Captain Vell’s fatigue squeezed his mind and dripped through his body to the marrow of his bones. Early last night, he had been woken from a drunken stupor and proceeded to kill more monsters through the night than the rest of his squad combined. At dawn’s first light, he had started riding and hadn’t stopped since.
But this wasn’t the source of his fatigue. In fact, he had been in far more tiring situations before. No, he was tired of it all. He was tired of the incessant killing, the late night drinking, the lack of reinforcements and the youthful arrogance the few times those reinforcements were sent. For the first time in thirty years, he was considering retirement. He knew The Hounds would reward him well for his loyal service, and it might just be time to cash it in, build a small hut, and live out the rest of his life with his feet propped up by a warm fire.
As his eyelids drooped down for yet another time he muttered a curse to the dead gods, snatched an unmarked flash from his pouch, and took a hearty swig. Who was he kidding? He was a Hound, and he would die with a sword in his hand.
For good measure, he took another large gulp from his flask. A little bit of homebrew would hopefully get him through the last bit of this hunt.
He bit back another curse thinking back to the night before. A monster had broken out of the Claw’s fortification for the first time in years all because some fresh meat couldn’t hold the damn line. There was no way he was going to be the one to tell a Bloodhound that it was his unit that failed. Almost any other monster and he’d be sound asleep back at the Claw by now and there would be a fresh monster corpse cooling on the ground. But it just had to be black widower. They were fast little buggers.
Another of the riders, James Nosh, directed his horse to line up perfectly with Captain Vell only using his thighs. Captain Vell scoffed. He had disliked James since the moment he had met him. He was tall, blonde, and had baby blue eyes with the arrogance of three sixteen year olds to boot. Though his face was that of an angel and he somehow had procured clothing to make even the capital elites jealous, Captain Vell didn’t care. There were no fawning young ladies or wealth laden social balls at the Claw. The sword was the only religion that mattered.
James snickered, “Captain senile, got any booze to share with the rest of us?”
Captain Vell's scowl deepened. “Sod off James. No noble bastard is going to be sipping on my homebrew.”
James just laughed, and two of the other three riders laughed with him.
“That’s Sir Nosh to you. I at least respectfully refer to you by your title. The least you could do is the same for me. I can’t wait to tell everyone how you speak to those who volunteer for your simple little missions.”
“Hm. Your title would be Nil Nosh then because last I heard, you’re the second son. And if you speak up to me as your commanding officer again, I will ensure you are whipped.”
James opened his mouth and then closed it. He stole a quick glance to one of the fellow riders, then glared at the empty space in front of him with murderous eyes as he let Captain Vell take the lead.
The only thing James had going for him was that he had volunteered for the Riftguard, but at this point Captain Vell didn’t even know why. Somehow he had never seen the man fight and even last night, one of the worst monster surge Captain Vell had ever seen, James had not been on the wall. The greatest tragedy, however, had to be James’ noble house symbol. Their patriarch had to have the worst design sense out of any house founder.
Now that he thought about it, three of the five riders that had saddled up for this hunt were from the same house. It stunk of politics. This might even be the leeches' first time on a mission. With his thoughts slower than his old arthritic dog on a freezing winter day, Captain Vell had no clue why. Perhaps the Claw’s commander would know. Captain Vell would have to talk to him about that once he was back at the Claw. He might even be able to convince the commander to send James back to the capital like he should have at the start.
He rode up to his friend Dilt, the best tracker in their Claw. In many ways they were direct opposites. Dilt was short and stout with iconic big bushy eyebrows and a long brown beard that barely covered his incessant grinning. Captain Vell on the other hand had a receding jet black hairline with streaks of gray and a perpetual scowl. His sharp crooked nose was the only feature of note on his clean shaven face.
While Dilt was dressed head to toe in heavy furs topped off with a raccoon cap, Captain Vell had stained wool pants and a speckled jacket.
“Are we gaining on the damned widower Dilt?”
