Hunter of Legends (Fate of Legends Series Book 1)

by Clayton Wood

Hunter sighed, glancing at his initiate uniform, then at the clothes Trixie had bought him when they’d gone shopping. He hesitated, then grabbed the latter, pulling them on. Then he opened the door, walking out of the apartment. He locked the door, then went downstairs, walking outside. The sun was warm on his skin, the air thick with the smell of the lake below. His stomach grumbled, but he ignored it, resisting the urge to go to the community center and heading toward Lowtown instead. It wasn’t long before he reached the church plaza, crowded as usual. It seemed like there were parishioners going in and out of the church constantly, people stopping by whenever they could to worship at the altar of Tykus. He was suddenly curious, having the urge to go inside to see what all the fuss was about. But given the startled looks people gave as he walked near them – treating him as if he had the plague, as usual – he decided against it.

  He continued onward past the church plaza, walking down the now-familiar roads that weaved between the buildings of Lowtown. He passed various shops, then saw a building with a tempting sign: a mug of beer. He stopped before it, staring at the sign.

  If anyone here could use a beer right now, it was him.

  He opened the front door, walking into the bar. It was rather poorly lit, as bars typically were, no doubt to help the beer goggles out a bit. A few men were sitting at the bar, along with one woman. Hunter walked up to the bar, waving down the bartender.

  “Hey,” he greeted. The bartender – of course looking like everyone else in the damn city – turned, then glared at him.

  “What do you want?” he asked. The other men at the bar turned to stare at Hunter.

  “A beer would be nice,” Hunter replied. The bartender grabbed a beer, setting it down none-too-gently on the bar top.

  “Five pounds,” the bartender stated. Hunter grabbed the beer, then reached into his pocket. It was empty, he realized; he’d left his money in his Seeker uniform.

  “Damn,” he muttered. “Sorry, I grabbed the wrong pants. I’ll be back.” He pushed the beer back toward the bartender, who glanced at the other patrons, shoving it back at Hunter.

  “Just take it,” he insisted.

  “Thanks.”

  Hunter sat down on the stool in front of the bar, taking a swig of his beer. Then he realized the bartender was eyeballing him.

  “I’m gonna have to ask you to drink that outside,” the man said.

  “What?”

  “I’m asking you to drink that outside,” the bartender repeated. Hunter frowned, glancing at the other patrons. They were eyeballing him too.

  “There a problem here?” Hunter pressed.

  “You got your beer,” the bartender replied, pointing toward the door. “Now get out.”

  “Why?” Hunter pressed. “I’m not doing anything wrong.”

  “I’m not going to ask you again,” the bartender warned. One of the men at the bar – a tall, rather muscular man – stood up from his stool, swaggering toward Hunter.

  “The gentleman asked you to leave,” he growled, crossing his arms over his chest. “I suggest you leave.”

  “I’ll take your suggestion into consideration,” Hunter shot back, feeling rather irritated. He took another swig of his beer, staying right where he was.

  Fucking bigoted pigs.

  “You either leave on your legs,” the big man stated, looming closer, “…or you can leave on your back.”

  Hunter took another swig of his beer.

  “You been practicing that line all day asshole?” he inquired.

  “Kurt’s right,” another man piped in. “Come on man,” he added. “Bartender asked you nicely.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Hunter shot back. “So being a fucking racist is fine if you’re ‘nice’ about it?” He took another swig, glaring at the man. “Got any other pearls of wisdom?”

  “You got five seconds to get your ass outta that stool,” the big guy – Kurt, apparently – warned, stepping right up to Hunter and glaring down at him. Hunter smirked, taking a long swig of his beer, almost finishing it. Then he glanced at the bottom, swirling the little bit of liquid that remained.

  “Gee, still got some left,” he said, looking up at Kurt and smirking. “I think I’ll take my time finishing it.”

  “That’s it,” Kurt growled. He grabbed the bottle, tearing it out of Hunter’s hand and setting it on the bar. Then he pulled Hunter up off the stool by the front of his shirt, shoving him toward the door. Hunter shoved the asshole right back.

  “I wasn’t done dickwad,” he growled.

