glanced around quickly. The other hunters were still busy, Cale was trying to keep a few of the surviving armed werewolves from hitting Aran and had enlisted the help of another Hunter that Aran couldn't identify. Aran looked at the Alpha and its now straightening leg as it stood and prepared to attack him again and then used his only option. He threw himself onto the fire.
As he came into contact with the flames, he opened his mind's eye and directed it on himself. Using the most dangerous skill learned by only the most advanced Hunters, he took the direct heat from the fire and changed it into his magic. He rolled off the fire and sucked the remaining heat out of his clothing, dousing the flames and looked again at the Alpha. Then he turned his magic upon himself once more.
No Hunter was to use this magic for more than ten seconds and never when they were at anything below their peak natural magic capacity. Aran's time in the fire had put him well above that, but still the toll from this spell would kill him if he took more than ten seconds. He moved too fast for the eye to behold and was behind the Alpha, even as it started to crouch to charge at where he had been standing. His blade flashed, but the Alpha had tracked the movement and managed to avoid a killing blow.
Blood spurted from an enormous gash down the beast’s back and it started to raise itself and turn only to have its head cleaved from its shoulders and then cut 5 times as it fell to the ground. Aran sagged to his knees, the effect of the magic leaving him as the other hunters attempted to catch each of the demoralized and leaderless werewolves which were running into the trees.
Cale crouched next to Aran and lifted his arm over his shoulders. He half carried his friend over to the Alpha's place and sat him against the pile of clothing that the Alpha had used as a seat. He checked Aran's arm and then let his friend drift into sleep as the howls of anguish slowly started to fade away into the forest.
Aran awoke to the first rays of the sun breaking through the sparse canopy. He sat up and was greeted by the smell of breakfast being cooked by one of the other Hunters. Looking around, Aran saw two Hunters on patrol and a third sitting on a rock by the fire that he was stirring with a ladle. Cale was asleep nearby on a bedroll and the other seven hunters were lying about the clearing in a similar fashion.
Aran stretched his arms and stood up, wincing as the still healing scratches in his arm stretched against the new skin that had been hastily grown last night. He would have to see a doctor about that or reopen the wounds himself and have Cale or another Hunter heal it properly. More aches from his exertions from the fight with the Alpha reminded him of other needs and he climbed shakily to his feet.
Slowly, Aran moved the few paces from his resting place at the Alpha’s seat over to where a Hunter that he now recognised as Hasesh was cooking the mornings gruel. Aran groaned as he sat down and Hasesh looked up.
“We did it, Aran.”
“We did Hasesh, but was anyone else injured?”
Hasesh smiled as he replied to the question.
“No. Or at least nothing that couldn’t be handled easily enough. You were the worst case tonight, and we fixed you up fairly well.”
“Not quite well enough,” replied Aran as he stretched his arm with the four lines of pink skin still prevalent over the lighter skin of his arm. “But then again, that’s my fault.”
Hasesh looked at Aran’s arm and nodded.
“We talked about reopening them and healing them properly, but Cale said to let you sleep.”
“Talking about talking, did the loot division get decided yet?”
“Yes we did decide that, Aran. You get the first pick as the Hunter of this region and second pick for killing the Alpha. Then Cale comes after you for being backup and we all come after in order of kill count. Once each man has taken his share from the first division, if there is any left, we go around again and repeat until it is all gone. That bastard’s sword collection goes to the Hunter Headquarters in the Royal Capital. The others should be up soon. If you want to take your picks now, the rest can take theirs afterwards.”
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Aran thought about this. It was usual for Hunters to divide up the spoils of a hunt in this way and his prestigious position from killing the Alpha while being the Regional Hunter gave him a nice double pick, but Hunting wasn’t about loot or spoils. Hunting wasn’t sport or war or banditry. Hunting was something that was done to protect the people from the monsters in the dark.
More often than not, a Hunter’s “prizes” were actually reminders of lost comrades as opposed to victories, but you would certainly take something from a lossless victory. It was a reminder that sometimes, you won without losing. If even one man fell during a hunt, many counted it as a loss. Hasesh snapped Aran back to reality.
“Some got away. They will come for revenge on you, you can bet on it.”
Aran looked at him and sighed.
“Without a doubt, my friend. I will be ready.” But Aran doubted his own words. The most frequent cause of death for a Hunter in present times was pack remnants coming for revenge.
Hasesh handed Aran a bowl of gruel. “Be sure you are. I don’t want yours to be the next funeral I go to.”
Aran nodded and moved back to the Alpha’s seat and sat down. Resting the bowl on his lap, Aran started to spoon the slop into his mouth. The taste was awful, but it would fill you and give you energy and that was what was important. Aran swallowed and was raising another spoonful to his mouth when Cale stirred next to him.
