Forsaken Hunters_Book Zero of The Age of Dawn_A Prequel

by Everet Martins

  Brenna’s cart was smooth wood polished to a glistening black that told of unseen wealth. Its sides were as flawless as her skin. The inside held mainly supplies for the road, tools for maintaining the cart, an adequate store of water jugs, and a small bed that could be folded down from the wall. The bed was wrapped in burgundy silk and stuffed with feathers. Lillian found a kindred spirit in her bold style.

  She plucked at the scarlet shirt she wore, Brenna’s shirt. The collar was stiff with starch and trimmed in gold, the neck plunging down between what remained of her breasts. Her pants were loose about her hips, made of a soft leather that simultaneously felt tough enough to withstand a blade’s graze. She’d discarded Toshi’s boots for Brenna’s extra pair that reached her knees.

  No one treated a slave like this. What was the ruse? She had to know enslaving a wizard was a risky gambit if the Tower were to discover it. Bezda Lightwalker, the Arch Wizard, did not take kindly to slavers.

  The locals were going about their day’s activities. A Tigerian female tossed a bucket of soiled water out her window. She gaped at them with unabashed astonishment, her once sharp teeth worn down to nubs.

  Ahead of them, a cart drawn by an enormous golden haired Tougere pulled over before a shop’s awning. Lillian watched as the Tigerian driver cocked his head at them in the midst of lighting a pipe. A bit of tobacco spilled onto his shirt’s filigreed collar.

  There was a squat building with a carved sign in swirling script that read Tougerery. A male Tigerian stroked a Tougere in a stable, slowly looking up to regard them. His feline ears twiddled with surprise, hand freezing mid-brush stroke. A silver-haired Tigerian was rocking on a chair under the shade of a cured Tougere skin, ceasing as he laid eyes on them. He pushed himself out of his chair with trembling arms and gave them a dark stare as their cart trundled on.

  Brenna inclined her head at each and every feline face, giving them all her winning smile. It was as if she was wholly unaware of their disdainful reactions.

  A Tigerian child leaned over a second-floor balcony, big eyes wide and gleaming like golden coins. Lillian smiled up at the child who leaped back into the confines of his home as if struck. On the first level was an apothecary, the sign carved with the image of a leafed herb whose name she didn’t know. Baylan would’ve known, she thought with a forlorn smile. She wound her fingers under the seat, squeezing its perfectly sanded curve.

  This is just asking for trouble. Asking for the whole of the damned village to come down on us. Lillian left her thoughts unspoken, but perhaps something showed on her face.

  “Something concerns you,” Brenna stated without a hint of question. Lillian stole a glance at her and saw Brenna’s gaze was fixed on the narrow road ahead.

  “No.” Lillian spat over the edge of the cart. Too quick, too sharp.

  A slow smile slid along Brenna’s mouth. “Of course not.”

  They passed a bank, the only structure whose walls were made of granite blocks, each four feet thick. The moneychanger wore a tailored suit, doling out marks from behind a counter to an eager customer. The banker pointed, and the pair dashed to the window, pushing aside parted shutters to stare at them.

  “Maybe.” Lillian cleared her throat, watching the gaping pair at the bank. “Why are they looking at us like that?” A herd of ten or so goats was ushered across the road by a Tigerian in a threadbare robe, too busy to notice the women.

  “Two things,” Brenna said dropping the reins to raise two taloned fingers. “We are human, and we are women. I am unchained and you, my dearest slave, aren’t walking. These are all very strange things in Tigeria. Please tell me you know this.” She arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow at her.

  Lillian let a long breath hiss through her lips, pulse thumping at her temples. “Of course I know—”

  “Good. I don’t need a slave with an empty skull.” Brenna laughed and patted Lillian on the leg.

  Lillian twisted in her seat to regard Brenna, searching for what she knew she was missing. “You’re very odd. You call me your slave, yet you let me carry blades.” Lillian frowned, hands falling to the hilts on either hip. “You give me weapons, yet limit my potential. What makes you think I won’t run you through when your back is turned?”