  “Just go,” Kurt muttered. “It’s not worth it, trust me.”

  “That a threat whitey?”

  “We don’t want trouble,” Kurt insisted. “You got a free beer man. Just be thankful for that and go home.”

  “Or what?” Hunter shot back. “You gonna beat the crap out of me?” He snorted. “Don’t pretend you’re so high-and-mighty. You’re just another racist piece of shit.”

  “Just go buddy.”

  “Make me,” Hunter spat.

  Kurt sighed, then grabbed Hunter’s shoulders, pushing him toward the door. Hunter leaned in, digging his heels into the floor and shoving the guy back. Kurt grabbed Hunter’s arm, twisting it.

  Or at least he tried to.

  Hunter reacted automatically, turning his back to the guy and jerking Kurt forward with his twisted arm. At the same time, he executed a back-kick, his heel slamming into the asshole’s chest.

  Kurt flew backward, slamming into the bar, toppling over a barstool. Then he slid to the floor on his buttocks, grasping at his chest, his eyes wide.

  “Surprise, asshole,” Hunter quipped. “You mess with me, you mess with the Seek…”

  Hands reached around from behind him, pinning his arms behind his back. Hunter struggled, trying to pull away, but another guy got up from his barstool, walking up to him and punching him square in the belly. Hunter grunted, doubling over in pain.

  “The gentleman asked nicely,” the guy stated calmly. He wound up, slamming his fist into Hunter’s abdomen a second time.

  That hurt.

  Hunter gasped, the air blasting out of his lungs. His legs gave out, and he slumped to the ground, but the man holding him from behind hauled him upward, forcing him to stand.

  “You’re a real smartass, kid,” the guy who’d punched him observed. He wound up again, socking Hunter right in the nose. Stars exploded in Hunter’s vision, pain lancing between his eyes. His legs buckled again, and this time the man holding him let go. Hunter fell onto his back, his head bouncing off the wooden floor. A wave of nausea came over him, bile welling up in his mouth.

  Hunter felt hands under his armpits, felt himself being dragged backward. His butt struck the threshold at the door, then slid across the hard stone street. They tossed him in the middle of the street, giving him a kick in the stomach before leaving him there, curled in the fetal position.

  He puked, vomit spilling onto the street.

  The pain in his belly subsided slowly, and he straightened out, rolling onto his back. Blood poured down the back of his throat and out of his nostrils, and he gagged, spitting blood and clots onto the street.

  Shit.

  He laid there, staring up at the blue sky, the sun hot on his skin. He waited for the nausea to dissipate, and eventually it did. Then he rolled onto his belly, trying to push himself up onto his hands and knees.

  Mistake.

  Another wave of nausea struck him, and he puked again, bile and maroon clots pouring out of his mouth. He groaned, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, staying perfectly still until the nausea passed again. Then he slowly – very slowly – rolled onto his side. He stared across the street, seeing people staring back at him in the distance by the shops a few blocks down.

  He heard footsteps from behind, and stiffened. He rolled onto his back again, feeling more nausea as he did so, and squinted up at the sky. A shadow loomed over him, a figure silhouetted against the noon sun.

  “Come to finish the job?” h
e mumbled. “Don’t touch me,” he warned, “…or you’ll turn black.”

  The shadowy figure knelt down, reaching out with one hand.

  “Get up,” a familiar voice said, gripping the front of Hunter’s shirt and pulling him up to his feet. Hunter gagged, nearly vomiting again, then swaying a little. His head was pounding, his nose throbbing. He turned to the man standing before him, feeling his heart sink.

  It was Thorius.

  “Hey,” Hunter mumbled, lowering his gaze. His shirt was covered in blood, along with chunks of vomit. He was pretty sure he looked exactly like he felt: like shit.

  “Come on,” Thorius replied, grabbing Hunter’s upper arm and pulling him down the street with him. Hunter obeyed, walking alongside the Seeker, his eyes downcast.

  “Little late,” he muttered. “Could’ve used your help back there.”

  “I saw that.”

  “You were there?” Hunter asked. “Why didn’t you help me?” Thorius glanced sidelong at him.

