“Swing harder!”
“I told you to shut up, Paul!” Nathaniel shouted, feeling his muscles strain under the beast’s blow.
“Hey! Don’t yell at me,” his companion and sadly friend, yelled back, which was commendable considering he was trapped neck-deep in the thick bog. “It’s all Helen'sfault! She’s the one who lied about being a Witch Hunter!”
“And you lied about being Silent Knights!” Came the angry shriek from the tree hanging over Paul. “Now, get me down from here! This thing is going to kill me!”
Nathaniel wanted to yell at both of them, however, he was too busy avoiding a paw as large as his head. The beast’s dagger-like claws only scraped the armour on his shoulders, but it was enough to send him stumbling to one side. Porcupine bears were usually dorsal creatures, avoiding humans. Only when they or their cubs were threatened, did they become violent.
By all accounts, the three of them should have been able to pass safely through the Hasturian Bogs. That was the plan, go through these traitorous parts, so they could reach Esthergrad three days earlier. Should have been simple enough, if not Helen. Nathaniel rolled to the side to avoid the two-ton creature from stepping on him with both its front legs. The woman had thought it smart to go and rescue the cub from the tree after a bleeder vine had caught it. The irony of the entire thing was, that the thick purple plant was the porcupine bear’s favourite food.
Now he had a crying woman, being slowly drained of her blood, trapped on a tree while holding a mewling cub. A sound which its mother, apparently, was not very happy about. Hence, the beast’s determined attempts to turn Nathanial into a treat with which to calm down its young. And if that was not enough, he had to deal with the constant yelling of Paul.
A person, who had failed to notice a ten-meter-wide marsh patch, covered in bright green lichen, when everything else around them was in different shades of yellow and orange. How that man had been allowed in the ranks of the Rangers as a tracker was a mystery. A bigger one was, how had Paul even found the Ranger’s schola in the forest town of Black-sward.
“Damn it, Helen, let go of the bloody cub!” Nathaniel shouted after his sword was deflected by the hard spikes covering the back of the porcupine bear.
“I can’t!” Helen screamed. “It could get really hurt!”
“By the guardian spirits,” Nathaniel roared, his frustration getting the better of him. And almost getting mauled by the cub’s mother did not help his mood. “That’s a beast of the Wilds! It can survive to fall from a fucking tree!”
Usually, he tried his best to avoid cursing. However, some people just didn’t listen until one yelled at their face. Right now, he not only wanted to vent his anger on Helen, Nathaniel wanted to wring her slender neck.
“Don’t you dare drop that thing on my head, woman!” And Paul’s too.
Why he was friends with that idiot, was a complicated topic. If pressed, Nathaniel would say that it was out of pity and because the pretty boy always covered the drinking tab. If honest, however, it was because Paul was a loyal person, who would never abandon his friends and would stay by their side in thick and thin.
Nathaniel took a laboured breath, feeling his body scream for wrest. He considered himself a skilled fighter, something that many could begrudgingly confirm. But after dodging and failing to land a proper strike at the porcupine bear, he was ready to concede, that he has bit more than he could chew.
Normal people followed the safe paths through the Wilds for a reason. By the spirits, the Silent Knights venture off them in groups. Only Witch Hunters dared to enter the dangerous lands separating the human settlements. Even so, not all of the brave women returned. And although Nathaniel could match a Silent Knight in one on one fight, he was nowhere near the skill level of a Witch Hunter. Thus, he wondered what had possessed him to agree to this foolish plan, as the beast sent him flying with a shove of its massive head.
Driven by determination and the desire to not get killed, Nathaniel pushed himself to his feet. An action that was surprisingly difficult. Many thoughts rushed through the young man’s head as he levelled his sword, preparing to charge the beast. Being on the defensive had proven a mistake. The weight behind the bear’s blows was too great to ignore or safely guide away. Besides, the fighter had always felt more comfortable when attacking.
There was one small problem. The damned monster did not care about what he liked. Seeing a two-ton porcupine bear, a head taller than him, while on all fours, running towards him, was a terrifying sight. Nathaniel adjusted the grip on his weapon and with a feral cry charged at the beast. Suicidal it might be, but it was his best option.
At the last moment, before man and beast collided, he pushed to the side. The young man’s heart sunk, when he felt the bear catch his left foot in its large jaws. Once again, Nathaniel was sent flying. However, he was lucky this time for landing in one of the many pools of stale water, hidden beneath the leaves and grass. To have stayed on solid ground for so long was a small miracle and pure luck. Something Nathaniel was re-evaluating, once the mercy liquid enveloped him and his hands were buried in the soft peat at its bottom.
