Forsaken Hunters_Book Zero of The Age of Dawn_A Prequel

by Everet Martins

  Helgar raised his voice, eyebrows drawing down. He stabbed his pipe against Haru’s chest. “Your only concern is handling my guests. The world is mine to burn, and I’ll burn it when I choose. Get out of my sight and get their rooms prepared!”

  Haru swallowed. “Yes, Master Helgar. Right away.” He threw a scowl over his shoulder at Lillian before shuffling back up the mansion’s front steps. “Can’t believe you’re going to let humies stay in your house. This world is going from horrible to worse,” Haru mumbled loud enough for all to hear.

  Helgar spread his arms toward the women, an apologetic smile spreading up his face. “Hard to find good help these days. Sorry about that, ladies.”

  “Not a problem.” Brenna grinned. “You had told me earlier that you had recently acquired a new librarian. I would like to speak with him. I always enjoy a nice conversation with a scholar.”

  Lillian’s mouth went dry as sand, and blood roared in her ears as she anticipated his answer.

  Helgar raised his pipe. “Ah yes, Baylan. He has recently developed a rebellious side. I had to put him in the box to remind him who his master was.”

  Baylan. Baylan! He said Baylan. Brenna was right! It took every measure of Lillian’s practiced self-control to master herself in this moment, to remain still on her saddle. They could have Equalizers, she thought, remembering Brenna’s warning.

  Brenna threw her hair back with a crisp laugh. There was a hollowness to it, a place where her laugh had changed. “The rebellious ones can be troublesome to break. Do you think I could converse with him this evening?”

  “Well, I don’t see why not.” Helgar shrugged, then turned toward the mansion. “Haru! Get Baylan out of the earth box, would you?”

  Lillian worked her tongue around her mouth, sticking to her inner cheeks. She adjusted and re-adjusted her grip on Kalli’s reins.

  Haru had just crested the top of the stairs. He turned about with a resigned nod. “Of course, master.”

  The next two minutes were the longest of her life. Haru trudged toward an opening in the ground about twenty paces away marked by a well-worn path through the tall grasses. The earth box was a simple and horrific construct. It was a pair of wooden doors built atop a narrow box with hardly enough room to contain a cramped man. The afflicted could spend days in there under the scorching sun. If you were lucky, you were taken out just long enough to gulp down the offered water before being forced back in. It was rare for someone to be taken out alive. She found her hand raising toward her mouth, but pressed it back down to rest on her saddle’s pommel.

  Helgar caught the gesture, eyes briefly narrowing, then turning back to watch as Haru started working the lock open on the earth box.

  “May I ask what your man did to deserve his punishment?” Brenna put her arms behind her back, pushing her breasts out and drawing Helgar’s attention.

  “You may.” Helgar clapped his hands together, eyes lingering on her chest. “He tried to run away. They never learn, no matter how many times you show them the folly of their ways.”

  “With three others!” Haru yelled from the distance. His ability to hear was apparently selective.

  “When did they escape?” Brenna casually asked.

  Lillian caressed the Dragon in her heart, which was beckoning for her to seize its fury in her iron grip. It wanted blood, fire, and destruction. She could be its conduit. She could end them all.

  Helgar took a drag from his pipe, blowing smoke from one side of his feline lip. “A few days ago. My hunters found them last night, shortly after you left. You put me in such a swell mood that I decided not to feed him to my Tougeres.”

  “Well, that is mighty fortuitous. Masa, didn’t you have a penchant for scholarship in your former profession?”

  Lillian collected herself, rage melting from her veins. “I… yes, I did. It would be nice… to hold palaver with a scholar again.” She even smiled at Helgar.

  Haru yanked at a series of locks, each producing a squeal as rusted steel cylinders separated.

  “He should be useful to you tonight then. He’s hardly been in there a day,” Helgar grinned, rising onto his tiptoes. “After tonight, he’ll have to endure at least eight more days for a proper punishment. A shame he likely will not survive. I was almost starting to like having him around.

  “You are most kind,” Brenna said, inclining her head, a murderous smile tickling at her cheeks.

