056 - The Great Hunt

Daybreak. The sun rose like a watery egg yolk up through grey and muddied skies, finally seeming to rest just above the very tip of the Horn.

In the hunters camp silence reigned. A grim air, the heart of every hero and hunter heavy with the events of the day and night.

First, the Griffon had been stolen from them, not that they even managed to find it first. Second . . that . . that evil . . that absolute fear that had descended in the night. Every one of them had felt it, many of the hunters were not ashamed to admit they'd pissed their pants in fear. None of them had felt anything close to it before, not even the oldest or most experienced of hunters, not even when they thought they had been closest to death in the past . .

And third? That morning several of the hunters had discovered the corpse of the Griffon, seemingly abandoned only a couple of hundred feet from its nest. Left there, discarded, cast away, left to rot, in a spot they'd all searched desperately. The Griffon, practically intact - no fatal wounds so far as they could see, only the scratches and marks on its talons and beak and the arrow in its wings. Dead. And left there . . .

The majority of the hunters were not the religious sort, not beyond what was normal. Sure, most believed in the fates, the fairies, and the spirits of nature. Those forest and mountain sprites that guided their arrows in flight or sent them flying off target against a sudden wind. But those were natural gods, the gods in things they could touch and see. Not this . . this evil, this devil that sought to devour them whole!

Even with the warmth of the campfire Pete Stint found himself shivering. His eyes, like many of his fellow hunters, had sunken, black lines thick beneath them. In a single night he felt like he'd aged ten years.

"It's no good!" Gunner broke the heavy silence, thumping his armoured fist into the ground. "No bloody good at all! I came here to hunt! Not to pick up someone else's scraps!"

"Ha ha! Well said my friend!" A noble youth with golden hair strode through the sullen hunters, his laughter light and seemingly uninhibited. He wore silver mail and had a rapier hanging from his waist.

"Waldemar," Gunner stiffened "I did not ask your opinion."

"Nevertheless!" Waldemar continued unabashed, a wide smile spread on his face. "Well said! We are heroes, isn't that right Isabella?"

Isabella stood with her knights on the far side of the Griffon, at Waldemars words she nodded, saying nothing.

"We are here to hunt!" Waldemar raised his voice "and the hunt is not yet done! Carl? Wasn't your father's reward for the hunting the three great beasts?"

"Thats right Waldemar! My fath - Bishop Lang's decree is that the reward is for the three beasts around the Horn!" Carl responded.

"Ha! So we are down, but not out! There are still two beasts left, the wolf and the bull, right? I do not intend to miss out!" Waldemar clapped a dejected Gunner on the back heartily.

"You don't intend to miss out? To miss out?" Gunner snarled, slapping Waldemars hand away. "And what if that bloody sneak thief hunter jumps over your head, like he did mine, hey? What then?"

"Oy!" Several of the hunters raised their head, Pete Stint shot to his feet, wagging a finger at the black armoured Gunner.

"What? Am I wrong? Was it not one of your hunters who stole away the Griffon?" Gunner pointed to the body of the Griffon. "What was his name? Dolt? Ha!"

"I've told you!" Pete replied gloomily "I don't know who he was, he only said his name was Dolt . ."

"Friends!" Waldemar raised both his hands into the air, yelling suddenly. "Friends! We are here to hunt, not to bicker! And as I see it, the first beast is now down, the honour going to . . . well, who was it? The mystery hunter? Or the two strange egg thieves? Who do you think it should go to Gunner?"

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"I think it should go to hell! And you with it!" Gunner stomped away from Waldemar, vaulting onto his horse. "I'm off!"

"Abandoning the hunt Gunner? Ha!" Waldemar laughed. "That isn't becoming of a hero!"

"Not a chance Waldemar!" Gunner replied. "I'm off to hunt the bloody booze stealing wolf! And I'm not going to let any poxy hunter or thief get in the way!"

"That's the Spirit!" Waldemar called out after him.

"Waldemar. I too will be going with Gunner." Isabella stated flatly. "A wolf is too noble a creature to be left to Gunner." The dozen knights who accompanied her responded instantly, all mounting their steeds.

Gunner galloped out of the camp, descending the slopes of the Horn towards the distant trees. Behind him followed Isabella and her knights, all on white horses.

"Good! Good! Ha!" Waldemar turned to Carl and Pete. "Very good! It seems like the hunt is not yet dead!" Waldemar projected his voice to all the hunters in the camp. "We are all hunters here, right? As for this Griffon . . what do you say Carl? I suppose it was a hunter who got it in the end, right?"

"I suppose . ." Carl said, his voice wavering.

"That settles it then. The honour for the kill goes to the hunters of the horn, as do the rewards!" Waldemar declared.

The downtrodden hunters stared at him in amazement, life returning to their eyes.

"But . . I'm sure that you wouldn't be happy leaving it at that, am I right? If Gunner and Isabella are going for the wolf, I suppose that leaves the vanishing bull . . Carl! Mr Stint! You would not leave a poor fellow hunter to seek out a monstrous creature all by himself, would you now?" Waldemar placed a hand on both the men's shoulders.

"Well -"

"I -"

"Good! Excellent!" Waldemar smiled warmly. "If you are hunters, if you are real men, then such a hunt should never be avoided! Pete! May I call you Pete? I have heard from my good friend Carl here that you are the finest hunter on the Horn, correct? That there is no finer hunting group in all of Jute! It would do me the greatest of honours to be a part of the hunt alongside you."

"That's very nice of you to say, sir." Pete replied, a little overwhelmed by the force of Waldemars character.

"That settles it! Come! Friends! Fellow hunters! Let's be off, we have ourselves a fantastic creature to catch!" Waldemar strode through the hunters, pulling them to their feet. "Come! Ha! Do not dwell on the events of yesterday!"

One by one the hunters found themselves filled with a new excitement for the hunt and the rewards, Waldemar's infectious attitude infused them with a heroic sentiment. To a man, they were unable to refute his encouragements, his words of praise, and soon the fifty hunters formed a long line behind Waldemar's silver carriage, down the slopes of the Horn and to the north, towards the last sighting of the vanishing bull.

The corpse of the Griffon was strapped to a cart and taken to the vale, an exuberant Carl Lang presiding over it as they prepared it to be taken back to Bonnet for the Bishop to see. The first day! Carl thought, only one day and already they have taken one of the beasts! Of course, the particulars of the hunt were not quite so straight forwards . . but Carl was quick to gloss over them in his mind, hurrying after the hero Waldemar and the hunters.