Forsaken Hunters_Book Zero of The Age of Dawn_A Prequel

by Everet Martins

  The dark man managed to again get the upper hand, straddling the sunburned man, and raining blows onto his mangled face. The sunburned man reached his arms for the dark man’s throat, trying and utterly failing to strangle him from his back. The dark man batted his hands away, gripped one sunburned arm tight against his chest, then turned his body such that it was perpendicular to the sunburned man’s torso. The dark one held the sunburned man’s arm tight to his chest with both arms and dropped onto his back, heels tight against the opposite underarm and side of his head. The dark man dragged the other man’s arm straight, then drove his hips up into the air until the sunburned man’s arm yielded in a grisly snap, elbow turning backwards.

  He screamed, eyes screwed shut as he feebly tried to reclaim his ruined arm. The dark man let it go, scrambling back over him to straddle his whimpering figure.

  “Finish it!” Helgar screamed.

  The plump Tigerian roared at him in Tigerian, violently gesturing at his disfigured fighter.

  The dark man drove two squelching fingers into the sunburned man’s eye socket, face twisting with disgust as he did it. He tore the eye out, producing a sound of snapping twine, flicking it onto the floor. The downed man stopped fighting and started madly shrieking, his legs writhing. His working hand protectively covered his weeping wound as the other arm uselessly flopped when he tried to move it. His legs batted at the ground, slapping at the soddened mess.

  The dark man fell from the sunburned man’s hips, face aghast. He raised his hands before his face, bloodied hands quivering. “What have I done?” he breathed in Common, voice becoming a scream. “What have I done?”

  Helgar dragged something bright and chrome from a circular table between the couches. He tossed it onto the floor beside the dark man, striking the floor with a clatter. “Finish him off,” he ordered with ice in his veins.

  The dark man’s body shuddered, eyes shifting to a double-sided hand axe resting on the floor. He wrapped his hands around the leather wrapped haft, raising it high with a grimace.

  “N-no!” the sunburned man cried, twisting onto his side.

  With no hesitation, the winner drove the axe down, chopping mercilessly through the other man’s throat and thumping into the wooden floor. Blood sprayed from his neck and speckled the nearest wall.

  The barkeep fumbled a bottle, and it shattered on the floor. “I apologize, sir!” he quickly said from behind her with an astonished gasp, but Helgar ignored him. The barkeep vanished behind the bar to presumably clean the mess.

  The sunburned man twitched as the life pumped from his body. The victor raised the axe again, hacking through the last of the man’s neck, beheading him.

  Helgar laughed, and Brenna mirrored him while clapping. “Well done, well done!” Helgar whooped.

  The dark man’s eyes were wide and vibrating, axe tumbling from his blood-slicked hands. He slowly rose to stand, staring down at his victim, gulping down the room’s fetid air.

  The plump Tigerian yowled in frustration and sprang to his feet. He gave the sunburned corpse a harsh kick, then started tugging at his shimmering whiskers.

  “I do believe I’ve won again,” Helgar said with a triumphant smirk.

  The plump Tigerian gave the headless corpse another series of kicks, one directed at the severed head, sending it rolling across the priceless carpets.

  Brenna watched the spectacle with glazed eyes, forcing a laugh and a smile when she sensed Helgar watching her.

  Helgar patted the dark man on the back. “Once again you’ve served me wonderfully. Go to the bar and get whatever you want. Larlock!”

  “Yes, master,” Larlock called, rising up with bits of glass collected in a dustpan.

  “Give the boy whatever he wants. He earned it today!” Helgar grinned down at the corpse.

  “Yes, master,” Larlock said quickly. “Whatever he wants.”

  Helgar regarded Hiko, pointing with his pipe. “And Hiko, send him one of my personal bed warmer’s, and instruct her that she is to take good care of him as if she were with me. After he gets cleaned up of course.”

  “Naturally, Helgar,” Hiko said with a slight bow.

  The dark man lumbered for the bar, dripping a path of blood. Lillian watched him approach. His face was empty and devoid of all emotion. Hiko slapped him on the shoulder as he passed, giving a pleased laugh.

  The plump Tigerian snatched an overcoat from the couch and angrily wriggled his arms into it, then jerked the high collar up against his neck.

