Chapter Fifteen

From a completed epic fantasy novel told across two time periods.

Veabella

The dozen olive trees provided the best coverage they had found after a day of searching. Combined with the scattered hills on the sides, it was a less than ideal location for spotting a quarry without being seen first, but Veabella was confident that they would remain undetected long enough to surprise their target.

She sat on a thick branch in the tallest tree, two man heights above the ground. The dryness of the past year thinned the leaves so that she could easily see for a great distance. Hidden in the grass were Simon’s spring traps. Their spiked edges had been dusted with dirt to prevent any glare. The sun was high in the sky, and they would need the light. The contract said the beast was the size of a pony, and that it moved like a blur. She put the viewing glass up to her eye again and scanned the horizon. Still nothing. Then, a figure on the crest of a hill. A human, albeit a small one. Running. Also, screaming. Twig.

“The rascal’s found it,” Donnes said, somehow commenting from the ground before Veabella had a chance to open her mouth. She can’t even see anything from down there…

“From the southwest,” Veabella said. “And he’s in a hurry.”

The four hunters on the ground moved to position themselves behind trees, disappearing from sight without a word between them. Veabella could no longer see any sign of them, but she could hear the cranking of crossbows being readied, then the placement of bolts. They were now arranged in a semi-circle, with Veabella in a tree that stood in the center. They waited in the relative silence of the grasslands. A silence broken only by Twig’s hollering.

“Oh, shit! Oh shit, oh shit!” he yelled between breaths. He reached the hill and collapsed onto the sharp grass. “They weren’t exaggerating. That thing is quick.”

Meffas poked his head out from behind a tree. “Then how are you still alive?”

Veabella could hear Xopher groan and then Donnes laugh. “You had to ask.”

“It’s eating,” Twig said, regaining his wind. “It took the bait, no problem. The trail will lead right up here.” He rummaged through a small pack at his hip, pulled out a reddish-brown chunk of meat. “I’ll set this right by my dear friend, Donnes.”

“It’ll be the last thing you ever do,” she growled.

The little man considered that, then took the wiser course of action and placed the meat by his feet.

Veabella looked back through the viewing glass. There was nothing on the horizon. She turned about in a full circle, but there remained nothing of note. Below her, Twig had moved to hide behind Donnes. The crew waited, the only sound a slight rustling of leaves in a gentle breeze.

She looked over to see Xopher unstopper a glass vial and drink the light green liquid within. Veabella reached down to the pack at her hip and untied it. She pulled out a glass vial of her own and removed the cork.

I hope I do not need this, but better to be safe.

She recoiled slightly at the taste. Bitter, the flavor an approximation of grass and dirt, she wished she had her canteen with her as well to cleanse her mouth. A few moments later, she felt the effects of the tonic, as a bolt of energy rushed through her body, and time slowed down perceptibly.

“You were dropping bait as you ran up here, yes?” Xopher asked Twig. “Not your stupid playing cards?”

“I would never drop those,” Twig replied. “They’re too valuable.”

Veabella could not see the others, but she had no difficulty imagining their expressions.

“Shut up, both of you,” Meffas growled. “If you have tonics, pop them. Let’s not get cute here.”

Someone made a retching sound, and then there was silence. Veabella could hear her heart beating, and felt as though she could feel every change of direction in the breeze. The new tonics they had purchased had been promised to increase adrenaline as well as focus. It was clear that at least the latter was true.

They waited for an indeterminable amount of time, the sun only slightly shifting its position as Veabella continued scanning the area. Then, from the same direction that Twig had appeared, a new figure was out in the distance. As soon as she saw it, it was closing. Much quicker than Twig.

“I see it!” she said, louder than needed. “It’s three hundred paces away.” Three heartbeats passed. “Two hundred.”

She put the viewing glass in her pants pocket, pulled her bow off her back. She nocked an arrow and trailed the beast. It had slowed down some, as if it sensed that something was amiss. The description of its size had been accurate. It stood on four muscular legs, the paws at the ends of those legs eggshell-colored claws at least three inches long. Its body appeared slick, covered in an eerie mixture of brown and dark green felt-like fur. Two large, golden eyes sat in the reaches of its dark face. But the feature that captivated Veabella’s attention was its jaws. They seemed to encompass three fifths of the creature’s head. The teeth were only slightly smaller than its claws. They were stained red. The beast had halted and was sniffing the air.

It should not be able to smell us. They had taken precautions against detection. Their clothes, and their bodies, had been covered with dirt and grass, and they had chosen a spot where any wind would be deflected by the hills. All the beast should be able to smell was the venison in the traps. Still, its apprehension was clear.

What was never stated in the contracts was the animal’s intelligence. A difficult attribute to define, for sure. Veabella also suspected most people did not consider that different species, and even individuals within a species, could have greatly varying intellect. It would have been nice to be able to anticipate a target’s ability to problem solve and react to different situations. The animal before her struck her as particularly keen. It seems too easy, doesn’t it?

