Violant followed the old schrat to a little valley densely covered in fog. In fact it was it was shrouded in such a manner that it rather seemed like walking into a misty lake. The fog was surely wet enough for that. In the shadow of a towering old hollow tree without any foliage, there stood a small, somewhat warped hut with walls consisting of tree roots and roofed with green moss.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” Alarun spoke and opened a door from crooked wood planks likely originating from the hollow tree. Her human visitor had to stoop deeply to be able to enter the hut. The whole building was constructed for the likes of a diminutive schrat after all.
Inside it was even darker until the homeowner lit up a little fire using pine cones and thin brushwood as fuel. Only now, illuminated by the flickering flames, Violant could take a good look at the building’s interior. There was no furniture at all. Instead the whole floor – only safe for the fireplace – was covered completely in soft moss doubling as a carpet and bed at the same time. In one corner there were the schrat’s supplies, consisting mostly of fuel, dried fruit, and bundles of various herbs. Some spindles, a pair of knitting needles, and some green balls of yarn the denizen of the woods had spun from tree moss could also be seen.
“Sit down, child.” the hoary woman said.
The young lady followed suit, for she couldn’t stand in the low hut anyway.
“Well I guess introductions are in order, aren’t they?” the homeowner decided “This old woman is Alarun. Tell me, human child, since you are an Avallach, do you know what I am?”
“You are a holzweibel, aren’t you?” Violant replied “I am Violant of Avallach, niece of the current margrave Orderic. It’s a rare honor to meet you, elder.”
The elderly smiled, obviously quite pleased with the courteous treatment.
“You are right, good child, I am one of the holzleute. But my kind is difficult to encounter, isn’t it? Well, that doesn’t matter know. You had said you are looking for the missing people, didn’t you? Old Alarun will now tell you what she knowns. You must know, child, this forest is the realm of the wild hunt. You know about that demonic host, don’t you? My kind has long since left these lands, except for me who was simply too old to follow suit. Since their favorite game had left its realm, the wild huntsmen had to look for new game. The wild hunt chases its prey for pure enjoyment, you know? What a barbaric cruelty! Even worse, who has fallen into their hands will be eaten raw! The flesh of sapient beings such like you and me, you know? What audacity! Where was I? Oh, yes. The wild hunt had to look for new game and they found it in the dwarves. Soon the dwarves were hunted as mercilessly as my kind was before. Accordingly, the dwarves also couldn’t help but leaving their old dwellings. That was some twenty years ago or so. Thus the next game the blasphemous host found after years of searching were humans. Some months ago some human girl got lost on this side and had the bad luck to encounter the demonic hunters. Ever since, the wild hunt intrudes the human territory at night to hunt the unlucky fellows who are still outside after sunset. Most of their victims aren’t alive anymore. If you would try to barge in the wild hunt’s lair you likely wouldn’t find any of their victims alive anymore, possibly safe for the most recent ones. Even worse, the ghosts of sinful victims might even be added to the host.”
All the while Violant quietly and attentively listened to what the schrat had to tell her. The further the report proceeded, the graver her look on her face became. Of course the young lady had been clear about the fact that the other march was a realm outside human comprehension and human ideas of ethics and morality, but what she now heard about really was the limit!
“But now you are here.” Alarun continued “The Avallachs are the humans getting the most respect here on our side. Even the wild hunt won’t be able but to give you the respect you deserve. The more so as your blood obviously is so much more. Even the nachtjäger, the night hunter, can’t help but hear you out. Whatever might happen afterwards, I don’t know, but believe me, child, I surely would love to see old villainous Banadietrich von Hackelberg teeth-gnashingly making concessions to you.”
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“Banadietrich von Hackelberg?” Violant asked.
“He is the nachtjäger, the leader of the wild hunt.” the old woman explained “If you want to stop the hunt on humans, he is the one you have to talk to. And I believe he will definitely hear you out, child. He fears nothing more than to be asked to finally pay up the tithes he owes. Not to the margrave, of course, but to hell.”
