Day of the Hunt (The Faun Quartet Book 2)

by Chris J Edwards

  The city seemed to slope downward toward the sea. Through the twisting maze of streets I walked, sack slung over my back, coins jangling at my neck. The sea sparkled before me, blue and endless. Seabirds cried overhead.

  I reached the docks. The stink of fish and brine filled my nose and it was familiar and revolting. Low stone walls reached out into the water, encircling the harbour like outstretched arms. Long galleys sat heavy in the harbour, oars pulled in. I sneered at the sight. Damn those galleys. Damn the slavers.

  I walked up and down the docks, eyeing each vessel. I did not want to stumble onto the wrong one; I did not want to end up near a slave transport.

  The harbour was huge; I counted twenty piers, each with two ships, some with more. The only way to know which was headed east would be to ask the crew.

  On my second pass of the harbour I listened in close to whatever folk loitered nearby. I couldn’t find any that spoke my tongue. For an hour I wandered, straining to pick up a familiar sound. There were none.

  After some time I sat down on a pile of nets. It was late afternoon. I was thirsty. I knew of a well nearby but I did not want to give up the search. A fly landed at the corner of my eye. I swatted it away.

  I hated this place. I hated this city. And I hated the sea. But I had no choice. If I were to ever return home, home to the great sweeping valleys at the edge of the endless plains, I had to find a ship.

  Damn this place!

  I continued my search a while longer. But soon the sun was setting; the sky grew dark. I watched strange moons rise, moons I had seldom seen. Even the stars here were unfamiliar. Even the birds sang different songs.

  I slunk back into the alleyways and slept.

  That night I dreamed. A short dream, of crashing waves and the flowing golden hair of a sea-spun maiden. That is all I remembered when I awoke.

  The sun was just rising as I staggered up from the cold ground. I shivered in the damp sea air. I longed for the sun to rise again, put warmth into my bones.

  Collecting up my sack of potatoes, and checking my purse for its jangle of coins, I trudged back down to the docks.

  A fine, orange mist hung over the water. The horizon, far beyond the broad arms of the harbour walls, was lost in a tepid haze. I wiped my nose with the back of my hand.

  I walked along the harbour side. Sailors worked at untying a ship before it cast off into the mist. Oars splashed in the still waters. I watched the ship crawl out like a beetle and disappear.

  A barking voice startled me. I turned around. Not far off a cluster of guards prodded a sleeping sailor awake. He looked bewildered; they spoke at him in their odd tongue. Then they went to the next sailor, leaning against a stack of barrels. They spoke. The guards moved on.

  They were headed my direction.

  I turned away. I did not want to speak to the guards. I did not want them to see my torn ear. I had to leave.

  I quickened my pace and walked along the docks, passing ships as I went. There was little movement at this time of day, so early in the morning. I decided to give up my search for passage until a later time.

  As I walked by a fat, heavy ship, something suddenly caught my ear.

  “Damnit!” someone cried.

  I stopped.

  ‘Damnit?’

  Someone was speaking a language I knew. I turned and looked around.

  There, down the pier by the fat, heavy ship, was a group of unmen loaded down with gear. They were walking up the gangway and onto the ship. It wasn’t a galley; it was something else, with all sails and no oars. A few of the unmen struggled with a large, flat stone, trying to heave it onto their shoulders.

  My heart quickened. Someone there spoke my language… this could be my only chance.

  I started walking toward the pier. But as I did I caught sight of the approaching guards.

  I cursed under my breath. There was no way to avoid them. I was out in the open, with nowhere to hide. Our paths were going to meet.

  I quickened my step, keeping my head down. I headed straight for the fat, heavy ship. Then I heard one of the guards shout. I didn’t look. They shouted again. Still I ignored them.

  The unmen looked up as I approached. I dropped the sack of potatoes to the ground. They were all female, each with tattoos on the back of their shaved heads.

  “You need help?” I asked, motioning to the big stone.

  One of them just glared at me. She was whip-thin and had a pointed nose.

