The Toldar Series Box Set

by Matt Mememaro

  Barros pushed open the old wooden door. A dozen glares greeted him as patrons turned in their chairs. He winced as he stepped inside, listening to the loud creak of the door closing behind him. Tonight, every lowly paid solider, cutthroat, and bandit occupied the establishment. Most of the men were seated with a cheap whore on their lap.

  As Barros sat down at the bar, he could feel every man in the room tense. All eyes were on the single gold coin he had thrown down. Each of them would be looking for a chance to steal it. The old barkeeper, with a small tuft of grey hair on his head, emerged from the shadows.

  He smiled as he saw the Hunter. “Who do we have under here?” he asked reaching to remove Barros’ hood.

  Barros slammed his hand down on the barkeeper’s. The man recoiled and ducked down behind the bar. Grabbing a knife with his free hand, he brought it up in an attempt to stab the Hunter’s throat. Barros caught the bartender’s wrist and drove the knife towards the counter top.

  “Rusty Jim, how many times have I told you? Never remove a Hunter’s hood.” Barros laughed softly.

  “Well, fuck me. Is that you Barros Toldar?” Rusty Jim said.

  “Not so loud. But aye, it’s me.” Barros removed his hood, finally revealing his face. "Only a Hunter should remove his own hood. Not too many in this part of town should remember my face but they'll recognize my family name.”

  “What are you doing here at this time of night?” Rusty asked. “Did the wife kick you out of the house or something?”

  “Something like that,” Barros muttered.

  “Told you she was a bad egg,” Rusty Jim said. “I better get my knives and fling a few at her then.”

  Barros smirked imaging Sophia struggling after being hooked to one of the Plunder’s Mug’s beams by Rusty Jim’s throwing knives. The old man was a legend throughout Rhorn, known for pinning patrons that refused to pay, with his vicious throwing knives. He’d gotten the nickname Rusty from keeping the tips of his blades coated with blood to corrode the edge.

  “I’d like to see that,” Barros said. “Can I grab a drink? The run took a bit out of me.”

  “Of course,” Jim said. “And keep your coin, you founded this place, you don’t need to pay.”

  “Is this just a ruse so you get to throw a knife at me?” Barros asked.

  “By the gods no, you’d take it back out and kill me with it,” Rusty Jim said. “I just wanted to have a break and grab a drink. Grab me a chair will you?”

  “Don’t sit down,” Barros said. “Sophia’s turned on me and I need the key to the windmill. You still have it, don’t you?”

  “Aye,” Jim said passing two ales over the counter. “It’ll be up in the loft somewhere, dusty and dingy as it is. But I’ll find it.”

  “Thanks.” Barros drank deeply from the ale and surveyed the room. His eyes passed over every dust filled patron until they rested upon a young man sitting in the far back corner. The man was covered in a Renori Hunter’s outfit, very similar to the black that Barros wore. From this distance, Barros could only see one major difference in the uniform from his, as some Renori cut off their sleeves to reduce some of the heat.

  The Hunter’s enormous tanned biceps grabbed Barros’ attention and he wondered what kind of weapon the Hunter carried. He left his drink at the bar and wove through the muddled cluster of wooden tables and chairs. As he passed, many of the cutthroats looked as if they could still use a dagger even though they were still drunk.

  Cautiously, Barros sat down opposite the Hunter and placed his hands on the table. The Renori gripped a bottle in his hand and didn’t raise his head as Barros joined him.

  “Hunter, who are you?” Barros asked after several uncomfortable seconds.

  “Ugh,” the Renori sighed. “What do you want? A hunt? I’m not interested. Today and the next three days are a holiday for me.”

  Barros’ lip curled at the man’s arrogant manner, a common trait amongst the Renori. The Hunter finally lifted his head and his black eyes, unyielding and unforgiving, studied Barros. In the young man’s left ear, he wore a single gold looped ring.

  “Do you know who I am, boy?” Barros asked.

  “No. Nor do I give a shit,” the Renori said. He dismissed Barros and took a swig of his drink. “Besides, what gives with you calling me boy? You and I look about the same age. You’re insulting yourself.”

