Heart of a Huntsman

by Liam Reese

  Once the sound of booted feet on stone reached her ears, however, she froze, watching three of Tiernon’s guards pass her by. She clamped her mouth tightly shut, holding in the scream that fought to explode from her chest. Thoran had been forced to watch the vile beasts as they murdered and slaughtered at Tiernon’s command. More living armor than creature, his guards injected more fright into her than the king himself.

  Two of them dragged a man between them, his arms caught in their vice-strong grip. His eyes bulged horribly from his face and his rictus of pure fright cut Thoran deeply.

  He is about to die and I am fawning over baubles?

  “Help!” the captive screamed when he caught sight of her. “Oh please help me! I have children...please!”

  The guards ignored his cries, dragging his yelling body deeper into the palace, but they haunted Thoran as she made her way back to Sharova in tears.

  Zaynorth looked at the man Tiernon had casually left behind when he had disappeared after felling Besmir. Wearing some kind of uniform, creased and dirty from being dragged through the muddy camp, the mage assumed him to be someone important to Tiernon. Once, at least.

  “Who are you?” he asked bluntly.

  “I am...was General Marthius,” he said, not bothering to look up from his kneeling position.

  Norvasil and Herofic stood close by, ready to hammer the life from the man at the first sign of danger. “Leader of Tiernon’s armies.”

  His lack of the use of the king’s title was not lost on Zaynorth, and he wondered if he could be an asset to them, information if nothing else.

  “It would appear you no longer hold Tiernon’s appreciation,” Zaynorth observed dryly. “Why did he leave you here?”

  “Madness, sir,” Marthius said with a note of utter despair. “He has emptied the palace with his vile experiments and now only ice-cold fiends from some hell roam the halls.”

  Zaynorth frowned, wondering if this was some kind of trap.

  “Why did you continue to serve him, then?” Herofic grunted from behind.

  “H-He has my family,” Marthius said, breaking down. “My wife and daughters. Oh gods, please let them be safe. Little Jeron is but a year old.”

  Zaynorth looked at Keluse, whose eyes had gone round and wide. Ranyor moved over and rested his hand on her back. She turned and buried her face in his shoulder as Marthius blabbered on.

  “His schemes are madness! He means to breed people as slaves for his army and navy. Humans!” Marthius wrung his hands as if trying to cleanse them. “And the things that he has surrounded himself with...his guards are...are just wrong.”

  “What did you hope to achieve by coming here?”

  “Achieve?” Marthius asked in surprise. “Not getting murdered was fairly high on my list. Not having my heart cut out and fed to something that has no business on this world!”

  “Why did he bring you here?” Zaynorth asked for clarification.

  “Tiernon said something about killing Besmir,” the general told them. “He said he would make an example of the impostor and anyone who stood with him.” Marthius looked around at them all with wide eyes. “I got the impression he thought Besmir was really who he claims to be when he saw him.”

  Zaynorth grunted, saying nothing, stroking his beard.

  “Who spies on us for him?” The old man asked eventually.

  “There are none,” Marthius lied.

  Zaynorth sighed and stared at the kneeling man, his eyes narrowing to slits as he spoke again.

  “Tell me the names of those who spy for Tiernon or I shall be forced to have this antila bite you. Their venom is deadly but has the impressive side effect of making it impossible to lie. That is until the victim begins to dissolve inside.”

  General Marthius paled and shook as he looked at the fanged beast only he was able to see. Zaynorth’s illusion was so powerful in his mind he could even catch the musty scent the creature gave off. The antila hissed and lunged at Marthius who jerked back in fear.

  “Grinhol,” Marthius said, his eyes flicking from Zaynorth to the image the old man put in his mind. “Serenius, Ferendi, Arteera, Wolach…”

  “Sorry, who?” Zaynorth asked.

  “Wolach,” Marthius repeated. “A carpenter we…”

  “No, before him,”

  “Arteera?” Marthius asked. “We took her sister…”

  Arteera passed through, fetching a bucket of clean water to wash Besmir as he lay in silence behind a curtained-off section. Oblivious to their conversation, she only paid any attention when the kneeling man mentioned her name..

