The Legend of the Hunter

Kloneithlin was struck from behind while he, Rusthlin, Marethlin and Hojuthlin were crouched behind a grassy knoll. They were watching the two Silent Ones who had fled from Zanderon.

The Elves had assumed that the prisoners would race back to their compound in the Gillipo Marshes, but instead, their tracks showed that they had gone north, towards the rocky tracts and grass plains known as the Doondé, which led to Queleuq.

They had come upon them resting in a thicket on the edges of the Doondé, and the Elves had decided to wait and see what they were up to before recapturing them. Kloneithlin had cautioned them against being reckless or too hasty to recapture the Silent Ones. The Elves suspected that the assassins might be making their way to Ragar.

The Elf Commander let out an “Oof!” before he went sprawling to the ground. The other three Elves were instantly on their feet and ready for further attack, but none came. They quickly focused on Kloneithlin to find him fighting for his life with one of the many feared creatures that inhabited the Doondé.

It was a byrgreme, a brutish creature that thrived in the dry, hot and nearly inhospitable area. Its arms were long and muscular, while its hands ended in lethal talons. Its body was covered in a thick greenish hide that resembled crocodilian skin. As the Elves tried to help Kloneithlin, the byrgreme roared ear-shatteringly loud, and thrashed even more wildly with the Commander. Surprisingly, the beast had a human-like face, except that it was covered in coarse hair, and its teeth were sharply pointed.

When the Silent Ones heard the beast’s thunderous shout, they jumped up in surprise, saw the Elves engaged in battle, and fled off into the blackness of the plains night.

Marethlin could see that Kloneithlin had wounded the creature in its side, but the beast still had the upper hand. He knew if they didn’t do something quickly, Kloneithlin would die.

As if reading Marethlin’s mind, Rusthlin attacked. He called on the elements and spun sturdy bands of air around the byrgreme. The problem though was that the creature was still entangled with Kloneithlin, and Rusthlin realised his mistake a second too late. He quickly released the air and instead called upon the element of earth and with a mighty heave, managed to throw the byrgreme off the Commander by creating a shockwave. But the beast recovered in seconds.

It went again for the downed Commander, but Hojuthlin was faster. He planted himself in the beast’s path and took the full brunt of the charge. He went flying into the air to land hard upon the rocky earth, but he had done some damage. The byrgreme looked in some confusion at the long dagger that was protruding from its thigh. It growled in pain as it grabbed it with one of its hands and pulled it free, tossing it aside in annoyance.

Marethlin saw his chance and vaulted onto the broad back of the byrgreme. Before the creature could shake him off, he wrapped a noose around its neck, and pulled with all his might. Kloneithlin tackled the legs of the byrgreme, bringing it down to land on its stomach, causing the beast to roar again in pain, but it was by no means restrained. Rusthlin took the opportunity to once again wrap the byrgreme in ropes of air, but this time he managed to bind the beast’s hands, leaving it incapable of reaching back for Marethlin, who was still throttling the creature.

“Mareth, do not kill it!” Kloneithlin shouted.

“What?” Marethlin asked in obvious disbelief while his biceps were strained to their utmost in his attempt to choke the life out of the byrgreme. “Are you seriously asking me to spare this monster?” he asked through gasps for air.

“Yes, yes!” Kloneithlin shouted and let go of his hold on the creature’s legs. “Rusthlin, bind its legs, too,” he instructed the Battle Elf. He went over to the head of the byrgreme, looked at the still struggling but nearly unconscious beast, then turned his eyes on Marethlin. “Mareth, this creature is sentient. Perhaps it can give us more information about the Silent Ones,” he said and waited for the young Elf to release his hold.

The red rage of battle finally dissipated from the Elf’s eyes, and he loosed his grip. “Well, now. If you put it that way, why not let the murdering monster breathe some more?” he said and dropped off the back of the subdued beast. The Elf appeared flippant, but he was exhausted from the fight.

“Rusth,” Kloneithlin addressed the Battle Elf while Hojuthlin limped over to the group, “turn it over. Let us see if we can get anything out of it,” he said.

“Aside from the copious blood flowing from Hojuthlin’s thrust, you mean?” Marethlin asked and pointed to the deep wound.

“I can remedy that,” Rusthlin said. He concentrated for a few moments, and the skin around the gash slowly started to knit itself together until the blood was stemmed. He also healed the injury Kloneithlin had inflicted on the beast.

It was only when the creature was turned over that the Elves noticed that the byrgreme was a female. Her breasts were full and rounded, and it further revealed that she was probably nursing a baby.

