047 - The Great Hunt

The camp was in ruins, half the tents burnt. Three hunters dead, another ten wounded. Broken spears, broken wagons. Pete Stint wandered through the destruction, picking up the corner of a fallen tent and sighing. The hunter becomes the hunted, what a bloody joke.

Above the camp, rising like a gnarled snow capped finger into the heavens was the Horn. Beyond the horn were the Redin mountains, and beyond them the wilderness; an expanse of endless plains without cities, without any human civilization. This was the end of Jute, the end of the world of man as far as Pete knew, and bloody good hunting, in a normal year.

A normal year. Hah. This last year had been anything but normal, anything but good. The horn . . Pete looked up to the grey mountain rising another five hundred feet above them. For years, I've been to every part of the horn, known every secret nook or cranny that the mountain had to offer.

There had been all sorts coming up to the Horn the last few months. All drawn in by the reward and the rumours. Dozens of hunting groups from all over Jute, all tough men.

They’d gathered in the Vale a month ago and spent fruitless weeks searching every part of the greater horn, going down every high route and low path. The Vale . . Pete shivered. Every time he closed his eyes he could still see that fat Alchemist with his thunderbolt, the boy smashed into meat paste . .

The three beasts, what a farce. Those creatures are monsters, any one of them far beyond what he had ever seen or hunted . . maybe we oughta call an Alchemist, hells, at least they would have a chance.

"Mr. Stint!" A man with a scholarly appearance approached through the ruins of the camp. Behind him followed a couple of armed men. "Mr. Pete Stint!" He cried out again.

Pete sighed, getting to his feet. "Here I am, here. I'm Pete."

"Ah! Finally! Mr. Stint," the man rushed over and grabbed Pete’s hand, shaking it excitedly. "I've heard a lot about you! The best hunter on the Horn!"

"Yeah, yeah. So I'm told."

"I'm very pleased to meet you Mr. Stint. My father has told me . . oh! How rude! Mr. Stint, I seem to have you at a disadvantage! My name is Carl Lang, I'm sure you know my father, Egil, yes?"

"Bishop Lang!" Pete exclaimed.

"Bishop Lang, yes!" The scholarly man laughed.

Bishop Lang, the Bishop of Bonnet and the greater Horn. He'd set the bounty on the three beasts that brought all the hunters into the horn.

"Well, it's a right pleasure Carl, my regards to your Pa." Pete disengaged from the young man's handshake. "If you don't mind, I've got work to do." Pete looked around the ruins of the hunters camp. "And a hell of a mess to clear."

"My heavens . ." Carl peered around, seemingly seeing the destruction for the first time. "What the devil happened here?"

"The Griffon happened. Last night, down from the horn."

"The Griffon! One of the three beasts!" Carl gasped. "It was here? Only last night?"

"Master Lang," one of the guards behind the scholarly man spoke. "Sir, maybe it isn't safe to stay up here too long . ."

"Nonsense!"

"But sir, with the Griffon . ."

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"Silence! My father ordered you to stay by my side, did he not?"

"Yes sir, but -"

"Mister Solberg! I'd thank you to do just that! Stay by side, follow my orders." Carl dismissed the guard with a wave of his hand.

"Sir!" Solberg saluted, “I must insist, your father was very clear . . .”

Pete took the opportunity and slipped away from the Bishop's son. Best not to get tangled with his like, it never ends well. The hunters camp had been set on the slopes of the Horn, out in the open. A fine vantage point, Pete mused, you can see right the way down into the Vale, you could even see the several farmsteads and the Goat's Beard on a clear day.

A fine vista, aye, but open to ambush by a Griffon . .

A night ambush! By the blasted Griffon!

Pete trembled . . a real monster. It had swooped down in the dead of night, scattering tents and hunters. A whirlwind of shrieks and talons, and then just as sudden as it came, it fled, vanishing into the night leaving three dead hunters.

He picked his way through the camp to the far side of the slope. Here there were a few tents still standing. Some of the hunters had set up a makeshift campfire, a large iron pot bubbled with a thick soup.

Pete greeted the morose hunters and sat with them, discussing what to do next. The conversation quickly turned to the Griffon, to finding its lair. Pete sighed. "Even if we find the bloody Griffon what are you gonna do? Hey? It has a beak as sharp as a spear, its talons are each as long as your arm and can rip you from head to toe. Look,” Pete threw his broken spear on the ground. “Couldn’t even pierce through its bloody feathers!"

"We can trap it Pete, smoke it out and catch it in a net."

"A net of what? Iron? You got an iron net around here somewhere?"

"Come on Pete, don't be so down." A older hunter smiled grimly. "What about the other beasts?"

"Hells! That ain't no better! What are we going to look for? An giant bull that evaporates like the morning mist soon as look at it? Or a great big bloody white wolf that jumps caravans and steals all their booze? You tell me, which of the three bloody monsters ought I go looking for?"

"Easy Pete," the older hunter gestured to the edge of the camp. "More of em, look."

Pete snorted derisively. From up the path came two youths dressed entirely in white. They glanced around the camp and headed up to the Horn.

"More sightseers. Great." Pete spat into the campfire.

"Maybe they're Alchemists?" A hunter chimed in hopefully.

Pete stared glumly after them. "Bloody tourists, more like."

One of the young hunters set down his bowl and stared after them. "You think they might be Alchemists, really?"

"I doubt it lad." Pete replied.

Pete shook his head and looked at the young hunter. Fair hair, a good sturdy build . . do I know him from somewhere? "Hey lad."

"Yeah?"

"You new here? Who you with? What's your name?"

"Uh . . my names Dolt. I'm with . . uh, I guess I'm by myself now."

"Dolt . . that's a funny name." Pete shrugged.”Well, take my advice Dolt. Don’t go chasing monsters, no matter the gold or glory.”