Hunters - Rising

by David Greer

  Chapter 11

  At the northwestern edge of Quarry an elderly man bumped his way through a bustling crowd. The man was burdened by two large burlap sacks slung over his shoulders filled to brim. Somewhere in the sea of people was an open table, the man's salvation from the swarming crowd. When he finally made it to the table, the man dumped the sacks down and unloaded their contents. Meat pies, rhubarb pies, and a variety of fresh produce were neatly set down and displayed. He set out a sign that listed every item with a price next to it.

  It was market day at Quarry's trade pavilion. Once a month local vendors and traveling traders set up to present and sell their goods and most of the townsfolk crammed into the pavilion to shop. Homemade foods, fresh produce, fabrics, arts, crafts, especially stone-crafts lined the tables. Folks traded their gold or their own personal items for the things they needed or things that simply caught their eye.

  “Hey McGrady!” Smythe called out, “Think you can save one of those meat pies for me?” The hunter had a table set up alongside McGrady and watched the farmer unpack and set up shop.

  “Already ahead of you Smythe.” McGrady said. “I saved one at home and it's got your name on it. Come by later.” The farmer gave a friendly smile and finished organizing his table. McGrady looked at what Smythe was selling and saw some peculiar things but more than anything else a set of strange stone figures caught the farmer's eye. Small stone castle towers, horses, and other figures were arranged on a checkered board. Each piece was spectacularly polished and gleamed in the morning sunlight. Smythe noticed the confused look on McGrady's face.

  “They're for a game. Really popular in the east.”

  A little ways from the pavilion Leo watched the crowd gather. He marveled at the town's commerce. Items were mostly traded rather than bought with gold. Woodsmen would offer to trade firewood for leathers. Stone workers would trade crafts or shaped rock for tools. Some would even trade their time and service for goods. It was not uncommon for a boy or young man to take up gardening or repair jobs in exchange for warmer clothing.

  Not much money flowed through Quarry. The only exception was Rocky, the wealthy farmer who controlled all agricultural trade in the region. Leo had heard about him from time to time in White Rock Tavern. Only Rocky's produce was traded and sold both within and beyond Quarry. With the volume of business Rocky did, he was able to offer lower prices which increased his wealth while also taking business away from local farmers. It left a bitter taste in many Quarry townsfolk.

  Leo took in the market scene, fascinated by it all. The hustle and bustle, the negotiation, the joy of those who came away with a successful barter, and the anxiety of those who needed to make a sale in order to afford supplies for the coming winter. But the market was not the reason why Leo was awake and alert.

  Leo had camped along the southern outskirts of Quarry and when he woke that morning he surveyed the small mountain town. The town was alive early as folks prepared for market and traders made their way to the pavilion. But in the treeline at the eastern edge of town Leo noticed a difference in the way the trees moved in the morning breeze. He focused carefully on the trees and things became more clear. Purple specks dotted the green. Banshees were gathering. Leo, seeing how many people were gathering at the pavilion, realized Quarry would be vulnerable. The market drew in practically the entire town. The islander turned away to gather his weapons.

  “I just don't understand the pieces. Why doesn't the horse move faster?”

  “It's not an actual horse, it represents a knight.” Smythe attempted to explain the game to an interested, yet confused, patron. “Each piece moves across the board differently. It's a game of strategy and wits.”

  “Hmm. What if I just buy the horses and the castles and you give me a discount?”

  “It's a set. You can't play the game unless you have the whole set.” Smythe said. The hunter was becoming visibly flustered.

  “Whole set or not I couldn't play the game anyway. It's too confusing.” The patron waved his hand dismissively and walked away.

  McGrady chuckled at Smythe's attempt to explain the game. More so because the farmer found it just as confusing and would have done the same thing.

  Vegetables and pies still crowded the old farmer's table. Very few customers came by that morning. Rocky, on the other hand, had set up several tables and had his workers marketing and selling much of the same produce that McGrady was offering but for a lower price. McGrady knew Rocky made most of his profits from trade with other towns. The way local Quarry farmer's saw it, the market was simply an opportunity for Rocky to put the squeeze on them. And it worked. Most of the townsfolk and visitors gravitated toward the lower prices, they may have felt guilty doing so but their shallow pockets forced them to swallow it down.

  “Marcus!” McGrady spotted a longtime customer in the crowd. However, the farmer's hopes of making a sale were dashed when he saw the man's hands holding bags that prominently displayed Rocky's name on them. “You went to Rocky?”

  “I'm sorry my friend.” Marcus said with downcast eyes. “His prices are so low and times have been tough. I only needed to pay two coin for all this.”

  “A deal's a deal I suppose.” McGrady was completely deflated. “Perhaps a rhubarb pie then? You know it's my specialty. I'll give you a good price.”

  “I cannot. I need to use what little I have left to prepare for winter. You know, the cold is coming.”

  McGrady watched Marcus walk away into the sea of people. Another customer lost to Rocky. It must be nice to be able to command the market locally and regionally, McGrady thought. Not to mention live in comfort in that oversized house of his. And not have to break his back in the fields. Must be nice to have so many workers and so many trade wagons constantly migrating profit throughout the region. It must be nice indeed. McGrady boiled from within at the thoughts of Rocky and his comforts and wealth. Then with a sigh the old farmer realized he felt utterly spent and began to pack up his table.