  Helgar grinned in kind. “Anything for my guests. You, get him cleaned up for my guests,” he said, gesturing at a servant who bowed in acknowledgment. “Send him to Brenna’s room once he’s been hydrated and smells fine. It’s been a long day of travel, ladies, and I must take my afternoon rest. Please do make yourselves at home.” Helgar gave a slight bow to both Brenna and Lillian. “Hurry up would you, Haru!” he yelled as he swept through the mansion’s entryway.

  Haru glowered at Helgar’s back. He bent down and started drawing open the first of the double doors.

  Lillian dismounted from Kalli. Earth swirled around her boots. Was this a dream? Another vision? Was this her Baylan? She took a few steps toward the earth box, her legs feeling like they were no longer hers. Her heart smashed against her ribs. She breathed deep, but each breath wasn’t enough. She dared not blink.

  Haru’s arm interminably lifted the door as if he were dragging it through a world encased in honey. The door’s squealing hinges roared like dying Tougeres. Haru inverted a bucket of water over the box.

  A voice within screamed and choked.

  Baylan! Is that you?

  “Get up! Up, you lazy bastard! Up!” Haru stabbed at the man in the earth box with his cane. A taskmaster drew up behind Haru, bent down and dragged the man out, who was screaming in agony.

  Baylan writhed in the taskmaster’s arms. He tried to stand but slumped over as his legs failed. He was nude, skin red as a boiled crab, speckled with bleeding blisters. There was something around his neck. It was an Equalizer crystal dangling from an iron collar. He was a withered version of himself. Each intercostal space between his ribs clearly defined, throat all sinews, cheeks pitted in deep hollows. The flesh around his arms was drawn tight around his bones, showing every curve and tendon. His hair had fallen out in patches, showing a few bald spots in his once glorious mane.

  “Baylan,” Lillian whispered, a tear gliding down her cheek that she quickly dashed away.

  He let out a horrible, hoarse scream. His legs flopped at the earth, head tossing. The taskmaster shifted Baylan onto his hip and Haru limped over to his side. Haru drove a fist into the back of Baylan’s neck, knocking him out in the taskmaster’s arms. They dropped him into a wooden wheelchair, reducing him to a sack of silent bones. Haru pointed, and the taskmaster gripped a pair of handles at the back of the chair, driving him toward the back of the mansion.

  Lillian turned away, regarding the ground lest she did something she regretted. If she acted now, there was a high chance she might injure her beloved and ruin everything. There was also the risk of setting off the Equalizer crystal and Baylan bearing the blame. When a wizard tried to draw on either the Phoenix or the Dragon god’s strength within an Equalizer crystal’s vicinity, it would glow with bright pinks, no matter who wore it. Some only worked in close proximity to a wizard. Then there were some Equalizers, albeit rare, that could work over almost a quarter mile. Lillian wouldn’t put it past Helgar to have only the best marks could buy. If she acted now and successfully drew the Dragon, they would be chased forever by Tigerian bounty hunters, and they would never find peace.

  “Damn it,” she hissed, lowering her head in defeat. She lifted her eyes to find Brenna watching her, giving her a nod and the inkling of a smile. Baylan was alive. Baylan was here. She nodded back and mouthed thank you.

  Nine

  Dinner

  Baylan watched as the dinner table was set. Three men placed three burning candelabras each with three candles upon the dining table in unison under Haru’s watchful eye. They were dressed in silken
blacks and trimmed in glowing whites. They swept through a door at the other end of the room. Behind them came six women, setting down plates before empty chairs in practiced unison. And behind them came six men, laying crisply folded cloth napkins to the right of each plate. The procession of servants carried on in graceful elegance, setting the table with forks, knives, crystal glasses, ornamented soup bowls, appetizer plates, dinner plates, dessert plates, glasses for wine, and glasses for elixir. Baylan would’ve been part of their numbers if tonight wasn’t so different.

  Baylan stood beside Haru at the wall closest to the table’s head. The candlelight didn’t reach them, leaving them cloaked in shadows. His skin was agony, every shift of his body re-igniting his burned skin. He’d only been in there a day, but the very air temperature of the earth box was enough to start cooking his skin. His eyes stung and were constantly weeping thick tears. His spine ached, and his hips screamed for him to sit. He dabbed at his eye with a soiled cloth, stuffing it back into his pocket before Haru could scold him for it.