  “In due time, hush now,” Brenna said from the side of her mouth, waving and yelling a greeting in Tigerian to another scowling feline face. “Be patient. Answers are forthcoming. And here we are.” Brenna tugged on the reins and brought Stanley to a stop before a tavern. A cloud of dust filled the air behind them and spiraled up over the shake roofs. “Are you thirsty? I need to wet my parched throat.” She snickered, then tightened the clasp on her sword belt. She pulled her boots up tight, then pressed the few throwing daggers that had started to inch up from their sheathes back in.

  “Suppose a drink would be nice,” Lillian mumbled. The tavern had a small rectangular sign hanging from the edge of a batwing door with a red slash across it, indicating that it was closed for business. Lillian squinted through the opaque windows and thought she saw a shape moving within.

  She caught sight of her reflection, filling her with disgust. She knew she needed a bath, but this was far worse than she’d expected. She’d lost so much weight. She looked down at her arms and saw for the first time how much her body had changed. Her skin was tight as a drum, forearm muscle striations plainly visible. She became aware of how her sit bones ached without any fat to cushion them, how her shoulders were narrow and sharp under Brenna’s shirt. Her hair was a knotted mess, lips cracked like the scorched earth, cheeks flaking with burned skin. She was a walking corpse.

  “You coming?” Brenna called. She stopped, staring up at her, one boot raised on the first of the few stairs leading to the tavern’s doors. Brenna looked so healthy, skin glowing with a smile that sang of life.

  “Mhm.” Lillian gave her a half-smile and thought to vault over the edge of the carriage like Brenna, but then thought better of it. She didn’t have the muscle mass she once had, making a bone break or sprained joint more likely. She lowered herself over the edge, hitting the ground with a thump. She followed Brenna as she pushed through the creaking batwing doors.

  Patience, she admonished herself.

  The tavern’s floor was coated in a thin layer sand showing a single track of feline footprints. The room was square and dark despite the brightness outside. The back corners were hooded in shadows. Not a single of the many lanterns along the walls were burning. If Lillian could use a sliver of the Dragon, she could’ve lit them all with a snap of her fingers.

  Brenna came to a halt in the middle of the room and placed a hand on a hip, staring up at an oblivious Tigerian male wearing a spotless apron. He stood on a footstool, scrubbing at a charred lantern with a soiled cloth, humming. He paused to adjust his spectacles. He cleared his throat and continued scrubbing and humming a pleasant tune.

  Brenna cleared her throat.

  The Tigerian let out a screech of surprise, stumbling off his stool and smacking his head on a low-hanging rafter. “Yow!” he cried, recovering his footing before falling onto his back. He looked down, rubbing the back of his head, and dropping his cloth. His ears violently twitched as he let out a series of curses in Tigerian, the tongue harsh in Lillian’s ears. The bartender finally looked up at them and shouted a series of curses in his native language, gesturing for them to leave.

  “We’re paying customers. Won’t you serve us a drink?” Brenna asked in Common.

  “No! No humies!” The Tigerian shuffled his way around them, pressing himself flat against the farthest wall. “Know you not welcome in Varim.” He dashed through the batwing doors, squealing as they flapped. He was a blur of fur as he ran past the windows, arms flailing, long cat-like tail whipping.

  “It appears we will have to serve ourselves,” Brenna said, bobbing her eyebrows at Lillian. Brenna sauntered over the bar and reached over the polished counter, producing a pair of crystalline glasses and an ornamented glass bottle. She uncorked the
bottle and poured herself two fingers of amber spirits, swirling it before scenting its nose. “A lovely whiskey.” She sipped then uttered a moan. “Wonderful. Care for a drink?”

  “What… are you?” Lillian asked, feet rooted to the floor. She felt like she couldn’t move, fearful for the answer.

  “I have been many things. I was once a blacksmith.” Brenna gestured with the hand holding her glass. “I made these gloves myself. I believe it is important to make your own weapons, become intimate with them. Do you like them?”

  “Fine craftsmanship. In fact, I think the finest I’ve ever seen.” Lillian nodded appreciatively, still feeling a little dazed.

  “Thank you, I’m flattered.” Brenna walked past her toward a front window, setting her glass on one of the room’s four round tables. She pulled out a stool and gracefully lowered herself onto it.