They still had more tricks though. From the cover of one of the olive trees, a faintly perceptible rustling sound flitted to Veabella’s ears. It was followed by another, sharper sound. A kind of scratchy cry. The beast’s head turned. Before Veabella could react, the animal was behind the tree where the sound had emanated.

Damn! She shifted in the tree, dismay and embarrassment flooding over her. But there was not any time for self-pity or reflection. A crashing sound was followed immediately by loud slashing. She saw Xopher rush forward to where the animal and Ictorian were entangled, still out of her view. Xopher had his two-handed sword drawn and held at his side. Ictorian stepped back out of the coverage of the tree. One of the beast’s claws was stuck in his shield. It was another of the crew’s dirty tricks- shields made of wood that was softened by oil. The process made the object giving enough to be punctured, but strong enough to hold onto whatever broke the surface.

Ictorian’s strength was being tested. He sheltered himself behind his shield, as Xopher lunged forward and cut a sweeping arc with his two-handed sword. The blade bit into the animal’s shoulder. It yelped, an awful sound that made Veabella want to cover her ears. But she already felt as though she had botched her role in the engagement, so she instead loosed an arrow. It struck the animal in its rib cage. The other members of the crew emerged into her vision as well. However, their efforts were in vain. The beast dislodged itself from Ictorian’s shield and jump horizontally, away from its attackers.

It would have stood a better chance in a direct fight. Its back left paw landed in a spring-loaded trap, the mechanism closing with an appalling crunching sound. Then the crossbow bolts hit. Small flames ran up the beast’s hide, accompanied by a slight hissing sound from the poison Twig had been bragging about. The beast made to howl, but when its jaw moved, no sound emerged. Again it attempted to voice its discomfort, but was unable to, its jaw shifting position awkwardly.

Donnes approached from behind and delivered a devastating blow with her two-handed axe, severing the beast’s back right paw. It stumbled and the bulky woman lifted her weapon again and chopped, this time right through the target’s neck. Its head fell to the ground, blood spurting, then decreasing to a drip.

Veabella remained up in the olive tree. As her heart slowed to its normal rate, she was able to take in the scene on the ground. The gruesome spectacle evoked an unexpected sympathy for the dead animal. Do not forget that it killed tens of humans. Still… the fight did not seem fair. It had been a forgone conclusion in their minds that they would kill the beast. Even if Ictorian’s whistle had not attracted it, they had other means of manipulation. Then again, that was the point of her occupation, was it not? To kill a target without being killed herself?

The true significance of what she had just seen played out was the brutal effectiveness of her crew. We could have won the tournament. The thought presented itself for the first time. She had never truly considered it before. Meffas began hunting before I was born. He must know how effective we are. And he still withdrew us. Why? Veabella had picked up bits and pieces of Meffas’s history over the past two years of working for him. She knew he did not like to talk about his past, and that he had suffered great losses in his life. She had a few suspicions, but had never followed up on those. What was particularly curious to her was that she had never been told not to ask. None of her crewmates had stopped her, or even given an overt hint that there was a line of inquiry she could not pursue. Nevertheless, the silence surrounding what had happened to their leader kept her questioning at bay.

Thinking on Meffas’s act of withdrawing the crew from the tournament left her feeling isolated for the first time she could recall. She felt as though she did not know her comrades as well as she had previously believed. It was true she was the newest member of the crew. What she wanted to know most of all now was, did they not trust her in particular, or was trust something that they held onto tightly regardless of the company they kept. The thoughts flooded her mind and overtook her, the truth of that revealed as Meffas stared up at her.

“Are you alright, lass?”

“Yes. Sorry,” she said, shaking her head. The older man nodded and turned back to where the others stood, huddled over the dead body.

Veabella waited for a comment on how she had failed to react in time to the animal’s attack. The comment never came however. And that fact put her mind at ease. Even if there remained secrets that the others were still reluctant to share, they treated her with kindness. I have to be patient. Twig and Donnes looked to her then and smiled. Their infectious grins buried any doubts she had. She climbed down to meet her friends.

Xopher had bent down to touch the corpse when Twig yelped. “Don’t touch it!”

Xopher halted. “For how long?”

“That I don’t know,” Twig admitted. “We’ll have to have Donnes touch it first to be safe.”

“Ha, ha, little man,” Donnes remarked. “Maybe I’ll just pick you up and plop you down on it.”

Meffas sighed. “We have to recover the head or else this was all a waste of time. I assume the poison cannot seep through burlap.” He paused as if expecting an answer.

“Uh, I think that should be fine,” Twig said.

No one moved to discover whether Twig was correct.

“Very well,” Meffas said. “Let me get this over with.” He walked away toward the supplies that were hidden behind a pile of rocks. Twig looked at Xopher. Xopher looked back at him. Then they both raced to beat Meffas to his destination.