“Thanks for keeping them from cutting my arm open again last night.”
Cale rolled from his side onto his back and opened his eyes.
“What are friends for. Besides, that just means we have to do it today. You have a sharp knife?”
Aran swore and swallowed another mouthful, resolving to have a second bowl of Hasesh’s slop. He was going to need all the energy he could get. Cale stood up and headed over to the fire to grab his own serving of gruel as Aran finished his bowl. The other Hunters were also getting up, some more quickly than others and the two patrolling Hunters now did so with bowls in their hands. Cale sat down with his breakfast just as Aran stood up to get seconds.
“You aren’t really going to have seconds of this are you?”
“I’m going to need it, Cale. Also, I’m going to need your belt when you fix my arm.”
“Fine. You are the hero today. You picked out your loot yet?”
“No. I will finish my breakfast and then pick something out. Then, to show your envy, you assholes get to cut my arm open again.”
Cale laughed and started to eat his gruel as Aran headed to grab seconds with a sour look on his face.
After his second bowl and some more banter with Cale, Aran walked over to the loot pile. It was larger than he had expected and he dug through it for a short while to see if they had tried to hide any special piece of loot in the bottom to keep it from him. It didn’t look like they had and Aran picked out a large axe that he suspected had been the Alpha’s weapon before it had claimed its first Hunter. Aran looked around a little bit more before a dull sparkle caught his eye. His rummaging had dislodged the cloth wrapping an object and now the top of it lay exposed to the light. Pulling it out, Aran could see that it was an egg shaped stone that was slightly warm to the touch.
Aran walked away from the pile, holding his new axe low and looking at the stone. He was still looking at it when he sat down next to Cale, dropping the axe next to the pile of clothing before sitting down and resting the stone in his lap. It seemed to have lost that initial sparkle, but still radiated a faint heat. Cale looked over at it and frowned.
“You went with that? There was a pretty impressive warhammer in that pile and more than a few silk shirts. They probably won’t come around again.”
“Its warm, Cale. It’s strange and now I’m interested in it.”
“Maybe you should crack it open and have a look.”
“No, I feel like that would be wrong.”
Cale shook his head and got up.
“You can keep your rock, Aran. I’m off to grab that warhammer.”
Aran held the stone up to the light and squinted at it. He still couldn’t really tell why he had picked it, but he somehow knew that one day, he would find out.
Chapter 1
Aran rolled over in his bed and dreamt of hunts past and friends gone. A 37 year old man, he still looked young for his age with a face that many placed in his late 20s. He had dark hair and a muscular build like so many in his chosen profession. His bed was made of a large amount of puffy sheep’s wool wrapped in a softened leather sack with a soft woolen sheet over the top. A heavier quilt lay over his sleeping form to protect him from the worst of the late autumn night.
His house was a small single story cabin that sat on a small plot of land. The size was purely relative however as, when compared to a city lot, the land Aran owned was actually significant. It held his cabin, outdoor training space, maintenance area and stable. The cabin and stable were both made of oak boards and tiled as opposed to the thatch normally found in the countryside. Around the perimeter, a rope dangled from various posts and on each length of rope, hung various bells. Now, late in the night, two of the ropes moved and the bells clanged.
Aran woke at the first toll of the bells and rolled out of his bed. He grabbed his sword from beside it and got to his feet. As he started moving to the door of his bedroom, a blazing torch flew in through the window and landed near his bed. Aran swore and opened the door to find 2 more torches on the floor of the main room and a fire beginning to catch. Sword in hand, he ran barefoot into the night and towards the shadowy figures outside his door.
As he crossed the threshold, he heard the shrieking whinny of his horse and turned to see another figure leaving his stable. He couldn’t see the blood that he knew must have been dripping from its claws. Enraged, Aran opened his mind’s eye and drew the fire from his house behind him. A great tongue of flame burst through the door behind him and engulfed him. Inside its heart, he drew the heat and turned it to magic before blasting it out in a wave around him.
The werewolves screamed as the fire struck and reeled back. Aran ran forwards, still surrounded by the fire that he pulled from the house and slashed at one of the figures. It screamed again as he cut off its arm and stopped when he removed its head. Aran blasted out with another wave of fire that swished through his attackers again, then climbed up them and coated them. Each enemy turned into a living candle as Aran’s fire caressed them and they howled in pain.
Aran ran from fireball to fireball and swiped his sword through, each time adding the fire back into the flame tongue that still stretched to him from the now thoroughly blazing inferno of his house. Eventually, Aran stood there alone. He was burnt as his focus had wavered from his magic to his anger and his feet were raw from running barefoot across the rocks of his path and the rocky dirt of his unkempt lawn. He stood there, breathing heavily and let the flames around him die. The tongue drew back into his house.