  The pressure of his body through his polished shoes made the blisters on his feet weep pus. He noticed his neck, tuning into the awareness of the iron collar securing the Equalizer crystal. He sucked his cheeks in, frowning at the taste of blood. He was a dog, maybe worse than a dog because at least dogs were petted. He tugged at the lapels of his navy-blue suit jacket, admiring the smooth texture of the fabric he would likely never feel again. He felt like a court jester being prepared to be presented for the king’s entertainment. His hair was slicked back and oiled, skin clean as a new babe.

  His mind felt like it was coated in a layer of heavy mud. His thoughts emerged from some place foreign. Time stretched to infinity in that timeless, scorching darkness. There was a time when his thoughts were easily accessible, every bit of knowledge at his fingertips. He knew much of this was a symptom of dehydration as his body shunted what precious liquid it had to its vital organs.

  He sipped from a glass of water. That beautiful liquid slipped down his throat, coating it in its cooling bliss. It was transient. After tonight, he would be back in the earth box, slowly dying in that simmering prison. Everything appeared the same, yet tonight would be different. One of the master’s guests wanted to see him, and he had no choice but to oblige the master.

  After yesterday’s failed escape, he resolved that it was his final attempt until he had an infallible plan. He was spared while his only friends, Biggs and Morgan, we’re fed screaming to the Tougeres. The Tougeres were only animals doing what animals did. He didn’t blame them for shredding the flesh from his friends’ bones.

  It felt the semblance of humanity that remained in his heart was being slowly stripped away like layers of an onion. Haru was drawing terribly close to his once protected heart with every savage act. He blamed himself for the demise of his friends. He’d convinced them to join him in his escape, greatly underestimating the prowess of the hunters. They weren’t fast enough to outrun them. He thought them mentally soft and easy to fool, but he was wrong. He was truly foolish enough to believe he could outwit the Tougeres with false scent trails. Their sense of smell was too good and his odor impossible to mask.

  Here he was, and his friends were dead. Everyone was dead. Why he still remained was an unresolved question.

  Baylan’s eyes traced the crown molding running about the perimeter the room, beautifully carved with hundreds of gaping Tougeres’ heads. Each corner held an exotic fern he had never seen before his time here. Their leaves were barbed and would scoop up passing mice, shredding them and slowly digesting the rodents over a period of weeks. One wall was lined with parted windows, showing the dull blue of the ending daylight. From the back of the house, the kitchen roared to life. Chefs screamed at apprentices and pots clanged and cook fires flared.

  Sofor appeared at his side, resting his cruel hands on his hips. “Follow me,” he grunted, snatching a candelabra from the table as he passed. Baylan inverted his glass, swallowing the remaining water in one gulp before setting it on a serving table. Haru growled at Sofor as they departed from the dining chamber, calling for a replacement candelabra. Baylan followed him up the winding staircase to the third floor to the guest’s quarters. They left the din of the kitchen and the milling servants behind.

  The third floor was quiet as a tomb. Its halls were wide and adorned with wainscoting. Candles flickered from wall sconces shrouded in glass globes, casting everything in an amber glow. Sofor led him to a closed door, pausing before knocking and casting a sneer at Baylan over his shoulder. “Suppose I don’t need to remind you to do as they ask.”

  Baylan swallowed and gave a deep nod. Fear wriggled in his guts like crawling maggots, making its presence well known. He thought fear had abandoned him when he was put in the earth box. He thought that maybe fear knew it was no longer needed. But fear had returned. What horrors awaited him on the other side of this door?

  Sofor knocked, then started adjusting his collar as he waited for the occupants to respond. A woman opened the door. Her hair shone like obsidian and curled around a long face with a strong jawline. Her eyes were a deep gray swimming with strange red flecks. What he noticed most about her was her infectious smile, broad and genuine.

  “Good evening,” she said, inclining her head. She wore a simple black dress that hugged her hips and plunged between her full breasts, leaving her shoulders bare. He noted that along her chest and shoulders were a bevy of scars. One appeared to be the relic of an arrow’s puncture, another a sword cut, a third a burn. She had to be a slaver, although certainly not an ordinary one. Perhaps a warrior from the Far Islands. Baylan’s eyebrow arched in curiosity.

