The Legend of the Hunter

Belac was a giant of a man, standing nearly 1.95 metres tall. He was broad-shouldered with a muscular chest and arms. His abdomen looked as if a six-pack had been chiselled into it. His dark brown hair which reached to his shoulders was untied, but kept out of his purple eyes by a twined leather headband. Under his right eye was a tiny birthmark in the distinct shape of a diving bird of prey.

He wore comfortable ankle-length leather boots and a simple green lace-up shirt made of soft linen over snug black doeskin trousers. Strapped to his back were a quiver full of arrows and his bedroll and backpack; his bow was slung across his chest towards his right arm, as he was left-handed. Cinched to his belt was a curved dagger in a decorated leather sheath.

He had just entered the Forsaken Forest at the base of Phoenix Peak, part of the inhospitable Phoenix Mountain Range that crawled like an undulating grey-green serpent across the spine of the continent. He was following the spoor of his quarry, and from all recent indications, he was close. His target seemed oblivious of pursuit, for he cared not that he left signs aplenty in his passing through the land.

As Belac walked deeper into the forest, his keen eyes noting every snapped twig, bent branch and fallen leaf, he recalled his conversation with the client.

“His name is Lathlin, an Elfling who is said to be in his youth. According to Elf ages, that means he can’t be more than a century old,” stated Ragar the Brute. He was an ugly man, no mistake about it, and he practically oozed sleaze from every filthy pore. Belac was surprised that Ragar didn’t stink, if one were to judge his bathing regime (or lack thereof) by the state of his clothes. They were food stained, blood-encrusted and seemed to double as sleeping garments, too. Then the purpose of the heavy incense smoke hanging in the air hit Belac, much like the clouds assaulting his nose: it was to disguise Ragar’s stench.

The object of Belac’s disgust spoke again, lowering his heavy bulk onto a plush sofa.

“I’m hiring you to track and capture him alive, and to return him to me unharmed,” he barked. He took a few minutes to scratch himself like a dog in numerous inappropriate places before he continued. “He’s my property which I paid for in full at the slave market not more than two months ago, and I need his intellect for my various enterprises,” he said and laughed uproariously.

Belac knew what the “various enterprises” were: gambling dens, brothels, arms dealings, and the worst of the lot – human and other species trafficking. If Belac wasn’t in such dire financial straits, he would never have agreed to take the job. But ethics alone wouldn’t pay bills or place food in one’s stomach. He shifted his stance slightly and waited for Ragar to continue.

“So, I heard you are the best Hunter money can buy, and you always get your prey. Is that right?” he asked and lifted a hairy eyebrow in query.

“Yes, I’ve never failed at tracking and capturing a target. You point him out to me, and I will bring him to you within a fortnight, if not sooner,” Belac replied with not a trace of hubris or braggadocio. He was simply being factual.

“Eh, is that so?” Ragar sneered as he removed a coin pouch from one of his various pockets. He tossed it over to Belac who deftly caught it in his left hand and quickly stashed it in his trousers.

“Well, that’s half the payment now; you’ll get the rest on delivery of my property, as agreed. Yes?”

“Sure. I need more information about this Elfling though. Your lackey mentioned something about the Elf having certain … powers?” Belac asked with a heavy frown on his face.

Like all Hunters in the Guild, he instinctively distrusted anyone with magical powers. It was the reason why all Hunters ensured with great care that their weapons were shielded against magic. The irony that magic was used for this safeguard never struck any of them.

“Bah, his powers are middling. It can’t harm anyone, as it is not defensive magic that he has. In any case, why would a Hunter of your renown and physique fear an Elf that only reaches to your shoulders? And he’s lean, as all Elves are,” Ragar said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Fine, but I don’t like surprises,” Belac said and moved towards the exit. “I don’t want to suddenly discover that he has a dragon in his service, or that he has the ability to become invisible,” he pointed out to Ragar.

The Brute let out a guffaw at this and said, “You’re hilarious. Maybe you can take on the job of Den Comedian once your Hunting days are over,” he mocked. He beckoned to one of his goons who had been trying to remain inconspicuous among the shadows and gestured that the servant should escort Belac out of the house. “A fortnight, Hunter!” Ragar shouted at Belac as the minion closed the door. Then he called for Talat, his most trustworthy Thug.

“Take your men and follow that Hunter. I don’t trust him – he looks too clean to be an honest tracker. Be careful though that he doesn’t become aware of you,” Ragar barked at Talat.

“Anything else you want us to do?” the Thug asked brusquely. He wasn’t known for being a conversationalist, which suited Ragar fine. He preferred men of action rather than intellect.

“Yes, you lump! Once he has caught up to Lathlin, I want you to capture and bring both of them to me. I have no illusions that the Elfling won’t reveal the truth to Belac, and I’m sure once he hears it, he will weasel out of the contract. I won’t leave anything to chance!” he shouted at Talat.

“At once, boss,” Talat stated and left to gather his crew of cutthroats. Ragar sat back in satisfaction, a smirk plastered across his face. It didn’t last long though, as the ever-constant pain returned in force, causing him to grimace and utter a bellow of agony. His personal attendant scurried to his aid, and received a solid punch in the face for his attempts. Ragar mercifully collapsed into oblivion.

Belac was brought to full alert by a sound that was out of place in the forest. He heard it again, and this time knew where it was coming from. It was a hissing-rumbling noise, and his heart sank at the familiar sound. He cursed fervently and shrugged off his backpack and bedroll. He had an arrow drawn as the first of the nightmarish dreiche slowly emerged from its hiding place.

The creature was a mixture of claws, scales and fangs, and somewhat resembled a massive wolf; and it was extremely fast. It locked its red gaze on Belac and surged towards him in a blur. Belac didn’t even flinch as he shot it between its eyes and moved a scant pace out of the way of the creature tumbling past him. He had the next arrow nocked and ready before the body of the dead dreiche had come to a stop, but he didn’t correctly predict from which direction the attack would come. The second dreiche crashed into Belac’s back, its claws raking long gashes while it tried to sink its venomous fangs into the Hunter. With a mighty shout, Belac grabbed the dreiche by its sinewy neck and with a deft twist, snapped it. He had hardly flung the body from him before the third beast came at him. The dreiche sped at Belac with murderous intent, shrieking-hissing-growling in fury. Belac’s arrow glanced harmlessly off its scales, and it was upon Belac before he could draw another arrow. The two combatants rolled around violently on the carpet of forest litter, each struggling desperately to inflict fatal wounds upon the other. Belac had drawn his dagger in the last instant and was stabbing the dreiche in all the soft spots he could reach: the belly, eyes, throat. The dreiche had been blinded by the first few thrusts of the dagger, and it went utterly berserk with pain. It clawed at Belac and repeatedly attempted to sink its fangs into the Hunter’s body, but Belac ensured that he stayed out of reach. With blood running copiously down his arms, Belac made a final thrust that sank deep into the soft throat of the dreiche. The creature spasmed convulsively before it finally lay still.

The silence that followed the bloody battle was profound. Nothing stirred; nothing breathed. And then sound returned in a rush as Belac collapsed with a loud thud, oblivious to the shower of leaves that slowly settled on his insentient and blood-spattered form.