  “The guild protects initiates that aren’t assholes.”

  “Well good then,” Hunter muttered. “Because I’m not an initiate anymore.”

  “Is that so,” Thorius replied coolly.

  “That’s right.”

  “Well I disagree,” Thorius countered.

  “Well I don’t give a damn,” Hunter retorted. “You can’t force me to be in your little club.” Thorius’s expression didn’t change.

  “I seem to remember you signing a contract,” he replied calmly. “One where you agreed that once you were an initiate, you would abide by our charter.”

  “Yeah, well I can’t agree to something I couldn’t read,” Hunter retorted.

  “You signed it,” Thorius reminded him. “And it’s legally binding. So you’re an initiate until I say you’re not…or until you’re dead.” He raised an eyebrow at Hunter. “Which way out would you prefer?”

  Hunter stared at Thorius for a moment, then lowered his gaze, following alongside the Seeker silently. He had no doubt that the man would make good on his unspoken threat…and that he would be perfectly capable of accomplishing the task.

  “I expect you to be on time from now on,” Thorius stated. Hunter hesitated, then nodded.

  “Yes Master Thorius.”

  Thorius led him through Lowtown, eventually reaching the Guild of Seekers. They walked into the foyer, going down the hallway to the usual meeting room. Everyone was there…Sukri, Gammon, Kris, and the other five initiates. Thorius stopped before them, gesturing for Hunter to join the group. Hunter did so, standing next to Sukri, who glanced at him, arching one eyebrow. He ignored her.

  “Now that everyone is here,” Thorius stated, “…we can begin.” His gaze swept over the group, ending on Hunter. “It is time for the first of the Trials.” He turned his gaze on the other initiates. “To become Seekers, you must successfully complete three Trials. Each of the Trials involves demonstrating skills that are critical to being a successful Seeker.”

  Another Seeker entered the room then, handing Thorius a roll of paper. Thorius unrolled the paper, glancing at it, then turning it around to display it. Drawn on it was a picture of a small chest, like a treasure chest.

  “This,” Thorius declared, “…is your objective.” He gestured at the picture. “A small chest, likely within a carriage near the Fringe. Inside is a single bone.” He handed the paper to one of the other initiates. “Pass it around. Your mission is to retrieve this artifact. You will keep the bone within the chest at all times during transport.”

  The paper was passed to Sukri, who passed it to Hunter. Hunter stared at the picture of the chest; below that was a sketch of a small, curved bone resembling a rib. And below that, a drawing of the carriage. Then he passed the paper back to Thorius.

  “For this Trial, you will be split into two teams,” Thorius continued. “Each team will compete to see who can retrieve the artifact first, and return it to the guild. The members of the winning team will be exempt from disqualification for this Trial.” He paused, gazing at the initiates. “The losing team must choose two of its weakest members for disqualification.”

  Thorius gestured at the initiates to his right.

  “You five will be one team,” he declared. Then he turned to the other initiates…which just so happened to be Sukri, Gammon, Kris, and Hunter. “…and you four will be the other. Seeing as you have one fewer member, your team will have an hour’s head start on the other team.”

  “Yes Master Thorius,” Sukri stated.

  “You will have access to a variety of rations and other gear for the Trial,” Thorius declared. “We will provide a single pack for each of you to put these in. It is up to you to choose what to bring, and how much. You will also be provided with a map showing the general location of the carriage containing the artifact. Any questions?”

  Gammon raised his hand, and Thorius nodded at him.

  “When do we start, Master Thorius?” he asked. Thorius smiled.

  “You begin,” he answered, “…right now.”

  Chapter 14

  Hunter strode through the open gate of the outer wall of Tykus, Sukri, Gammon, and Kris at his side. The vast, barren landscape of the Deadlands greeted them, the King’s Road rising above the land in the distance. Hunter glanced back, seeing the gate closing behind them. Within moments, it shut, sealing them off from the city.

  “Come on,” Kris said, striding forward. “We gotta get ahead if we’re gonna beat the other team.”

