Without a farewell, Keltin turned and made his way to the farmyard grounds. A bestial cry from the barn turned him in that direction as Harper continued to trail along silently in his wake. Lifting the simple latch, Keltin pulled open the door with a creak of the rusty hinges and peered inside. His nose was immediately flooded with the natural smells of a barn. Hay dust, old manure and rust along with something else... something sharp and unpleasant. Opening the door wider, he saw the source of the stench. Eight steel cages dominated the barn’s open, central space. Inside each one a sleevak thrashed and growled, creating a reverberating din in the echoing space. Half a dozen Heteracks were busying themselves with the creatures, using long blacksmith’s tongs to drop great hunks of meat between the bars of each cage, allowing the beasts to snatch and gobble up their bloody dinner. At the sound of the creaking barn door, one of the Heteracks looked up sharply from where he stood cutting meat from a side of beef.
“No visitors during feeding time!” he snapped. “Wait outside!”
Keltin hesitated. His righteous indignation urged him to insist on talking with them now, but even in the midst of his high emotion he realized how potentially dangerous the wranglers’ task must be even without distractions. Embarrassed and unable to think of anything to say, he swung the barn door closed with a bang and latched it shut. Finding a nearby workbench he threw himself on top of it and sat staring moodily at the dirt before him. Harper hesitated at his side for a moment before finding his own place to sit and wait a short distance from him.
A drop of water appeared in the hard-packed dust, followed by another. Soon, the ground was spotted with the splattering of a light, cold rain. Keltin removed his broad-brimmed hat and let the cold wetness seep through his hair. He felt a large drop hit the back of his neck and he shuddered. Slowly, he felt his anger cool as the rain continued to fall on him like a damp rag placed over his childhood head by his mother when his temper would get the better of him.
The barn door opened and the Heterack that had spoken to him before stepped out. He was a typical specimen of his race, incredibly broad in the shoulders, with a large, flattened face and a massive tawny mane that framed his head and neck like the fur lining of a lady’s coat. His features were serious, but not harsh as he approached them.
“Sorry for the rough words,” he said, his voice deep and clear. “But it’s never safe to be distracted around the sleevaks when they’re eating.” He paused to take in Keltin’s appearance before continuing. “You’re not one of the field workers. You look like either a military scout or a beast hunter. Which is it?”
“Beast Hunter. I’m Keltin Moore, from Riltvin.”
The Heterack nodded, then surprised Keltin by extended a thick, muscular hand.
“I’m Bol, from Olsivo in the north of Malpin,” he said. “I’m in charge of this crew.” The Heterack shook Keltin’s hand then gave Harper an inquisitive look.
“Marius Harper, Collinsworth Gazette,” said the newspaperman by way of introduction. “I’m following Mr. Moore in an effort to report on conditions here in Dhalma Province.”
The Heterack shook Harper’s hand before turning back to Keltin.
“It’s good to see another beast hunter out here. I was beginning to think we were the only ones in the whole province.”
Keltin was caught off guard again. His only impression of Heteracks up to that point had been as bullies and bigots. Of course, most of the Heteracks’ animosity during the campaign had been directed towards the Loopi and Weycliff wayfarers. Keltin had only drawn their displeasure by openly associating with Bor’ve’tai, Jaylocke, and their peoples. Still, this Heterack didn’t act at all like Keltin had expected. He was too well spoken, too amicable, if not openly friendly. Keltin struggled for a moment to think of what he wanted to say.
“Well, I’m not surprised you haven’t seen more hunters around if you prefer to use those things.”
Keltin pointed towards the barn. Bol gave a humorless chuckle, as if he were hearing an old argument that he had given up trying to win.
“All methods of hunting beasts are dangerous, just in different ways. Sleevaks are just a tool to us. We know how to use them because we understand them.”
“I understand something of them myself. They were used in the campaign in this province last year.”
“You were in the campaign?”
“I was.”
Bol nodded slowly and seemed to examine Keltin a second time. “I see. My crew was away when we got word of the call for hunters. By the time we learned of it, it was too late to join. I heard it was a twisted fete, though.”