  Marthius tried to get to his feet, but Herofic slammed the flat of his hand down onto the general’s shoulder, knocking him to the floor. Norvasil leaped across the tent with an acrobatic grace his massive frame should not have been capable of and grabbed Arteera by the throat.

  Keluse pulled the curtain aside, revealing Besmir’s body, unharmed and asleep, well-tended and cared for, lying on his bed. She lay fingers on his throat, feeling the pulse beat slowly and steadily, and sighed a breath of relief.

  “What treachery is this?” Norvasil demanded, shaking Arteera by the throat.

  Keluse watched as she made a horrible strangling sound, her head lolling.

  “She was our spy!” Marthius shouted. “Our spy and assassin if Tiernon wanted Besmir dead.”

  Tears rolled down Arteera’s face, and guilt punched a hard fist into Keluse’s stomach when she thought of all the times she had left him in the Lutheran's care. Nausea rolled through her and she crouched, falling forward and retching.

  “I could not!” Arteera cried. “Even though Tiernon has my sister, I fell for Besmir...I love him!”

  Zaynorth gaped at them, comprehension coming to him slowly.

  “Get her out,” he muttered to Norvasil.

  “No!” Arteera screamed. “No! Where is my sister? What have you done to her?”

  “Where is her sister?” Zaynorth asked once the girl’s screams had faded.

  “I...I do not know,” Marthius admitted. “Some were sent to begin breeding. My wife...” He trailed off into a choking sob. “I cannot stand the idea of her being somewhere like that!”

  “Where?” Zaynorth growled through his disgust.

  Marthius shrugged, defeated.

  “Only the king and his disgusting minions know for sure,” he said. “Someone entered the palace and freed some of Tiernon’s favorites, so he kept the place hidden.” Marthius sniveled. “What are you going to do with me?” he asked.

  “I am going to hack off your head once you have spilled your guts,” Herofic grunted.

  “No,” Besmir said from behind, making them all jump. “I refuse to become like my uncle.”

  19

  “Besmir?” Zaynorth cried as they all spun to stare at him.

  “What was my father’s name?” Besmir asked.

  “Pardon?”

  “My father, what was his full name?”

  “Derenir,” Zaynorth said. “He was called Derenir Joranas Fringor.”

  Besmir’s head fell forward, and he stared at the floor at his feet.

  “How do you feel?” Keluse asked with sheer delight in her voice.

  “What happened?” Zaynorth wondered.

  Besmir stood, his body feeling weak after being laid low for so long, and looked at each of his friends in turn, his face a mask of guilt and depression.

  “I met my father,” he said quietly. “In hell.”

  Besmir stepped from the tent, picking his way through the town, people pointing and whispering as he passed. Some reached for him as he walked, fingers trailing over his arm as if to make sure he was real. The king ignored them all, pushing his way through to walk over to the edge of the lake and stare out over its glassy surface. A fish rippled the surface of the water, its dark shape sleek and smooth. For an instant Besmir wanted nothing more than to drive his mind into the trout, losing himself in the depths of the lake and leaving this painful existence behind
.

  “Besmir?” Keluse said from behind him, her voice a gentle inquiry.

  He turned, looking down at her concerned face, and felt a slight smile twist his lips.

  “Keluse,” he said, grateful for her presence. “It’s time I taught you how to survive in hell. Just in case you ever end up there.”

  She reached out, taking his hand in both of hers, and listened as he told her what had happened in the other dimension. Zaynorth, Herofic and Norvasil listened from nearby, leaving Ranyor to watch Marthius.

  “It felt like I was there for years,” he said. “And Joranas said he had been there for centuries.” He looked about. “But this all looks similar to how I remember. How long was I gone?”

  “About a month,” Keluse said.

  Besmir shook his head in disbelief.

  “Maybe it was all some kind of dream,” he said, not even convincing himself. “My mind conjuring it all up while I lay there?”

