The day smelled of freshly fallen snow and possessed a crisp, rejuvenating air that chilled the lungs with every breath, stirring the body into waking. Yet this sharp air was tinged with something else: an ashen scent of singeing mud and grass that tickled the nose fiercely when breathed. The source was that of a light wind, one that was proving strong enough to cause Myria’s Arm to glimmer. The giant, black blade, stirred to life by the gentle gale, was giving off heat enough that it had begun to dry and then scorch the sodden ground into which it had been impaled. Myria could feel this heat strongly upon her face, for her head was bowed before the blade, mere inches away from its veins of flame.
“Father of the great drake and beast, High Father of the Dragon kin, grant us safety upon this hunt, and success should we have strength enough to obtain it. May we ne’er pervert thy statutes, and follow fully thy instruction. May we bring honor to the Hunt, honor to its Father, and honor to the noble beasts. All glory and praise be to Takar, the Father god!”
Myria lifted her head as she recited the last and pounded her fist against her breast, the obsadus plating of her gauntlet resounding with a clank against the identical plating upon her chest. With the prayer offered, Myria stood from her kneeling position and pulled herself up from the imprint her armored knee had left within the muddy field. Her burning Arm she then pried out from the muck at her feet, where she had stabbed it point-down in reverence.
“Is this what all Slayers do before a hunt?” Myria’s companion, the young acrobat, asked while looking up at her from the ground.
Myria hoisted her greatsword over her shoulder and returned the girl’s glance with a slight grimace. “All real Slayers,” she stated coldly. “The Kayll, Takar, is god of both drake and the Hunt, so it is only fitting that we seek both his permission and protection before we begin.”
The girl nodded, accepting the simple logic of Myria’s answer, and stood up from the place where she too had been kneeling. Dressed as she was in her usual attire, the jester had been using her cloak to keep her knees from getting wet, and pulling it up, she began shaking loose the clumps of mud from the fur. “You don’t think Arena Slayers offer up such prayers in private?” She wondered.
“Nay, I don’t,” Myria all but spat as she returned to her horse to clean her blade. “Requesting Takar’s blessing is required of a Slayer, and if those in the Arena were truly aiming to please him, then they would conduct their ceremonies in public. As it stands, their kind hunt not to protect or survive, but to gain glory. The Hunt is sacred, but to them, it is naught but sport.”
The acrobat fell silent, and seemed to ponder as she too stepped to her stallion’s side. Taking the horse’s reins in her hand, she stroked the creature’s neck to soothe him. “You’re probably right,” she admitted, “but is it really so wrong to call them Slayers regardless? They still slay the greater beasts as you do.”
“Being a Slayer is about more than just hunting greater beasts,” Myria explained, swallowing her offense before it took root in her voice. Always it was this way when she needed to explain such things, and often she was forced to remind herself that most knew nothing about Slayers except what the Arena had taught them. “It is a way of life,” she continued then. “A religion, if you will. There are rules to be followed and traditions to uphold. If these things are ignored, then the title of Slayer is falsely claimed, and the essence of what makes one a true Slayer is diminished, even forgotten if allowed to continue.”
“You make it sound so serious,” the girl replied thoughtfully.
“Something you devote your life to always is.”
Again the acrobat went silent, though this time she recovered quickly from her strangely-long internal musings. Vaulting up then with an impressive leap, she effortlessly mounted her stallion’s high saddle, and pulling her horse around with a click of her tongue, she looked to Myria, waiting for the woman to do the same. “So, where to now?” The girl questioned as her horse shifted restlessly beneath her.
“We cross the tree line,” Myria answered, finished now with the cleaning of her Arm. “The wolf’s trail appears to lead deep into the wood. We can ride the horses for a short while more, but we will eventually have to leave them.”
“You think the brood wolf is that close?” Myria noted the tempered excitement within the acrobat’s tone, and the very notion of it nearly made her scoff.
Poorly equipped for a hunt, and by Slayer standard, unarmored, the girl should have been anything but excited for what lay ahead. Of course, having witnessed it herself on multiple occasions, Myria knew how prone her companion was to making bad decisions. That the fool had agreed to go on a hunt so suddenly and so underprepared was proof enough of this, and yet the acrobat’s insistence on going regardless had been nothing less than expected.
