Heart of a Huntsman

by Liam Reese

  “Husband?” Keluse asked. “But Herofic?”

  “Is a good man and fun to be with. I have been lonely since Borlas died in the war.”

  “Oh,” Keluse said, embarrassed and sad. “What do you think I should do about Ranyor?”

  “Let things take their course,” Carlise said. “You both have feelings for each other. I am sure nature will take the lead.”

  “But I feel bad now. I shouted at him and—”

  Carlise held her hand up. “Talk to him,” the barmaid said. “Tell him what happened, I am sure he will understand. From what Herofic has told me, he is a good man.”

  “Herofic talks to you?” Keluse asked in confusion.

  “It cannot all be bedroom fun, dear,” Carlise said, making Keluse’s cheeks burn.

  7

  The small party plodded northwards, swapping stories and learning about each other. Zaynorth and Herofic had some amusing stories and a longer history, as they were the oldest in the group.

  “So your father told him if he could eat his own face, he would be welcome to try and best him with practice staves,” Zaynorth added with a chuckle.

  The old man had been reminiscing for days, telling stories about his past, growing up with Besmir’s father and life in the palace.

  “Did you know Tiernon as well?” Besmir asked, guiding his horse nearer the old man.

  “I did,” he replied solemnly, “and should I have been able to scry the future then, I would have ended his life without giving it a second thought.”

  Besmir looked at his lined face, noting the set jaw under its coat of hair. Keluse looked shocked at his admission but remained silent.

  “What was he like then?”

  “Strange,” Zaynorth said. “Secretive and withdrawn. He never made any attempt to hide the fact he believed he should be king, but your father could best him at combat, magic and just about anything else they competed at. It was not until he fell in love with your mother that Tiernon had leverage over him. No one believed he was dabbling in the darker side of magic, summoning demons to do his bidding.”

  “Demons!” Keluse gasped, making a protective sign in front of her face.

  Herofic and Ranyor exchanged a glance while Zaynorth continued.

  “As his power grew, Tiernon’s mind deteriorated, becoming distracted and seeing things that others could not. He started increasing taxes to pay for the gods only know what, and life became so difficult for those at the bottom of society that they organized a revolt. Tiernon raised his own armies, and—” Zaynorth paused. “You know the rest.”

  As they crested the top of the hill they had been climbing, Besmir’s horse whinnied, his fear growing as the scent of smoke and ash hit his nostrils. Besmir soothed him with his mind, not even considering how dangerous it might be, and the animal calmed a little as they all stared down the far side of the hill in horror.

  Dozens of tents had been burned, their charred, blackened remains a testament to what had happened here. Besmir nudged his horse towards the devastation even though he did not want to see it up close. Sick sadness crawled through him when he drew near. Hundreds of bodies lay twisted and burned, the stumps of their fingers held out in silent pleas of desperation. Besmir forced himself to look at them, their pained masks of horror staring back at him with bared teeth. Here and there signs of animal predation marked where various creatures had feasted on the cooked meat available.

  “By the gods!” Zaynorth whispered as Besmir dismounted. “What happened here?”

  “Someone slaughtered these women and children,” he said, crouching to examine a huddle of bodies burned beyond recognition. “I can’t see many men here.”

  “They died in the war,” Ranyor said in a quiet voice. “My sister lived in a similar situation to these people before I left.” Sorrow carved lines in his face, and Keluse laid a hand on his shoulder. “Scraping a living where she could after her husband died fighting Tiernon’s army. I hope she lives still,” he added in a choked voice.

  “Tiernon had these people murdered...as revenge?” Besmir asked, staring at the decimation around him.

  They must have been terrified.

  The stench of wet ash and the sweet smell of decomposing bodies combined with the thoughts of what these innocents must have been through slid cold fingers of hate around Besmir’s chest, and his determination hardened.

  “I’ll make him pay,” he vowed, looking into his companions’ eyes one at a time.

  Herofic nodded his approval while Ranyor gave a tightening of his mouth.

  Tears rolled openly down Keluse’s face. “Can we leave, please?” she begged.

  Rolling plains of grass gave way to woods and gentle hills as they continued north. What few supplies Herofic had managed to buy, Besmir boosted with fresh meat from the wilds. Keluse watched one evening as he felled a deer with a single arrow, sprinting across to end its agony with his razor-sharp knife. He whispered to it as the life drained from its throat into the ground.

  “Thank you for this gift. For giving your life to sustain mine, I bless your soul. You shall be welcomed into the Great Forests of Cathantor.”

  Keluse watched as Besmir stroked the deer’s neck gently while it died. His gentle words and kindness touched her heart, and she found herself warming to him even more.

  “Do you always say that?” she asked as they hung the carcass up by its hind legs to drain.

  “Yes,” he said with a little embarrassment. “It’s important to me. Nothing should suffer more than it needs to, so you’ve got to make sure you kill as quickly as possible.”

  “And Cathantor?” she asked.

  “God of the afterlife, he’s said to have endless forests where the spirits of animals can spend eternity,” Besmir explained as he opened the deer’s belly, spilling its entrails to the ground. “We should save some tendons to twist you some strings for your bow,” he added, skinning the deer.