  “If that were so,” Zaynorth said gently, “how would you know his name?”

  Besmir sucked in a deep breath, the moist air from the lake fresh and clean. The ache in his chest was so intense, he thought it might break him.

  “I never bothered to even ask,” he said shakily. “Never wondered what his name was. What kind of son am I?”

  “One who never knew his parents,” Zaynorth said gently. “Your mother was named Rhianne,” he said. “Beautiful and strong. Their love was stronger than any I have ever heard or read about.” The mage held his arm up and a couple appeared before Besmir.

  Close and real enough to touch, the pair smiled at Besmir, the loving smile of proud parents. Besmir stepped forward, reached out, and passed a hand through the image Zaynorth had conjured in his mind. Rhianne’s face blurred slightly with the passage of her son’s hand but was restored as soon as he had let it drop.

  She was slender, tall for a woman, with lighter hair than most Gazluthians, waving gently in the breeze. She boasted flawless skin with just a light dusting of freckles over her small nose and a smile that could melt the coldest of hearts.

  She would have made a great queen.

  Joranas stood tall and proud, his raven hair cut short and neat with a matching beard, also neatly trimmed, to garnish his chin. So little of this man had remained in hell that Besmir found it difficult to believe they were the same. Yet his eyes were as familiar as Besmir’s own and exactly the same in hell.

  “Why did he end up there?” Besmir asked, his voice sounding like that of a child. “In hell?”

  “I cannot say, Besmir,” Zaynorth replied painfully. “I really cannot begin to understand it.”

  “What of my mother? What of Rhianne?”

  Zaynorth looked lost, shrugging and gesturing vaguely. Besmir shook himself to clear his head, yet the pain of discovering his father’s soul resided in hell would not leave.

  “Well, there’s nothing I can do for him now,” Besmir said in misery. “But Tiernon? He’s got a surprise coming.”

  “What?” Zaynorth asked. “What surprise?”

  Besmir grinned savagely, his teeth almost gleaming as he raised his hand and sent a gout of flame shooting into the lake water. Steam hissed from the lake, its waters boiling and churning. Zaynorth gaped in astonishment as Besmir caught a fish thrown from the water, its flesh cooking even as it flew towards them. Besmir took a bite, savoring the taste.

  “Perfectly done,” he said. “A few good meals and we can begin.”

  “Begin?” Keluse wondered. “What are we going to begin?”

  “Tiernon’s downfall,” Besmir said in a gruesome voice. “I’m going to destroy him so completely, there will be nothing but a stain on the earth to mark his presence.”

  Zaynorth stared at the man he had sought out so long ago. Part of him was scared by the changes wrought by his incarceration in the hell dimension, while another part glowed with a prideful glee that Besmir understood his powers and wanted to use them to thwart Tiernon’s plans.

  “Start preparing to pack this place up,” Besmir commanded. “We leave in two days. Make it known that any who don’t want to join us are welcome to stay behind.”

  Herofic smiled as he bowed to Besmir.

  “Your will, my King,” he said.

  Sharova looked at the little haul Thoran seemed so proud of in confusion. He knew this kind of wealth must mean something to her, as she nearly glowed with satisfaction as she looked at it. Yet to Sharova it was just bits of worthless metal. With nowhere to spend any of it, there was little point to having it. Food would be of much more use.

  Something inside him, however, something deep and secret, swelled and warmed when he saw how happy she was and made him desire to do anything in his power to see it again.

  “Excellent,” he said, watching her smile grow. “Now if we could spend it...”

  Thoran’s face fell as the realization hit her.

  “You think I am silly,” she said. “A childish, silly girl who has been seduced by some glittering coins.”

  “No,” he said gently as she folded her head forward, face crumpling.

  “My life was a misery before this,” she said sadly. “My mother, sister and I just managed to scrape by after my father died. Living in squalor and poverty with the war going on. When Tiernon came and started to burn everything, what little we did have was gone.” She took a shaky breath as the suppressed memories surfaced. “I watched my mother die,” she said, turning her haunted eyes to Sharova. “She was trying to save a child trapped in a burning building. As soon as she went in there, the roof collapsed, crushing her under burning timbers.”