  The others strode after Kris, and Hunter did as well, the pack Thorius had given him weighing rather heavily on his back. He’d filled it with rations and various other things like rope and bandages, as well as a hunting knife. Thorius had given each of them a large hammer, much like the one Alasar and the other soldiers had used on the Ironclad the day he’d come through the Gate. Hunter’s was considerably smaller than Alasar’s had been, but still formidably heavy. He’d strapped it onto his pack to spare his arms the constant weight.

  “We need a plan, guys,” Gammon said, carrying his pack and hammer with dismaying ease. Sukri nodded, pulling out the map Thorius had given them.

  “We need to avoid the Gate,” she said, “…and the southwest part of the Deadlands. Thorius said there’s a chance Ironclad could still be roaming around there.”

  “Agreed,” Kris stated. “If we run into one of those things, we’re screwed.”

  “If we do run into one, we drop our stuff and run,” Sukri advised. Hunter glanced at her.

  “We’re not gonna be able to outrun one, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he countered. “They’re friggin’ fast…believe me.”

  “Ah, right,” Gammon piped in. “You’ve fought one before.”

  “I have,” Hunter confirmed. “And if we run into one, believe me…we’re dead.”

  Sukri eyed Hunter, slowing down to walk at his side.

  “Looks like you already ran into one today,” she observed. “What the hell happened to you anyway?”

  “I fell down the stairs,” Hunter grumbled. Sukri arched one eyebrow.

  “Who pushed you?”

  Hunter gave a rueful smile, then sighed.

  “I might have run my mouth off a little,” he admitted. “Not that the assholes didn’t deserve it.”

  “I figured as much,” Sukri replied. “Thorius save your ass?”

  “Not really,” Hunter admitted. “He kinda let me get the shit kicked out of me.”

  “Sorry Crispy,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. She hesitated. “You alright?” He sighed, giving her a weak smile.

  “I will be.”

  She nodded, saying nothing more…and for that, Hunter was grateful. As much as he liked Kris and Gammon, he didn’t feel comfortable being vulnerable in front of them. He’d tell Sukri the full story the next time they were alone. And not anywhere near his bed, preferably.

  They continued forward, aiming to the left of the King’s Road. Thorius had forbid them from taking the Ki
ng’s Road on the way there; apparently braving the influence of the Deadlands – and the Fringe – was part of the Trial. If they returned corrupted by its influence, they would fail their test, and be disqualified.

  The packed earth sloped downward, the weight on Hunter’s back forcing him forward. The sun was still high in the sky, its hot rays beating down on him. Sweat began trickling down his forehead, stinging his eyes.

  “Anyone else think this mission is bullshit?” Sukri asked suddenly, glancing at the others. Kris frowned.

  “What do you mean?” he inquired. “It’s one of the Trials.”

  “Yeah,” Sukri replied. “But we’re not exactly well-trained, you know. Going out into the Deadlands is bad enough, but the Fringe?” She shook her head. “Even fully trained Seekers have died there.”

  “Gee, thanks for cheering me up,” Kris grumbled. “Always a ray of sunshine, Sukri.”

  “I’m just saying,” Sukri insisted. “I don’t think we’re ready for this.”

  “Maybe that’s the point,” Gammon piped in, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Maybe the real test is just surviving this mission.”

  “No,” Kris retorted. “The real test is beating the other team to finding that artifact. And I suggest we concentrate on doing that instead of being all gloom and doom.”

  “Yeah, well,” Sukri muttered. “I don’t like that they took our medallions before we left.” Thorius had insisted they all hand in their Seeker medallions, except for Hunter, of course. He’d left his in the apartment.

  “If we die, they wouldn’t want to lose them in the Fringe,” Gammon reasoned. Kris threw up his arms.

  “Enough with us dying already!” he complained.

  “Fine,” Sukri agreed. “We still need a plan.”

  “What are you thinking?” Gammon asked.

  “Well, we have an hour on the other team,” Sukri reasoned. “So if we can make good time, we should get to the Fringe first. We’ll want to get there before nightfall.”

  “Right,” Gammon agreed. “The Ironclad come out mostly at night.”

  “I say we go to the Fringe, find the carriage, and get out before sundown,” Sukri proposed. “Then we can veer Southwest toward the military base.”