  The other two seemed to contemplate it. They looked back at the approaching guards; I could hear their heavy steps upon the wood.

  “I can lift it,” I urged. “I can carry it. Let me aboard and I will carry it.”

  One of the unmen folded her arms. She was impressively tall, with wide, strong shoulders; but not as large as myself. I could pick up the stone.

  “You think you can lift? Alone?” she asked in a thick Unnic accent.

  I nodded. A flood of relief washed over me as I heard a familiar tongue, even if it was heavily accented.

  She smiled and I saw the flash of her sharp teeth. She motioned for me to try.

  I stepped forward -

  And a heavy hand grabbed me from behind.

  21

  Daz

  “Lift from the corner,” Vash-turel grunted as she weakly struggled against the stone’s weight.

  I already was. I was bearing almost the entire weight of the Soul Slab on my own; her and Avna’a were little help. The rectangular block of stone was just so awkward to carry. The muscles in my shoulders and lower back strained against the mass.

  The tablet slipped; I tried to catch it, to let it down to the wooden dock under control. My limbs strained against the weight and I grit my teeth.

  “Damnit!” Avna’a cried in her native tongue, the language of the eastern hinterlands. Vash-turel cursed and huffed. The Soul Slab thudded against the pier.

  I stood up and caught my breath, wiping my brow. If only we could have kept the horses…

  We stood there a moment, looking down at the irksome Soul Slab, contemplating how best to carry it up the gangway. I couldn’t do it on my own; its uneven weight was too much, too unsteady. And with two other pairs of hands it was too awkward.

  The heavy sound of footsteps upon the planks pulled me away from my thoughts. I looked up.

  Walking toward us was a massive uyrguk. He must have been a head taller than me, and much wider. I could tell by the grey shade of his skin, his large frame, that he was from the far east – a place I had been sent many times before my myrmidon was reorganized. A baggy tunic hung around his torso and a strip of cloth was wrapped around his head. He looked very out of place and perhaps beggarly – if he weren’t so colossal.

  Not far behind followed a group of city guards. One shouted for him to stop. He did not.

  He stopped before us and dropped a grimy sack onto the dock. Then he pointed to the Soul Slab.

  “You need help?” he asked in east-uyrk, the tongue of trade east of Un.

  Avna’a and I shared a quick look. Did we need help? I guess we did – I certainly didn’t want to carry this ungainly thing.

  I looked over his hulking shoulders. The guards were practically upon us.

  “I can lift it. I can carry it. Let me aboard and I will carry it,” he pressed in a low, rumbling voice.

  His eyes were hard, his face tense and grim.

  I folded my arms.

  “You think you can lift it? Alone?” I asked haltingly in my poor east-uyrk.

  I knew Avna’a would make fun of me later for my poor speaking ability. I was always terrible at learning new languages, and I hated that it was part of our job.

  But I smiled at the uyrguk’s eager nodding. I waved at the Soul Slab, motioning for him to try.

  Just then the city guards arrived. There were five of them.

  “Didn’t hear us calling, brute?” growled one in my native tongue, Unnic.


  He grabbed at the uyrguk’s shoulder. The four others had their clubs in hand, holding them low. The uyrguk didn’t move.

  “What’s all this?” Avna’a asked, stepping around the uyrguk to confront the guards.

  “Clearing out vagrants and jump-ships. By order of the governor,” the lead guard replied cautiously. “We followed this one from three piers down. Looks like a vagrant to me.”

  I looked at the uyrguk. His face was unreadable, set in stone. But his eyes belied desperation.

  “He isn’t,” I suddenly blurted out, surprising everyone, especially myself.

  They all looked to me; the guards, Vash-turel, Avna’a.

  “That’s right. He isn’t a vagrant,” Avna’a chimed in, and I inwardly sighed with relief that she caught on. “He’s a porter. He’s carrying our equipment.”

  The lead guard narrowed his eyes at us, at the uyrguk. Free unmen in service to anyone but the Empress herself always despised us, always despised the favoured slaves.

  “Of course, of course…” he purred, throwing his hands up deferentially.

