The Legend of the Hunter

Ptrashul and fifty of his hand-picked, most savage and bloodthirsty Syllables arrived in Queleuq in secrecy. Ptrashul led them to Ragar’s compound through a camouflaged entrance: a dilapidated wooden shack. It threatened to fall in upon itself at any second, but it was actually a façade for a sturdy metal structure.

The Supreme Speaker of the Silent Ones slipped silently as death into the building, easily overpowering and killing the lone guard. A passage extended some way before turning into a concrete tunnel, which in turn led the Silent Ones down through a complicated set of twists and switchbacks.

Ptrashul knew the way by heart, for he had traversed this labyrinth on many occasions when he had come to Queleuq to meet with Ragar. The Brute relished employing the Silent Ones for his devious deeds, as the Thugs were never suspected of being responsible for the various assassinations carried out by the Silent Ones. Ptrashul welcomed the commissions and thrived on the assignments because they increased the reputation of the Silent Ones as merciless murderers. He mostly rejoiced though because it allowed him to satisfy his psychopathic urges to kill, slay and annihilate while getting paid handsomely for doing what he was born to do.

The tunnel eventually led upwards and emerged into Ragar’s lavish greenhouse. Ptrashul waited for every Syllable to exit the tunnel before he moved towards the greenhouse door. What he saw outside pleased him no end. Rank upon rank of Thugs stood in file, all facing the large windows of Ragar’s Throne Room. There appeared to be about two hundred men and women standing at attention. Ptrashul had no idea why they were assembled here of all places, but he was thrilled.

“Now would you believe that?” the Supreme Speaker said, a wicked grin stretching from ear to tattooed ear. “They’ve lined up in neat little rows for us to scythe them down like the chaff they are. Syllables, today we will water this garden liberally with the filthy blood of these traitors!”

Hruss, renamed Chatty, had been industriously trying to free himself from his shackles since the moment Ragar had fainted after having beaten him. The Silent One was determined to escape and in the process, either kill the Brute or take him with him. He was inflamed with pure abhorrence for Ragar and fantasised how he would torture, maim and ultimately send that vile man’s equally detestable soul to the Spirits. While the Elves and byrgreme were staring at the spectacle of Ragar the Brute’s assembled Thugs, Hruss quietly and painfully dislocated his right thumb. The agony nearly caused him to pass out, but he was a Syllable and he would be damned first before he would allow some slight discomfort to overpower him.

He was panting slightly due to the pain, but more because he was anxious not to be noticed. Ragar was watching his uninvited guests while they were focused on the Thug army, thus Hruss was able to slip his hand unobtrusively out of the manacle. Moving slower than a slug, he proceeded to work at the manacle on his left hand.

Rusthlin was gazing very thoughtfully at the small army spread out before him, but something about the way they stood bothered him. The Battle Elf called on his magic to look with enhanced sight at the Thugs. He finally saw what had been puzzling him: some of the “Thugs” were nothing but dummies to make the army seem larger than it actually was! Then Krauwyk spoke.

“What’s happening at back?” the byrgreme asked. Everyone looked to where her clawed hand was pointing, but nobody could immediately answer her.

At the very back of the assembled Thugs a small disturbance had developed. It looked as if some of the Thugs standing at the back were falling down while others were being flung through the air. Blood sprayed into the air and its coppery stench suddenly assaulted the sensitive noses of the byrgreme and the Elves.

“They are being attacked!” Marethlin shouted in surprise. “No. Oh, no. This is too good to be true,” he added and laughed.

“Well, Ragar,” Kloneithlin said over his shoulder to the Brute, “it seems like payment for past betrayals is being collected.” Ragar bristled in fury at Kloneithlin’s comment and gestured for two of his guards to go look at what was happening outside. As inconspicuously as possible, the Brute started moving towards the room’s exit.