“Sweet Spirits!” Marethlin said in shock when the realisation hit him that he had nearly killed a nursing mother. “How was I to know she …” he stammered, but Kloneithlin held up a hand to silence him. The Commander carefully approached the byrgreme lying on her back.

“We do not want to hurt you,” he spoke slowly, “but I need to know that you will not attack us again if we let you up. Can I trust you?” he asked the byrgreme who was watching him with an intelligent gaze. The creature gave a sharp nod of her head in acquiescence.

Rusthlin released the bands of air around the byrgreme’s legs and she rose fluidly to tower nearly two heads above the Elves. Hojuthlin let out a long whistle in awe at her height.

“You not try kill my byrgremete?” the creature asked, her face displaying her confusion.

The Elves, too, were bewildered until Marethlin said with a relieved laugh, “Your baby! No, no. We do not want to kill your baby!” He turned to his companions and explained, “I remembered that the baby of a byrgreme is called a byrgremete. Qarethlin taught me that,” he said proudly. At mention of his sister, a pang of worry about her wellbeing pierced him, but he quickly shrugged it off. He hoped she and the other Elves were staying safe while they were making their way through the Forsaken Forest.

The byrgreme hurried over to the grassy knoll and after scratching around the sides of it for a few seconds, her cupped hands emerged with one of the ugliest infants the Elves had ever seen.

“Only a monster mother could love a face like that!” Marethlin stated and shook his head in amusement.

“So that is why she attacked me,” Kloneithlin said. “We were far too close to her baby’s hiding place, or nest.”

The byrgreme now came back to them and spoke again in her halting way. “Krauwyk sorry attack Elf. Think you try kill byrgremete,” she explained. She lovingly nuzzled the baby byrgreme, which emitted a burbling coo.

“We are sorry as well. We did not know you were protecting your baby,” Hojuthlin said, thinking about how he had nearly killed her.

“Why Elf follow Silent Ones?” Krauwyk asked in her direct manner. “You with them, I think,” she explained. “Krauwyk hate Silent Ones!” she said and growled menacingly.

“We were trying to recapture them,” Kloneithlin explained. “They are no friends of ours, but we were following them to see where they were going to,” he added.

“They mean to harm one of our friends,” Rusthlin added, “and we are hoping to prevent that from happening.”

“You want kill them? You hunt them and finish them?” Krauwyk asked uncertainly.

“Oh, yes. We definitely want to finish them and truly turn them into silent ones,” Marethlin answered her.

“Good. I help Elf finish the Stutterers,” Krauwyk said and smiled widely, which was really not a reassuring sight, as the grin was a decidedly toothy one.

The Elves were astounded that the byrgreme could pronounce the word ‘stutterers’, but they were equally intrigued by her name for the Silent Ones.

“Why do you call them Stutterers?” Hojuthlin asked what the rest of them wanted to know. He thought that perhaps the byrgreme didn’t know the meaning of the word, but her answer left them all speechless.

“That how they speak, yes? Stutter, stammer, splutter. They Silent Ones because they not want others know they stumble over words.” Krauwyk then made a vibrating sound that came from deep in her chest, and it was only after a moment or two that the Elves realised she was laughing. As could be expected, Marethlin was the first to join her in her glee.

“Oh,” he said delightedly, “I will surely make these Silent Ones stut…stut…stutter as I sli…sli…slit their treacherous throats!”

“Come, Krauwyk help elf track Stutterers. We kill all. Krauwyk leave byrgremete with sister and family,” the byrgreme said and moved off to the knoll again. As the Elves watched, she simply vanished.

“Aah,” Rusthlin said knowingly, “it is a den that we mistook for a hillock. That must be where she and her family live,” he added just as Krauwyk popped her head out of what was now clearly a low doorway, and beckoned for the Elves to come to her. Marethlin led the way and soon all of them found themselves inside a warm, cosy hollow that led downwards. The air was surprisingly fresh and the entire chamber was unexpectedly dry. It was lit by a host of phosphorescent fungi growing all over the walls.

Krauwyk walked further down a sloping tunnel which emerged into a vast underground chamber that had several branches leading off it into other rooms. There were five more byrgremes gathered around a low burning fire, and they all looked up in expectation as the Elves entered.

“Krauwyk tell family Elves come,” she explained as she handed her baby over to another female byrgreme. This one was slightly shorter than Krauwyk, but she had the same hide and hair shade. “This Jafert, sister Krauwyk,” the byrgreme explained, and then went on to introduce the other byrgremes.

