Hunter of Legends (Fate of Legends Series Book 1)

by Clayton Wood

  There was a rustling sound in the distance, followed by a muted thump.

  Draken froze, turning toward the sound. He saw the carriage behind him, and the path winding back toward the Deadlands. Other than that, the forest was empty.

  Where the hell is Jarl?

  He reached back, grabbing the war hammer strapped to his pack and gripping it in both hands. Then he crouched down low, slowly stepping toward a large tree. He hid behind the trunk, scanning the forest carefully.

  That idiot was supposed to keep watch!

  He grit his teeth, shoving the thought aside. The forest’s anger was getting to him again. Jarl was no fool; if he wasn’t there, it meant that either he’d been forced to hide…or that he’d been compromised. Either way, it wasn’t good.

  Shit.

  Draken strained his ears, continuing to scan the forest…but he heard – and saw – nothing.

  And then his eyes fell to the forest floor.

  He froze, his breath catching in his throat, his eyes on a spot not ten meters from where he stood. There was a mound of leaves there…and another a dozen meters beyond that. And beneath the mounds, a hint of black. As he watched, the mounds rose and fell slightly. Rhythmically.

  Shit!

  He gripped his hammer tightly, his palms slick on the metal shaft. There were two mounds visible between him and the path. Ironclad were excellent sprinters…he wouldn’t be able to outrun them. That meant he had to kill them…and he couldn’t count on Jarl. The man was probably already dead.

  There was a crunch behind him.

  Draken spun around, seeing a black mound rising from the ground not two meters from where he crouched, leaves cascading down from it. Two pairs of huge arms burst through the debris, sending leaves flying in all directions. Still the thing rose, a monstrosity over two meters tall, towering over him. Grotesque black eyes glared down at him silently.

  Draken cursed, swinging his hammer in a wide arc toward the thing’s head.

  The Ironclad dodged backward, the hammer missing it by mere centimeters. It lunged forward, grabbing at him with two of its hands as Draken overswung. He pivoted, spinning in a circle, using the momentum from the missed swing to power a second, barely avoiding the thing’s grasp in the process. The hammer slammed into the thing’s armored chest, bouncing off…but leaving a small crack there.

  The Ironclad stumbled backward…but reached out with one hand, grabbing the shaft of his hammer as it recoiled. It yanked on it, pulling Draken forward and upward. He flew through the air, the hammer slipping out of his hands.

  He struck the ground, somersaulting and springing to his feet, turning to face the beast. He unsheathed the longsword at his hip in one smooth motion, pointing its tip at the Ironclad…and scanning the ground for his hammer. He spotted it a few meters behind him and to his right.

  The Ironclad rushed him, bursting forward with unnerving speed.

  Draken sprinted toward his hammer just as the Ironclad reached him, sheathing his sword and reaching down to grab the hammer. The beast swung a fist at him, and he rolled under the blow, springing to his feet and swinging his hammer with both hands. It arced through the air, colliding with the thing’s temple with a loud crack.

  The Ironclad stumbled to the side, falling to its hands and knees.

  Draken swung again, but the Ironclad raised two arms to block the blow, the hammer colliding with its forearms. It lunged forward then, grabbing the front of Draken’s uniform with one pair of hands. Then it cocked a third fist back, slamming it into Draken’s chest.

  Air exploded from Draken’s lungs. He heard a loud snap as his breastbone caved in, pain lancing across his chest and through to his back. He gasped, trying desperately to pull air into his lungs, but nothing came.

  The Ironclad tossed him backward, and he felt himself falling, his back striking the ground. His vision blackened, the Ironclad’s huge form looming over him. He tried to put his hammer between them, then realized he no longer had it. He reached for his longsword, starting to unsheathe it.

  The Ironclad knelt down, batting his hand away. It tore the longsword from his scabbard, flinging it to the side. Then it stared down at him, its breath hot against his face. He finally managed to take a breath in, only to explode in a fit of coughing. Bloody sputum dribbled down his chin.

  The Ironclad stood then, backing away from him.