“Silent Ones are hacking your Thugs to pieces,” Marethlin said, shocking Ragar to his core and causing him to halt in his steps. “But we cannot let them have all the fun, now can we?” the Elf asked his kinsmen, and without waiting for a response, he stepped through the windows to attack the closest Thug.

“Kloneithlin, please remain here to guard Ragar. We will fight this pathetic ‘army’ or rout them so that we can conclude our business with the Thug boss,” Hojuthlin requested. He received the Commander’s nod of approval and hurried to go to Marethlin’s aid. Not that the Elf seemed to need any.

Marethlin was a whirlwind among the Thugs. He shot arrows so fast that it seemed like a steady stream was coming from his bow. Once his arrows were depleted, the Elf resorted to his bare hands or his slender knives. A muscular Thug suddenly grabbed Marethlin from behind, pinning his arms to the sides. Without even breaking stride, the Elf shoved his head back and broke the Thug’s nose. The man screamed in agony and let go of the Elf, only to find an arrow suddenly sprouting from his chest. Hojuthlin had fired it in passing while on his way to engage another Thug opponent.

The lieutenant unerringly struck Thug after Thug with his lethal arrows, and soon he became a target to them. Five of them tackled him together and the Elf went down. Not for long though. The lieutenant kicked out at his nearest opponent and smashed his elbow into the jaw of another behind him. He then grabbed a third Thug by his arm, twisted it up behind the man’s back until he dislocated it, then turned on the next Thug, chopping with the edge of his hand hard against the man’s throat. The fifth Thug started to back off from him, as he realised he was no match for the Elf, but Hojuthlin went after the retreating man.

Kunkuna and Krauwyk were unstoppable killing machines. When the Thugs saw them coming, they ran away in the other direction. This annoyed the byrgreme to such a degree that they decided to change tactics. They moved from the sides to corral some Thugs and in this manner cut off the retreat of those they had herded towards them. Then they jumped on the hapless Thugs and tore them limb from limb or simply caved in their skulls. Soon, however, they ran out of Thugs, as most of them had chosen to flee the battlefield.

Rusthlin found himself facing off with a Silent One. The man was massive and extremely muscular. The tattoos adorning his body were detailed and realistic, some of them even appearing to be animated pictures. Although he had no hesitation to destroy the man, he felt a pang of sorrow that such a wonderful living canvas would cease to exist. Then the man spoke, catching the Battle Elf completely by surprise.

“I have no quarrel with you, Elf, but if you try to prevent me from getting to Ragar, I will kill you,” the Silent One threatened.

“Brave words from a man who carries only metal against magic,” Rusthlin said.

“If you test my mettle, you will find that I need no other weapon against your spells,” Ptrashul replied.

“It seems we fight a common enemy, so does this mean we are temporary allies, or do we fight on two fronts and perhaps lose on both?” Rusthlin asked.

The Battle Elf felt an unaccountable respect for the muscular giant, and he was averse to taking his life. He knew he could kill the man without even breaking a sweat, and he already had a spell at the ready, but he preferred to get the Silent One to see things his way. His friends often ribbed him for being a diplomat first before he was a warrior, but his instincts were telling him that tact was far better now than threats.

A few of the other Silent Ones had come to the giant’s aid, respectfully flanking him and thus clearly identifying him as the leader. Rusthlin felt justified in having chosen the path of diplomacy, and he waited serenely for the man’s answer.

The Silent Ones made no move to attack the Elf, waiting for Ptrashul’s orders. All around them their kin were still fighting the Thugs, and these were hard-pressed to fend off two simultaneous attacks. The Battle Elf, the leader of the Silent Ones and his followers seemed to be on an outcropping of rock around which a river of fighting men flowed. It felt as if they were in a capsule of suspended time, and only when the leader finally expressed his opinion did time once again speed up.

“I would count anyone fighting Ragar and his treacherous mob a friend … at least until such time as our common interest wanes or diverges,” Ptrashul said, and extended an arm bulging with veins and muscles towards Rusthlin, who unhesitatingly clasped it.