  Smythe hadn't noticed the exchange between McGrady and Marcus. Something pulled his attention away from the bustling market. The hunter's keen senses warned him to be weary of the northern treeline not too far away. It didn't look like much was happening over there. The trees swayed in the soft wind. Several families had taken spots on the grass field between the treeline and the pavilion. Some had a picnic under the clear sky. Others simply relaxed. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary but yet, Smythe's attention was drawn that way. And a hunter's instincts are not to be taken lightly.

  Then a woman's scream rang out followed by several shouts of panic. People began to clear off the field, hastily snatching up their belongings as they dashed away. When so many ran away from the treeline, Smythe snatched his sword and knives and bolted for the treeline.

  At the east side of Quarry Grimey laid in bed fast asleep. He knew it was market day but he had no need for it. Better to sleep in than deal with the crowd at the pavilion. Snores steadily vibrated off the cabin walls until bellows from several of McGrady's cows roused the hunter. What was their problem, Grimey wondered as he rolled over. Don't they know how early it is? It was no time to be making such a ruckus. Cows didn't whine like that unless...

  Banshees!

  Understanding flashed through Grimey's mind and his eyes shot open. The hunter hurled himself out of bed and went straight to his workshop.

  Outside several banshees were perched along the treeline. There must have been over twenty of them. But they didn't move. They didn't make a sound. They didn't look threatening at all. The banshees simply sat in the trees as if waiting for something. But despite the banshee's calm the cattle continued to moo and scamper nervously.

  Grimey, axe in hand, eyed the purple monsters suspiciously. Banshees didn't just hang out along the treeline. The only time the beasts came close to the town is when they're about to attack. Grimey wondered what to do. If he attacked the banshees may swarm and head into town. He couldn't simply leave either. Or he could stand guard
to see if they did anything.

  While the bearded hunter went over his options the banshees unexpectedly left and flew back into the woods. All but one. Its eyes locked onto Grimey and the beast leaped from its perch and soared straight for the hunter. It was swiftly met by the blade of his axe. The hunter glared at the fallen banshee and looked back at the treeline. Only evergreens swayed. No signs of purple and the cows had calmed down. Strange...

  Suddenly a noise caught the bearded hunter's attention. A commotion from the other side of town near the trade pavilion. And the market. Grimey sensed something wasn't right and took off running.

  Smythe pushed his way through the fleeing crowd and saw the beast. A dingy, dirt-stained monster that crept on all fours like an abandoned canine. Its matted white fur hung loosely along its sides and face. The beast was large and lean. On all fours its wretched face came up to Smythe's chest. It was long and powerful with a bite that could crush bone but it moved clumsily and slow.

  Smythe raised his sword to the ready. An arrow stuck into the beast's side and Smythe spotted Clyde nearby. But even with an arrow in its hide the beast still lumbered toward Smythe. It raised a paw to swipe at the hunter but Smythe ducked back and avoided the attack. He noticed the beast's claws were dull and cracked. Not too much danger of being slashed open but the force of the swing would do enough blunt-force damage regardless. Smythe side-stepped and circled around the beast. It snapped its jaws at him but the hunter kept out of range. Another arrow struck the side of the beast. It didn't seem to mind the arrows too much although it was noticeably slowing. Smythe dodged another swipe and the beast stumbled as another arrow struck. This time the beast recoiled and Smythe made his move and lunged with his sword. The blade ran through monster's side and pierced its heart. It fell dead in a heap of foul dingy fur.

  Clyde joined Smythe next to the fallen beast. It was the first time one of these beasts attacked during market day but they handled it quickly enough. The hunters mistakenly relaxed for a moment when another beast burst from the treeline at a lumbering gallop headed straight for them. Caught off guard, the hunters braced to dive out of the way when they heard a loud thwack. A single arrow burst through one side of the beast's neck and pierced clean through. The monster crashed face first into the ground and didn't move. Smythe and Clyde turned and saw Leo with a massive longbow in hand. The two Quarry hunters stood wide-eyed and speechless. Clyde was shocked. He put three arrows into the first monster before it staggered while Leo took one down with a single shot. That longbow packed a punch.

  “What are those things?” Leo asked.

  “Deadlings.” a gruff voice said. Grimey had made it to the pavilion in time to see Leo drop the monster with a single arrow. The islander was clearly skilled with a bow. Grimey also noticed a long, thin, slightly curved sword sheathed at the islander's hip. The bearded hunter wondered how skilled with the blade the islander was.

  “I thought deadlings were those small furry creatures I ran into before.” Leo said.

  “They are. Those are the young ones. The ones you see here are matured. All grown up and not nearly as easy on the eyes.” Grimey explained as he took a step toward one of the corpses. “Not as easy on the nose either.”

  The three Quarry hunters watched Leo and his muscular companion, who had watched the whole scene from a little ways away, walk away. Grimey had always respected Leo as a good man and a knowledgeable traveler but that had all changed now. His respect for the islander increased by magnitudes along with his intrigue. Leo was a hunter.

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