  “I’m Barros Toldar, formerly of the Sauriaan Huntrey. You might have heard of me.” The other Hunter spat out his beer and peered at Barros like he was some sort of myth. “You’re the last remaining Toldar? By the gods, why didn’t you say so. Here, make yourself at home. I’m Grayson Yold.”

  Barros nodded in recognition of the name. Along with the Toldars, the Yolds were an ancient Hunter family, able to trace their lineage back to the foundlings of the Hunters when Lars and the first Lotu stood against Tal’davin.

  “Ah, you’re Jarrod’s second son.” Barros stuck out his hand. “The honor is mine. Your older brother led a hunt with me once. How are your skills compared to his?”

  “Better,” Grayson said. “I just finished a hunt in the Highlands. Apparently, there is some kind of cult forming up there, led by a Vampire. The Highlanders are getting ready to move, reclaiming the pass and the northern parts of Sauria, including Rhorn, as well as the southern parts of Renor, which includes Gaur.”

  “You’ve got to be shitting me,” Barros said. “Nobody has been that bold since Ghrol the Conqueror. There’s no way any amount of Highlanders will be able to take Rhorn and Gaur.”

  “They have Vampires leading them, Barros. Anything is possible,” Grayson said.

  “Right now I’ve got a bigger problem on my hands and I need your help,” Barros said.

  “I told you, no,” Grayson said.

  “Grayson, I’m not going to lie to you, Highlanders coming down from their mountains is bad news. However what I have to say is a lot worse. A Countess has given birth to a child, half-human, half-Vampire. As far as I know, this is the first half-breed to have existed. The Countess in question is also in possession of an Amulet of Tal’davin and she intends to unite the other six,” Barros said.

  “Fuck me! We’ve got to put her head on a stake!”

  “Aye, and if she finds anymore amulets, we can say goodbye to Sauria and every human that calls it home. For now, I have her full attention and she will be focused on me,” Barros said.

  “You must have done a good job trying to kill her,” Grayson said.

  “Worse, I was the one that got her with child,” Barros said.

  “Bullshit.” Grayson put his hand up to his mouth,

  “I’m deadly serious. The child is mine, his name is Abner and more than being half-human, he is half-Hunter. I intend to rescue him from his mother and take him to a safe place until he reaches the age at which he can be trained. It is my belief that he can be the one big weapon we haven’t had since Lars,” Barros said.

  “Ah, Barros there you are. I wondered where you had gotten to,” Rusty Jim said. He hobbled over to their table. “I have your key.”

  “Thanks, Jim, it’s good to know I still have at least one friend left in the city. I may call on you again sometime in the next several days. You’ll need to keep your head down until then, though, Rhorn is going to become a battlefield,” Barros said.

  “Aye, I keep a few of the old weapons out back in case I need them. I’ll be sure to bring them to the front,” Jim said.

  “Good, now Grayson,” Barros said. He turned back to face his new accomplice. “I need to know if you’re still intent on that holiday? This could be the most historic event since Tal’davin attempted to kill Lars and I need to stop it. Are you with me?”

  “Not for the moment,” Grayson said closing his eyes. “We have guests.”

  The door of the Plunders Mug creaked open once again to reveal two men in large black cloaks as they stepped into the establishment. Once again, every man in the room turned to look at the strangers before returning to their
drinks. Barros caught a flash of silver around the two stranger’s necks and at their belts. They were armed.

  “Crossbows or swords?” he asked Grayson.

  “Doesn’t bother me,” Grayson said with a grin. “It’ll prove that I’ve got your back.”

  4

  Flight

  Barros and Grayson rose from their seats simultaneously, assessing the two Vampires that had just walked through the door. They mirrored each other’s movements, slowly rotating their heads until they had surveyed every man in the room. The Vampire’s eyes fell to Grayson and finally rested on Barros, whom they had clearly come for.

  “Any preference as to which one you want?” Barros asked.

  “The one on the left looks about an inch smaller, so I’ll take him.”