  A low, wailing groan wrenched from her chest, and Sharova realized she had not had the opportunity to grieve yet. Awkwardly, he reached for her, pulling her shaking frame into his thin arms and rocking her as she wept.

  “I am sorry,” Thoran said when her crying eventually subsided.

  “There is no need,” Sharova replied, guilt smashing into him.

  He had devoted his life to serving in the navy, working his way up through the ranks until he made fleet admiral, second only to the king. For what? To cause hardship, sorrow and loss to people like Thoran? Hate for his actions and for everything Tiernon stood for burned inside him, and Thoran looked at him with a little fright.

  “What is wrong?” she asked, pulling back.

  “What is wrong is that I served the man that did this to you,” he admitted. “I was complicit in his schemes and plans to subdue the populace by force. It is I who should be sorry.”

  “I know,” she said, shocking him. “But you changed, right? You came to free us from that cage, save us from being forcefully impregnated.”

  “I was the cause of your pain, but you saved me still?”

  “Tiernon is my enemy and the cause of my pain,” Thoran said.

  “But the things I have done...”

  “Are all in the past,” Thoran said kindly. “It is what you do now that matters,”

  “I never had children,” Sharova said after a long silence. “Never wed. I was too busy directing ships and managing ports.” He sighed and rubbed his scraggly beard. “I always wanted children but the opportunity never arose.”

  Thoran listened as he spoke, her heart melting at his sincerity.

  “You have plenty of time to be a father,” she told him.

  “I believe that ship has sailed,” he said.

  Thoran stared at him, realizing he had not intended the pun, and a smile spread over her face, mirrored by his when understanding set in. They chuckled, the laughter growing between them until tears of mirth rolled down both their faces.

  “Oh, it hurts!” Thoran said, clutching her ribs. “Make it stop!”

  For some reason neither of them could understand, that was even more funny, and they both folded over in fresh gales of laughter.

  “Whatever happens to us,” Sharova said, “whatever our fate may be, I am glad to have met you, Thoran.”

  Sharova watched as a blush crept
up her neck and face, the color bringing new beauty to her as she smiled.

  “Me too, Sharova,” she said. “Now I will leave the palace and spend some of this money in Morantine, get some food.”

  “No!” he cried. “It is far too dangerous. If you were caught...”

  “I would not tell anyone where you were,” she said defensively.

  “I know,” he said quietly. “I just...do not know what I would do without your presence,” he added, looking away. “We should both go and never return.”

  “Can you walk?” she asked.

  “Slowly,” he said. “But yes. For you.”

  Thoran stared into his eyes for a moment, her expression unreadable, before she stood and helped him to his feet. Sharova felt the weight of his wasted body hammer down on him when his feet hit the floor and he grunted, falling. She caught him and their bodies pressed together, faces barely inches apart, eyes searching the other for some sign.

  “We should go,” Thoran said, her breath puffing over his face.

  Sharova nodded, but a pang of regret sliced up through his chest.

  “You’re a traitor, then?” Besmir muttered to the shackled Arteera. “A spy sent to kill me in my sleep?”

  “No!” Arteera wailed, reaching for him. “It is not like that... They wanted me to watch you, tell them what your plans were to begin with.” Her pleading tone resonated within Besmir. “They have my sister, Besmir,” she wailed. “My only family.”

  Besmir watched, her anguish and pain cutting at him too.

  “You have to believe me I could never have killed you,” Arteera fell to her knees, head bowed as she sobbed.

  Besmir’s hand reached out to stroke her silken hair, feeling as if his chest was being ripped apart.

  “Come,” he said, releasing her shackles.

  Arteera looked up at him in disbelief for a moment then climbed up into his lap and buried her face in his neck, weeping with joy and sadness. Besmir wrapped her in the cage of his arms, tangling her hair in his fist but a grim expression crossed his face and his hand dropped to where his knife lay strapped to his leg.