Hunting Will (The Aliomenti Saga - Prequel)

by Alex Albrinck

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Athos suddenly recognized her. She was Eva Elizabeth Lowell, the young woman that The Assassin was supposed to kill. Assassin, follow me outside please. Your target is with me. Exit through the door on the side of the house opposite where we entered.

  Athos smiled at Eva. “That would be nice.”

  Athos donned the ring syringe and jabbed it against Clint on his way outside. The Assassin stepped in front of Athos before the Hunter could exit, and the three of them walked out together.

  Once outside, the trio stepped off the porch and into the grassy areas behind the house. Athos snapped his fingers. “I’ve left something inside and need to go get it. Perhaps you could keep my friend here company, Miss…?”

  “Eva.” She turned around, spotted The Assassin, and gasped. “Oh! What a fantastic costume! The makeup work on the scars must have taken hours! And the eyes… how are you doing that?”

  “Tinted contact lenses.” The Assassin’s words were spoken in a grunt; he was not one given to pretending to be a simple party-goer wearing an impressive costume. He was behaving exactly as an assassin should behave.

  The young woman seemed impressed by his act and costume. “That’s so clever! Are you new around here, …?”

  Athos realized that she was looking for his name. “That’s Joe,” he said, speaking the first English name that came to mind. “Joe was telling me earlier that he’d love to take a walk around these grounds and see all of the sights. Perhaps you could show him, Miss Eva?”

  She giggled, glanced at the strong-looking man in the terrifying “costume,” and nodded. “Sure. Come on, Joe. I’ll show you where Clint keeps his horses.” The two wandered off into the night.

  Little did Eva know that her life would soon end.

  Athos walked back toward the house. “Porthos, if you haven’t already, do your jab job and let’s leave. The Assassin has already engaged his target. We need to depart.” Athos entered the house and spotted Porthos, still chatting away with the lovely redhead he’d approached earlier. The Hunter made eye contact with his leader and nodded. “That nod better mean ‘I’m heading over to do my job right now,’ and not ‘I’m having a wonderful time with this human woman.’”

  Porthos looked at his wrist, uttered some explanation, and made his way in Athos’ direction, which would take him past Clint. The young woman looked aghast at his departure, and Porthos turned to offer some parting word. As Porthos turned back toward the rear of the house and toward his target, Clint turned in his direction — and froze.

  It only then occurred to Athos that Porthos, having been involved in Oath affirmations for the past several years, had likely been seen by Clint, and a simple feathered hat was nowhere near sufficient to mask the Hunter’s identity.

  Clint frowned, as if determining his best approach to handling the sudden and unexpected appearance of a Hunter. He’d know exactly why Porthos was there, of course. It was simply a matter of deciding how to manipulate the situation to his advantage. Athos supposed he would make his excuses, retire upstairs to an unoccupied room, and teleport from there to the outside to attempt his escape. He suspected he should warn the others of that.

  “D’Artagnan!” Clint shouted, drawing the attention of everyone in the room as he strode toward Porthos. “I knew that you’d come as D’Artagnan. He always was your favorite Musketeer, wasn’t he?”

  Porthos face reddened, not from any embarrassment at being identified, but because he’d been labeled as the wrong Musketeer. Athos appreciated the brilliance of the move by Clint. He’d essentially given a name — the wrong name, to be sure, but a name nonetheless — to a man they could associate later with any disappearances or deaths that might occur concurrent with this party. The name was wrong, but the name D’Artagnan was associated with the story of the Musketeers. The Leader would hear about any news of a stranger bearing the costume and name of a Musketeer being associated with crimes in an obscure town in the United States. Porthos might face punishment for breaking an obscure Aliomenti rule or law; Aramis looked as if he had already drawn conclusions on that point. More pertinent to the immediate situation, however, Clint had gotten Porthos angry.