A resigned sigh left Myria’s lips as she hefted her Arm up into its saddle sheath. “If the farm is within its domain, then likely its den will not be much farther from here. Brood wolves tend not to stray far from a consistent source of food, and the farmstead has supplied it with that aplenty.”
“And here I thought brood wolves were more the wandering sort,” the jester said.
“They can be. It takes a true hunter to know the difference.” With a heave, Myria pulled herself up onto Argosia’s back, the saddle straps pulling tight with the added weight of her heavy armor. Tugging the mare’s bridle, Myria turned them around just enough to spy the farmstead in the distance. By her guess, the grand estate was nearly three miles behind them now, though could still be seen out over the flat of the Middleway plains. Even without the Slayer’s prayer, Takar’s favor seemed to be with them, as an hour or so before they had arrived the brood wolf had spirited away one of the farm’s great-horned goats. The bloody mess left by the slaughter had proved an easy trail to follow in the dust of snow, and the mud of the plains was quick to keep any paw prints left behind.
“It should be found within two hours,” Myria estimated, looking after the blood trail and into the distance where the trees appeared to have been forced aside. “Though if it is mothering, we will be forced to leave it.”
“Is that another rule?” Asked the acrobat with a frown. “I’d hate to have come all this way for nothing.”
“It is a statute,” Myria sharply corrected, “one aimed to prevent overhunting and ensure the species’ survival.”
Immediately the girl turned sheepish and sunk into her saddle. “Oh…” she muttered, glancing slightly away. “Sorry, I didn’t know.”
“Your brazen lack of understanding is precisely why we are here, but hopefully you’ll have learned a thing or two by the time we’ve returned to Neurial.” Pulling again on Argosia’s reins, Myria pointed the mare toward the forest. “But we’ve talked enough. The longer we tarry, the more time the beast has to wander off. Now come, and be sure to keep up with me.”
With a sturdy kick to Argosia’s sides the mare took off at a run, sprinting headlong toward the trees just beyond the field. The girl’s stallion kept up easily, galloping a few paces behind them, though just before they reached the forest’s edge Myria signaled for them to slow. At a trot they pushed on into the overgrown path together, where the trees and brush attempted to obscure Myria’s vision of the brood wolf’s trail. No amount of thorn or fern could hide the telltale signs of the beast’s passing however, nor deer, fox and rabbit prints fully cover the giant paws of their quarry. It was nothing for Myria to spy every sign left in the wolf’s wake; every partial print, every drag mark, every snapped branch. The beast had not been subtle, and even the acrobat would have been able to track it if asked. However, only Myria would be able to read the trail and know how close they were to danger.
Thus, maintaining their pace, they followed after the wolf, and trailed it for another mile into the thicker woodland. After some time, the path diverged sharply from their current course and Myria motioned for the acrobat to stop. She dismounted, jumping down into the mud to search the trees for a new direction. The prints were gone, as too was the upturned mud from where the wolf had dragged its prey. A veritable wall of thick briar and underbrush had completely overtaken this stretch of wood, and though the brood wolf had clearly come this way, none of it had been disturbed.
Crouching down for a better look, Myria studied the last set of tracks, noticing how they sunk in deeper here than anywhere else so far. It jumped, she realized, and so looked to the branches hanging overhead. There she spotted the brood wolf’s trail cresting over the bramble wall, for though no bough had been bent or broken, the sprouts and buds of flower and leaf had been completely torn away. Taking Argosia by the reins then, she pulled the horse after it, instructing the acrobat to do the same. Traveling by foot was the only option afforded to them now, and if the terrain remained so thick, even the horses would soon prove a hindrance.
With a brush knife Myria cut their way through the thickest of the foliage, doing her best to follow after the brood wolf’s trail. It was difficult for the horses to walk such a precarious route, as their cumbersome packs oft became caught on thorns and twists of vine. Finally, Myria decided to leave them, as the two were slowing their progress far too much. She and the jester thus tied their horses at the foot of a small cliff, where claw marks had been scratched into the stone above. Myria insisted they follow after these marks, but rather than upward, she led them forward into the crevices running through the crags. Hidden within the stone was a thin shelf of rock above a large stream, and though slick underfoot, it brought the two of them out directly on the other side.
