Mage Hunter: 2

2

He waited--two more knocks.

His hand fell instinctively to his side, to where his sword handle would have been. But, it wasn't there. Maybe he should have gotten it out of the trunk. He opened it a crack, peering through. The man standing there was wreathed in shadows, he couldn't make out his appearance. 

"What do you want?"

"Hello there! This is the home of Fenris Odare, is it not?"

"Might be, might not. What's it to you?" 

"My name is Thorben Ocalcin. I've come here with a proposition for Fenris."

His voice sounded eager. Fenris opened the door, orange light flooding the outside and revealing him. Thorben stood a tall man, young with an angled jaw, and short-cut blond hair. He wore a long coat of deep red, tall well-polished riding boots, and a sword belt, although his sword was not with him. 

Fenris had a good notion that he knew what kind of man Thorben was. A nobleman's son most likely, setting out on some adventure to prove his worth. No doubt, he had come seeking the world's most infamous killer.

He invited Thorben in and went back to his chair. Thorben took a few steps inside and closed the door behind him. 

"You look tired," Fenris said. "Must have traveled far to find me way out here in the Expansion." 

"I admit, it wasn't an easy task. You are an elusive man Mister Odare." 

"I'm not the best cook, but want some soup?"

Thorben nodded and sat down at the table. Fenris always made more than he could eat anyways. He fetched two wooden bowls and took the pot's handle with a folded cloth, spooning out some portions for each of them. He plopped down a loaf of bread and cut some slices, then filled his drinking horn and one for the visitor.

"Your hospitality is most appreciated," Thorben said. 

Fenris motioned to the food. "Then eat."

They ate in silence. The young traveler fought with his manners, but Fenris could see the ferocity in his eyes as he gulped the ale, munched the bread, and slurped the soup. He knew that feeling all too well, from his own years on the road. Nibbling on hard bread and leathery meat didn't make for a satisfying meal. 

Fenris would admit that the stew tasted a bit bland. Then again, he had been spoiled during his killing days, eating at the table of nobles and their cooks. The stew had mostly onions in a broth, with smoked pork and chopped potatoes. The ale helped wash it down, the nutty taste complimenting the savory stew well. When he reached the bottom of the bowl, he used the bread to soak up the rest, shoveling soggy pieces into his mouth. 

Meal finished, Fenris leaned back and sucked on his teeth. "What do you have for me?"

Thorben clapped his hands together and then reached inside his coat, producing a crumpled scroll of thin paper. He unrolled it, but it kept curling back up. Blocks of neat organized text were scrawled with perfect curly penmanship. At the bottom two charcoal drawings, crude faces, showed the targets. Aggravated by the paper moving, Fenris grabbed the bread knife and jammed it into the top corner. Thorben jumped back, his eyes wide.

Fenris scanned the words and then wrenched the knife free of the table, letting the scroll roll itself back up. "A fat purse, but I am a farmer now. That's no longer my line of work."

"Two rogue mages have murdered their instructor and escaped the Scarlet Enclave. They use blood magic. The Scarlet Enclave is offering two thousand gold standards for their heads. This is quite the opportunity. Unequaled, if you ask me," Thorben replied. 

"I've seen purses this fat before, they're never easy. Lots of death. You'd need a posse."

"Surely, the Great Slayer himself could capture these two. All he needs is a benefactor to help him get started. The profit will be more than worth it."

"No," Fenris said, he slammed his palms down on the table. Thorben jumped back. "I'm done with the killing."

Thorben raised a finger. "I thought you might say that. Why else would you come way out here to live, all by yourself? I didn't come out here to ask you to kill anyone. I want to take you on as an advisor."

Fenris stared at him through the flickering hearth light, for a long moment. Thorben shifted in his seat and rubbed his hands together. A bead of sweat trickled down his brow.

"The man who points the finger is just as responsible as the man who swings the sword," Fenris said.

"I will give you one third, just for pointing that finger. The blood won't be on your hands and you'll help end the lives of two dangerous men that no doubt will kill again to satisfy their hunger for blood magic. That would be more than enough to expand your little farm, and even hire on a few hands before winter."

Fenris clenched his jaw. To have experienced men helping out, that would make his life a great deal easier. But, that would mean going back to his old life. The thought of more killing made him wince. 

"You can sleep here, it's too far back to the village and the roads are too rough. Hitch your horse inside the pig pen, we've got problems with mountain cats," Fenris said and stood.

"So you'll consider?"

"I didn't say that. It's been a long day, I'm getting some sleep."

"Yes, please let's sleep on it. It's in your best interest."