  Then he looked down at the Soul Slab.

  “My, he must be incredibly strong to pick that stone up all by himself… perhaps you would allow me to watch such a feat of strength?” the lead guard asked.

  I knew exactly what he was doing. He was seeing if this uyrguk really was a porter. I quietly cursed myself for opening my mouth. What had come over me?

  I looked back up to the uyrguk’s face. His face was still stone, his eyes still desperate.

  “Lift,” I said, directing my gaze back down to the stone. “Then you come with us.”

  The uyrguk nodded and stepped toward the stone. Everyone watched. Vash-turel leaned against a pylon, a slight smirk on her weasel face. She had neither hindered nor helped and I wondered what she would want in return. But that was a problem for later.

  The uyrguk bent his knees and gripped either edge of the Soul Slab. He tugged lightly, testing the weight. Then, with a heave, he lifted the tablet off the dock all by himself. Every muscle in his arms tightened; veins bulged in his neck. Even despite the incredible weight of the stone, he did not shake, he did not quiver; in one steady motion he lifted the great stone up, up, up and onto his shoulder.

  I breathed out at last. Avna’a and I shared another quick look, wordlessly communicating our mutual relief.

  “Impressive. I was not disappointed,” said the lead guard.

  I ignored him. And with that they left, walking back up the pier the way they came.

  “Alright, up you go,” Avna’a said to our new porter.

  With heavy steps he walked up the gangway and the three of us followed behind.

  “Lucky you,” said Vash-turel. “I guess you won’t have to carry that thing around anymore. But maybe that makes you sad… I know you like carrying heavy things. It’s what you’re good at.”

  I ignored her too.

  Once aboard we stowed the Soul Slab away below-decks. It was a menace to carry down the steps, but it was too precious to leave up top.

  “Thanks for covering for me, Av,” I said to Avna’a.

  “Don’t worry about it. It was good thinking on your part; now we can just get that brute to carry the stone,” she said, pointing a thumb at the uyrguk.

  He stood nearby, waiting to be told what to do. I realized that we hadn’t even agreed on how much we would pay him. It probably wouldn’t be much. Either way, he had seemed desperate and for some reason I just couldn’t turn him away.

  Avna’a and I leaned against the railing, looking toward our new porter. He just stood there, perfectly content to not move a muscle.

  “I mean, just look at the size of him, Daz. He’s huge! An absolute mountain…” Avna’a said.

  Mountain… the word seemed to ring inside my head.

  “Wait, what did you say?” I asked Avna’a.

  “I… I said, he’s huge,” she stammered, confused by my sudden turn.

  “No, no,” I said, grabbing her arm. “What exactly did you say.”

  “I said he’s huge. The uyrguk is huge. He’s the size of a mountain.”

  …the scarred mountain will deliver you from evil…

  …the scarred mountain…

  The words echoed inside my skull. Those were the words Turvarik had muttered to me. That old hobgoblin fortune-teller…

  I shook my head. Fortune-telling wasn’t real. None of it was real. Just a coincidence, plain and simple. Meaningless.

  “Are… you okay, Daz?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m fine,” I said, calming down.

  We went back to just watching the uyrguk. He didn’t seem to mind. Avna’a asked him a few questions in east-uyrk, and we discussed his answers in Unnic. Every answer he gave was short, sparse. When we asked him where he was from, he said ‘east.’ Then he asked us where we were heading, and we said ‘west.’ He didn’t seem pleased.

  He walked over to the railing and looked out to the dusty, bustling confines of Argru’un.

  “I must go east,” he rumbled.

  Just then a slinking shadow appeared next to us. It was Vash-turel.

  “Making friends, are we?” she purred, glaring over at the uyrguk.

  She didn’t speak east-uyrk, so she had no way to communicate with him but through Avna’a and me. And I knew that bothered her. She wanted control – she was always looking for some kind of advantage.

  “You know…” she continued, voice low, “I really don’t think we have the money to pay him….”

  “We have the money. We have more than enough,” Avna’a retorted.

