“We joined our host at his table that day,

And listened to all that he had to say.

He spoke of his private hunting land,

Where he killed our meals with his own hand.”

Many things could be said of Lord Zaroth, but there was no denying that he was a generous host. The food was plentiful, diverse, and, most importantly, tasty. Meats consisting of salted bacon, juicy chicken, freshly cooked fish, and other creatures that Garassk couldn’t identify all made his mouth water as he wolfed them down. Fresh bread tasted fine on its own, and even better dipped in the stew Zaroth had provided. All of this was washed down with wine, cider, water, and other drinks Garassk couldn’t identify, but liked the taste of. Rathorn and Arra also showed no restraint in filling their mouths.

Zaroth himself, however, was a little unsettling. He ate little, and his movements seemed unnaturally stiff. He looked human, but something felt off about him. The castle was dark, and it was difficult to tell for sure, but Garassk thought he looked pale. His eyes had an unnatural shine to them, and his black hair looked more like a shadow draped across his head. Another odd thing that Garassk couldn’t quite put a claw on was the fact that the table and chairs seemed to be made of stone.

“I trust you are all enjoying yourselves?” the lord asked in a voice that Garassk would describe as soft, silky, and cold. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had guests on my lands. I hope that my hospitality has proven suitable.”

“Aye, very much,” Rathorn said, between swallows of fish. “It’s been too long since I’ve had a meal this good.”

“I don’t know what all of these animals are, but I like the taste of them,” Garassk said. “My compliments to our host.”

“Your praise is appreciated,” Zaroth said. “It’s always nice to know when a hunt yields good food.”

“Oh? You hunted for this?” Garassk asked, tilting his head. “I didn’t see any animals on the way over here.”

“You came from the wrong direction, then,” Zaroth answered. “Or the right one. You did arrive here alive, after all.”

“Barely,” Garassk snorted, almost missing how ominous that sounded. “Some thugs tried to kill us not far from here.”

“I see,” Zaroth said, not sounding concerned or interested.

“And from what I’ve heard, most of the land is populated with folks trying to kill each other lately,” Garassk continued. “It wasn’t safe to come here, and I’m told that this castle is worse.”

“Oh? That’s interesting,” Zaroth chuckled.

“Not the word I’d use,” Rathorn said. “Considering the state of Dustburg, horrifying might be more appropriate.”

“Dustburg? Is that what they’re calling it?” Zaroth chuckled. “An interesting name.”

“I’m thrilled that the completely justified name pleases you,” Garassk replied. “But there are more pressing concerns. Chief among them: How is anyone supposed to survive coming here?”

“Few people do,” Zaroth said, an animalistic glee showing in his eyes.

“That might be well and good if there’s an invading army,” Garassk said, taking a moment to drink. “But there are hardly any people out there at the moment. Your own people are at war with each other, but there’s little to fight for.”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“Are they now?” Zaroth asked.

“Yes.”

“My, my, you tell an interesting tale,” the lord chuckled. “Perhaps I should see what’s going on outside more often.”

“A little more often?” Garassk squawked. “Aren’t you the lord of this castle? When was the last time anyone has seen you? You must come out sometimes.”

“Or maybe not,” Rathorn piped up. “It would certainly explain why some of the peasants are convinced that the castle is abandoned.”

“Are they?” Zaroth smirked. “I suppose I can’t blame them. It’s been years since they’ve been here.”

“Does anyone come here?” Garassk asked. “And what are you doing here if you’re not keeping your lands safe?”

“People come through here from time to time,” Zaroth said. “The spices and drinks are often brought here by merchants, and I’ve had my share of soldiers wage war on my lands in the distant past. As to how I pass my time, I find that there’s no greater pleasure than hunting. The rush of facing down a creature that could kill you if you fail makes a man feel… alive.”

“An interesting sentiment,” Garassk said. “I’m sure the roads to your castle are filled with bodies of men who might have shared it, had any of them lived long enough to get near the castle.”

“And how many of those bodies do you think might be potential invaders?” Zaroth asked. “I can assure you, my lands are safe. You are here now because I permit your passage. But if you truly think your trip here was dangerous, perhaps you should join me in a hunt. The only thing better than killing something myself, is competing with another hunter, and it’s been too long since I’ve had the pleasure.”

“We’re not here for a hunt,” Arra said bluntly. “They were just looking for a place to get some sleep for the night.”

“A pity,” Zaroth sighed. “It’s been so long. I was hoping for a little more excitement.”

“Excitement?!” Arra shouted, startling everyone. “Your own people are in an endless war with each other outside your walls, and you talk of excitement?!”

“Careful, girl,” Zaroth said. Garassk heard a hint of ice in his voice.

“What kind of lord are you?” Rathorn barked.

“One who knows how to make sure that his subjects never forget their place,” Zaroth growled. “The girl will participate in the hunt, and that’s not up for debate. If you try to leave, I’ll have Lycaon tear you to pieces. You will be flogged. The younger varanian may leave.”

“Now hold on just a minute,” Garassk said, rising from his seat.

“Maybe that’s not such a good-” Rathorn said, grabbing his arm, but Garassk pulled away.

“Arra is under your protection,” he said. “She has been for years. And instead of protecting your subjects, you’ve let them raid each other and kill people trying to pass through.”

“Are you so eager to die here?” Zaroth sneered. “I do not take kindly to people challenging my authority.”

“And you’re trying to kill Rathorn,” Garassk continued. “We’ve been traveling together, and I have no intention of leaving without him.”

“If that is your desire, then you may stay,” Zaroth said. “But by the time I’m done flaying your skin, do not complain to me of my lack of mercy. You had your chance, and did not take it.”

“What exactly is this hunt of yours?” Garassk asked. “What are we supposed to accomplish?”

“I turn my guests loose in my personal forest,” Zaroth said. “And then we both compete to try and hunt something. If they can make it back to my castle with the most dangerous thing they killed, then they win.”

“I propose a challenge,” Garassk said. “I will go and hunt with Arra. If we win, you let us all go free, and conditions around your castle improve.”

“And if you lose?” Zaroth asked, an amused smirk spreading across his face.

“Then you’ve had a hunt,” Garassk said. “I assume our lives are forfeit if we lose, while you have everything to gain regardless. What more do you want?”

“You have a deal,” Zaroth sneered, extending his hand. Garassk shook it, wondering exactly what he’d gotten himself into.