Aran walked over to his stable, wincing as he stepped, leaving bloody footprints. Reaching the door, he looked inside only to find what he had been expecting. His horse lay on its side. Its guts had fallen out and blood caked the hay that covered the floor of its stall. Aran stepped back outside and slid down the wall until he was sitting on the ground. He cried himself to sleep then, with his head resting on his knees, and the fire of his house reaching into the night.
Fitful dreams, the screaming of dying friends and foes, howls and crackling, burning heat and vicious cold. Aran woke as the sun passed above the horizon onto his face. A blood-red dawn shone down on him. The vivid colors made him shudder, aided by the chilly morning. Few clouds remained in the sky and the light shone brightly over Aran and his property. His house still smoked but the fire had died down to cinders whose heat was rapidly dispersing.
Aran stood on his bloodied feet and walked towards the remains of his house, his sword in his hand. He came up to the edge and teased some of the less blackened pieces of wood into the hotter coals with his sword. Soon after, a small fire at the edge was burning and Aran sat down near it to warm his hands. His stomach growled and he looked to the remains of his pantry. Even if he could walk to it, the food inside was likely useless. He looked towards his stable and shook his head furiously. His horse had done him great services. He wouldn’t ask more of it.
A quiet keening sound caught his attention. Just on the edge of his awareness, he could hear it coming from his central living area. Or what used to be his central living area. Aran listened and heard the keening sound again, followed by a scraping. He stood, sword in hand and looked around. Putting his feet in the fire to leach some energy, he used magic to move a large portion of dirt into a pathway across the broken timbers of his home through to the area that the sound was coming from. He stood then and walked across the warm dirt in a daze of introspection..
So much had changed in one night. All he had collected and bought and been given had been whittled down to a stable, a lean-to, a saddle, bridle and other necessities for looking after a horse, a whetstone, 2 spare sword blades, 1 spare sword hilt, 5 silvers, and his sword. He had no home, no horse and almost no clothes, excepting the pants that he wore while sleeping. His money was buried somewhere in the ashes of his house if it hadn’t melted. Aran looked at the still hot coals to either side of his warm little path and considered either throwing himself into them or simply falling on his sword.
The keening came again and was followed swiftly by the scraping. Aran looked sadly towards the source of the sound, a fallen beam that had sealed off the fireplace. He stepped towards it over the coals. A sizzling came up from his feet, but he no longer cared about the pain. In his black depression, he no longer cared about anything. Then he heard the quick breaths that came between the little cries and moved forwards with something approaching purpose. Something was alive and trapped in his fireplace, though what could have survived the fire was a mystery.
He started to move faster, ending in a jog and crouched down before the beam and tried to look over it. He couldn’t see over it, so he started to pull the heat up through his burnt feet. He put both his hands into a gap between the beam and the floor and heaved, adding his magic to the strength of his straining back. The beam lifted and something small and scaly dashed out from under it and clamped strong jaws onto his leg.
The creature started to scratch at his calf with small talons and soft, wet wings flapped feebly. Aran dropped the beam in surprise and stepped back. He leant down and started removing the small creature. As he pulled at one of its small legs, the head came back and started to move towards his hand. Aran pulled his hand back and the creature’s head followed it up before suddenly stopping.
It had a long snout with two small nostrils like small holes on either side with a long fanged mouth underneath. Behind that, its head raised in a hump with two eyes much like those of a snake’s and, further behind those eyes were two small nubs. Its scaly skin was a golden green color that glittered in the sunlight. It had four legs, each ending in a clawed foot, and a pair of wings that sat half extended, balancing the thing. Coming from behind its sleek body, a tail swished back and forth, flexing and straightening in agitation. But Aran’s attention was locked into those eyes. They were pure gold with slitted pupils and they stared unwaveringly into his.
Suddenly, a flood of emotion overcame him. Fear, hunger, relief, love, anguish and pain all poured into his head. Aran stepped back and the creature keened again, but softly this time. The creature seemed to sag back off of Aran and back into the coals around him. Aran leant down quickly and grabbed the small reptile. The hunger he felt was becoming overpowering, but it wasn’t truly his. He could feel it emanating from the creature he held in his arms. He turned and ran down his pathway and onto the ground outside his house’s remains.
His past thoughts of his horse forgotten, Aran ran through the door of the stable and stopped at the stall that held the corpse of his horse. The creature smelt the flesh of the dead animal and started wriggling and thrashing to be released. Aran complied and watched the animal as it dropped to the ground and did a quick little dash to the horse’s side where it started to tear into it. Aran dropped back to the ground. He sat watching the small animal as it ate.