It took a few moments for Myria to regain her bearings, as the brood wolf could have jumped from the cliff out in any direction, perhaps even remained atop. She thus sent the jester out around to the right in search of fresh signs of the beast, while she herself proceeded left to do the same. Fortunately, after only a short walk, Myria plucked a tuft of navy fur from the branches of a young pine, and whistled then for the girl to come back to her.
Reconvening, they followed the wolf’s trail anew and much faster now that they’d left the horses. The distance they had to travel now would not be agonizingly long, and though they would have to retrieve their mounts later, it was better that they proceed this way. By choosing to progress by foot, it was possible now to surprise their prey, and this would only increase the hunt’s chance for success. Myria was well versed in how the greater beasts regarded Human’kin, and the brood wolf was unlikely to run from them when confronted. Greater beasts often reacted this way when approached, assumedly because human kinds did not pose a sizable threat. With only herself and the young acrobat present, it was almost certain that the brood wolf would chose to chase them off rather than run away. It would, perhaps, even try to kill them if the goat had failed to sate its appetite.
Myria recalled a common saying among Slayers: that it was never the strongest that were best among them, but always they who were most clever. And indeed, today would certainly force Myria to be clever, especially since she expected the jester to be of little help.
Nevertheless, they trudged on, doing their utmost to proceed quickly through the muck and underbrush; an easier feat said than done within so thick a wood. And then it came, the slow change that Myria had been expecting, and silently she motioned the girl over to her side.
“There,” she muttered, sniffing the softly blowing breeze. At long last the air had taken on an acrid scent, minute, but detectable by those trained to notice it. It was the scent of the brood wolf, of the poison that dripped from its teeth when it salivated. That the creature had recently hunted would evoke it to leak poison, and that the scent was strong enough to be smelled indicated that it was near.
“We’re close,” Myria told the jester, keeping her voice somewhat low. This fresh scent of the wolf’s passing was a good reason to be cautious, as they could very well be within earshot of the beast.
The girl nodded, taking the news in a calm stride. “So, what’s next?” She asked, mimicking the captain’s low speech.
Myria reached into one of the packs hanging from her three belts, retrieving a metal cylinder from within. “Take these,” she instructed, handing it to the acrobat. “I assume you know how to use them.”
“Cinder flashes?” The jester gaped. “You’re actually giving me a Slayer’s tool?”
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
“Just this once,” Myria replied. “When we find the brood wolf, I want you to sneak around to the place opposite of me and drive it in my direction. Think you can do that?”
“Don’t think light of us,” the girl scoffed, giving the cylinder a light toss. “We keep telling you we’ve hunted creatures like this before.”
“Don’t do that,” Myria scolded, narrowing her eyes. “They may be well cushioned, but the cinders are still sensitive to heavy jostling.”
The girl did stop, though only shrugged as she slipped the tube into her own belt. “Fine, fine. You still needn’t worry though. We’ll see it done.”
Dismissing the abnormality of her speech, Myria gave the acrobat a nod before continuing down the path toward the wolf. Just as she had said, the beast was incredibly near, and it took but minutes to spy the creature in the clearing ahead of them. Housing in between the trees, the wolf was busy ripping through what had once been the farmers’ goat, its teeth snapping through the thickest of the bones like twigs. It was a magnificent specimen, nearly eight feet in height, and boasted a dark navy blue colored coat with a white muzzle and underbelly (though both of these were currently dyed red with blood). The hard ridges along both sides of its back, cresting over its shoulders, were in pristine condition and pointed in places where they had grown out with age. The pale golden horns on the wolf’s head were long as well, thick, but had yet to begin curling upwards like those of its elders. The wolf was in its prime, which would make it formidable, but at the very least, it was male and thus had no pups to consider.
Myria nodded to her companion and pointed across the way, signaling for her to get into position. Leaving her fur cloak behind, the acrobat moved swiftly as instructed and disappeared into the trees without a sound. Myria kept an eye on her as best she could while watching over the brood wolf, yet in the dense of the foliage she eventually lost sight of the jester. She would be in position soon however, and so Myria grabbed her Arm to prepare.