  “Fucker,” he spat, coughing again. He crawled backward on his butt, spotting his hammer a meter to his left. He lunged for it, ignoring the sharp pain in his chest as he did so. To his surprise, the Ironclad allowed this; he grabbed the hammer with both hands, rising unsteadily to his feet and facing the thing. He coughed again, the stabbing pain in his chest as he did so nearly bringing him his knees. The Ironclad faced him silently, its four arms at its sides.

  Then it turned away from him, walking back toward the carriage.

  The hell?

  He stared at its retreating form, then glanced downward. The mounds he’d noticed earlier were rising.

  Shit.

  He stared as two more Ironclad appeared, leaves streaming off of them. They faced him silently, unmoving. Then, as one, the three Ironclad knelt down on one knee, bowing their heads. He swallowed in a dry throat, gripping his hammer tightly, his heart pounding in his chest.

  And then Draken saw it.

  A huge Ironclad – over a third of a meter taller than the others – strode toward him, its feet thumping on the forest floor. A mane of pale blue ran from the top of its head like a mohawk, all the way down its back to a short, broad tail. It appeared to be made of a strange gel-like substance, covered by a thick, translucent membrane.

  It strode up to him, its black eyes locked on his.

  Draken took one step backward, then another, staring at the monstrosity. He glanced at the other Ironclad; they had risen from their kneeling position, but they did not move.

  “What the hell are you?” he spat, falling into another fit of coughing. Agony shot through his chest, and he grimaced, nearly dropping his hammer. He stumbled backward as the thing approached, knowing that there was no point in fighting this thing. Even if he somehow managed to kill it, the other Ironclad would finish him off.

  He was a dead man.

  The thing stepped right up to him, stopping less than a meter away, staring down at him. Its mane glowed faintly, casting its grotesque face in a pale blue hue.

  “WHERE,” it growled, its voice deep and guttural, “…IS…ORIGINAL?”

  Draken stared at the creature, his jaw dropping.

  It can speak!

  The Ironclad took a step forward, and Draken swung his hammer, aiming right for the thing’s face. To his surprise, it didn’t move, didn’t even attempt to block the blow. His hammer slammed into the left side of its face, snapping its head back and to the side.

  It stumbled backward a step, then caught its balance, turning its head to face him again. The left side of its face had crumpled inward slightly, its eye crushed and oozing clear fluid, blood trickling down its cheek. It reached out, grabbing Draken’s shoulders with one pair of its hands. Its grip was like a vise, squeezing his shoulders so hard that he couldn’t have moved them if he tried. Draken cried out, the hammer slipping out of his hands.

  WHERE?” it growled.

  “I don’t know,” Draken blurted out, his voice trembling. He coughed, pain lancing through his chest again. “You should know,” he added. “One of you…things got him.”

  The creature stared at him silently, its remaining black eye glittering in the sunlight. Then it lifted him upward until its eye was level with his. Draken cried out, the pain in his chest almost unbearable. He stared into that horrible face, his breath catching in his throat.

  Its crushed eye was expanding, its crumpled cheek reforming in front of his very eyes.

  What the…

  “WHY YOU HERE?” it growled.

  Draken groaned as its grip on his shoulders tightened, pain shooting through his chest with ea
ch breath.

  “He was an initiate in the guild,” he explained. “We were looking for him. Where’s Jarl?” he asked, already knowing the answer. The creature lowered Draken to the ground, letting go of his shoulders.

  “WHO IS THE…WOMAN,” it growled, making a series of rapid gestures with one hand. One of the other Ironclad turned, making a mournful wailing sound.

  “What?”

  “WHO IS THE WOMAN,” the creature repeated, pressing one finger into Draken’s sternum. Draken screamed, jerking backward and clutching at his chest.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he protested.

  “SHE IS ONE…OF YOU,” the thing stated. Draken shook his head, taking another step back as the thing strode toward him.

  “I don’t know of any woman,” Draken insisted.

  “SHE HAS…SKULL,” it explained, gesturing at its own chest. Draken stared blankly at it. Then his eyes widened, realization dawning on him.