  Porthos recovered quickly, however. “D’Artagnan? Never heard of him. I am a pirate, here to make you walk the plank, matey! Arrrgh!” For show, Porthos drew his sword and swished it in the air a few times, drawing some oohs and ahhs from the crowd, most notably the female humans.

  Clint laughed. “I’ve never seen a pirate with a feather in his hat quite like that.” His gaze fell upon Athos. “Your friend here has a parrot and a patch. Much more pirate-like I would think.”

  “Now, Clint,” Aramis spoke up. “There aren’t really rules about what pirates must wear, or carry as accessories. Surely you don’t think this man should be punished for wearing a costume not conforming to your rules about pirates, do you?”

  Clint fixed Aramis with a stare. “Do you?”

  The crowd began to stir, uncomfortable with the tone in each spoken word. They were all sensing that there was some type of history between the three men and their host, a history that had left them with a chilly relationship. The music stopped, and an unearthly quiet filled the space.

  Porthos approached Clint, moving with extreme precision, his eyes never leaving the Aliomenti deserter. As he reached the man, they stared each other down, without blinking. “I have only one thing to say, Mr. Jones.” He glanced around the room. “Is this party already ending? Let’s get that music going and have some fun!”

  The crowd roared its approval to this suggestion, the music resumed, and within moments, the tense situation was forgotten.

  The staring contest between Clint and the Hunters continued, however. “Care to take a walk?” Porthos asked.

  Clint snorted. “You may have noticed that I have guests in my home. It would be terribly rude of me to depart now. Speaking of which… this is private property and you are trespassing. Leave.”

  Athos glanced at Porthos and Aramis, then shrugged. “We wouldn’t want to intrude on private property. We’ll leave.”

  Clint’s face clouded. He hadn’t expected the Hunters to depart with so little fuss, and he was suddenly worried that he’d walked right into their trap. As Porthos walked away, he glanced back at Clint, smiled, and said, “Sleep tight.” The Hunters left the room, leaving a very nervous rogue Aliomenti standing in the middle of his own home, surrounded by friends, feeling very much alone.

  ●●●●●

  The Assassin followed the young woman toward the barn and the attached paddock. For some reason, the human had decided to believe Athos’ claim that he, The Assassin, was interested in looking at the grounds with her, and he saw no reason to correct that mistake. The barn would provide the seclusion he needed to complete his work and leave without suspicion; the wooden structure would also enable him to display his own special skill with fire. Perhaps she’d help by heading inside the structure.

  The woman prattled on about the different horses, and she clearly cared about the creatures. She called each one by name, and most trotted her way, as if expecting something in return, perhaps a treat of some sort. The woman had nothing to offer, save for a gentle touch on the beasts’ snouts, but that seemed to satisfy the animals.

  She glanced at him. “You’re probably from a big city and have never seen horses or barns before, have you?”

  He nodded in order to keep her talking. This was a promising turn in the conversation.

  She opened the gate and stepped into the paddock. “Come on. I’ll show you what a barn looks like, city boy!” She grinned, and he followed her. He couldn’t believe his luck. She was willingly taking him into a building, in the dark, with no one else around, and she’d only just met him. Humans really were stupid, weren’t they?

  They entered the barn, and the woman located a lantern hanging on a hook near the entry. She lit the lantern, and faint light filled the interior of the structure. She moved
toward one of the stalls. He silently drew his sword and, in his trademark move, sent an empathic Energy burst of abject terror toward her. He liked his victims to experience the horror of their impending deaths seconds before it happened.

  She sensed it, and her emotions shifted as if suddenly aware she’d made a huge mistake. She turned to face him, eyes wide.

  The Assassin plunged the sword into her torso, forcing the blade through until it emerged on the other side. Her face turned from terror to shock, and she shuddered several times as the injuries took hold. He let her fall to the ground, limp, and then put his boot on her to brace her against the ground as he pulled the bloodied weapon from her body. He left the blood on the blade; he would later use the smell of it to remind him of the joy of the kill, and only then, in his own quarters, would he clean the weapon. After sheathing the sword, he stooped down and looked at her serene face with its eyes closed. That was disappointing; he far preferred to watch the light of life leave his victim’s eyes, but this woman hadn’t cooperated, so he used his boot to roll her over so that he could observe where the sword had torn through her costume.