  Barros drew his sword and strode towards the Vampires. A glint of silver flashed in the candle light as Grayson flung his crossbow off his back. He overturned the closest table, slamming the butt of his crossbow down, steadying it on the upturned edge.

  With his sword hanging loose by his side, Barros met his target in the middle of the tavern. His foe was slightly smaller than he was, with a thin frame that would still be deadly when enhanced with the speed and strength of a Vampire. Grayson opened fire on his opponent, the mechanical mechanism of the crossbow shooting as fast as he could tap the trigger. Within seconds, half a dozen bolts had sped across the room and three had found their mark.

  The Fyndfire seeped off the crossbow bolts into the skin of the Vampire. Grayson’s target lit up as an orange colour slowly spread across its skin. Once the fire had covered the Vampire’s entire body it fell to the floor, dead.

  As Barros approached the other, the fiend lowered its hood. Barros was met with red, unyielding eyes and the grey skin that was impervious to almost every weapon. He lunged forward with the sword, aiming to cut upwards from the Vampire’s navel to its throat. Faster than his eye could follow, the Vampire flicked out a dagger, deflecting Barros’ powerful cut. The Hunter recoiled, poising his blade for another strike.

  Grayson’s Vampire was consumed by the deadly Fyndfire and had all but disintegrated. “We need that one alive, Barros!”

  “I’ll do my best not to cut its head off!” Barros lunged forwards once again.

  The dagger and claws lashed out, forcing Barros to duck underneath them. He rolled out of the way, kicking a chair, attempting to trip the Vampire. The Vampire nimbly launched itself over the obstacle and crashed into Barros, pinning him to the ground. Desperately holding the Vampire at bay with his sword, the Hunter tried throwing it off.

  “Grayson! Shoot the fucking thing!” He shouted lifting his shoulder and reeling out of the way.

  He blocked another blow and rolled again, this time away from his attacker.

  “Stay fucking still then!” Grayson called out before loosening another bolt.

  The crossbow sent the silver straight into the shoulder of the Vampire. It hissed in pain, and Barros pressed the advantage. Using his strength, he pushed the Vampire over, rolling it onto its back. Shoving his sword against the Vampire’s throat, Barros began to speak.

  “Who sent you, fiend?”

  “That doesn’t concern you,” the Vampire said.

  Barros snarled and tilted the blade so the edge was pressed against its throat. The runes flared up, less than a millimeter from direct contact with the Vampire. Not moving the sword, Barros ripped the crossbow bolt from out of the Vampire’s shoulder. “Tell me what I want to know or I will take your eye out with this bolt.”

  “And what do you want to know, Hunter?” the Vampire asked.

  “Who sent you?” Barros prepared to strike with the bolt.

  “Countess Sophia, our leader in Rhorn. You should know her, Barros, you were married to her for five years. You are filth, betraying your own kind.”

  “How did you know I was here?” Barros asked.

  “Your scent lingers on her. It was easy to follow you,” the Vampire said.

  Barros let out a guttural roar, driving the bolt straight through the Vampire’s eye. Black blood burst out of the puncture, the Vampire’s claws desperately trying to tear Barros apart before its body became limp. The Hunter rose, wiping the blood off his cheek and turned to sigh at Grayson. “Sophia did this.”

  “Of course she did, who else wants you dead?” Grayson said.

  Barros could only grunt in agreement. He looked around the tavern. Every patron had taken cover underneath their tables and none dared raise a weapon against the Hunters. The bolts that Grayson had missed the Vampires with, were planted firmly in the objects they found.

  “You boys sure made a bit of a mess,” Rusty Jim said.

  “Had to be done, Jim,” Barros said. “You know what Hunters are like. These vermin follow them around like a bad smell.”

  “All too well,” Jim said. He scowled as he looked around at the room, “I should have charged you for that drink.”

  “But you didn’t and that’s why I’ve been coming here for years.” Barros winked at his friend. “You can’t let anyone know we were here.”

  “Consider it done,” Jim said as he straightened a chair. “I’ll clean the place up.”

  “Thanks, Jim,” Barros said. “My debt to you won’t be forgotten.”