  Lillian got her feet moving and poured herself a drink, joining Brenna at the table. They both sat for a few minutes, watching wagons and Tigerians flitting past. Lillian had a hundred questions that wanted to pour from her mouth, but she mastered them and resolved to enjoy the moment.

  Brenna licked her teeth and met Lillian’s eyes. “My latest occupation is bounty hunter. The same way Tigerian slavers buy and sell human flesh, I sell corpses to the Tigerian Empire.”

  Lillian sipped. The whiskey burned and filled her mouth with a pleasing smoky flavor.

  Brenna mirrored her, flicked her eyes at the window then back at her. She leaned forward. “It’s a difficult business. Identifying Tigerians and proving you got the one on the bounty. The bounties themselves are merely sketches, though usually with a distinguishing mark that can make them irrefutable, though not always.” Brenna tapped a metallic finger on the rim of her glass, the sound echoing through the room. “You kill Tigerians, and you get paid. Could you imagine a better profession?” Brenna grinned like a child getting a new toy, but then her face slowly went dark. “Nothing better than killing slavers.”

  Lillian shook her head. “You kill Tigerians, and Tigerians pay you?”

  “Mhm. Yes, that’s the idea.”

  “Do you only kill bad Tigerians? They can’t all be bad. Can they?”

  Brenna leaned back. “The worse the Tigerian, the better the reward. How do you think I came to be dressed like this? That carriage. All paid for by killing the evil bastards.” Brenna steepled her fingers over her drink.

  Lillian furrowed her brow. “Strange business.”

  Brenna threw back what remained of her whiskey and put her glass down with a thud. “I am in a predicament. I hate Tigerians, and I hate slavery even more.”

  “You do? Then why?” Lillian pointed at her own neck.

  “I need your help, and you’re not in a position to refuse. I don’t like that. I would like for us to enter into an agreement.” Brenna’s eyes scanned Lillian’s face, waiting.

  “Go on.” Lillian nodded, realizing Brenna was waiting for her to respond.

  “As you know, I am seeking the Kuro brothers. I assume you now can imagine why. As I said, I don’t know what they look like, and the bounty sketch is shit. But you do.” She pointed a lazy finger at her. “I would like to propose that we travel together to the Golden Hill estate and you help me find them. You point them out to me, and I kill them. You won’t have to do any of the dirty work unless you want to.”

  “In exchange for…?” Lillian raised an eyebrow, her burned skin twinging with pain.

  “Your freedom. I’ll tear up your bill of sale, remove your collar, or you can have it, your choice.”

  Lillian thought of burning Tigerians, wanting to watch their fur singe upon their blistered bodies. She’d burn this world to the ground if she must to find Baylan.

  “Very well. I agree.” Lillian offered her hand, and they shook.

  The creak of the batwing doors called from behind her. “Humies,” a husky Tigerian voice rumbled in Common. “No more games. Come out.”

  “Ah! Wonderful timing. The Varim Arbiter,” Brenna said with a big smile, showing her ivory teeth. “Let’s go. And let me do all the talking.”

  Lillian rose to find a Tigerian who seemed to have been born without a neck and with shoulders made of rocks. He wore an opened leather vest showing a black pelt of fur and leather pants. Slung over his shoulder was a massive two-sided battle axe with mars that indicated it wasn’t just for intimidation.

  The hulking Arbiter casually turned and exited through the doors and into the brightness of the outside world. Lillian threw back the last of her whiskey with a wince, then followed Brenna.

  Lillian took a shuddering step back as her vision adjusted to the light, nearly trampling over Brenna. This was bad. An arc of figures surrounded the tavern. She made a quick count of nearly twenty Tigerians, all armed with spears, swords, axes, and blades directed at the pair of them. At the head of the group was the Arbiter, easily tapping his enormous axe into his paw like it was made of straw.

  “Why are you making trouble? Scaring the locals with an unchained woman.” The Arbiter spat between his fanged teeth, the phlegm landing between Brenna’s boots. “Go on about your business, the entertainment is over.” The Arbiter shouted over his shoulders at the gathering throng of onlookers. Some Tigerians started to dissipate, casting curious eyes over their shoulders as they merely moved to observe the spectacle from a farther distance.

  The Arbiter growled a sigh. “Let me see your card.”