  Four days farther north, they came across another settlement, this one thankfully untouched by violence. The evidence of hardship, however, met their eyes at every glance. The tents were tatty and patched, with dirt and animal waste splattered up the sides. Dirty children dressed in little more than rags stared as the mounted group passed. Women, wide-eyed with fright, darted out of their tents, grabbing children and dragging them inside for safety.

  “This is no life for anyone,” Besmir muttered as a group of five old men armed with farming tools confronted them.

  “That is far enough!” the youngest, still around sixty, grunted. “What is your business here?”

  “Just passing through, sir,” Besmir replied respectfully. “What are you called?”

  “Suranim,” he said, relaxing a little at Besmir’s tone. “Where are you headed?”

  “North to Quilith,” Zaynorth said. “I have friends there.”

  Besmir felt the anxiety rise in the group of old men when the mage mentioned that name, a few of them whispering and muttering. Suranim stepped forward, lowering the scythe he carried to the muddy grass.

  “Quilith is gone,” he said in a sad voice. “Razed to the ground by Tiernon’s soldiers.”

  Besmir watched Zaynorth and Herofic look at each other, white-faced and tight-lipped.

  “When?” the mage demanded. “Why?”

  “Two years past,” Suranim said. “And as far as I am aware, he wanted to demonstrate his power to us.”

  “Fun!” Besmir cried as a small group started to form around them.

  “Some of the survivors came through here not long after it happened. Poor souls. Most of them young women with children and no husbands. Blank faces and empty stomachs. We had to move them along,” he said apologetically. “We can barely feed the people we have now.” Suranim looked down. “They said Tiernon was there, casting his spells, burning things left and right, homes and businesses destroyed and people murdered in the streets.”

  “We saw something similar,” Besmir said tightly. “Tents burned with children in th
em.”

  Muffled cries of fright rose from the crowd of gathered women and children as they glanced at their meager possessions in utter terror.

  “I am unsure what to do now,” Zaynorth said. “If Quilith is no more. I had thought that we would make our start there.”

  “Start of what?” one of the other old men asked.

  Besmir glanced around at the sad, sick faces, fear and terror writ large on every face. Zaynorth spoke with his brother in low tones while Keluse stayed close to Ranyor.

  These are my people. This is what I’ve come here for.

  Besmir looked at Zaynorth, a small smile crossing his lips.

  “It has to start somewhere,” he said. “Why not here?” Without waiting for an answer, he raised his arms for quiet. “People of Gazluth!” he cried in a booming voice. “I am called Besmir and I have traveled for months from a distant land to bring an end to Tiernon and his tyranny!”

  Besmir waited for the cheers and rapturous applause. Disappointment cut him when none came, just a few jeers and catcalls. He frowned, realizing how it must look to these hopeless souls.

  “Go home!” someone shouted.

  “Leave us alone!” another called.

  “We have already lost enough!”

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Besmir!” he shouted back at them. “Son of the rightful king and heir to the throne.”

  Laughter met his words.

  “The rightful king?” someone shouted sarcastically. “He turned tail and ran years ago!”

  “What are you willing to do for us then, Your Highness?” another sarcastic voice demanded.

  Besmir strode over to his horse and mounted as the catcalls and shouting continued.

  “Keluse, with me,” he ordered before guiding his horse through the jeering crowd and out of the tent town.

  “Besmir!” Zaynorth bellowed from behind him.

  The hunter merely raised his arm and carried on riding.

  For the following two days Besmir hunted, ranging farther and farther away from the tent town in pursuit of fresh game. Nothing was off the menu for him. He had Keluse set traps while he used his abilities to sense and follow larger spoor.

  The effect on the people of the tent town had been remarkable. However, their attitude towards him and his apprentice changed to grudging approval as soon as the first stag had been dropped in the middle of the small group of tents.

  “Zaynorth is in charge of making sure all have a fair share!” Besmir had shouted. “Herofic is in charge of beating anyone who tries to get more than their fair share!” With his words still ringing in the air, Besmir had turned his horse and trotted back out to hunt for further meat.

  Now tired and cold, he found himself missing the easiest of shots, cursing when his fingers fumbled an arrow or slipped from the string. He broke the vow he had made to himself after being joined with the sea creature by reaching out and attempting to take control of a massive stag he had narrowly missed with three arrow shots.

  Defeated and worn from two days of constant hunting, Besmir sat with his back against a tree and let his mind drift free. Silvery light suffused the forest, highlighting the thousands of lives surrounding him. Trails of ants, beehives, individual birds, a few rodents and then the stag. He drifted towards the animal, flowing into its brain without a thought, feeling its lungs heaving and the fear it felt from his own arrows. He took a few deep breaths, pausing to let the fright drain from the stag’s body before wandering towards his human body.

  Besmir stared at himself through the eyes of the stag he possessed, wonder curling around in his mind. As he watched, his mouth twitched up into a smile and he felt the most unusual sensation as his human eyes opened. He was Besmir but at the same time he was somehow the stag also. His brain struggled with the overload of information his eyes took in. He could see the massive antlers of the stag as well as the outline of his human body, clad in dark leather and fur.