  “Godspeed to you both. Make sure you sort out whatever shit you’ve gotten yourselves into before you visit again. I don’t want any further part in it,” Jim said.

  “Consider it done, old friend,” Barros grasped Jim’s hand.

  “Let’s get out of here, Grayson, before more of these damn creatures turn up. There’s no telling how many more Sophia will send after us.”

  The Hunters’ journey took them several kilometers to the east. Perched upon a small hill, with views of the surrounding countryside and Rhorn, sat a large rundown windmill. Barros recalled the path that led through the thick forest from memory as he led Grayson deeper into the wilderness.

  “Are you sure this is the fastest way?” Grayson said. Since they had entered the forest he had not stopped complaining. He was currently chest deep in thick muddy water.

  “Do you want to throw our scent off or not?” Barros asked. “I would have thought they’d have taught you something at the Renor Huntrey.”

  “They taught us to kill Vampires, not run away,” Grayson said.

  “We aren’t running,” Barros said. “We’re evading the enemy until we have suitable arms in order to take the fight to them. As you might have noticed, I don’t have a crossbow for one. I’ve only got my two daggers and I was lucky to have this sword in the city.”

  “Every Hunter knows they have to be prepared, Barros,” Grayson said. His tone was dry. “Not having all of your weapons close at hand was a mistake.”

  “I haven’t been a Hunter ever since I married the Countess. Not only that, I grew complacent. The only reason I still wore the uniform was out of habit. I had no time or patience to integrate myself back into normal society,” Barros said.

  “You left the order to be with the Countess? You gave up everything to be with a Vampire?” Grayson asked. “I’m surprised you weren’t hunted down and executed.”

  “So am I. The last time I left the Sauriaan Huntrey, I half expected to leave with two crossbow bolts in my back. There is bad blood between me and my friends there,” Barros said.

  Grayson put his head down and continued trekking through the rough terrain, letting the conversation fade. Barros didn’t press the matter either and they fell into a comfortable silence. All around them the forest came to life, with bugs and birds going about their usual business, unencumbered by the Hunters.

  “You should have killed her, you know?” Grayson asked.

  “What?” Barros asked.

  “The Countess, whatever her name was,” Grayson said.

  “Sophia,” Barros said. He spoke softly, remembering his wife.

  “She was your mission, wasn’t she?” Grayson asked. “Why didn’t you cut her head off and
be done with it?”

  “A moment of weakness, I hesitated. One mistake led to another and here we are,” Barros said. “Never allow yourself to be consumed by a moment, otherwise the life you have will fade. You are a Hunter and that is a gift bestowed to a select few. Do not waste that gift like I did, Grayson.”

  “You’ve lost it. From what my brother said you were sharp of mind. For your sake I hope we kill her and I can get you somewhere where you can recover,” Grayson said.

  “I don’t need to recover, Grayson. I need to kill the bitch that destroyed my life.” Barros paused to pull his boot free from the bog. “The first step is nearly complete. On that rise we’ll find the windmill.”

  As the sun rose to the south, Barros was true to his word. The windmill, once an impressive figure on the skyline, was now a shadow of its former self. Weather panels had been torn off the structure over the years and the grass had grown thick around it. When Barros bought the property, it was a prosperous area filled with farmers and millers. Due to his mismanagement, it quickly fell into disarray. However, the windmill still served one very useful purpose.

  “What’s here that could possibly help us kill your woman? It’s nothing but barren land and the windmill,” Grayson said.

  “What the eye cannot see is often what helps us the most,” Barros said. “I took precautions so that no human or Vampire would find this place. The key wasn’t for the windmill.”

  A horse neighed in the distance, cutting off what remained of Grayson’s questions. The Hunter drew his sword and crossbow, crouching low, suspecting an attack. He looked at Barros, his face confused.

  Barros laughed. “Put that away, you won’t need it.”

  Seconds later, hooves rumbled across the hill and a jet-black stallion came into sight, its long mane flowing smoothly behind its head as it ran. It stood at over six and a half feet and slowed as Barros came into sight.