“But I don’t have anything to do with hell even if my father is a demon.” the girl countered, afraid where this was going.
“It doesn’t matter if you do or don’t, child, does it?” Alarun replied, a wry smile on her wrinkled face “What does matter though is that he believes you might. And even if he knows you don’t, the nachtjäger will know better than to incur your father’s wrath, don’t you think so? Now collect your courage, child. Old Alarun will bring you to the wild hunt’s lair, or at least as near as possible without danger for my life. The rest depends on you though.”
Violant nodded meekly. She was like clay in the elderly schrat’s hands but she also knew that there was no other way. At least she couldn’t come up with a different plan herself.
The lair of the wild hunt was located inside Mt. Hackelberg, the otherworldly mountain shrouded in fog towering above those stretches of the other march. Violant presently stood in front of a cave opening widely like the jaws of hell itself. Gripping her spear tighter than before, the young lady stepped into the rocky opening to follow the alternations of light and shadow originating from the mountain’s interior.
The rock corridor, large and wide enough for several horses with riders to pass through without problems, soon made place for a large dome lit up by an enormous bonfire in its center, reminiscent of the infernal flames. Seeing such a large fire, the girl felt her heart rate increasing, her breathing growing rough, and her throat constricted. The actual bonfire in front of her overlapped in her mind with the fire she had lost her life to while burning at the stake.
To overcome her panic, Violant closed her eyes and took some deep breaths. Then she confidently stepped inside the mountain dome. The place was so chaotic, a picture of hell on earth, that at first nobody even noticed the uninvited visitor. The host was, true to Alarun’s words, a gathering of ghosts and demons. Predominantly consisting of men – women were rarely ever seen in the crowd present, and when, then mostly in a subservient position – the wild hunt was made up of coarse and unrefined men in often bloodied green hunter’s garbs you could think capable of committing every atrocity imaginable. Especially creepy was the fact that not all of the hunters had their heads where they normally belonged. Some carried their heads under their arms or had put them aside to do whatever they were doing at the moment, some even lacked them at all. Others where nothing more than skeletons, or they had nonhuman features such as the claws of a lizard or a serpent’s tail. The most gruesome view for Violant though was those of hunters set ablaze.
The men weren’t alone, for they were accompanied by their mounts and packs. Everywhere were black or white horses, black bucks, and whole packs of yapping big black hounds. The horses – some of them only had three legs as their owners could be seen gnawing at the missing one – had glowing eyes and snorted fire from their nostrils, the hounds big fiery eyes as large as plates. Some were even spitting fire from their mouths. There were animals of all kinds without heads, occasionally spurting flames from their necks like a fountain. Steeds and dogs wildly flew through the air in the dome, for their riders used them to hunt on the wings of the tempest. The huntsmen were no less disorderly though. They drank beer by the barrel, feasted on raw meat from horses and humans. Some of them gambled, playing cards or dice and betting bones instead of money. Others got into a fight for no apparent reason.
The leader of the whole host, however, was easy to distinguish from the rest, for he sat on a throne made of the countless bones of the wild hunt’s victims. The nachtjäger was also clad in green like a good huntsman, had a hunting dagger at his belt, and a hunting horn put on as if he wanted to set out for a hunt every moment. He had long black hair and a stubbly chin. His eyes couldn’t be seen though, hidden beneath the shadow of the antlered deer skull he wore as a headgear. Banadietrich slowly sipped his drink from a human skull in his hand. Behind him on the throne’s backrest there sat a big black raven with iron wings. It was a night-raven, a fearsome nocturnal bird of the other march.
Fearlessly Violant stepped up to the nachtjäger’s throne, thus gathering all eyes on herself. The hustle and bustle she had witnessed earlier died down. Everybody wanted to know what would happen to the little girl who dared to take a step into the lair of the wild hunt by herself.
“Greetings, Banadietrich von Hackelberg.” she spoke, her confident voice betraying the insecurities in her heart “I am Violant of Avallach, daughter of the margravial house of the same name. I have come to demand of you that you shall henceforth cease the hunting of humans.”