  “Honeyed Ale,” the dark man muttered, thumping his chest against the bar a foot to her left. Lillian made no effort to move. He gave her unabashed sneer and a slight shake of his head. The iron tang of blood and ancient sweat came with him in a cloud of stink.

  “Enjoy,” Larlock said, bringing up a bottle and uncorking it.

  Lillian had no choice but to acknowledge the disrespectful gesture. She narrowed her eyes, though made no effort to face him. “Careful where you shake that head; might find it removed from your body too.” She said it loud enough that Helgar would hear, bringing a broad smile to his feline lips.

  The dark man took a quick swig, then sauntered through the double doors, bottle hanging limp from his scarlet hands. Larlock quickly worked to scrub away the blood smear he’d left, his rag producing a series of annoying squeaks.

  The plump Tigerian handed a stuffed pouch to Helgar, who gave it a few appraising hefts and making the marks within jingle. The loser shuffled his way over to the bar, seeming to grow in girth as he approached. He blew out his feline lips, narrowing his big eyes at the array of bottles. “Brandy Shrub,” he grunted, then turned to look at Lillian, who met his stare.

  Larlock retrieved a long and narrow bottle filled with a scintillating greenish-blue spirit and poured him a glass. It had a pleasing aroma of mint, earth, and chocolate. The Tigerian took a sip, then regarded her flatly. “Good. What is your name?”

  “Masa,” Lillian replied, shifting her gaze to her hands resting in her lap.

  “And are you able to write your name? Can you perhaps spell it?” the Tigerian asked with a mocking smile.

  “Could write it with your own blood,” Lillian said it low enough so that only he and Larlock could hear. Larlock’s eyebrows went up as he put the bottle of Brandy Shrub back on the shelf.

  The plump Tigerian sneered at her, then downed the last of his drink in one gulp. He started for the door. “This one! Careful, Helgar, she has fire in her belly!” He chuckled with amusement as he swept through the doorway, not knowing the truth of his words

  The Tigerian who had been staring at her started working the peg board in the center of the room, carefully placing a handful of wooden dowels the length of short swords into drilled slots.

  Helgar slowly made his way to the bar with Brenna trailing him at his back. Brenna sent her a hard smile that reminded her of her part. Had she perhaps heard her? “What is your name, humie?” Helgar asked with a friendly smile and a voice that held an undercurrent of cruel strength.

  “Masa,” she said flatly, still as a statue.

  “Masa,” Helgar said slowly, tasting the sound. “A strange name. So, you two want to get into humie fighting, do you?”

  “We do,” Brenna said with her arms pressed behind her back, rising onto her tiptoes.

  “Where did you buy her?” Helgar asked. He tapped the charred remains of his pipe on the bar counter and started refilling it with fresh tobacco. Larlock dutifully brushed away the remains with a glinting crumb sweeper.

  Brenna grinned, joining Lillian on the other side of the bar standing across from Helgar. She leaned over the counter, overtly showing the deep furrow of her breasts. “As I’ve said, she is not mine, but a free woman, a fellow slaver, now serving as my advisor in my new business interest.”

  Helgar shifted his gaze between the women, a sly grin playing on his lips as if he plainly saw through their ruse. He lifted his pipe toward Larlock who lit a fire striker, gracefully lighting it.
The tobacco crackled in the dim light. He started pacing, making a wide girth half-way towards the hearth and circling back, his footfalls scraping on the carpet. “And you’re the expert,” Helgar scoffed at Lillian. “Please, do tell me what makes you an expert on the subject. My ears are primed.”

  His arrogance. His pitiless stare. She pressed it down the best she could, slowly turning to look him directly in the eye. “You ask far too many questions.”

  Helgar’s mouth slipped open, head tilting. The Tigerian playing the peg board dropped a dowel, rolling like thunder across the floor. He set his gaze back on her, eyes drawn to lethal slits. “Did she just say what I believe she said?” The Tigerian snatched the dropped dowel from the floor, uncaring as his narrow-brimmed hat fell from his head. He gave the dowel the length of a club a threatening tap into his palm, striding across the room for Lillian. “Seems she needs manners.”

