Heart of a Huntsman

by Liam Reese

  The possibility of finding family spurred one young girl on, and she approached Besmir timidly, tugging at his arm.

  “Is it true, M-Majesty?” she asked quietly. “Are we really free to go?”

  Besmir looked down at the virtually naked girl, barely in her teens, and nodded. He offered his arm, which she took after a few seconds of staring at it, and led her towards the tunnel leading up.

  Zaynorth watched the other women watching her and saw their faces change almost as one. Fear and resignation changed to determination and hope as they filed out silently behind Besmir.

  The hunter king made sure every one of the women was cared for, fed, watered and had somewhere to sleep before returning to his own bed.

  Arteera took him into her arms, humming and rocking him as he sobbed uncontrollably.

  26

  Besmir’s baby kicked him in the back and he woke, turning to look at Arteera in the darkness. How she was able to sleep with the child writhing and kicking inside her was a mystery. He turned her gently, curving his body around her back and laying his hand on her swollen belly. As if it knew his hand was there, the baby kicked again, a good, solid kick, and Besmir chuckled.

  “Settle down, little one,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

  The time between his ending of Tiernon and now had been filled with a mixture of sadness and joy. Sadness in the form of Keluse’s despair when she found out about Ranyor’s death. Sadness as the death toll rose and rose, people discovering friends and neighbors had died in the conflict with the demons outside the palace and sadness at having to bury the slaughtered population of Morantine. Joy came in the form of the whole ordeal simply being over. Tiernon was dead and Besmir lived as the new King of Gazluth. Numerous parties and impromptu gatherings had taken place, especially among those women Tiernon had kept as brood mothers.

  He and Arteera had been strolling through the streets, nodding to people they knew and exchanging a few words as they worked. Some cleared debris from the streets, others still carted wagons laden with the dead from the city while others had been setting up a hospital in one of the market squares.

  Arteera had stopped in the middle of the street, her eyes fixed on a woman who was wandering aimlessly among the hospital patients. Besmir turned as she bent down, frightened that she was losing the baby.

  “Help!” he shouted. “Help over here!”

  Arteera grabbed his arm as two women dashed over.

  “I am fine,” she said. “I am well. I just thought...I believed I saw my sister,” Arteera said, embarrassed.

  The two women retreated while Arteera stood again. Besmir took her into his arms.

  “I’m truly sorry she’s not here,” he said. “If we find any sign o—”

  “Arteera?” a voice screamed from outside the hospital.

  They both turned to see a woman with curly hair and wild eyes running at them. Besmir pulled Arteera behind him but she fought past him and ran from the hospital.

  “Thoran?” she shouted. “Thoran!” she screamed as the pair met at a run, wrapping their arms about each other and falling to their knees.

  Besmir approached a little cautiously, recalling the woman from the altar room where Sharova had been partially absorbed by the wall. The pair rocked and hugged and sobbed in relief as people gathered around them in support.

  “I cannot believe you are alive,” Thoran said as she wiped tears from her eyes.

  “Besmir, this is my sister, Thoran,” Arteera introduced them.

  Thoran seemed a little awestruck at meeting the new king, but Besmir assured her there was no need to bow to him.

  “Look, there really is no need for that,” he said. “You’re going to be our baby’s aunt, after all, you don’t need to keep bowing.”

  The look on Thoran’s face was priceless as she stared at Arteera.

  “You mean you…?” Arteera nodded. “And you are…?” Arteera nodded again. Thoran squealed in delight. “Oh, I cannot wait until you meet Sharo...” She trailed off, tears springing from her eyes.

  “What is it, Thoran?” Arteera asked.

  “A man,” her sister said. “A good man who saved me and many others...and suffered for it,” she whispered.

  “We can meet him when he recovers,” Besmir said offhandedly as he drained a cup of wine someone had brought him.

  “What?” Thoran demanded. “What do you mean?”

  Besmir looked at her and realized she did not know.

  “He asked me to look after you and end his pain,” Besmir said with a smirk. “So I did. I smashed him out of the wall. I’m sorry, I would have thought you were taken to the same place afterwards. I was a little busy, after all.”

  Thoran barely waited to listen to everything Besmir had to say, jumping up and racing from them back into the hospital to demand the location of the ‘stone man’. Besmir grinned at Arteera, who shook her head but smiled.

  “Fool,” she said. “How could you have forgotten that?”

  “Like I said,” Besmir replied. “I was a bit busy at the time.”

  Besmir smiled against Arteera’s neck as he drifted off to sleep with the memory in his mind.

  Keluse sat in the doorway of the modest house she had been assigned, watching people pass her by. She rubbed her chest to try and ease the ache there, but it was like a millstone around her neck, bringing constant, painful pressure.

  Nausea rolled through her as well, morning sickness to add to the mourning sickness. Keluse almost smiled at her own joke. Her eyes picked out a woman in the crowd of women bustling about outside her house. She wore a plain dress of rough wool and had poor leather sandals on her feet. Muddy legs ran up to an emaciated body, and her face bore the scars of misuse, bruised and purple. Keluse estimated her to be around fifteen years of age and, despite the wounds, quite pretty. What had brought her to Keluse’s attention, however, was the way she cooed and rocked the small bundle in her arms.