Instantly, the other Silent Ones twisted away from Ptrashul and engaged the Thugs in battle. There were not many of the Thugs left though, and within minutes they were all routed, running out of the garden as fast as they could. Suddenly, only the Silent Ones, the Elves and the byrgreme were left in the blood-splattered, corpse-littered garden. Before these attacked each other, Rusthlin shouted, “Hold!” while Ptrashul hollered, “Syllables, stand down!”

Marethlin, Krauwyk, Hojuthlin and Kunkuna stared daggers at the Silent Ones, while these were equally ready to slay their opponents. Only Rusthlin and Ptrashul prevented them from going for each other’s throats.

“We are both here to call Ragar to a reckoning,” Rusthlin hurriedly explained. “We have called a temporary truce, as we both want the same thing,” he added.

“Syllables, these are our allies for now,” Ptrashul stated, gesturing at the Elves and byrgreme. “Lay a finger on any of them at the cost of your own life,” he said bluntly. All the Silent Ones immediately lowered their weapons. Of the fifty who had accompanied Ptrashul, eleven had lost their lives. The Supreme Speaker considered that an acceptable loss in the face of their victory. He could barely manage to contain his exhilaration at getting his hands on Ragar.

Marethlin sauntered over to Rusthlin and said in a loud stage whisper, “I thought they stuttered so badly that they could not speak. This one though seems like he is a veritable fountain of words.”

Rusthlin shook his head in exasperation at the Elf and hoped he wouldn’t act brashly and sever the tenuous link he had just forged.

“Marethlin, please do not antagonise him. I have garnered a truce and we are sworn to keep the peace.”

“Sure, until Tattooed Muscles breaks it,” Marethlin asserted.

Krauwyk and Kunkuna joined the two Elves and stared bloody murder at Ptrashul. Before either could say or do anything that would destroy the delicate link Rusthlin had established, the Elf quickly explained to the byrgreme that the Silent Ones were temporarily allied with them.

Both creatures cussed with feeling, Kunkuna even spitting off to the side in distaste, but they respected the Elves and by extension, their actions.

Krauwyk pointed a furry finger at Ptrashul though and said, “You stutter one wrong word, Krauwyk take out your tongue.”

“You can try, Rock Dweller, but I guarantee you that it won’t be easy,” Ptrashul said in supreme confidence.

He sauntered past the group and walked towards the open French windows. Inside, he found a most unexpected sight.

While the fight outside in Ragar’s garden was nearing its bloody conclusion, inside the Audience Room another battle commenced. When two of Ragar’s personal bodyguards approached the window to investigate what was happening outside, Kloneithlin made advantageous use of the opportunity. The Elf Commander waited until the two Thugs were past him before he grabbed the one on the left by the back of his leather vest, pulled him back hard and kicked his legs out from under him. The other bodyguard spun around in surprise, only to receive a solid punch to the face, which floored him. As the first guard started to rise to his feet, Kloneithlin punched him twice successively, and the man collapsed in a heap. Before the second Thug could get his feet under himself, the Commander landed a sideways kick to his face, sending him rolling senselessly into a wall. Then the fight was on.

Three of the remaining four bodyguards stormed Kloneithlin while the fourth one remained by Ragar’s side to guard the Brute. Nobody noticed that Hruss had freed himself completely, and was ever so stealthily approaching Ragar from the left side of the room. Ragar was standing very near the room’s doorway, completely focused on the chaotic attack on the Elf. In fact, he wasn’t even sure who was assaulting whom, as it looked like a free-for-all. One minute it appeared that his bodyguards were using the Elf as a punching bag; the very next minute the Elf was tossing the Thugs around as if they were flimsy balls of wool. All of a sudden the guard standing next to him made a horrible, gurgling sound. Ragar turned angrily to him, the insult he was about to hurl at the guard turning into a startled gasp when he saw Hruss finish slicing the man’s throat and roughly shoving the body away from him. It went toppling to the floor with a wet thud.

