Demons of the Hunter

by Stephen Allan

  “But now think of how much more you have access to and what you can cause,” Artemia said.

  “I don’t know what I can access or cause,” Eric said, his voice rapidly approaching the metaphorical edge. “I think we should just keep moving. I don’t like this. If these things wake up or cause trouble—”

  “We are in no danger at the moment, Eric,” Artemia said. “Should we come under duress, we will do what we always do—we will use our skills to our advantage to defend ourselves and we will fight back. You may think of yourself as a hunter instead of a dragon hunter if that will help you.”

  “But these monsters—”

  Another growl came. Again, Eric swung his sword out, but again, he did not see any of the monsters moving.

  “You’ve killed dragons large enough to obliterate entire homes, and you’re worried about these things?”

  That’s far different, though. That’s not a fair comparison. I’ve been trained to fight dragons. I know what to expect. I do not know what is contained in these blocks of ice. I don’t even know if we would have the capability, with all the training in the world, to defeat these monsters.

  “Take some time, Eric. Examine these beings. This is not art. These creatures are real. If we see them, we know we are capable of fighting them or joining forces with them. They may yet prove useful to us. Keep that in mind.”

  You’re insane.

  Artemia never turned to face Eric as she spoke. When she finished, seeing nothing more he could do, Eric turned his gaze toward where Artemia had. The… creature was unlike anything he’d seen, which was saying something for that cave.

  It looked like a bird with the tail of a dragon. But unlike the other bird, whose multi-colored display was confined to its chest, this beast had a rainbow of colors across its entire body, spanning red, blue, yellow, green, black, white, and purple, as best Eric could tell. It also sported six limbs with claws instead of two, and its head looked… it looked like it was wearing a soldier’s helmet, even though such a sight had to be impossible. Eric tried to see if the apparent helmet was loosely fitting, but the monster was too high up for him to tell.

  The dragon bird looked like the perfect creation, a meld of all of the monsters up to that point.

  Eric looked further down and saw one last figure. It looked like a knight in full armor, no skin visible, with two horns on his helmet, a sword which looked more like a scythe, and a horse whose limbs and face were guarded by unblemished iron armor. The knight was in a position to do battle, as if just before being frozen, he was prepared to enter the apocalyptic battle of his life. He made the guards of the empire look like novice teenagers.

  He was not a soldier that Eric could so easily kill. Even with his skills, the sheer size and presumed power of the knight would’ve made it impossible for Eric to spar with the knight—to say nothing of what looked like his horse right behind it. Take away the horse, and the knight would still have every advantage. Take away the scythe sword, and maybe—maybe—Eric would stand a chance.

  Whatever these things were, it was becoming rapidly clear to Eric that he and Artemia—and the rest of humanity—were never meant to come to this place. For as much danger as they had to cross just to get here from Dabira, it should have served as a warning sign not to come here. All of the dragons, all of the behemoths, all of the ice and snow and dangerous terrain, the avalanche, the magically-powered dragons—did Artemia not think it meant anything? How did Eric not think it might have served as a warning to humans?

  Ragnor had not done any damage to Hydor, but human greed might just do them in.

  Granted, so far, none of the monsters had awoken. Maybe they wouldn’t awaken. Maybe, in fact, they were elaborately designed statues, designed to scare anyone who dared to approach the cavern and think of entering. If that were the case, then they could have been made by humans, and this would seem more probable, and the danger would all be in Eric’s head.

  But maybe, then, these were real monsters, and they would not just kill Eric and Artemia, but go on a rampage against the rest of humanity. Hydor would become a world of survival of the fittest unique monsters.

  Maybe the magi in Dabira would know. They lived closest to here and had known about Ragnor’s location for far longer. Maybe their mythology wasn’t so mythical. Maybe it contained facets of information that they could use to better understand what was going on here. It was one of the cultures Eric did not understand well, thanks to the empire’s insistence of eradicating their existing and their history as much as possible.

  “This is just incredible,” Artemia said. “If I could use these beings to my aide…”

  She’s becoming unhinged, Eric thought. She’s losing her grip on the reality of the situation. She truly is becoming insane.

  He noticed her rubbing the crystal by her neck. What was she building toward? The downfall of the emperor seemed all but obvious. But what more did she want? To conquer the world? What would she do here that she wasn’t doing already? Was she willing to die to see her goals come true? Because that seemed a necessity if they awoke what lay in here.

  Whatever it was, it left Eric feeling incredibly uneasy.

  Finally, Artemia let out a wistful sigh—it was incredible to note it carried any emotion—and walked toward Eric.

  “Let’s go further down,” she said. “Our prize is waiting for us in the depth of these caverns. I would hate for us to have to wait any longer. I will have my power. And you, Eric, will have your revenge.”

  Eric nodded, but he began to feel less and less certain about the validity of his mission.

  He turned and took one step when he felt a cold drop on his nose.

  He paused, shook his head, and looked up.

  There, where the knight on the horse was frozen, a slow, steady drop of water fell from the ceiling. The ice ceiling.

  “Let’s go, now,” Eric said.