Reaching over her shoulder, she pulled hard on a loose bit of strap, and the two knots holding her blade across her back came undone. This particular holster, made up of only a few obsadus leather strips, was more of a sling rather than a sheath, though worked just as well. It was of Myria’s own creation, and always she chose to carry this over the blade’s real sheath, for it was better for use out in the field and allowed her to draw her Arm at a moment’s notice. Too was the sling quieter, requiring less movement for arming, and thus Myria could prepare for battle without alerting her quarry.
With Arm now in hand, Myria slowed her breathing, calming her nerves and releasing the tension that would only work to slow her movements. Patiently she waited then, though she needn’t wait for long. Like a bolt of lightning without thunder or crash, the forest exploded with a blinding flash of light behind the crackling of a slight snap. This light disappeared just as quickly as it had come, but a second, then third, replaced it.
The brood wolf panicked, blinded by the flash, and the urge to flee overpowered its will to fight. It ran, barreling in the opposite direction of the lights, and directly into Myria who was waiting. Taking advantage of the confusion, the Slayer leapt out from the trees with a yell, causing the stunned animal to come up short and her blade to arc down toward the creature’s head. But the wolf’s sudden stop had forced it to slide across the mud and spin sideways, causing Myria’s blade to miss its mark at the last moment. Instead, the Arm cut into the creature’s shoulder, where the ridges along its back soaked up most of the swinging force. Though the blade had still cut, it was only a shallow wound and so was easily shrugged off by the startled beast.
Myria cursed her luck and quickly pulled her Arm free, bracing herself for the wolf’s retaliation. It came instantly, the beast spinning its tail around so that the bony plates along its length struck the flat of her blade. The blunt force alone nearly took Myria off her feet, but she found her center and regained her balance with a well-placed step. Countering the Arm’s heavy weight with her own, she then spun about on her heel and used the wind of her movement to heat the blade and make it flame. She caught the wolf in the flank as it tried to move around her, the heat cutting through its flesh like a hot knife through butter.
The brood wolf howled and leapt backwards, sporting a gaping wound now and several patches of singeing fur. It staggered, and pressing in, Myria advanced on the injured creature in a run. In response, the wolf reared up, bearing teeth and foot-long claws, and prepared to pounce as soon as Myria came into range. Knowing she couldn’t get the point of her Arm up in time to impale it, Myria instead slid to a knee while spinning her blade down low. The Arm cut into the mud, lodging there, point down before her, and allowed Myria to support it with her shoulder like a shield. The blade wide enough to protect her head, when the wolf fell on both Slayer and sword, its deadly claws scraped against the sides of her armor that were unshielded. The hide of the obsadus proved the stronger however, and holding fast, Myria waited to see where the wolf’s teeth would fall next. But surprisingly, they snapped elsewhere, the wolf having suddenly turned away toward something else. It was the girl, Myria realized as she saw the jester slip out from around the beast’s back, her daggers bloodied from having cut into the creature’s hind legs.
Now ignored, Myria slid backwards and jerked her Arm free from the ground, using the movement to start into a forward thrust. The fiery blade burned as it sunk into the wolf’s chest, cutting deep between its shoulder and ribs. Growling, salivating, panicked and in pain, the beast retreated with a giant leap across the clearing. Green, gemlike drool was billowing out of its mouth now, and instinctively it started chewing upon its front paws.
“Don’t let it coat its claws!” Myria shouted out in command, this meant as a warning to her hunting party. But it was then that she remembered that she had no hunting party, only one girl who had no way to stand up to the brood wolf’s poison. One scratch would be enough to numb half the body of even the strongest of Slayers; it was a mistake to give such instruction to an unarmored child.