  He doused the light in the lantern and walked to the stall of the sole remaining horse in the barn, opened it, and led the animal out into the paddock. He wasn’t sure why Clint hadn’t gotten the animals into the barn for the night yet, but he wasn’t going to let a decent animal like a horse pay for a crime humans had committed. Dogs or cats, sure. But not horses.

  With the barn free of worthy creatures, The Assassin summoned up his Energy, transformed it into flames, and began setting the structure on fire. His fire. The special flame burned well, though some materials were resistant. He’d been working on a special mixture that would cause his flame to burn at a higher temperature and in a controlled space, which might make a useful tool someday. Here, however, with dried wood, straw, and animal droppings, he had all the kindling and fuel he needed.

  He pictured the faces of the ones he’d lost so long ago, then the faces of the monsters he called humans who had taken them from him, and recalled the vow of revenge he’d sworn as a result. The fire burst from him, fueled by his anger at the memory, igniting every flammable surface. His goal was simple: he would erase every trace of the existence of the human woman who had interacted with an Aliomenti, because she might have learned of their existence. She would no longer be able to tell others about them, raise concerns that they might be involved in something… evil. She would not rouse a mob to attack his people and terminate them. He had failed to protect his people once, and especially the two he’d truly cared for, and it had become his mission in life to ensure that no Aliomenti ever again died at the hands of a human. It would be simpler to exterminate them all at once and be free of the scourge forever. Though he was frustrated at the glacial pace his leaders authorized kills, however, he was still doing the work he was called to do.

  He let the flames touch him, enjoying the sensation of peace they brought to him. His gift with fire extended to protection from the flames; he could not be burned, and the flames felt like a warm, gentle breeze might feel to others. But he knew that he needed to be away from here when the fire was discovered, despite the fact that he’d ensured they’d never discover the woman’s body.

  He left the barn and walked away into the night, never bothering to turn around to watch as the inferno consumed the building. His job was complete, and he went back to the hotel, waiting for the others to complete their own missions.

  It was only later, as he was cleaning his sword and preparing to sleep, that he realized there had been no blood on the back of the woman’s clothing when he’d rolled her over.

  ●●●●●

  The Hunters had stationed themselves in the rental car, slouching low to ensure that nobody saw them. They expected that any of the humans leaving the party and driving by would simply assume the empty car belonged to someone still in the house at the party.

  They had two new challenges to overcome. Porthos hadn’t been able to complete his portion of the serum injection; Clint would get drowsy, but wouldn’t fall asleep. Secondly, he knew they were there and would be coming for him, and he’d undoubtedly be preparing for their impending attack. Porthos tracked the man’s Energy constantly, attempting to ensure that he didn’t try to escape before the party ended, when privacy would allow the Hunters to employ Energy-based tactics to capture him without fear of exposure. Clint, however, proved an excellent host; he didn’t leave the house, even as the guest count dwindled while the night wore on.

  “Here’s a thought,” Porthos said. “Let’s go back to the house. Go inside. Find Clint. Aramis acts like he’s had too much to drink, and stumbles into him, talking about how much he’s missed him and he wishes they could be friends again. That Dampers Clint, and probably makes everyone in the house earlier think that the previous conversation was just banter between old friends.”

  “How does one act if one’s had too much to drink?” Aramis asked, curious.

  “Act stupid and slur your words. In other words, pretty much how you normally act.”

  “I do not slur my words—”

  The rest of Aramis’ reply was silenced as the Hunters watched two horses gallop past them. The Hunters gaped as the animals raced by without saddle, reins, or humans in sight.

  “Now there’s something you don’t see every day,” Porthos quipped.