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Irene watched the smartest of the three idiots challenge the porcupine bear. The boy was either very confident or very stupid, to antagonise a young male like that. And if there was any doubt that, that was a male, one only needed to look at the rather large evidence between its hind legs. All he had to do, was step back and keep some distance between it and himself, while it passed along its way.
Seeing as there was no immediate danger, she sat down and leaned against one of the larger moss-covered rocks dotting the area. The area separating Irwingstown and Esthergrad was a relatively safe one. So, when the information of a possible witch sighting reached her, Irene was less than thrilled. The best she could hope to find would be an old hag covered in mud and bark who had lost the last of her marbles.
“Oh,” she smiled, “he’s not bad.” The man had delivered several attacks. True, he missed the porcupine bear’s vulnerable parts, but he had managed to get close enough. Armed with a single sward and at a great range disadvantage, that was quite the achievement.
The boy moved up from an idiot to a fool in Irene’s mind. Perhaps, this was going to be more entertaining then she originally thought. Well, as long as he tried to end it quickly. Porcupine bears, especially young males, were notorious for their stamina. Bouts between them could last for days.
“You judge the boy far too harshly.” The voice in her head spoke. “He is young and inexperienced, but manages to keep his ground for this long.”
“He is a fool and together the three of them are idiots for not following the road.” Irene murmured while stretching her back and enjoying the afternoon sun.
Satisfied, she returned her eyes to her entertainment. However, there was only boredom in those two gold orbs. Those three were a step away from becoming adults, but that did not change the fact that they were only children. And Irene disliked those. Because of their constant whining, incessant crying and endless stream of pointless questions. Although, she paused the tirade in her head, the youth had some potential.
“Look at them,” Irene shook her head and pointed at the tree, where the girl was trapped. “That idiot needs to let go of the stupid bear cub so that she could untangle herself from the vine.”
She took a deep breath, trying to keep herself from shouting. “It’s a strangler plant, it won’t chase her. However, it is strong enough to use as a rope to pull out idiot number two from that piss puddle.”
“I mean, how has he not noticed that the water has not reached his chin and is staying just above his shoulders?” Irene tapped her fingers on the handle of the great sword laying on the ground next to her.
“Instead, they have left idiot three over there,” she pointed the youth battling the beast, “to tire himself out, rather than turning the entire situation around.” She finished with a shake of her head.
“Harsh is what they deserve,” Irene reached for her belt and removed a small neatly tied pouch.
“Ten more minutes then.” The voice in her head sounded amused.
“Fifteen,” she sighed in defeat. “He should be able to last that long.”
With care, the woman rolled a cigarette, using the limited ingredients she had left. Nodding in approval at the finished product, she secured the pouch in its place and began padding her tight clothing searching for the box of matches she had on her.
“Left boot.” It was the voice’s turn to sigh. “It’s always the left one.”
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A bright smile formed on Irene’s face as she retrieved a small wooden box, half as big as her palm. A smile which disappeared when she opened the blasted thing and saw there was a single match left inside.
“Great spirits and gods,” she whispered, her eyes focused the match held firmly in both her hands. “You have always ignored me and for a good reason. However, this time, I beg of you to listen to my prayer and allow this one light. Please, let it not be a faulty one.”
Irene flipped the box over and with the utmost of reverence pressed the match against the course surface there. Her fingers almost snapped the delicate item in two when the voice spoke. “Those things are killing you slowly.”
The woman inhaled deeply to clam her heart, having come so close to disaster. “Don’t you ever do that again.”
“Well then, here is to them killing me faster,” Irene pressed the match against the box for a second time.
She felt the alchemic powder slide against the course surface. A moment later a spark would appear and ignite the substance nestled at the end of the simple wooden splinter. It was at that precise moment that Irene was drenched in what passed for water from the nearby puddle.
Carefully she returned the match in its container and pushed it in her left boot. After that, the woman ran her hand over her face, removing the liquid that remained there. The fingers of her left hand, wrapped around the handle of the great sword, Irene stood up and pulled the youth, stuck in the shallow puddle, by the leg.
“Ten minutes.” The voice in her head remarked.
She ignored the obvious jibe and focused on the porcupine bear. The features of her face twisted into a vicious snarl, as she watched the beast slow its charge. With a thought, Irene released the power within her and became a hurricane of motion.
Sliding on one knee, the woman swung her great sword, cutting through the beast’s front paws. The black edge of her blade slicing through rock-hard bone, tough muscle and sinew with the same ease as if cutting through grass. Before the best could fall on top of her, Irene kicked off the ground, using her weapon as a pole, she vaulted over the maimed creature and landed to its left.