  Without even knowing she was going to do so, Keluse stood and made her way across the street to where the girl stood, humming a tune to her baby with a serene expression on her face.

  “Boy or girl?” Keluse asked, barely recognizing her own voice.

  The girl looked up from her bundle and smiled. One of her teeth was missing and both her eyes were purple with bruising.

  “My boy,” she said in a dreamy voice. “My beautiful little boy.”

  “Can I see him?”

  The girl’s expression changed from serene to guarded as she turned away from Keluse, frowning.

  “You ain’t taking him!” she cried.

  “No!” Keluse said defensively. “No, I just wanted to see him. I’m pregnant myself and a little worried,” she admitted. “I...I don’t really know what to do.”

  The girl turned, eyeing Keluse suspiciously, but must have been able to see her sincere expression.

  “You want me to teach you?” she asked.

  “Yes... I...I need some help,” Keluse muttered.

  “It is right easy,” the girl said. “As long as you make sure he is warm and well fed and you love him, you cannot be far wrong. My little Marous here, he got everything he could need in me as his mama,” she said, rocking Marous gently.

  “Can I see him?” Keluse asked again.

  “Go on now, Genne, show the nice lady your baby,” an older woman said as she approached.

  Keluse turned to see an older woman with a haggard face and worn clothing staring back at her with bright green eyes. She smiled benignly at Keluse but looked slightly hostile for some reason.

  The girl called Genne brought her little bundle around for Keluse to see. Holding her baby in one arm, she carefully peeled the edge of his blankets back for Keluse to see inside. Nestled in the blankets was a bundle of dirty rags, twisted and knotted into the semblance of a baby. Keluse looked up into Genne’s eyes, realizing with horror something had broken her mind. She stepped back and looked to the older woman who told Genne to go look for her younger brother and
addressed Keluse in a harsh voice.

  “The old king took her baby,” she said. “Before you and your friends turned up. Left her pining for him, half-mad with need, so we made a doll for her. Could not think of anything more to do. Tales of you and your baby will not be helping her, so kindly do not speak of it.”

  “I’m sorry,” Keluse said, tears rolling down her face. “I didn’t know!”

  “Now you do,” the woman said before turning and following Genne.

  Keluse stumbled back towards her house and fell into a chair, folding her arms on the wooden table and laying her head on them. Tears dripped on the wood, soaking into the untreated surface as thoughts of Ranyor, Genne and her nonexistent baby whirled around in her head.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Besmir asked from behind her.

  Keluse looked up at his blurred, concern-filled face and leaped at him, burying her head in his shoulder and weeping so hard, her back ached. Besmir rubbed his hands up and down her back in an attempt to comfort his friend.

  “I can’t stay here,” she managed finally.

  “I’ll get you somewhere else to live,” Besmir promised.

  “No,” Keluse said. “I can’t stay here, in this country. Everywhere I look I see him. Everyone I look at is him. I can’t be here.”

  Besmir’s heart sank to think the only other person from his homeland of Gravistard might leave. Despite being with Arteera and being surrounded by friends, Besmir felt alone. Yet he understood her pain and vowed to himself he would not stop her if she wanted to leave.

  “Anything you need, apprentice,” he said. “Anything.”

  Keluse pulled back, looking up at the man she had followed hundreds of leagues across land and sea.

  “If there’s any way you can stay, you’ll be welcomed with open arms,” he said. “But if you really need to go, let me know and I’ll see you’re provided with anything you might need.”

  “Oh, Besmir,” Keluse sobbed. “I just don’t know what to do. I feel lost, so very lost without Ranyor.” Her throat closed when she said his name, changing into a squeak.

  “Please take your time,” he said. “I’ve come to depend on you more than I should,” Besmir chuckled. “Especially as I’m supposed to be teaching you.”

  Epilogue

  The familiar scouring, acid wind grated at him when he opened his eyes on the grey expanse of hell. A mixture of horror and expectation rolled through Besmir as he clad himself in the armor of thought the spirit of his father had taught him. He rose into the air and cast about for the familiar landmarks that would point him towards his father’s home here. Not long after his arrival, he found the structure.

  “Joranas!” he yelled from beside the pond.

  “Besmir?” the demonic voice asked in confusion as he appeared at his door.

  The hunter king ran across to where his father stood, looking even more attuned to this world than he had before. A fourth horn had sprouted from his head, and his scaling looked to be even heavier, the individual scales thicker. Besmir opened his arms to hug the man who had sired him for the first time ever, but somehow passed through his form.

  Besmir turned to see Joranas’s arms slowly falling, his head hanging as he realized this was no family reunion.

  “What…what’s going on?” Besmir asked in a small, disappointed voice.

  Joranas turned and offered something that Besmir assumed was a smile to his son. “You are not really here,” he grumbled. “Not in spirit at least. Maybe in thought.”

  Besmir’s father lifted his head and bellowed a wordless shout of pure anguish and pain to the uncaring sky. The wretched wail cut at Besmir as he stood there, helpless, a lump growing in his throat.

  “Father...”