  Helgar raised his hand, eyes boring into Lillian, halting the other in his tracks. “Not to worry, Sofor, we’re just getting to know each other.” He gave Lillian a hard nod with the semblance of a smile twitching at his lips. “I’m not offended nor can you offend me.”

  “Pardon me, Helgar. I would appreciate it if you would direct your communication to my advisor through me,” Brenna said with an appeasing smile.

  Helgar turned on his heels, giving Lillian his back. It took a tremendous effort not to slit his throat. He pointed at Brenna with his pipe, smoke swirling like phantoms. “You need a drink. Can Larlock get you anything?”

  “Why, yes! That would be wonderful,” Brenna said, breaking into a laugh. “Ginger whiskey if you have it,” she said to Larlock.

  “Wonderful indeed. I’ll have a plum wine with a splash of brandy. No, make that a large splash, if you would.” Helgar took a drag from his pipe and blew a plume of smoke toward the ceiling.

  Larlock worked in grim silence, drawing up a pair of crystal clear glasses and pouring their drinks.

  “Brenna,” Helgar huffed and dragged out a stool from under the bar counter, then plopped onto it. “I know you are a well-seasoned bounty hunter and a respected slaver. We’ve had a few business dealings in the past, and I only wish the best for you. I want to make sure this… expert here only has your best interests at heart.” He put his hand to his chest.

  Brenna grimaced as if in pain, rising to stand and sauntering over to stand before Lillian and Helgar. She peered into his eyes, her expression made of stone. “I did not come here seeking your advice, Helgar. I came here seeking high-quality humies for brawling. I’m here for business, not trivialities.” A smile slowly spread across her mouth, though it did not touch her eyes.

  Larlock slid a glass of plum wine before Helgar, swimming with gradients of amber and violet. He did the same for Lillian, her whiskey glass edged with a slice of fresh ginger that cut at her sinuses.

  “I’m not ready to discuss business yet.” Helgar took a pull from his pipe and sip from his drink. “Sofor, Larlock.” Helgar flicked his fingers at them. Sofor grunted and made for the door. Larlock followed, closing it behind them with a click.

  “If I must do business with you, then I must do business with both of you. Very well. Hiko tells me you came by my fields earlier today and didn’t see any humies you saw fit for brawling. Is that right? You didn’t find any of my specimens impressive, I’m told.” Helgar frowned.

  Brenna pressed her lips into a line and gave a contemplative nod. “Not for what you’re asking for them, no.”

  Helgar froze and stared at nothing as if running through calculations. His face brightened, eyes flicking up to Brenna. “Then our business is over. I won’t sell my best fighters.”

  Brenna hinged at her hips, leaning over with a conspiratorial smile. “What if I made you an offer, one you may even consider absurd.”

  Helgar took a long drag from his pipe, eyes narrowed. “I’m listening. And what sort of offer is absurd?”

  “Masa, how much are we prepared to offer for the right brawler?”

  Lillian met Brenna’s eyes, gleaming with the prospect of victory. They were in. Lillian twisted in her chair, turning to regard Helgar. “For the right brawler. Fit, strong, free of major wounds and disease… we could offer maybe ten thousand marks.”

  “Well now, you most certainly have garnered my attention,” Helgar raised his drink with a smile.

  Seven

  The Oakmourn Plantation

  Lillian, Brenna, and Helgar were joined by a dozen of his sniveling sycophants to tour the Oakmourn Plantation grounds. They seemed to be an unruly mix of servants, guards, and taskmasters. Distinguishing the differences between the last two proved to be a challenge. At the back of the group was a line of about twenty human slaves lumbering in chains.

  The group embarked at sunrise after a morning supper of elixir and golden honey cakes. It surprised her how alike the tastes of Tigerians and humans were, but then supposed it shouldn’t. Lillian and Brenna rented a room about a mile away from the plantation, unwilling to risk sleeping in the jaws of their enemy. They reluctantly met Helgar at the mansion before dawn to partake in the meal. They did, after all, have to keep up appearances, Brenna reminded.

  The sky was an azure tapestry threaded with hints of clouds. Verdant grasses rustled and swayed. The occasional tree provided a patch of shade. Hooves clopped, and Tougeres padded at the earth. They followed a curling dirt road that cut through an uncultivated section of land at the far eastern side of the plantation.