For a moment, the thought of letting it bleed out, crossed her mind. However, Irene dismissed it. She was mad, yes, but she was not cruel. This animal was not at fault. There was no intelligent design behind its actions. No, there were others at blame here and once she found them, they would learn that she can be very cruel. She watched the animal crush into the ground a few meters away.
“Shush now,” she whispered and retrieved her sword. “It will be all over soon.” The woman spoke softly to the porcupine bear.
When she reached its side, the black great sword held over her head, dropped. A single blow was enough to separate the beast’s head from its body.
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Nathaniel watched in awe the woman deal with the monstrous creature in seconds. This was a Witch Hunter and a strong one at that. Her unnatural speed and strength were all the evidence he needed to be convinced of that. There was also the black great sword she wielded. Such a weapon was not easy to master, its size and weight making less than practical in most fights. Yet, the Witch Hunted used it as if it were an extension of herself.
Now that the beast was dead, Nathaniel whipped the mud and peat from his face and had his first clear look of the woman. She was, for the lack of better words, stunning. Almost as beautiful as the God-slayer herself. With her long silver hair and alabaster skin, she could pass for the great Hunter’s sister. Not a tween, though. Where Lady Nox’s eyes were like shining emeralds, this one’s were the colour of old gold. There were also the two scars on her face. One across the bridge of her nose and one under her left eye. As delicate as those blemishes were, they made it clear that this was a different person. Nothing could leave a mark on the God-slayer, of that Nathaniel was certain.
There was also her attire. A person such as Lady Nox would never wear something so provocative and cheap. The tight-fitting leather pants, which left far too little to the imaginations, and the forest-green leather bodice with ivory patches to emphases her breasts. As if exposing the area between her neck and cleavage was not enough. Even the steel elbow high gloves and shoulder pads were not enough to change his mind.
However, Nathaniel reminded himself, she is a Witch Hunter and had just saved his life. Those of Paul and Helen too, at least they would be, shortly. And once the woman was gone, he would personally kill them for this mess.
He watched the Hunter leisurely stroll to the tree, where Helen was currently fighting to keep the cub from slipping her grasp. The Hunter leaned against the aged bark and took out one of the two knives strapped to her belt. There was a noticeable lack of urgency in her movements as she ran the blade on the steel fingers of her left glove to produce a spark with which to light what looked like a Kindra cigarette.
The hysteric woman in the branches above could wait. There was no doubt about it. Sooner or later she would tire and let go of the feisty beast. As for the blood vine wrapped around her, Nathaniel was sure that she would die of hunger and thirst before the thing could drain enough of her blood to put her life in danger. He was not sure how safe Paul was, but if the Witch Hunter was in no hurry to rescue the Ranger, it could only mean that he too could wait.
The Kindra, on the other hand, was a different matter. Use of the drug was strictly forbidden in every hamlet, settlement and town ruled over by the lords of the Highguard Combine. Anyone caught with it, would be sent to either the brickfields or the quarries. Where they would spend the rest of their lives producing material needed for the expansion of the Combine. But Witch Hunters answered to no lord. No law could be enforced upon them.
This did not mean they were not held accountable for their actions. From what little people knew about their order, it was clear that there was some structure guiding, training and gearing them. After all, all those requests had to go somewhere. Most of the general public believed that either one or all of the greater spirits ruled the Witch Hunters. And a smaller part believed that it was the living god Ludwig who stood at their head.
Then there were those who, like Nathaniel, had heard about the Frozen Keep located in the depths of the desolate north. The captain, of the second ship he had served on, had let it slip that she had received orders to ferry an entire group of Witch Hunters there. More than once at that. True, it was after the hardened woman had drunk a good deal of rum and wine, but her words and the terrified look in her eyes had removed any doubt Nathaniel might have harboured.
No. He had to focus. This was no time to let his mind wander. The young man had to thank the woman for saving him and his companions. It was the least he could do. Once that is done, he could beg her to him to the God-slayer.
“I know. That’s why I’m saying she’s an idiot.” Nathaniel heard the Witch Hunter speak to herself in a hushed husky voice as he approached her. It was hard to keep his opinion of her high.
“Tell your friend to let go of the damned beast,” the woman suddenly turned in his direction and released a cloud of stinging smoke in his face.
“I did,” Nathaniel coughed the response. “She doesn’t listen.”
“An idiot.” The Witch Hunter spat the word and gently propped the great sward up against the tree.