  “It is yet another torture this place brings to taunt me. I can see you, speak to you, but we can never touch. Ah, but the gods are cruel,” he muttered. “Come, let me tell you how I ended up in hell,” Joranas said as he plodded off into the ashen, grey wasteland. “At the point when the assassin’s blade took my life, I was offered a choice.”

  “Who by?” Besmir asked in confusion.

  “Cathantor came to me with an offer.”

  “Cathantor? The god of the afterlife?” Besmir asked, thinking how many souls he had entrusted to that god.

  “The very same,” Joranas said. “He lifted me from the world, leaving the agony from my wounds behind and brought me to his realm.” Joranas’ voice changed, becoming lighter and less guttural. “Oh, my son, it is beautiful!” he said.

  Besmir glanced at the demonic face of his father and saw a single tear spring from his eye.

  “‘Paradise’ is the only way I could describe it. It is warm and sunny, everyone lives in harmony with each other, and food appears at your hand if you wish it.” He stopped for a second, remembering his visit to heaven. “Rhianne...was there, and I knew the killers had done their job. My only regret was you,” Besmir’s father said, turning to his son. “You were not there, so I knew you lived still.

  “Cathantor came to me in all his splendor,” Joranas went on as they plodded through the ash. “I cannot begin to describe his aspect, as I believe he appears differently to each individual. Yet his presence is...overwhelming,” Joranas breathed. “Imagine, if you can, the greatest ecstasy you have experienced and double, no, triple it. I doubt that even comes close to the feeling you get from being in his presence. He makes you feel the universe rotates around you alone. As if nothing that has existed or will exist is as important, as precious, as you. Nothing can ever compare to that feeling, nothing, and an eternity basking in the glow of his love would still not be enough.”

  Joranas fell silent, and Besmir racked his brain to think of some reason his father would choose to be here rather than in the paradise he had just described. Nothing came to him, so he turned to see the demon regarding him quizzically.

  “So why did I give up an eternity in paradise with my wife?” Joranas asked, reading Besmir’s mind.

  Besmir nodded.

  “Cathantor offered me a choice. Remain with him and Rhianne in paradise or come here and safeguard the portal to your world from the things it births from the absence.” Joranas pointed with his chin. Besmir knew exactly what he was talking of. “In return, he would spare your life from the assassin’s blade,” Joranas finished.

  Besmir nearly doubled from the blow those words delivered. His father had chosen an eternity in hell so he could live?

  “Why?” Besmir managed to croak as guilt ate through his core like acid.

  “As I love you, Son, why else?” Joranas said in a confused voice. “I wanted you to have a chance at life, at love. A chance to experience the hardships of life before entering paradise.”

  Besmir shook his head in puzzlement and his father chuckled.

  “I also hoped you would take revenge on Tiernon as well,” Joranas said. “Speaking of which.” The demon pointed his seven-fingered hand towards the horizon.

  Besmir looked, seeing nothing but grey to begin with. An image resolved in his vision, a jutting finger of rock, and he glanced at his father nervously.

  “Come have a look,” Joranas said, rising into the air.

  Besmir followed, his eyes picking out more details as he flew. At the base of the stone finger the Ghoma had gathered, feasting on something that writhed and screamed on the ground. Besmir landed beside them, knowing they could not injure him this time, and peered at the tortured thing they feasted on.

  “A fitting end, no?” Joranas said as he regarded the soul of his brother being endlessly ripped apart and devoured.

  Besmir watched Tiernon’s face contort in agonized screams as the creatures tore into his soul with their teeth. He reached for Besmir but the hunter stepped away, turning his back on the evil thing that had caused so much pain to so many people.

  “How long will you leave him like that?” Besmir asked.

  “I have no plans to rescue him any time soon,” Joranas said in a dark voice. “
I doubt my brother will remain there too long, however. He will realize he can use his powers before long, I think.”

  “Then what?” Besmir asked.

  “Then I shall throw him into the absence,” Joranas said.

  Besmir shuddered at the thought.

  “I’m having a child,” he said, changing the subject.

  “Really?” Joranas asked, puffing his chest out in pride. “Congratulations,” he chuckled. “I am to be a grandfather!”

  “I am happy for you,” Arteera said when Besmir told her of his visit. “And Joranas was pleased to be a grandfather?” she asked, stroking her belly.

  “Oh yes,” Besmir said, stretching.

  Arteera poked him in the ribs and he jerked from her touch. She laughed. “Are you ticklish?” she asked.

  “No!” Besmir shouted, guarding his body from her searching fingers. “Hey, stop that!” he laughed as she tickled him mercilessly.

  “A good name, Joranas,” Arteera said when she had finished torturing him. “If we have a boy...” Besmir grinned.

  End of Book 1 – Please Read This

  Get your free prequel to the Huntsman’s Fate Series sent straight to your email inbox. Just click here.

  Acknowledgments

  Without these amazing people the book would not be the book it is today, Thank you so much!

  R. Snowney

  Alex Campbell

  Heather Robertson

  Heart Of A Huntsman

  (Huntsman’s Fate: Book 1)

  Aiden Bates

  © 2017

  Disclaimer

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.