Myria went to retract her order, but it was already too late; the jester was well on her way to obeying her command. Myria watched helplessly as the wolf struck out with a half-coated claw, wholly expecting the girl to fall victim to the strike. It thus shocked the woman when the acrobat vaulted over the poisoned paw, pushing it beneath her to then spring off from the wolf’s forearm. With a twist the girl caught hold of the nearest of the wolf’s horns, using it to swing herself up over the beast’s head. When she landed, the acrobat sat straddling the wolf’s neck, her ankles locked together beneath its throat. Bringing up her daggers then, one in each hand, she plunged a blade into each of the creature’s eyes. The wolf screamed a shrill yelp and bucked wildly in a frenzy, throwing the girl from its back after a few seconds’ struggle with a sharp spin. But the acrobat merely twisted, catching herself in the midst of falling, and landed with such grace that one could believe that she had planned to dismount this very way.
As impressive as it looked however, there was no time for compliments. The wolf was now blinded, thrashing about in madness, driven by fear and intense pain. The creature was suffering; Myria needed to put it down quickly. She thus whistled, loudly, drawing the erratic beast to her call. It heard her, and turning, it raced toward her in a rage, blind and unable to see what was waiting ahead. Myria easily sidestepped this frontal assault, and bringing down her Arm, she cut straight into the back of the wolf’s neck. The creature stopped dead, its head now half severed off, and ceased moving not long after it fell.
Myria breathed a sigh of relief, and dropping to her knees, she took a moment to offer up a prayer of thanks to Takar. The jester walked over to Myria just a few moments after, her blades already put away, and stood next to the woman smiling with her hands upon her hips.
“Well, that was fun,” she beamed, trying her best to not sound winded. But it was obvious that the girl had exerted herself a fair bit.
“You are a reckless fool,” Myria stated, deflating the acrobat just a little, “but I will admit that what you did was quite clever.”
“I have to be clever,” the jester replied. “I don’t have your fancy armor. I’d have been dead if that thing managed to hit me even once.” Striding over then to the wolf’s side, she ran her hand over its fur. “Brood wolf fur is poison resistant, isn’t it?” She began. “Do you think I could get a cloak made from it?”
“Absolutely not,” Myria said, climbing back to her feet. “The brood wolf is my prize to make use of, not yours.”
“What?!” The girl exclaimed. “But I worked to kill it too!”
“Less than I, and it was my blade that dealt the killing blow.” Myria motioned to her Arm, which was still lodged in the beast’s neck. “Or do you mean to tell me that you could have slain it with your tiny daggers?”
The jester visibly flinched. “Probably not,” she admitted, “but I did help, so I should at least get a cut of this thing.”
“And you will,” Myria assured, “for by participating in the hunt, you have earned the right of negotiation.”
“Gods below,” the girl groaned, “is this another Slayer rule?”
“It is, and another thing that sets us apart from the Arena.” The acrobat gave the woman a look that meant she didn’t understand, and so Myria continued on to explain. “As you are aware, Arena hunters are granted all of that which is brought to them, which is how they possess such a vast array of both Arms and armor. But right to the carcass truly belongs to those who first captured the beast, as that right is how a Slayer builds up armory, proof of skill and reputation. In the field, right to the carcass belongs to the Slayer who slew it, and those who aided petition the beast’s slayer for appropriate compensation in accordance to the extent of their help.”
“So you’re saying I have to ask your permission for my fair share of the kill, and I don’t have a choice because the whole point of me coming out here was to learn about Slayers.” The jester sighed deeply and kicked a tuft of grass at her feet. “You would keep bringing up rules that seem to make sense. It makes it awfully hard to argue with you about anything.”
“Then you understand how it is possible for our guild to maintain order, and why Slayers are considered such honorable hunters.”
“I suppose. But, by your guild’s logic, I wouldn’t be rewarded a whole lot. So, if I can’t have the pelt…then…can I at least keep a fang?”
“That sounds a meager prize,” Myria began, confused by the choice. “I would grant you more than that if you asked.”
“It’s okay,” the girl said. “I’m a traveling acrobat, so I can’t carry much anyway. If it was too heavy, I’d just have to sell it and couldn’t keep it. So I’ll be happy with one of its fangs as long as I also get a portion of the bounty.”
“You will,” Myria confirmed, “as is just and in accordance with guild law.”
“Then just the fang,” the girl replied, “if you please.”