It turned out that the poison could not harm someone through the burlap. Twig pulled out a tiny book and rifled through its pages to find that the poisonous dust had to enter the body to deliver its effects. Meffas ordered him to reread the book on their way back to Oslidor, at which time Twig informed him that he could not reread it, as he had never read it before in the first place.

Their journey back to the city was pleasantly uneventful. Veabella enjoyed the company of her crewmates and appreciated having uninterrupted time with them. As they approached the city walls, Veabella was riding next to Ictorian, but conversing with Twig and Donnes who rode ahead of them. Meffas and Xopher brought up the rear with the supplies.

“Yes, it could have,” Twig was saying. “I have no doubt about that.”

“Whether you doubt it or not is not reassuring,” Donnes droned.

Veabella had to raise her voice to be heard over the clopping of the horse shoes on the road leading into the city. “It would be a challenge to hit one with an arrow or a bolt. One point in which everyone agrees is how remarkably fast they were. And if that was the case, then who is to say it could not outrun the cloud of poison the bolt puts out?”

She thought Twig would have to think about that for a minute. He responded quicker than she anticipated. “Then the shot would have to be in its face. I could make that.” He turned around in his saddle. “You could too, Vea. Trust me, my modified bolts would stop a demon. If they’d had them back then, there wouldn’t have been so many deaths.”

Ictorian had been silent for hours. He was typically immune to Twig’s boasting, but he was unable to maintain his indifference this time. “You are assuming the demon ever actually existed.”

Now Donnes had turned around as well. She listened quietly as Ictorian, sensing eyes on himself, relented and continued with his thought. “The demon was said to be in Vinredor and was seen only be the eyes of the Vinredorians. And who is said to have finally slain the demon? Oslian Vinredor. A man who had never so much as raised his own weapon, before, or afterwards.”

Veabella considered that. It was not a new suspicion. However, having been born and raised in Vinredor, she had at least accepted the veracity of the demon’s existence. Too many people who were still alive claimed to have seen it.

“Perhaps the demon did exist, but its description has been exaggerated over time,” she posited.

“Perhaps,” Ictorian allowed. The three younger hunters waited for him to add to that response, but the tall, serious man no longer felt the obligation to speak.

Twig did not feel similarly. “What I always wondered,” he started, “was if there was one of these, nearly four decades ago, why has there never been another one?”

Veabella looked up to Ictorian. If he felt a sense of victory from that comment, he did not show it. She had to admit, Twig’s comment poked more holes into the tale. She thought of Oslian Vinredor slaying the demon which had viciously killed hundreds of people. The image she conjured up felt hollow. Then again, the old man she had seen in parades would have been much younger at the time.

Her train of thought was ended abruptly as a group of riders rode out of the city gate. That was not unusual, but what was strange was the speed at which they were moving, riding in fact at a full gallop. Ahead of her, Twig and Donnes steered their mounts to the side of the road. The riders would reach them in a few dozen heartbeats.

Veabella and the others pulled off to the side of the road as well. As the riders grew closer, Veabella could make out uniforms. City guards. A score of them. I wonder what happened.

The guards slowed when they were but a half a hundred paces away. Then, they fanned out, forming a circle around the hunters.

The guard who remained on the road in front of them spoke. “Meffas Yolhindar. You and your entire crew must remove and put down all weapons in your possession. In the name of His Excellency, the Divine King, Oslian Vinredor, I hereby declare you under arrest for the murder of the companies and attendees of the Fifth Hunting Tournament of Oslidor.”

What? How?

“This is an obvious mistake,” Meffas said. “As you can see, we did not even attend the tournament. We were out on a hunt, as the trophy we carry can easily prove.”

“The charges are murder by poisoning,” the guard said. “You will of course be given a trial. But now you must place your weapons on the ground.”

Veabella looked over to Meffas. His eyes were narrowed. She realized then that neither she, nor any of her companions were in their full armor. Her bow was on her back, and weapons were accessible to each of them, but they had been caught completely by surprise.

Meffas stared ahead at the lead guard. “To me!” he yelled, drawing a hidden throwing knife from his vest and flinging it at the man. It struck him in the shoulder and he recoiled. Next to Meffas, Xopher and Ictorian had drawn their swords. Meffas charged forward on his horse, the others following immediately.

The guards on their other sides were slow to react. A moment later two rushed to their commander as the others withdrew their weapons and began a pursuit.

The horses burdened with their supplies were left behind. Veabella did not know where they were headed. She prayed Meffas did. In her peripheral vision, she saw Xopher knock the sword out of the hand of one guard, and then kick another away. She turned to see the man fall off his horse and two of his companions turn back to assist him. The other pursuers were under fire from Twig’s crossbow. A bolt slammed into a shield, and a flame engulfed the metal. Veabella could just make out the poison cloud. The riders pulled up in front of it, and steered their mounts away, yelping in confusion. Moments later, the crew was a hundred paces away, the guards back in the distance seemingly having given up on the chase.

The city’s guards were going to send us to the dungeons. Thank The Hero we escaped. But where can we go? We’re fugitives, though we are innocent. Aren’t we?