  Vi!

  “YOU KNOW HER?” the creature growled. Draken nodded.

  “She’s not one of us anymore,” he stated. The Ironclad leaned in, grabbing Draken’s shoulders again, then using a third hand to press its finger into his chest. He howled, struggling to free himself from the thing’s iron grip, but it was pointless. It stared down at him with those terrible eyes, cast in the pale glow of its unholy mane.

  “FIND HER.”

  * * *

  “Stay here,” Vi ordered.

  Hunter sighed, stopping a few yards from her house on the small island in the middle of the canyon lake, watching as she unlocked her front door, then stepped inside. She closed the door behind her, and he only got a quick peek of what lay beyond…a single room, with a bed in the corner. And tons of stuff everywhere…knickknacks on shelves on the walls, a bookshelf filled to overflowing, countless weapons hanging on the walls. And on the bed, a whole lot of stuffed animals and what looked like children’s dolls.

  Okaaay, he thought to himself.

  Moments later, Vi returned, exiting the house. She was carrying a longsword in one hand, still in its sheath, along with a belt.

  “Here,” she said, strapping the belt to his waist and setting the longsword at his left hip. “Now draw it.”

  He did so, grabbing the hilt and drawing it outward, like he’d seen in the movies. The blade came, but with some resistance. Vi stopped him.

  “Not like that,” she counseled. “Like this,” she said, grabbing his hand and pulling at a different angle. Hunter nodded, trying again. This time, the blade came out much more easily. “Better,” she stated. “We’ll work on it. Now hold it in front of you.”

  Hunter did so, holding the blade in his right hand. It felt awkward, a little too heavy for his arm. She grabbed his left hand, bringing it to the hilt below his right hand.

  “Two hands,” she ordered. “It’s a longsword, remember?”

  “I thought that meant it had a longer blade,” Hunter said.

  “No, it means it has a longer hilt,” Vi corrected. “Because it’s supposed to be used with two hands.”

  “Gotcha,” he replied. It did feel more natural now. He held it in front of him, tip pointed up and away.

  “Longswords are good all-around weapons,” Vi explained. “Good for slashing and thrusting. Here,” she added, backing away and unsheathing her own longsword. “Do this.” She thrust the point of her sword forward.

  “Okay,” he replied, mimicking her. She shook her head.

  “No no,” she corrected. “Use your hips and back leg to generate thrust. You’re relying too much on your arms.”

  “Oh,” Hunter mumbled. He tried again, this time twisting his hips and pushing off of his back leg. Vi grimaced.

  “Damn that was terrible,” she grumbled. “You’ve never held a sword in your life, have you.”

  “Uh, no,” Hunter replied sheepishly.

  “It shows,” she quipped. “You could’ve used a bit more quality time with that Seeker medallion.”

  “I thought you said it would’ve brainwashed me,” Hunter countered. She smirked.

  “Might’ve been worth it,” she replied. “You’re terrible.”

  “Then teach me already,” he shot back.

  “The sword you’re holding was owned by a famous warrior almost a century ago,” she informed. “He’d used it for most of his life, and was buried with it when he died. I was hired to find it when I was still in the guild.” She sheathed her sword. “It absorbed his skills over a lifetime, and his personality, which I can tell you was hardly one you’d want to be burdened with.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, eyeing his sword warily.

  “Don’t worry about it,” she reassured. “Your personality isn’t much better.”

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re an asshole?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “So it absorbed his skills,” Hunter prompted. Vi nodded.

  “And you’re absorbing them right now,” she continued. “If you spend enough time with it, you’ll improve significantly…without even practicing.”

  “So why are we doing this?” he asked.

  “Because,” she answered. “You can learn skills through absorption, but keep in mind that you’re only learning movement patterns…the specific motor actions needed to execute a movement you’re thinking of doing. You’re not learning experience, or strategy, or anything else…not well, anyway.”

  “Oh.”