Myria gave her a nod. “As you wish,” she said, and approached the drooping head of the wolf’s corpse. Pulling out her hunting knife, she pushed back the beast’s lips and cut loose the longest fang from the wolf’s maw. From her belt she then retrieved a fresh linen cloth, and wrapped the fang within it so that both venom and tooth would be preserved.
“This is your first trophy,” Myria stated as she returned to the jester, respectfully putting the parcel into her hands. “Treasure it, just as an apprentice would.”
“Does this make me a Slayer now?” The girl asked, her voice curious though doubtful.
“Not in the least, but I do believe you could be one, given time.”
The acrobat paused a moment. “That’s…quite the compliment coming from you,” she said, and, smiling slightly, added, “I think I’ll treasure that as well.” Reaching behind her, she tucked the wrapped fang into the largest pouch on her belt; the only place the tooth could feasibly fit.
“I give compliments when deserved,” Myria told her matter-of-factly, “and you appear to have a keen eye for the Hunt. By my guess, you are as skilled as any novice apprentice at the least, even if I did not expect it of you.”
“Most people tend to not expect a lot of me,” the jester sighed. “It’s how I keep ending up in so much trouble.”
The exasperation in those words caused Myria to smile softly, and, sympathetic, she put her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “You did well, Saraya,” she told her, and truly she meant it.
The gesture took the acrobat aback, as did the usage of her name. Now that she considered it, Myria had never once said it before. “Thanks, Myria,” Saraya replied. “Maybe someday we can hunt again?”
“Perhaps,” Myria began, “but our hunt is still far from over. In order to claim the bounty, we must return the carcass to the guild. We’ve hours of work yet before we’re done.”
With no time to waste, both hunters moved quickly to fetch the horses and prepare the brood wolf for travel. Myria had expected things to be difficult with only the two of them, and indeed it was an arduous thing to make themselves ready for the haul. Affixing the wolf to a sledge proved its own fight to win, and even worse was locating a sufficient path for leaving the woods. Having no need to follow a predetermined trail this time, finding thinner sections of forest helped speed their progress along, as did stumbling upon a path worn down by the daily passing of other large beasts. Though somewhat risky to take given what they now carried, Myria chose to walk it for as long as they needed, namely for the sake of their remaining daylight. Fortunately, it took hardly more than an hour to successfully break away from the woodlands, and then, at long last, did their journey ease.
The flat of the plains offered far more preferable roads than those of the wilderness, yet by the time they reached Neurial, the sun had set. A cold was settling in now with a warning of frost from the river, biting at the two as they guided their horses across the bridge. With a brood wolf pulled behind them and Myria adorned in Slayer’s armor, they needed only show the guardsmen the bounty slip to be granted entry. It was a painless process compared to that day they’d first arrived, and as the main gates opened, the horses plodded through, dragging the sledge.
Upon reaching the other side, Saraya immediately leapt down from her horse to stretch her legs. “Ashen blood,” she lamented with a deep and tired groan, “you never warned me how bloody long this was going to take!”
“A hunt always takes as long as it needs,” Myria told the girl coolly, reciting to her an age-old hunter’s mantra. “Rushing the hunt only leads to poor decisions and easily avoided mistakes. It was better we took our time than risk something going wrong.”
Saraya snorted in defiance, though Myria could tell she didn’t mean it, and then opened her mouth to say something in comeback. But the girl’s words caught in her throat as a large man ran out towards them from the shadows, and instinctively both reached for a weapon, suspecting trouble. Both were thus surprised to see that it was Baine who was approaching, for the man had been left in charge of the others back at the tavern.
“Captain!” Baine exclaimed as soon as he neared, though did so in a whisper so as to not draw attention. “Finally, you’ve come back!”
“Baine?” Myria questioned, unsettled at seeing her second here. “Why are you here? Did something happen?”
“Indeed so, captain,” the man affirmed, still speaking in a hush, though even the shadows could not hide the beginnings of his smile.
“Well, out with it,” Myria pressed, having no use for Baine’s dramatics, though her insistence only seemed to make the man smile more.
“Good news, captain,” he beamed, and then glancing to the acrobat, he continued, “Our lookouts may have located the assassin.”