“You could say that. We were up against more beasts than I’d ever seen in one place before. It also didn’t help that I had to worry as much about the wranglers’ sleevaks as the beasts themselves.”
“Sounds like they didn’t know what they were doing. You never release sleevaks when there are people within a certain radius of the release point.”
“Really? Then why did I see one of your sleevaks just yesterday?”
“Where?”
“Half a day’s walk to the west, near Gronson farm.”
Bol shrugged. “We didn’t know anyone would be in the area. My employers own that region. What were you doing out there?”
“I was on the trail of a whip leg.”
“Well, if we’d known you were there, we wouldn’t have released the sleevaks. We make sure all of our workers know when we’re going to release them. The foremen have become very good at shuffling their crews around to work where the sleevaks aren’t.”
Keltin didn’t answer. Harper cleared his throat.
“It sounds like you have a very organized operation going here, Mr. Bol.”
“We have to. Sleevaks are predictable and effective, but incredibly dangerous if you aren’t careful.” Bol turned back to Keltin. “I don’t fault you for trailing the whip leg into our territory. You didn’t know we were here. But in the future, if something wanders onto our side of the province, consider it taken care of. We’ll do the same if something crosses into your territory. If you survived last year’s campaign, you must be quite the hunter.”
Keltin could only make a tight-lipped smile to acknowledge the compliment. He felt his ears burning hot despite the cold rain. Again, Harper spoke.
“It sounds like this was all a simple misunderstanding. I’m glad to know that there are such capable men protecting these fields and workers.”
“Thank you. Well, if there’s nothing else, I need to get back to my creatures. Good hunting.”
“You too,” Keltin managed to say before the Heterack turned and went back inside the barn.
Keltin stared at the closed barn door for a long moment before turning and walking away, leaving Harper to follow him through the steadily falling rain.
Chapter 9 – Hidden Fire
The autumn rains had come in earnest, and all the workers were rushing to bring in the rest of the crops. As soon as there was light until the last shred of day was done, they labored in the fields cutting, digging, picking, and piling. Already, teamsters and their wagons had begun coming up from Carvalen, delivering the produce back to the capital to either be sold in local markets or shipped via the railway across the continent to wherever the distant landowners would turn the best profit.
Keltin was also keeping busy. It seemed everyone wanted a beast hunter watching over them, and no-one was ever happy when he had to rush to the next person waiting for him. He saw little of Ross and Kuff, and even Harper had stopped traveling with him quite as frequently, as the newspaperman was keeping himself busy riding along with the teamsters up and down their route to Carvalen. More than one of the teamsters had asked Keltin if he would ride along with them for protection, but he refused them, reasoning that the workers in the field were at greater risk than the drivers and their mules on the road. Besides, he was busy enough running from one farm to another, sometimes in pursuit of real beasts, though most of the time he ended up cha
sing shadows to reassure the nerves of men worn thin by long hours of labor in the rain.
It was with real relief that he finally returned to the Lona farm in the middle of a particularly wet day, free of any desperate missives begging for his attention. He looked forward to a well-deserved rest in the upstairs bedroom that had been allotted to him and a hot meal or two prepared by Wendi. He gratefully opened the front door and stepped into the mudroom, shedding his jacket and hat before sitting on a bench to remove his sodden boots. As he began to untie the soaked laces, he heard a sudden thumping from upstairs. Curious, Keltin stepped out into the entryway and called up the stairs.
“Hello? Is everything all right up there?”
There was another violent thumping, and Keltin rushed upstairs, not sure what he would find when he got there. He began throwing open bedroom doors and soon found Ross laid up in bed with a nearby chair that he had clearly been slamming on the wooden floor to get someone’s attention. The hunter looked up at him with feeble, watery eyes that spoke of the advanced stages of a nasty cold.
“Moore!” he croaked, obviously causing himself great pain in forcing words through his aching throat. “Thank God in Heaven it’s you.”