Too fast for Nathaniel to track, she threw the dagger at the cub. The blade lodged itself deeply into the creature’s skull, killing it on the spot. Then, the Hunter dug the fingers of her right arm into the bark and launched herself up. A moment later she was crouched on the branch next to the wide-eyed Helen.
“Well, isn’t this a surprise!” Nathaniel heard the woman’s husky voice exclaim.
Without so much as an explanation, she kicked the girl from the branch. After that, the Witch Hunter slid headfirst down the blood vine and pulled Paul out of the marshy patch he was stuck in. Like a sack of wheat, the woman threw the tracker next to Nathaniel. After which, she swung on the vine and landed with incredible grace next to the curled-up Helen.
The entire thing had taken just a few seconds and left the young man stunned, staring at the Witch Hunter, mouth agape and lost for words. In this state, he watched the woman pull out her second knife and press it against the girl’s throat.
“Stop!” Nathaniel gathered enough courage to yell the word, without any clear idea of what to do next.
“Don’t put your nose where it doesn’t belong boy,” the Witch Hunter laughed at him. “You could already be in trouble for trying to protect a witch.”
“What?” Both he and Paul yelled at the same time. Helen didn’t have any… What? If he thought about it, Nathaniel had never seen a witch before. All he had to go by were the old tales, speaking of evil old hags with wrinkled skin and a demon seating on their shoulder.
“Look…” Helen stuttered, panic building in her voice. “I know you told me to leave town… I was about to do that… But… They said they were Silent… you know, I couldn’t… Then this happened.”
“Strip.” The Witch Hunter commanded.
“What…”
“I said strip. Before I strip you down to the bones.” The threat in those words was very real.
Helen stood up on shaking legs, as soon as the knife was pulled back from her throat. With trembling hands, the girl undid her shirt and unfastened her ruined skirt, letting it fall to the ground. This was going too far. Nathaniel had to put an end to this insanity. But before he could move, the Witch Hunter removed the glove from her left hand and pressed it between Helen’s exposed breasts.
“She’s a… witch...” Somehow Paul managed to speak while holding his breath.
Nathaniel couldn’t believe his eyes. All manner of sigils and shapes shone brightly green on Helen’s skin. They covered her from head to toe.
“At least you have not signed any of the offered contracts.” The Witch Hunter nodded. “That’s something. Now, get dressed harlot.”
Pushing the girl on the ground. she turned around and walked away. After a few steps, the Hunter stopped and turned around. “Fine! Remember this Helen. As long as you don’t sign any of those contracts, I can’t kill you. Well, not without consequences anyway.”
“Now,” she fixed Nathaniel and Paul with her emotionless gold-coloured eyes. “Impersonating Silent Knights, are we?”
The woman stopped a step from them and pointed at the tracker. “I already know this one is an idiot. But you,” her finger shifted towards the fighter, “are either one too or simply stupid. So, the question is, how did the two of you manage to fool that one over there?” The finger moved to point the sobbing Helen.
“Anyway,” the Witch Hunter shrugged and walked away, “have fun kids. And try not to get eaten by anything in the next hour or so.”
“Wait!” Nathaniel shouted after her. “You are a Witch Hunter and that is a witch…”
“He is an inquisitive one, right?” The woman stopped and turned around. “Yes, that girl is a witch. However, she is harmless… For now. Just in case, if you hear her speak in a strange language, you know, run.”
“Please, a moment,” Nathaniel slowly walked towards her, his body screaming in pain from the beating he had received from the beast. “I’d like to thank you, Lady… ah…”
“I know I haven’t said it.” He heard the Witch Hunter whisper, before speaking a louder voice. “Irene Navina.”
“Thank you for saving us, Lady Navina,’ Nathanial lowered his head and reached under his armour, pulling out the medallion hanging around his neck.
The captain of the Autumn Wind had given this to him once his tour with the ship was over. The Witch Hunters had given it to her as proof that that old Joaquinite could be trusted. And she had gifted it to Nathaniel in turn. Hoping that one day it would help him achieve his goal.
“I would like to speak to the God-slayer.” The young man said gathering all the courage that was left in him.
“So? I would like to speak to the infernal lords.” Irene laughed at him.
Was it possible she did not recognise the symbols on the small disk? Had that bitch Joaquinite lied to him? He had placed all of his hopes in that item. Nathaniel’s mind was flooded by too many questions, he nearly missed the Witch Hunter’s next words.
“However, that is a rather curious thing you have there. And I am very interested to learn how it has found its way in your hands.”