Dilt clapped him on the shoulder. “Aye, my friend! Wouldn’t you know it just as well as I? It’s clearly been slowing this past mile, and we should catch up within the hour. This is quite the adventure.”
“Good,” Captain Vell muttered. “Anything else I should know?”
“No, that’s about it.”
“Do you know where it might be headed to?”
“Wouldn’t you know? It’s probably looking for a nice little cave to curl up and sleep while the sun is out. Something is weighing it down, mark my words.”
Captain Vell blinked in confusion. Talking with Dilt was like wrestling a greased up eel.
“You know it would have been faster if you had told me that when I first asked. That information lands in the bucket of things I should probably know.”
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Dilt tilted his head. “That’s why I didn’t tell you at first. I thought you knew. See the tracks?”
Captain Vell looked down at the muddy nondescript ground as a few flakes of snow hit one of the ruts and melted in place. He failed to see any story like the one Dilt was describing. There was a reason Dilt was here, and it wasn’t for his conversation skills.
Captain Vell bit back another curse as he thought about the black widower finding a cave. The pests were practically invisible with no light out. And he had a feeling even with torches flushing it out, finding and eliminating it in a cave might not end up being so easy.
“Stop the horses. Fifteen minutes rest, and then we’ll finish the hunt,” he called out to the rest of the group.
“Are you scared?” James replied, finding his voice again. “We could finish this in the next hour and be back for lunch according to what Lumberjack just said.”
“Yes, I’m scared. You should be terrified. Black widowers are horrific little beasts that are fast, fortified, and sly. Their venom will seize your muscles up in minutes. I doubt you’ll even see them before you get spun up into a little silk dumpling, and I’ll have to save your sorry ass. So we might as well be a little late to lunch if it means we’re a little less dead.”
“Well, yes. A short rest would make tactical sense. As long as we catch this spider soon.” James didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed.
Captain Vell just ignored him. Before too long, Dilt was shaking his shoulder with a stupid grin plastered to his face.
“Time to wake up Captain. It’s party time.”
Captain Vell took another swig of the homebrew but only a few drops hit his parched throat. He grunted.
“Lead the way.”
Before too long they found themselves next to a hill, and Dilt declared the monster near. The group dismounted and slowly followed Dilt as they made their way across the base of the hill. They were more protected by the wind and the elements now with the steep rocky incline to their left, but Captain Vell still felt a shiver run down his spine. It was deathly quiet except for the crunch of their footsteps on the rocky ground. Even James and his friends had stopped their yammering.
The sky was overcast and the constant clouds caused the tree shadows to their right to flicker in unpredictable ways. All at once, a large section of snow fell off a branch and hit the ground with a thud as the branch snapped back into place. Captain Vell felt the anger rise in him when he heard someone behind him jump. A Hound never lets fear get in the way of their duty. Just as quickly, his fear cooled into resignation. Captain Vell would kill the black widower himself if he had to. It wouldn’t be the first time.
When they reached a gaping hole in the side of the hill, it went without saying that this was their destination. The jagged rocks on the edges of the cave almost looked like teeth.
“Torches and shortswords,” Captain Vell said.
As one, Captain Vell and Dilt pulled out their torch and lit them. When Captain Vell did one last check to make sure everyone was ready, he almost pulled out the hair he had left.
“James! By the dead gods why do you have a net and a sword? Are you trying to get us all killed?”
“It’s for slowing down the widower. If I net the thing, it will be impossible for us to lose it.”
“Have you ever even used a net before? Have you had training from the House of the Angler?”
James merely shrugged. “It’s my decision.”
Captain Vell almost told James to stay outside and watch their backs, but decided if someone wanted to kill themselves, they were more than welcome to. Scoffing, he stepped into the cave with his torch and sword leading the way, motioning that he would scout it out first.
It was a relatively small cave, made up of overlapping slabs of rock. Scattered throughout the cave walls were holes the size of small cups but went deep into the hillside. The ground was mostly flat rock and ancient dust. Not even three paces away was the widower, clearly denoted by the torchlight. And it wasn’t moving yet. Strange.