  The drops of water elsewhere in the room soon echoed. Eric shuddered to think of what the monsters would do if they came out—would they stay here? Attack Hydor? What had they done? What hell had they unleashed?

  But right now, Eric didn’t want to worry about that. If Ragnor was the source of their problems, then perhaps by killing him, it would destroy the minds of all these other beasts as well.

  The uniqueness of each individual monster Eric saw vanished in favor of a more standard, uniform appearance. Past the doors that escaped from that opening room, a small set of stairs took him down a long hallway. The stairs, made of granite, looked cracked, ice filling the crevices of the cracks. Had Eric not encountered such supernatural elements at the entrance, he would not have thought of this as anything other than an old temple.

  The stairs also had significant amounts of dust upon them. How much time had passed since someone had stepped upon them? Centuries? Millenia? Eric didn’t want to comprehend the answer, nor any of the other ones that came to him. The further back things went, the fewer people would have answers, and the fewer answers he had, the more dangerous possibilities there were. Stop thinking. Start moving.

  Above them, ice continued to comprise the ceiling and the walls. He and Artemia did not have any torches, but a mysterious red glow pervaded the place, providing just enough light to continue. It didn’t take a hunter to recognize some form of magic illuminated the way for them.

  We should not be here. But, I suppose, we shouldn’t have defeated Indica.

  Still, we finish the job and we run before darkness consumes us. Get my revenge.

  They continued down the long hallway, Eric’s sword in his right hand, his grip tight, his guard up. The ice in this room did not melt, which only further cemented Eric’s fear that the monsters in the first room were awakening.

  “I doubt we will run into anything here, Eric,” Artemia said. “You would be unwise to waste your energy in the face of enemies that have not made themselves known.”

  Eric could scarcely believe what he was hearing. Did Artemia not see what he had see
n? She did know that even if everything in there were statues—a naive hope at best—there were hundreds of dragons circling above the resting spot of Ragnor, right? To say nothing of the avalanche trapping us here.

  “I always want to be prepared,” Eric said, annoyance starting to creep into his voice. “I’m not going to get caught off guard by some monsters if I can help it.”

  Artemia said nothing to him, and they continued down the hallway. Eric’s boots stepped on some mixture of granite, ice, and snow, producing an odd mix of a crunch and a crack. He did not see any monsters in this new hallway, but that hardly gave him any measure of comfort. It didn’t help that the groans of monsters and beasts echoed in his mind. It was impossible to tell where it originated from—his head or from the temple around him.

  At the end of the hallway, they came to yet another door. This wooden door, approximately fifteen feet high, had an insignia on it of a single dragon. Eric recognized it immediately—it was Indica, or at least Indica in better times.

  Artemia pushed open the door. It groaned as she pushed against it. It did not budge at first, years upon years of buildup, rust, and inertia resisting. Slowly, though, with Eric coming to her aide, the door began to swing open. It never moved faster than a few inches at a time, and they only got it halfway once more before it slammed into something hard, producing an echo that put Eric on guard.

  An overwhelmingly ominous feeling filled Eric. He gazed up at the door and swore that the insignia of Indica had changed. The dragon on the door now looked less filled, similar to the way he and the rest of the crew had discovered Indica—nearly all bones, ice, and tendons, with practically no skin to fill it. It was as if opening the door had brought it to life and made it reflect Indica’s last living state. Did that mean the temple itself was a living organism?

  He thought of asking Artemia to take note, but he decided he could no longer trust her to observe things in a normal light. She had become too enamored with the surroundings to take note. He found that terribly ironic, considering how when they’d first left Dabira, she had deliberately moved to help him reach a more even-keeled state.

  Beyond the door, a spiral staircase went down. The ice was still thick, and the lighting was not as strong as it had been above. Eric could see it already—the further down they went, the more ice there would be, and the less light there would be, and therefore the more danger they would find themselves in. Who knew what monsters awaited them on the floors below, to say nothing of Ragnor?

  Who knew of what danger Artemia might pose to him?

  “Let’s not waste any more time,” she said. “Take point. I’ll watch our backs.”

  Well that’s convenient.

  But seeing no way out of it—and still, on a rather impossible-to-satiate level, desiring a shot at Ragnor—Eric took the head and descended the stairs.

  He never felt in danger of slipping, which was just as well since whoever had designed this ice temple had not provided a hand rail for him to descend. He looked out into the sea of ice and saw very little. Down and down the spiral staircase they went, with no sign of it abetting or any levels they would stop at. Eric felt like he had gone the equivalent of six stories in the old guild headquarters, and still nothing appeared. The light had begun to intensify in its red hue significantly enough that Eric questioned if he could fight effectively, especially if the enemy had dark sin or fur. More growls came, and still Eric could not figure out where it came from. The one thing he could figure out, though, was that the further down he went, the deeper and louder the growls got.

  But then, finally, after another flight, he came to a door.

  “I can’t see anything,” Eric said.

  A glow came from Artemia’s neck. The crystal. Is her power stronger here?

  “Now you can,” she said.

  Unlike the door above him, this door was completely unadorned, save for the brown wood and silver handle to open it. Eric looked to Artemia, who gave an encouraging nod, and he pushed against the door.