  Arteera’s belly ached with a pleasant sensation she had forgotten existed. An ache from being filled with fresh, roasted meat. She smiled as her friends and neighbors cavorted around the large fire they had all helped to build, the old man Zaynorth and his muscular brother handing meat out to anyone who asked for it. The laughter of children filled the air, another thing she had almost forgotten, and she reached up, wiping something from her face and staring at it. Reflecting the firelight as it dangled from her finger, her tear glistened in the near dark.

  Tears? For a little food?

  Yet Arteera knew the stranger who proclaimed himself king had done so much more than feed them. In the week since his arrival he had brought hope and revived people who were so close to death from lack of food, she had expected to discover they had passed away one morning. Even in such a short time the people around her had changed, their attitude of scorn towards Besmir morphing into a grudging respect.

  “He might not be the rightful king, but at least he has kept his promise to feed us.”

  Arteera had heard similar comments coming from the tents surrounding her own.

  He can call himself whatever he wants as long as he continues feeding us.

  Arteera sensed the change in atmosphere before the crowd even fell silent. Struggling to her feet, she stepped forward to see what had caused the hush. The fire crackled, but it was the only sound as everyone watched Besmir ride slowly into the middle of them all and dismount. After three days of near constant hunting, he looked exhausted but satisfied. Yet there was something about him Arteera could not define; something was different, but her mind could not pin it down at first. When the realization hit, her stomach dropped.

  He was empty-handed.

  Arteera waited for the crowd to moan when they saw his lack of food and silently cursed herself for it. Why should they rely on a stranger to feed them? Now they had been fed, they could start to fend for themselves once more. Turning her attention to Besmir again, she saw he was staring out between the tents, beyond the firelight.

  As more heads followed his gaze, the gentle pad of hoofed feet on grass reached her ears.

  He has betrayed us!

  Panic gripped Arteera’s chest at the thought, locking her limbs and rooting her to the spot even though her mind screamed at her to run.

  That makes no sense. Why would he spend three days hunting to have us all slaughtered?

  Rationality loosened her muscles and she gasped in a deep breath.

  Twin points of light appeared, reflected firelight, and Arteera gasped again when the massive stag walked calmly into the circle of people. Gasps and mutters, punctuated by pointing fingers, rippled through the crowd when they saw what had happened. The magnificent beast looked around, his rack of antlers impressively large as he studied them all.

  Besmir stepped over to the stag, laying his hand on the creature’s shoulder gently and stroking its flank. Arteera watched as the stag took a deep breath, his chest heaving and steam puffing from his nostrils as he blew the air out.

  “This is my gift to you.” His quiet voice still managed to reach every ear. “A token of the power I can wield.”

  Arteera felt her mouth open as the stag knelt before them all, bowing its head to the floor in a human gesture.

  Is he making it do that?

  “Whenever any of you see this stag,” Besmir called to them all. “Remember my name. Remember the promise I make to you this night. I will end Tiernon’s rule of terror and brutality. I will free Gazluth!”

  A few weak cheers erupted from the crowd. Women, children and old men waved and clapped as they started to chant his name over and over while others muttered under their breaths, complaining he was a madman who Tiernon would slaughter like a lamb..

  The hunter leaned heavily on his horse and shook his head as if clearing it. The stag appeared to wake from a trance, realizing it was surrounded by people, and it bolted from the tent town, leaping high into the air over obstacles before being swallowed up by the night.

  8

>   Besmir opened his eyes and found himself staring at a woman who’s beauty was hidden by the dirt and hard living she had seen. Long black hair fell around her shoulders, shining in the early morning light like silk despite the mud that clung to it.. Flawless skin had once been laid over a bone structure that equaled any of the classical beauties he had seen depicted in books and statuary. Her pink-lipped mouth was pursed in concentration as she worked on something. Besmir took a deep breath and her eyes flicked over to him, pools of hazelnut-brown peering at him through thick lashes.

  Besmir had the sensation he was falling from a great height. His stomach rolled and he flinched in anticipation of hitting the ground. Her lips curled into a sensual, yet demure, smile, and he felt the same expression on his face.

  “Good morning, my Lord,” she said in a musically sweet voice that dripped warm honey down his ears. “Are you well?”

  “I... uh... I think so,” he replied groggily. “Not to be rude, but who are you and where am I?”

  “I am Arteera and this is my tent,” she replied simply.

  Twin dimples appeared beside her mouth when she smiled, making Besmir desire to make her smile more so he could see them. The tent was fairly small, barely large enough for the two of them, especially as he was stretched out across the floor, covered in blankets, his head propped on a pillow.

  “And I’m here because…?”

  Arteera smiled − dimples appearing − and put her work aside.

  “You collapsed after the incident with the stag, my Lord,” she said. “As mine was the nearest tent, this is where you were placed.”

  Besmir nodded, seeing for the first time how poor Arteera was. He could see barely any possessions of any kind. A few small piles of cloth occupied one corner, presumably her wardrobe, and apart from a wooden plate and cup, he could see nothing to indicate she had anything of value.

  “Thanks for letting me sleep here,” he said. “I think I may have overexerted myself somewhat.”