  “Perhaps. But it would be far better to not have to pay. Don’t you agree?”

  “What does it matter?” I asked.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I just have a keen feeling that he might not actually be a free folk at all…” she whispered theatrically, glaring up at the uyrguk.

  “I don’t get what you mean,” I replied.

  She shrugged.

  “Well, go ahead,” said Vash-turel, leaning feline-like against the railing. “Get him to take that silly rag off his head.”

  “Why should we? He’s going to be our porter, and that’s that,” Avna’a argued.

  Vash-turel looked out to the lowered gangway. We were still docked, still waiting for the last of the merchant’s sailors to appear for casting-off.

  “Well, I’m just saying we could have him be a porter for free. He’s a slave. I can tell. Look at the scars on his wrists…” she said. “Either he does it for free, or we leave him behind and I call the guards.”

  I hated Vash-turel. I knew she would pull something like this, something crafty. She gained little else from this affair than the sheer joy of manipulating others to her will. Maybe she just wanted to watch me struggle for the rest of the journey under the weight of the Soul Slab – or, she wanted to have this secret to hold over our heads for the rest of the journey.

  “Alright. Fine,” Avna’a relented.

  Then she turned to the uyrguk.

  “Take off your head wrapping,” she commanded in east-uyrk.

  The uyrguk hesitated. But not for long. He reached up and unwound the wrapping.

  We all looked at the side of his head. Sure enough, a good chunk of his left ear was torn away. It was the sure mark of an escaped slave; he must have ripped out the brass crescent. I gazed at his hard face; no doubt he had done it himself.

  “Just as I thought,” Vash-turel said with mock disappointment. “It seems you’ve hired an escaped slave. Shame.”

  “No. Not a shame,” I said, squaring up to her. “He’s our porter now. He stays with us.”

  Vash-turel shrunk back. All cowards are cruel, and all who are cruel are cowards.

  “Look, we need someone to carry the stone. We could either have Daz do it, and lose our best fighter, or we can have this uyrguk do it. The choice is simple,” Avna’a said, trying to reason with Vash
-turel. “So I say we keep him.”

  Vash-turel backed away and folded her arms defiantly.

  “Alright. Fine. But we won’t pay him. He’s a slave,” she said, and walked away. “I’ve got my eye on him…”

  We watched her slink below deck. I was still angry. She was always trying to undercut us, to twist our arm.

  “You can put that rag back on. Don’t take it off again until we’re out of port,” Avna’a said to the awaiting uyrguk.

  “I can carry the stone,” he insisted. “I can carry it.”

  “We know. You will,” I replied. “You will come with us.”

  He gazed back out to Argu’un. He spat off the side of the boat.

  “But I must go east…” he said.

  “You can go east. But you’ll have to come with us first. Then we’ll head back east all together. We can get you as far as the Ashen Plain,” Avna’a said to him.

  The uyrguk contemplated Avna’a’s words for a moment. Then he closed his eyes and nodded. He bound his head back up with the rag.

  “Now, I’m going to go tell the captain we have another body aboard. Daz, make sure he doesn’t jump,” Avna’a said, and left us.

  We stood there for a while, leaning against the railing. Sea birds cried shrilly overhead. I watched as the sailors began casting off, untying thick ropes from the piers, loading up the gangway.

  I didn’t trust Vash-turel. I felt exposed, now that she had something to hold over me. I hated it. I was certain she would try something again, I just didn’t know what, didn’t know when.

  It was going to be a long journey.

  “We make a deal,” I said aloud.

  “A deal?” asked the uyrguk.

  I nodded, still looking out to the bustle below.

  “I protect you, you protect me,” I said. “Deal?”

  The uyrguk pushed off from the railing, standing up to his full height. He really was a mountain. His forearms were thick with knotted muscle.

  “Deal,” he replied, thumping his fist down on the worn wood.

  I’d like to see Vash-turel and her cronies take us both on. We could probably fight the whole crew at this point.

  “Good,” I said with finality, thumping my fist down too. “So, your name?”