  Lillian shuffled her feet, inching back a step behind Brenna. She lowered her eyes, doing her best to look like her spirit had been sufficiently crushed. Rebellious slaves were risky.

  “Very well.” Brenna bowed, then produced a silvery metallic rectangle from a hardened leather hip pouch. She raised it into the air, clutched between thumb and index finger. Lillian saw some numbers inscribed upon its surface. Beside the numbers was swirling Tigerian text that translated as Brenna Gharlo. Her last name was Northern. It was a name that hailed from beyond the Mountains of Misery in the continent of Zoria. How had she found her way here?

  “Give it here,” the Arbiter gestured.

  Lillian raised her eyes to sweep her gaze over the other armed Tigerians. Some shifted their legs and others re-gripped weapons. She saw more than a few were taking shallow, nervy breaths.

  “Here you are,” Brenna said, doing nothing to hide her annoyance as she dropped it into his free hand.

  “An early card. Been slaving for a long time,” the Arbiter mumbled as he inspected it. After a long minute, he handed it back to her.

  “Yes,” Brenna said, accepting the card, and putting it away. “Happy?”

  “I—”

  The Arbiter cut off as Brenna’s hand slashed the air in front of him. Lillian gasped as three lines of scarlet appeared on the Arbiter’s neck. His eyes went wide, axe falling, hands reaching for his throat as blood came out in red spurts. The Arbiter crumpled like his bones had turned to dust. Blood pumped out between his pressing fingers as they uselessly tried to keep the ruby liquid in his body.

  Screeches of terror and growls of rage called out from the armed Tigerians. They turned on their heels and fled in every direction, some abandoning weapons.

  Brenna frowned at the blood coating three of her taloned fingers. She bent down to wipe it off on the Arbiter’s trousers.

  “What? Why… why did you do that?” Lillian asked, her mouth slack and head shaking. Cold sweat wormed down her neck.

  Brenna grinned at her. “As I’ve said, all will be revealed in due time. Come, let’s have another drink while we wait for the Chief Arbiter.”

  They enjoyed a second round of whiskey at the same table they formerly occupied. Lillian searched for words but found herself coming up empty.

  Eventually, another voice called through the batwing doors. “Brenna Gharlo. Come on out. Your slave too. Know what you did.” This voice was not pleased.

  Brenna stood and stretched out her back in a deep bend. She gave Lillian a tired raise of her eyebrows. “Watch
and learn,” she grunted. Brenna raised her voice and projected it through the doorway. “I am more than willing to come out in peace as long as I am assured that I will have a proper trial in a Tigerian court of law.”

  “Like the Arbiter you just murdered in the street?” the Chief Arbiter yelled. A few mutters of agreement called after him.

  “All I ask is a fair trial for my crimes,” Brenna yelled in return, pressing her back against the edge of the wall before the doorway. “I need your honor that you will not execute me in the street.”

  “No criminal escapes the executioner’s block. I assure you I won’t be the one to do it,” the Chief Arbiter growled. “Now come out.”

  Brenna flashed a smile at Lillian, who could only shake her head in bewilderment. This is madness. “Once again, allow me to do all the talking. Follow my lead and keep your hands raised. Maybe turn your collar so they don’t see the Equalizer.”

  Lillian complied, following Brenna through the batwing doors with her hands raised.

  The number of armed Tigerians joining the Chief Arbiter had at least doubled that of the Varim Arbiter. It seemed every living Tigerian in the outpost was now brandishing weapons. Lillian spotted some of the same feline faces as before, their resolve seemingly steeled from the corpse before them. The sand had all but consumed his blood, the red patch quickly turning into an oxidized auburn.

  “We are unarmed,” Brenna assured, slowly walking down the steps with her hands raised. “Your Arbiter is actually Gin Taka, a wanted Tigerian.”

  The Chief Arbiter was a gangly Tigerian cloaked in oversized leathers that swayed in the wind. Across his back was a sheathed and gilded broadsword that went from his shoulder and well beyond his opposite hip. He sat with his arms crossed upon a gray and white spotted Tougere who had a few grisly battle scars on its head. “Is that so?” he balked.

  Brenna gave a firm nod. “He started working for you about five months ago, I would wager?” Brenna wagged her raised fingers.