  Athos frowned. “Why would horses be running in this direction? I thought Clint had a barn and a paddock where…” He broke off, and then made the connection. “I think The Assassin has finished his work by setting the barn on fire. That’s going to attract attention. And it’s going to give Clint a way to get out of the house before we get there.” He sat up, opened his door, and hopped out. “We need to get to that barn. Right now.” The other Hunters followed him.

  The barn was easy to find. The raging inferno consuming the building could be seen from hundreds of yards away. Clint’s horses were escaping through an open paddock gate, but anything — or anyone — left in the barn would never take another breath. A small crowd of party goers was moving in the direction of the barn, shouts of concern echoing out as they tried to determine if anything living — human or animal — was still inside the burning structure.

  They spotted Clint moving toward the crowd as well. He stumbled a bit, as if drowsy, and the Hunters realized that the serum was taking effect. The man stared at the barn, stunned, as he watched the building gradually collapse on itself.

  “Split up,” Athos murmured. He moved to the left, Porthos moved to the right. Aramis moved directly toward Clint. This was standard practice: if their target was stunned, it was best to get Aramis on him immediately to Damper him. If the man tried to escape, Porthos the Tracker and Athos would be prepared to chase him. They’d attempt to circle around out of sight in the dark and encircle Clint before he could move, trying to keep him in sight of the humans watching the barn, where he wouldn’t be so likely to try anything special to escape their capture.

  Clint saw Aramis coming and thought quickly. “The barn is clearly a total loss,” he told the handful of people gathered with him. “If I can ask a favor of everyone? Spread out and look for the horses. Hopefully, all of them got free and we’ll be able to track them down. They should all have bridles on; you can safely guide them back here into the paddock using those.” He dispatched everyone roughly in the direction of the Hunters, and then headed away from the crowd alone.

  Athos and Porthos started jogging to close the gap. Aramis continued walking toward the barn. A woman walked toward him. “Are you looking for the escaped horses?”

  “Yes, I am,” Aramis replied. “I think I saw one heading in this direction, and another in the direction you’re going. If we both keep moving we can catch both of them.” The woman nodded, her agreement amplified by an empathic Energy push from Aramis. She continued on her way, away from where Clint and the Hunters would meet.

  Once out of the range of human eyes and ea
rs, the Hunters launched their assault.

  “Target forward two hundred yards from my position,” Porthos said.

  “Copy that,” Athos said. “Aramis, you take the forward position. Porthos, you’re back left. I’ll be back right. On my mark, we go. Three, two, one, mark!”

  All three Hunters teleported ahead, appearing in a circle surrounding Clint, who nearly ran into Aramis and ended the Hunt before it had started. He recovered and fired an Energy blast at Aramis, catching the Hunter in the sternum and knocking him to the ground, giving Clint an opening to continue running. Athos teleported in front of him, attempting to grab the suspect’s arm, but Clint teleported away.

  “Got him,” Porthos said, as Aramis scrambled to his feet. “Range appears to be approximately five miles.” He oriented himself on Clint’s Energy scent, and his clairvoyance skills detected an image of the man’s surroundings. He was panting heavily, drained of Energy from the blast and the teleportation, and feeling the effects of the sleeping drug more heavily.

  The Hunters teleported again, once more surrounding the fugitive. Their Energy stores were more expansive than Clint’s. By forcing the man to continually move, they’d eventually drain him to the point where he could no longer teleport, and then they’d complete the capture

  That point wouldn’t come yet, however. Clint, breathing heavily, teleported away again.

  “Only a mile this time,” Porthos said. “He’s draining pretty quickly.” He projected the image of Clint’s surroundings to the team. They vanished again.

  Clint was on his hands and knees, clearly unable to stand any longer. The Energy became so great a part of an Aliomenti’s life that its deprivation would render them immobile and inert, even while their more “human” energy could still be fine. Physically, Clint was quite healthy, and should be able to run at high speeds for quite a distance. But his mind told him that his remaining Energy was precious to his very life, and as such he felt as if he was dying.