Before Ragar could so much as shout or move, the Silent One was upon him, sticking one of the long, thin needles that had been used to torture him against Ragar’s left temple. The man smirked maliciously at the Brute, all but daring him to do something. Ragar froze, his eyes large in his head and his heart racing faster than it had ever done before. That’s when he saw a huge, muscular giant step through the open garden windows and stop in obvious surprise at the sight that met him.

Ptrashul took a few minutes to try and make sense of what he was looking at before he spotted Hruss holding Ragar captive at the room’s doorway at the back. The fight between the Elf and his assailants ended abruptly, with the sinewy and obviously powerful Elf drop kicking the last of the bodyguards, breaking the man’s neck. Before the Commander could attack Ptrashul, whom he had seen enter and assumed to be another enemy to dispatch, Hojuthlin rushed in.

“Commander, we have struck a truce with him. He is the leader of the Silent Ones who attacked the Thugs,” he swiftly explained. Kloneithlin stopped his threatening advance upon the man and instead scanned the room for Ragar. He saw that the previously chained one-eared Silent One was holding the Brute not-too-gently by the back of his neck. The badly beaten man was grinning openly, and he held a very long, nasty-looking needle to Ragar’s temple.

“Ah, Hruss, so you’re still alive and you’ve even got a gift for me,” the tattooed giant spoke to the Silent One standing next to Ragar. Ragar’s eyes stretched even larger at Ptrashuls’ remark and he spoke hurriedly.

“Ptrashul,” he said in a pleading tone, “let’s discuss this rationally. I will pay you whatever amount you want; my entire vault is yours.”

“Hmm, that sounds like a truly generous offer,” Ptrashul said as he purposely and leisurely strolled over to Ragar, “and one I would be foolish to refuse, if I were a fool,” he added as he stopped in front of the terrified Brute. By now, the other Elves and byrgreme had entered the room and were silently watching the confrontation.

“But as you know so very well, I am nobody’s fool,” Ptrashul added and gut-punched Ragar. The Brute groaned loudly and folded over, only to have Hruss roughly pull him upright by his hair. The Silent One signed something to Ptrashul and the Supreme Speaker punched Ragar again, this time in his face, causing the Brute to collapse to his knees. As blood spurted from Ragar’s broken nose, Ptrashul said in barely controlled wrath, “That was for Mrunial, the one you killed!”

“Please,” Ragar begged as he wiped his bloody nose on his sleeve, “can’t we come to some agreement? It’s all a misunderstanding, I swear!” the Thug leader claimed, but Ptrashul would have none of it. As he lifted his fist to strike the kneeling Ragar again, Kloneithlin spoke.

“Wait. We have business to sort out between us. You can deal with the Brute at your own leisure once we have concluded ours.”

Ptrashul rounded on him in maddened fury, but he visibly willed himself to relax. Marethlin had his hands ready on his weapons, and he didn’t relax his hold on them. To Krauwyk, the Elf whispered, “This fellow has one too many marsh gnats up his ass. It would drive anyone to insane distraction.” Although Marethlin’s tone was light-hearted, the byrgreme knew the Elf was ready to take on the muscular giant at a moment’s notice. She, too, was strung to a breaking point.

“Yes, you’re right,” the leader of the Silent Ones acquiesced, somewhat surprising Kloneithlin and his company, as they had expected the man to be unreasonable. They had clearly underestimated his intelligence, and the Commander quickly revised his impression of him.

“I am relieved that you are amenable, as we have had enough blood shed here today. We came to punish Ragar for having kidnapped Lathlin, our kin, but that is now moot. Now that Ragar is your captive, we no longer have any business with him. As you no doubt know and which must be the reason for your assault on his compound, the Brute deceived you and your Syllables about Lathlin’s abilities just so that he could get his hands on him again. Our business here is concluded, and we gladly leave Ragar to you,” Kloneithlin stated. “We trust that you will not attempt to pursue or capture Lathlin, for I am sure you know that the Elfling possesses no such power that Ragar claimed he has.”