“You don’t look very good, Ross. I think you’ve spent too much time out in the rain. Maybe Wendi could make you some hot soup.”
Ross winced, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head violently.
“Wendi’s gone,” he whispered.
“Gone? What do you mean gone?”
Ross’ eyes snapped open and he snarled at Keltin like a strangled frog.
“I mean she’s gone! The blasted fool girl. I got a message from Charrow farm. A worker was killed by a beast, and the boil’s still in the area. They desperately needed someone to deal with it. I was going to, but I’m sick as a slug. I told Wendi we’d have to wait for you to come back, but the girl didn’t listen. She waited until I went to sleep, then slipped out and took Kuff with her.”
The fatigue of the road immediately disappeared from Keltin’s body. He hurried to Ross’ side.
“How long ago did she leave? Did she take anything with her?”
“We got the message yesterday. She was gone when I woke up this morning. Left a note. I think she also took my scattergun.”
“All right. I’ll be back.”
Keltin turned and raced back to the stairs, descending the first third before vaulting over the bannister to land heavily in the entryway and rush back into the mudroom. He was dressed again and outside hurrying to the Charrow farm in less than a minute.
What was Wendi thinking? Keltin knew that Ross had taught her some of the commands for Kuff, but did she really imagine that that made her a beast hunter? No, she was too intelligent for that. So why had she gone? Keltin shook his head, sending raindrops flying from the brim of his hat. Wendi had a good heart. With Ross unable to go and no idea when Keltin would come back, she’d done what she thought was best. Despite her fears, she was doing what she felt she could to potentially save lives. The more Keltin thought about it, the more certain he was of her intentions. More than that, he realized that he wasn’t angry with her, only worried. He’d seen too many others pay the ultimate price with equally good intentions. Beasts had no regard for nobility and courage in the face of inexperience.
Charrow farm bordered Lona farm to the north and east. Keltin cut across a recently harvested field without bothering to search the ground for any sign of Wendi and Kuff’s passing. The rain had ruined any chance he might have had at tracking them, leaving him no choice but to get to Charrow farm as quickly as possible and pray that he could find them before something tragic happened. As soon as he reached the farm he searched about for anyone that he could question. He found a group of workers, looking wet and miserable as they tried to eat their lunch under the poor cover of a wagon partially loaded with gourds. Keltin rushed up to them and shouted over the shushing of rain.
“Did you see a girl go by with a tamarrin hound?”
He was met by a chorus of blank looks. He tried a different question.
“Was there a beast attack here recently?”
One of the men crouched behind a wagon wheel snorted. “Aye there was, no thanks to you.”
“What sort of beast was it? Where did it happen?”
“A little late to show such a fiery interest, ain’t it? Tosh is dead already.”
Keltin went straight to the man. Crouching down, he caught hold of his shirt, yanked him out from under cover, and propped him up against the side of the wagon. The man stared at him in open-mouth shock as Keltin leaned in close, letting the rain drip from the front brim of his hat onto the man’s face.
“I have no time for your smart mouth,” Keltin said in a low voice. “There’s a brave girl out there with more grit than a little sopmouth like you will ever have. She’s trying to hunt down the beast on her own, and I’ve got to find her before she gets herself killed. Now tell me everything you know about the beast attack or so help me I’ll crack your skull open like one of these gourds.”
The man’s eyes went wide and he swallowed like his tongue had suddenly gotten too big for his mouth. Another worker appeared at Keltin’s side.
“The beast attacked just on the eastern edge of the potato field,” he said. “I don’t know what sort of beast you’d call it, but it looked like something out of a nightmare. No arms, no legs, no head even. Bullets just bounced off it, and we couldn’t even get it off of Tosh as it ate him.”
Keltin’s blood went cold. An armored leech. A formless, heavily-shelled lump the size of a man with a mouth hidden on its underbelly full of fine teeth and a poison that would kill with a single scratch. Keltin dropped the worker he was holding down into the mud, gave the helpful fellow a quick nod, and set off to the east.