There were two other females: Bubnitto and Linmunsa; and three males: Rohendro, mate to Bubnitto; Wrackil, Jafert’s mate; and Kunkuna, mate to Linmunsa. Kunkuna was small compared to the other byrgremes, hardly reaching their shoulders, and this was why the Elves had at first glance thought there were only five byrgremes in the antechamber.

After everyone had greeted each other with a quick slap on the back, Hojuthlin was first to ask what the other Elves were wondering.

“Krauwyk, where is your mate? Is he in one of the other rooms?”In answer, Krauwyk made the infinity symbol over her heart before she said in a soft, sorrowful tone, “Mate gone byrgreme spirit world. Stutterers kill Krauwyk mate two months back. Krauwyk now mate-less,” she revealed.

“Just another reason to dispose once and for all of these Silent Ones,” Marethlin said with feeling, and his hand strayed unconsciously to the dagger hanging from his belt.

“We are very sorry for your loss, Krauwyk,” Kloneithlin said, to which the byrgreme dipped her head in acknowledgment. “When we catch up to the two we have been tracking, we will make them pay for your mate’s death and the deaths of other innocents,” he vowed.

Krauwyk straightened up and said, “Krauwyk and male byrgremes go with Elf. We help kill Stutterers!”

The male byrgremes all roared and hooted in agreement, but Rusthlin turned to his companions and said, “We can not ask these creatures to risk their lives for our mission. They no doubt have families, and I for one would not want any of their deaths to be on my conscience.”

“I agree,” Hojuthlin said. “Although it would indeed be advantageous for us to have such massive creatures on our side, I do not think we should involve them in what is in essence our fight.”

The byrgremes had been silently listening to the elves, and now Rohendro spoke up.

“Elf speak good, but Elf think byrgreme weak. Stutterers see not easy kill byrgreme. We go Elf. We kill Stutterers!” Kloneithlin, Rusthlin and Hojuthlin tried to persuade the byrgremes that it wasn’t necessary for them to join the fight, but the creatures would have none of it.

Marethlin suddenly spoke into the din, “Brothers, I say let our new friends come with us. They do not have to be part of the actual fighting, but they can at least help us track the serpents. And if it just so happens that they get caught up in their bloodlust and join the fray, I say the more daggers and claws we bring to the battle, the better the odds will be for us.”

“Krauwyk,” Kloneithlin finally said, “You and one of your male byrgreme can guide us to where the Silent Ones have gone, but that is all we can allow. We cannot let you or your family fight for or with us. We agree that the Silent Ones cannot be left unchallenged for much longer, and you are welcome to join us when that confrontation takes place,” he added.

Krauwyk took a few moments to consult with the other byrgremes before she agreed to Kloneithlin’s terms. “Krauwyk and Kunkuna will help Elf track Silent Ones. We not fight Stutterers.”

Now that they had reached an agreement, the Elves were eager to get back to the chase, and the byrgremes sensed their urgency. With very little fanfare or fuss, Krauwyk and Kunkuna took their leave of the others, and the odd group of Elves and byrgremes departed the byrgreme home. The Elves knew their quarry had gained the advantage of time and distance, and all of them could feel the sands run rapidly out of the hourglass.

The two escaped Silent Ones had indeed made excellent time. They had travelled throughout the rest of the night, acutely aware that the Elves were probably snapping at their heels, and by dawn they had arrived in Queleuq.

They made a beeline for Ragar’s complex of run-down buildings, having already decided what they were going to confront the Thug about. They reached the gates of his rambling complex and pounded loudly on it, anxiously waiting to be admitted. They had no doubt they would gain admittance, and they were especially keen to question Ragar. They were not concerned about having to speak to him, for they knew from their previous interaction with him that he had an interpreter in his employ.

After about three minutes, a badly pockmarked Thug opened the gates, complaining loudly about the ungodly hours that visitors called upon his master. It was the last time he would ever complain about anything. Without so much as the slightest hesitation, one of the Silent Ones brutally gutted him, while the other one gave the second guard a bleeding necktie. Before the Thugs had even collapsed, the Silent Ones were through the gate and up the stairs leading to Ragar’s personal abode.

They walked boldly through the house to the Throne Room where they had previously met the Brute, not really expecting him to be awake or in the room at this early hour, but when they walked into the smoke-filled chamber, they halted in midstride. Ragar was sprawled across a massive couch, wide awake and looking straight at them. In his left hand he held a glass of some liquor, while his right hand gripped a very nasty-looking dart gun. Lined up behind him stood six armed Thugs, all with their daggers or sabres bared.

Ragar leisurely took a sip from his glass, then said in a mild, unconcerned tone, “Gentlemen, this, I believe, is what is called a checkmate.” Then he shot one of the Silent Ones dead between his eyes.