  “If you actually train with the sword, you’ll learn context and strategy. And having absorbed some skill, you’ll practice better.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For beginners,” she answered, “…practice is imperfect. They make mistakes from the beginning, and have to spend lots of time correcting them. They fall into bad habits, poor form…and they keep practicing, ingraining these mistakes.”

  Hunter nodded…made sense.

  “By practicing while absorbing some skill,” she continued, “…you’ll perform each maneuver with the correct movement patterns. You’ll be practicing and ingraining correctly from the beginning…and you’ll never get into bad habits.”

  “Okay,” he replied. It certainly explained how he was able to execute a perfect back-kick on that guy in the bar yesterday…and why he’d gotten his ass kicked afterward. He knew some moves, but not how and when to use them.

  “So you’ve got your thrust,” she stated, unsheathing her sword and thrusting it again. “And your slash,” she added, Swinging her sword slowly, so that the blade stopped a few inches from Hunter’s neck. “The slash can be done at eight basic angles: up, down, left, right, and the diagonals.”

  She demonstrated each angle, stopping the blade before it struck him.

  “Your longsword is double-edged,” Vi continued. “You can cut with both sides…and both sides can cut you.” She sheathed her sword, then reached forward, grabbing the middle of hunter’s blade with her bare hand.

  “Whoa,” he blurted out. “Careful!”

  “The middle of your blade isn’t sharpened,” she reassured, tugging on his blade. She released it then, showing her palm to him. There were no marks, of course. “Here, try it.”

  He hesitated, then grabbed the blade where she had, albeit far more carefully. She was right…the blade was indeed dull there.

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Ever hear of half-swording?” she replied. He shook his head. She unsheathed her own sword, grabbing the hilt with one hand and the middle of the blade with her other, underhanded. She thrust it forward then, right at Hunter’s chest. He jerked backward, staring at the point; she’d stopped it an inch from his chest.

  “Jesus,” he grumbled. “Stop doing that.”

  “Grabbing the blade gives you more thrusting power,” Vi explained, lowering her blade. “Helps get you through tough armor. Try it,” she added.

  Hunter did so, gripping the blade gingerly.

  “Grip it tight,” she instructed. “Flatten your fingers, ho
ld it so the edge isn’t sitting in your palm. Now thrust.”

  He complied, thrusting as she’d shown him. It did feel more powerful this way. Still, he couldn’t shake the thought that he might cut himself.

  “Would this work against the Ironclad?” he asked. Their armor was pretty thick, after all. Vi shook her head.

  “No,” she replied. “Not unless you crack their armor first. For that you need something like that hammer you had no clue how to use…or a mace.”

  “Like you did.”

  “Right,” she agreed. “Or a murder-strike.”

  “A what?”

  She turned her sword around, gripping it by the blade with both hands as if it were the hilt. Then she swung it over her head, aiming right for Hunter’s head. The sword’s cross-guard stopped a few inches from Hunter’s scalp.

  “You can use your sword like a hammer,” she explained, sheathing her sword again. “If you hold the blade the right way – even the sharp part of it – you won’t cut yourself.”

  Hunter stared at her dubiously. Vi gave him a look.

  “This’ll go faster if you trust me,” she counseled.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  “Don’t be,” she replied. “Most people are full of crap and don’t even know it. They have no idea what they’re doing, but they think they do. Assume that’s the case until they can prove otherwise.”

  “So you want me to doubt you?”

  “Wouldn’t have it any other way,” she replied with a grin.

  “You did kick that Ironclad’s ass,” he admitted. “That was pretty awesome. Thanks by the way.”

  “My pleasure.”

  “So you’re better than the other Seekers?” he asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Even Thorius?” he pressed. Vi gave him a sour look.

  “Thorius is an academic,” she replied. “He’s competent, but nothing special…and it’s been a long time since he’s seen any action.”

  “You’re that good,” he pressed.

  “Honey,” Vi replied, slapping him on the shoulder. “I’m so good it’s illegal.” She smirked. “Literally.”

  Hunter smiled back, then remembered how the Ironclad had nearly killed him…and how it’d killed Kris, brutally tearing him apart. Vi had faced the thing without so much as blinking, and had taken it down in seconds.