The potato field had already been harvested, its good, rich earth broken by the shovels and rakes of the workers and then churned into a thick muck by the rain. Keltin was forced to go the long way around the field lest he run the risk of becoming stuck fast in the deep mud. He watched his step to avoid slipping and falling into the muck even as he tried to remember everything he could about the armored leech and plan just how he would kill it.
The beast’s outer shell was far too thick for a conventional round. A Reltac Spinner would penetrate it, but would it have enough power left to do any real damage after breaking through? Explosive shot like the Capshire Shatter rounds might break it open, but again, would it cause any damage? A Haurizer Smasher wouldn’t break through the shell, but might be enough to stun the beast. Then again, it might not.
No, the answer wouldn’t come from any of his specialty ammunition. The beast simply had no weak points that were accessible while it was flat on the ground. He’d have to get more aggressive. Get in close. The Ripper’s blade and spikes would be just as useless as bullets, but the sturdy hook on its side could be used to catch underneath its edge. If he could flip the beast, he could use the hand cannon at his hip to finish it with a point-blank shot to its exposed underbelly. With his best plan in mind, he swung his rifle over his shoulder and pulled the oversized revolver from its holster, filling all five chambers with Capshire Shatter rounds before clicking it back into place. He then pulled the Ripper off of his other shoulder to hold it ready in front of him just as he reached the eastern edge of the field.
Stepping among the trees, he finally forced himself to slow his furious pace. He imagined he could feel the rain turning to steam on his shoulders and back as he stood gasping for breath. Gulping and swallowing air, Keltin forced his thundering heart to slow down to allow him to better hear his surroundings. He strained his ears, but all he could hear was the overwhelming, surrounding noise of falling water splattering on every surface around him. He continued to try to steady himself as he began to stalk slowly forward, listening all the time and offering a silent prayer that he would find Wendi before the beast did.
An hour passed slowly, feeling like an eternity of fruitl
ess searching. Keltin resisted the urge to call out for the girl, focusing instead on listening and searching for any clue of her passing. At last, he heard something. Perhaps a human cry, perhaps the yelp of a hound. Whatever it was, it was distant, but clear. Keltin raced towards it as a second sound came from the same direction, followed by a third. Now he could distinguish between high-pitched barks and a female voice, though he was still too distant to make out what was being said. When he heard the sharp report of a gunshot he gave up all pretense of caution and sprinted through the forest, leaping over low bushes and crashing through larger ones, desperate to reach the chaotic noises ahead of him.
Suddenly he burst through thick, damp foliage and was confronted by a violent scene. Kuff was there, leaping and snarling as he darted forward to savage a large, dark lump that quivered and flexed on the forest floor. The leech flinched each time the hound attacked, his long canines sliding harmlessly over the hard outer carapace. Wendi stood nearby, screaming a single command over and over while clutching Ross’ scattergun to her shoulder.
“Al-hah Kuff!” she cried. “Al-hah!”
But the hound was too infuriated and confused by the strange beast. He continued to feint and retreat, trying to find some weakness while only narrowly avoiding a fatal bite with each failed attack. Keltin turned his attention from the hound and beast to the girl still screaming nearby.
“Wendi!”
She turned, her expression rapidly shifting from shock to relief mixed with desperation.
“Mr. Moore! I can’t stop him!”
“Keep trying! I’m going to flip the beast on its back. Keep Kuff away from its mouth. It’s deadly poisonous!”
“I’ll try!”
Keltin rushed forward, the Ripper held out in front of him. Kuff darted in front of him, racing right over the armored leech, causing it to turn slightly in the hound’s direction. Keltin swung the Ripper in a low arc and caught the edge of the beast’s shell with the sturdy hook. He heaved on it, but the beast spasmed suddenly, driving the haft of the weapon painfully into Keltin’s side. Keltin gasped but held on, struggling with the weapon like a fisherman using a gaff hook to pull a wounded shark into a boat. The beast continued to thrash as Keltin struggled to pull it up and over, unable to get the leverage he needed as he continued to dance away from the beast’s deadly underside.
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