  Once more, it did not give easily. It creaked as if resisting the very act of them opening the door itself. Eventually, it budged, and the budge turned into a gradual opening which turned into a complete opening. This, thankfully, did not lead to another spiral staircase.

  Instead, it opened to what looked like a great hall, with a dark carpet running down the middle, much like a great palace might lead to a throne. Eric followed the carpet as far as he could and saw a throne on the distance.

  With a figure resting on it.

  He gulped. His grip on his sword tightened, and he flexed and shook his arm in preparation for fighting.

  Along the carpet, statues of large soldiers—similar to the one riding the horse above, though without the horns on the helmet and with more traditional swords instead of curved ones—stood, their hands on the handle, their swords thrusted downward into the platform on which they rested. They looked across at each other, their eyes blocked by the helmets that they wore.

  Is this an actual castle? Was this once the home of some kingdom? And now it’s frozen over?

  What in the name of Hydor?

  “I’m going to take it you don’t know anything about this either,” Eric said, not taking his eyes off of what laid ahead.

  “That, I do not,” Artemia said. “Same thing as before, however. We should note what we see and consider it for future events. A hallway this well hidden, this well protected might yet prove of significant value.”

  “For what?”

  “Why do I need to know the answer to the question now? I simply am noting the value of a hidden palace.”

  Hidden because all of Hydor’s nature wants to make sure no one comes near it. Or because it’s so dangerous it’s not worth it for man to know about it.

  Still, Eric had to agree with her. They didn’t need to know all the answers. Just that they were safe and could fight. Even if the burden of three weeks of walking had long caught up to them.

  Thoughts began running through Eric’s head. Wanting a clear answer, and with less fearful beasts present in the room, he began to form a hypothesis of what he saw. A great empire or kingdom had once inhabited this land and found a way to tame the monsters of the world.

  But then something terrible had struck this portion of the world, and rather than fight, the citizens of this empire or kingdom had decided to seal themselves off from the rest of the world and included Ragnor in their plans. If magi existed who could cast strong ice spells, was it so inconceivable to believe?

  Eric had no proof, of course. He had conjectures. He had ideas. But he was not a historian or a scholar or anyone of any level of intelligence. He simply was good at hunting dragons. History and its writers had never appealed to him, especially in the form of books. It was far likelier that something else had happened, and that someone who actually studied history and all of its truths would know what had happened here.

  But in the form of seeing it with his own eyes? Especially history no one else had probably seen before this day?

  That got Eric’s mind racing, his curiosity at an insatiable level.

  He went up to the first statue and admired it in further detail. He looked at the boots, the kind that looked indestructible with nary a scratch or blemish. He touched them, but not without nervously moving his hand toward it, as if touching it might waken the knight from a deep slumber.

  He barely touched it and instinctively pulled his hand back. Not surprisingly, it was cold and chilled to the touch.

  He looked up and did not see anything unusual about the knight, other than the unusual aspects that he had already noted—its sword’s shape, its overall size, and the number of similar looking knights in the room.

  He touched it once more. The ice had no condensation on it, no wetness—it was perfectly formed. He tried to pat it, then took his sword and hit it gently. Not only did it not break, it did not even splinter at all.

  That’s impossible. It should at least produce some ice shavings.


  Eric had a feeling that it wasn’t just ice that was encasing these knights, but something more. Perhaps the simple sands of time had fortified the men? Or maybe there was something more?

  He couldn’t say, and it didn’t much matter as long as the status quo remained in place.

  Another growl came, this one the loudest and deepest yet. Eric again looked around, but again he did not yet see anything that could’ve produced the noise. Nothing had changed. But he did become more certain he wasn’t imagining these sounds of anger from within the temple or castle.

  With Artemia taking her time to look at each knight individually—a rather foolish exercise, Eric thought, given that they all looked the same—he moved toward the throne.

  The throne required two steps up. Eric looked past the throne and saw a massive door on the far side, this one sporting some sort of insignia that he did not recognize. It featured Ragnor, but it also featured what looked like an impressively epic battle. Humans stood at the base, their arrows and swords pointed toward Ragnor and a whole slew of monsters, many of them the ones that were a floor above.

  The demon with the brown skin and semi-circular horns. The woman with the loose robes. The birds.

  Eric tried not to dwell too much on the implications of such a painting and looked around the rest of the hallway. Light still beamed in from above, albeit cut off on a narrow sliver where the granite floor above them made it impossible for light to reach them. He looked to the left and right and saw what he thought were walls, stained-glass windows even, but the ice was far too thick for Eric to tell.

  Finally, at the step, he turned his attention in full to the figure on the stand.

  It was a faceless, human-shaped ice sculpture. It had a sword resting across its lap and a crown, also made of ice, on its head. But the faceless part left Eric feeling perturbed. There was only a hollow ice block in the shape of a human head where eyes, a mouth, and an expression should be.

  “Such magnificence,” Artemia said.

  Eric ignored her. She was well past the point of saying anything useful.

  He walked up the step and heard a crack.