  “What a marvelous day,” Brenna said, gesturing up at the sky.

  Lillian grunted in agreement, cool air coursing down her back and wicking away the start of the day’s sweat. Kalli had proven to be good natured thus far, and she could only hope she stayed that way. If she were to show some measure of weakness, even in the handling of her mount, it could be an exploitable chink in the armor of her act.

  Helgar leaned back in his carriage, pointing out the variety of crops raised in the distance of his vast estate. Hiko sat across from him, legs crossed and one arm draped across a plush cushion. A Tougere with gray and white stripes obediently pulled the cart. Lillian watched as its great striated muscles shifted to and fro, plodding under the heavy tack. Its twin fangs were so long they sometimes scraped the earth as its head bobbed with each step. They were both fearsome and magnificent creatures.

  “Now, if you’d look over here, you’ll see we’re starting to grow our very own variety of elixir. The taste is a bit off, but I have my best breeders working on it.” Helgar swept his arm in an arc.

  Lillian didn’t look. She was searching every tired face bending over crops for the one that would light her heart, but alas, she had yet to see Baylan. Maybe the ledger Brenna had acquired was wrong. Maybe it had been somehow forged. They hadn’t seen all of the mansion, so there was still hope that he might be there, but the dim light of her hope was slowly dying.

  “Indeed, it is a beautiful morning, Brenna,” Helgar said with a contemplative sigh, staring out like a king presiding over his minions.

  “I don’t believe you could ask for better.” Brenna laughed, eyes flicking over the landscape. She was searching too. Lillian spent an hour last night drawing a sketch of Baylan’s countenance so Brenna knew what to look for. It was an oversight from their visit last night. She prayed an opportunity to find him hadn’t been squandered.

  “Care to join me for a ride? I just had the interior refinished by the tailors of Spimourn.” Helgar gestured for his Tigerian driver to bring the carriage to a halt. The trailing group came to shuffling stop from behind, producing a few grunts and growls.

  “Oh. I’d love to, but what about Stanley?” Brenna scratched the back of the horse’s neck with one hand.

  Helgar raised two fingers into the air and barked out a sharp whistle. A man came running up, bowing and groveling at the side of the cart. He wore soiled rags, patched and threadbare with hardly enough material to protect him from the sun. “Take care of my guest’s mount and do care for him well.�
�� Helgar pointed at Stanley with his pipe.

  “Yes, master,” the man bowed, then scampered around the front of the cart.

  “Thank you. I suppose I must oblige,” Brenna said as she climbed off. “If he’s being stubborn, you can bribe him with apples and carrots,” she said to the man taking his reins.

  “Yes, my lady,” the enslaved bowed a few times, gingerly escorting Stanley to stand beside Lillian.

  Lillian narrowed her eyes at Sofor, always staring, always judging with his cruel eyes. She followed his stare. He was scowling, not at her but at Brenna joining Helgar.

  Brenna started to climb into the carriage. “Thank you for the honor,” she said, accepting Helgar’s welcoming hand.

  “Nonsense, the honor is all mine,” Helgar said. He tipped a broad-brimmed hat to Lillian, ornamented at the front with knots of gold. “Masa.” Helgar grinned.

  Lillian gave him an acknowledging nod, remembering what Helgar had said to them at dinner last evening after they had piqued his curiosity. He had jabbed his pipe at the air when one of his guests tried to work their way into the conversation. “I was speaking with one of my associates whose profession is a doctor of human anatomy. He believes there are some humans who might have potential to best a Tigerian, granted our invasion of Zoria just shy of five hundred years ago had proven that patently false.”

  “Midgaard repelled the invading Tigerian force, hadn’t they?” Lillian had cut in. They most certainly had, though not without Midgaard sustaining thousands of lost lives. The invading force left hundreds of Milvorian artifacts behind, items infused with the Old Magic. Some were mere trifles, others with the strength to level mountains. The most powerful Milvorian artifacts had been gathered and collected in the halls of the Silver Tower.

  Helgar had stabbed his pipe at her, raising his voice. “That’s not the point. The point is we retreated of our own accord, and the greater point is that the doctor believes there might be maybe one in fifty-thousand humies who could rise up and best any of his Tigerian foes. An exceptional humie. Could you imagine such a thing?”