The Legend of the Hunter

The dreiche packs raced towards Zanderon from all sides. The monstrous beasts reached the gaps in the walls on the south side of the village in seconds; on the western and eastern flanks, the maddened dreiche attacked the defenders with unmitigated savagery; only on the northern front were they denied access by Gavurothlin’s firewall. Rusthlin was also causing damage to them by pounding them into pulps with his fists of compressed air. But both Battle Elves were on their reserve energy, and Talat knew it was only a matter of scant moments before he and the others behind the firewall would be overrun by the dreiche.

“I hate these things,” the ex-Thug said to himself as he gathered his strength to face the inevitable. He wondered how Release and the others were faring.

Release had left the ramparts to sprint down into the village in an attempt to assist those being attacked by the dreiche. She knew these beasts intimately, as she had trained many packs over the years, thus she knew what their vulnerabilities were. As she reached the bottom of the battlement, she shouted to the fighting Weavers and Elves.

“Aim for their eyes and throats! They fear fire so light torches and keep them at bay with those!” Putting action to her words, she grabbed a fallen torch and quickly lit it. She used it to light others and distributed these among the defenders.

Kloneithlin’s earlier order to fire flaming arrows at the dreiche was also having an effect on the beasts. A number of the animals had already been killed, but still they came, seeming like an endless stream of horrors. They ran rampant through the village, indiscriminately attacking, mauling and killing any unfortunate Weaver or Elf they came across. The defenders were now fighting the Hollow People as well as their lethal pets, but they refused to submit to defeat and fought even more determinedly for their lives and the lives of their loved ones, neighbours and fellow men. As the sun rose slowly above the horizon, the battle ever so gradually started to swing in favour of the defenders.

On the northern side, the Battle Elves finally depleted their energy reserves, and they could no longer sustain their magic. No sooner had the firewall come down than the dreiche attacked. The beasts expected to encounter a weak and defenceless prey, but they did not count on the extra reserves of the Weavers and Elves, or their determination to claim a victory over evil. The dreiche ran straight into a wall of steel and arrows, with Weavers butchering the mindless beasts with knives, short blades and spears; the Elves mowed the dreiche down with fiery arrows. They aimed unerringly for the beasts’ eyes and throats, and not a single lit arrow went to waste.

Talat was fighting an especially strong Hollow Person, a dark man with a scarred face. The scar was a burn mark that covered the ebony-skinned man’s entire left side of his face, and the eye on that side was nothing but a boiled organ. The ex-Thug was more unnerved by the man’s marred face than his strength, but he fought like never before. Between slashes and thrusts of his blade, he taunted the man mercilessly, hoping to make him lose his concentration and thus cause him to make some fatal mistake.

“You got that face as a reward from your Empty Queen, or did you do it to yourself? I must admit, the look actually suits you,” Talat said, blocking a vicious swing to his head that would have decapitated him. He jumped out of an especially violent flurry of jabs, then continued his mockery. “I suppose you don’t get many maidens who swoon over you, do they? Unless, of course, they are ones who are really turned on by such deformities,” the ex-Thug said and knew he had finally hit a nerve. With a snarl and a curse, the dusky Hollow Person extended his arm too far, and with a rapid movement, Talat grabbed the man’s arm with his left hand, pulled him in towards himself and plunged his sword through the man’s throat. He slashed it sideways and pushed the nearly beheaded corpse away from him.

“I guess all those women who adore scarred faces will just have to live with the disappointment of your loss,” Talat said glibly before he engaged the next Hollow Person.

Maniglin had been killed within the first five minutes after the dreiche had attacked their wall. Two of the beasts had slunked over the wall and assaulted the Elf Captain before anyone even knew the monsters were among them. Hojuthlin had killed one of the dreiche while a brave Weaver youth had slain the other, but the harm had already been done. Hojuthlin rallied his men though and they had all – Elves and Weavers alike – since then fought as if their very lives depended upon it, which it did, of course. Hojuthlin was proud though of how not a single man or woman defending this side of the village had shown any cowardice or reluctance to fight. On the contrary, the Weavers all fought like maddened berserkers. The usually peaceful and relaxed Weavers had turned into killers, and they used their dexterity to destroy instead of create. It made Hojuthlin reassess what he thought he knew about the amicable and tranquil Weavers. In the face of such ferocity, the Hollow People gradually started to lose ground. Inexorably and inevitably, they were pushed back, the Weavers and Elves scattering their organised squads. Within hours after dawn broke over Zanderon, the Hollow People and the dreiche packs were sent running back to the Forsaken Forest. But the Elves would not let them escape this time.

Kloneithlin saw the Hollow People and their beasts retreat for their home, and instantly gave the order to pursue them.

“They must not be allowed to return to their Shrine! Wipe them all out to the last Hollow Person,” he shouted to his Elves.

Release heard his command and her heart broke, for they were still her people; but then she remembered that she had forsaken them as they had abandoned their humanity. Exhausted to her soul, the young woman slumped down against a doorway and allowed herself to cry for the first time in many years. She didn’t hear the man approaching until she felt a kind touch to her shoulder.

She looked up to see Talat gaze down upon her tear-streaked face, his eyes two mirrors reflecting her own torment. Then he blinked, and she could see the understanding and compassion in his eyes. He pulled her to her feet and she clung desperately to him like a wandering traveller searching for a forever home. He clung back equally fiercely to her, and after a few minutes, he pulled back to once again look at her.

“It’s over; we’ve won,” he said simply, fatigue making it seem as if he had aged years in only a matter of hours.

“Yes, love. But at what cost?” Release asked him before kissing him long and hard. The first warming rays of the sun found them like that, lost in each other’s embrace and hard won love.

Zidayt and Zaherian had elected to stay and fight in spite of or perhaps because of the loss of their daughter. They were beside themselves with concern for their granddaughter; both, however, took some solace in the knowledge that she was now a powerful Ripple who could certainly fend for herself. They had both fought alongside Fahmerelin, Shuarlin and Hojuthlin, and the loss of so many Elves showed on the surviving ones. The Weaver husband and wife tried to offer whatever comfort they could to the Elves, then they started going through the village to see to their own kind.

The carnage was horrendous – Weavers had been slain in large numbers by the dreiche, but they had also killed an equally great number of Hollow People. When Zidayt and Zaherain reached the northern flank, they found a grave group of defenders. Gavurothlin, Rusthlin and a number of other Elves and Weavers were staring in mute silence at the broken body of Kunkuna. The short byrgreme had been slain by a pack of dreiche, who in turn had been slaughtered by the Battle Elves, but they had been too late to save the feisty byrgreme. Kunkuna’s body had been respectfully straightened by the Weavers who had come across his corpse, and the byrgreme looked as if he had put up a heroic fight. His small body seemed incongruous among all the other corpses strewn around him; he resembled a smallish teenager instead of a grown adult.

Zidayt removed her shawl and gently covered the pathetic-looking body. She had woven the green wrap herself and the bright roses, daisies, tulips and leaves decorating it stood out starkly against the bloodied ground.

Zaherain turned to the sorrowing group and said, “He hasn’t died in vain. I have faith that Rachmin will avenge him and everyone else who lost their lives today. I’m certain that right now, the Hunter of Truth is facing that demon and he will mete out the punishment that is long overdue.”

No one said a word, but his sentiments were quietly replicated in every single heart of the mourning listeners.