The black widower was the size of a small dog but with twice the speed and explosiveness. Its onyx carapace and eight jagged legs seemed to suck the light out of the room. They were nocturnal creatures, of course, as they lacked the eyes to have an advantage in daytime.
Captain Vell steadily moved deeper into the cave, focused on catching any sudden movements. The widower was awake clearly but was incredibly lethargic, moving only a foot or two in either direction. Not wanting to question this mysterious gift, he raised his sword and brought it down for a killing blow.
A sudden shout from Dilt saved his life. He turned, and instead of getting a sword through the heart he got it through the lung. Outside, he heard the sound of swords clashing.
Fuck.
He attempted to stab James, but James released the grip on his sword and easily avoided the slash by taking a step back. Slowly James drew a dagger by his waist and waved the net side to side.
“Who is the wise old man now but an idiot, eh? Didn’t expect this now did you?” he taunted.
Captain Vell couldn’t answer. He could feel his lung start to fill up with blood now and knew he needed to finish this fight in moments. He couldn’t depend on Dilt to save him. The anger of the betrayal, the sense of danger from his wound, and the thrill of battle combined together in a powerful sense of bloodlust. He let it wash through his body and clear his mind from the fatigue that had been entrenched in him for the past few hours.
Inch by inch he moved forward and James moved backwards. Small openings were available at any moment: James’ shoulder, thigh, or even midsection. However, it was apparent James actually had a fair bit of skill with the dagger, and Captain Vell knew from experience that any attempt would only result in a scratch. Instead, he waited patiently for an opportunity to strike.
Suddenly he had it. At this point, James had nowhere to retreat to but outside the cave, and when he shuffled back once more, he tripped on the edge of the entrance. Captain Vell surged forward, prepared to pierce through James like the pig he was.
But Captain Vell never managed to step forward. Without notice, his leg seized up, and he fell face first into the rock, bashing his nose in. Cursing his luck and blinking through his tears, Captain Vell looked down at the blurry outline of a black widower attacking his leg. He tried to shake it off but only managed to cough up phlegm and blood from the effort.
James stepped over his head, threw the net over the black widower and quickly scooped it up. With a grunt, he wrestled it over to the entrance. He managed to grab the edges of the net so that the black widower was being dragged instead of carried.
With extreme discomfort, Captain Vell was able to squeeze out a single word in a coarse whisper.
“Why?”
James shrugged. “What does it matter to you? When the house calls for a favor, there is only one answer. It was just a bonus to kill you.”
Then he walked out of the cave.
Yet, Captain Vell did not despair. He had been through worse, though not by much. In his pouch was a small rock worth its weight in gold. Magestone some called it. Solidified magic said others. For an initiate like him who had never finished his training, he could only use but a fraction of its power. But it would be enough. A smidgen of earthstone directed at his body with state based intent of life would stabilize his lungs enough to last out a few hours for the poison to be purged from his body. It might take him a week to stumble back to the Claw even if they didn’t send out search parties, but a Hound knew to never give up.
He reached deep into his pouch, grabbed the earthstone and crushed just a bit. The dust covered his hand and the magic seeped into his blood. Even bone tired, he was able to visualize how much vitality that magic had and the life it would create. Captain Vell felt his body repair itself, just a bit, and he finally relaxed.
That’s when he heard the chittering. Almost like a nightmare come true, he saw the first of the tiny bodies swarm out of the small dark holes in the wall as the torchlight flickered. It was a veritable ocean of tiny black widowers, and they were hungry.
He tried to crawl, but his muscles wouldn’t listen. He tried to scream but his fluid filled lungs caused him to cough in little wet hacks.
He gritted his teeth, thought a string of his favorite curses, and killed mounds of the little buggers. He rolled, he smacked, and even used his head to squish the monsters. Even knowing that he was going to die, Captain Vell would do what he did best.
And when at last he felt his life slowly slip away, he dreamed of drinking with his fellow Hounds and smiled. For the first time in his life, he could finally rest.