  “Brenna, this is Baylan Spear,” Sofor grunted. The bastard managed to place a smile on his lips for her, flashing his sharp teeth. Sofor had put him in the earth box and had been more than pleased at doing the honors. He seemed to take great pride in torturing men.

  Brenna drew the door farther open, laughing and studying him for a long moment. “It’s a great pleasure to finally meet you, Baylan.” She gestured for him to enter. “Do come in. I’ve heard many wonderful things about you.”

  Sofor let out a placating laugh. “It is rare to find a humie-man who can read, write, and knows a bit about the world. An ignorant race on the whole.”

  Brenna’s lips formed a line as she gave Sofor the semblance of a laugh, ending with a faint scowl. Brenna shifted her gaze back to Baylan, her expression softening. “I can see how you’ve inspired Helgar to keep you, how you could incite one’s passions.”

  Did this woman want to bed him? It was perhaps not the worse he could ask for. He looked deep into her eyes and saw something else there. It might have even been love. Baylan could see that it wasn’t love for him, but a love for someone else, the love born of friendship. He felt his heart skip a beat. Lillian? Could it be? No. There was no use resurrecting dead hopes and abandoned dreams.

  Sofor cleared his throat. “Brenna seeks a scholar to converse with. You are a scholar, and so you will talk to her. If you try anything…” Sofor’s hand flicked the leather strap on a club hanging from his belt.

  “I-I know,” Baylan bowed, remembering the crunch of that wood against the back of his head. His ears rang for a week after once defying Sofor’s command.

  “And you are indeed a scholar?” Brenna asked, brows drawing down.

  Baylan’s mouth fell open, but no words came. Something was wrong. He didn’t know why he felt this way, but he learned long ago to trust his instincts.

  “Answer her!” Sofor drove an elbow into his ribs.

  Baylan doubled over in pain, water trying to push its way through his lips. He swallowed it down, mastering his rebelling guts as his skin rolled in waves of agony. He slowly rose up, collecting himself. “I was… am a scholar, yes. Of the Silver Tower,” he said, fingering the Equalizer crystal.

  “Don’t touch that! Do I need to remind you again?” Sofor’s club whispered from his belt loop, twirling in his hand.


  “Please, there is no need for that,” Brenna said with a raised hand. “If you club him, he will be unable to concentrate on the matter at hand. I need him present, for now. Please, do come. We will see you later this evening, Sofor.”

  Baylan passed through the threshold. Sofor started to say something else, but Brenna closed the door in his face. She turned the lock, producing a click.

  Baylan found he was liking this Brenna. He stood with his arms behind his back, eyes properly lowered with trained deference. Each of the twelve guest rooms were duplicates of each other, the principal differences being how they were furnished. The walls were adorned with a few oil paintings of famous Tigerians. There was a squat armoire made of heavy oak. Across from it stood a sleigh bed carved from a block of solid wood.

  “You must be thirsty. Would you like a drink?” Brenna gestured to a decanter on a round table, beside it three glasses. Who was the third glass for? He nodded and briefly raised his eyes to meet hers. “Please.”

  Brenna strode over to a table set before a fireplace ornamented with marble tiles. He admired the wiggle of her round behind. She turned and offered him the filled glass, stepping half-way across the floor. Baylan caught sight of a strange pair of gloves beside the water decanter. The fingertips were gleaming and honed to lethal sharpness. Was this a Tower assassin? Why would they send the Swiftshade for him? She still had her hair and her skin pigment. Not a Tower killer then. Unless they had done away with the Test of Stones…

  Baylan bridged the distance between them, hand raising to take the glass, but Brenna didn’t let it go. Their fingers touched, warm and pure. “You have nothing to fear,” she whispered, releasing the glass. “Now tell me, what do you know of Helm’s Reach?” she said in a loud voice. She whispered again. “I’m sure Helgar’s help is listening, so go on, and I shall continue speaking.”

  “Helm’s Reach is an ancient city, established before the Tower was erected…” Baylan started, uncertain.