“Our truce, Elf, holds until we return to Gillipo with this marsh pig. If we should ever run into each other again, be assured that we will not hesitate to cut off your pointy ears to add to our collection,” Ptrashul answered with an insulting sneer.

“That is if we have not separated your obnoxious head from your stinking shoulders first,” Marethlin replied with a snarl.

Ptrashul gave a surprisingly handsome smile and said to Marethlin, “I look forward to wetting my blades with your hot blood one day, Elf, but for now we shall leave as we came.”

“No Silent One has been born yet that can make me bleed, but I, too, shall eagerly await the day when our paths cross again,” Marethlin stated and stepped aside as Ptrashul made for the large windows. Hruss pushed Ragar roughly ahead of him. The Brute was beside himself with abject fear.

“Please, I beg you! Help me, please!” he screamed at Kloneithlin as he was pushed towards the open windows. “Don’t let them take me! Show me some mercy and kill me now! Spirits damn you all, you heartless dogs!” he cursed as he was taken outside. He continued shouting and swearing until his voice was abruptly stilled.

Into the sudden silence, Kunkuna said, “Thug go to very bad place now. Very, very bad place.”

“Should we have stopped them from taking him?” Hojuthlin asked. “After all, does he truly deserve such a fate?”

“Do not forget that he had planned to enslave Lathlin,” Kloneithlin reminded them, “but yes, I would not wish such a fate on anyone.”

“Thug getting what he did to others, no?” Krauwyk questioned. “Is not that justice then?” she added.

The Elves tacitly agreed with her valid point, and none of them had anything more to say on the matter.

“We need to get to the Elf Outpost at Hulya, Commander. No doubt they will have had word of where Lathlin is, and we should send a messenger bird to Juathlin to inform him of what has happened here with Ragar,” Rusthlin suggested.

“Agreed. The sooner we return to Zanderon, the better,” Kloneithlin responded. With one last glance at the now ruined Audience Room, the Elves and the byrgreme set off for Hulya.

The Drakheen could feel that his power had grown vastly over the centuries. It pleased him. He unfurled his wings and yawned widely until his jaw muscles creaked. His long tongue licked the last of the blood from his lips and jowls, and he growled in delight at the metallic taste of it. He was hungry again, but he needed to do something else first before he could feed.

The ones he had attacked had been his minions once, but he had sensed that they would no longer serve him as they had gladly done before. That was one of the reasons he had decided to hunt them rather than conscript them; the other reason was that they had happened to be the closest prey at a time when he was starving.

He flexed his claws and stretched his massive arms overhead, delighting in the sensation of feeling his strength returning to him. He also felt surprisingly aroused until he realised that it was the anticipation of the massacre that was stimulating him. He stretched once more, this one luxurious and sexual in nature, moaning deeply and lengthily in pleasure. The Beast snuffled and snorted, shook himself all over and groaned in desire.

The Ripple. He wanted to ravish her, tear her body into ribbons of flesh to feed on at leisure. He wanted her to see him consume her red, warm flesh while she was alive, to know that he would eventually eat every last scrap of her body. He would take pieces from her without causing too much trauma to her body, without triggering her sudden death. No, he would make her suffering and torment be a truly drawn out and lingering affair. The image of her torn, broken and mutilated body increased his arousal, and the Drakheen roared thunderously to relieve his tension.

After a while he calmed down and focused again on the task at hand. He started the long climb to the top of his cave, his claws and muscular legs breaking off chunks of rocks in his ascent. His mind projected an irresistible command to his subjects, to those who had been awaiting his return for five hundred years, who had emptied themselves in preparation for him. They yearned for him to imbue them with his will, his essence, his desire. The Hollow Ones waited patiently for their Master.