Mage Hunter: 3

3

The morning sun rose, yellow light flickering through the gaps in the cabin's timbers. But, it wasn't the light, rather the sound that woke him. Birds chirped and tweeted, a rooster crowed, and his new guest snored from his pallet on the floor. 

Thorben lay beside the fire, blanket pulled up to his chin. Fenris rolled to his feet, studying him. He kept thinking about how vulnerable he was, how easy it would be to slide a knife into his heart. He shook his head and started lacing up his boots. Those were the kinds of thoughts that men like him had, men who had killed so many. 

Fenris found the key underneath a clay urn filled with herbs. It had been hidden there on purpose, out of sight and out of mind. It fit into the trunk's lock easy and he turned it, the top opening up.  He took out his sword and belt, strapping it to his hip. His bow was wrapped in oiled cloth and his quiver full of arrows, fletched with black goose feathers. He unrolled the cloth and began to string the bow, his hands moving with practiced skill.

The bow drew in a smooth motion, the wood creaking. He held it there for a moment, testing the string. The tendons in his forearm burned. But, it was good, he wouldn't have to replace it. 

Thorben woke with a grunt, turning toward him, his groggy expression shifting to one of worry. Fenris loosed the string and the bow thrummed. Carefully, he rolled it back up and strapped it to his travel bag, along with the quiver. Moving across the shelves, he began to fill the bag with provisions for the journey.

"So, you're going after all?" Thorben said.

"Aye."

"Excellent!" 

Fenris winced. The enthusiasm was a bit too much, made him flinch. Maybe going was a bad idea. Regardless, it was a lot of money, a sum he could put to good use. He didn't have to kill anyone. All he had to do was make sure Thorben and whoever he brought wouldn't make stupid choices. In a way, he was saving their lives. Blood mages weren't the type to be trifled with, especially not for someone who seemed as green as Thorben. 

Thorben watered and fed his horse while Fenris got to work tying a rope. He made a collar and leash for the pig. The pig wrenched away, squealing and grunting stubbornly as Fenris tugged. The beast eventually yielded, allowing himself to be lead out of the pen. 

Thorben pointed at the leashed beast. "You're bringing a pig?"

Fenris shrugged. "He'll be mountain cat food if I leave him here. Either that or starve to death. I'll sell him for a few silvers in the village." 

The trail away from his cabin led through thick forest. The High Danes jutted up behind the forest, slopes of naked granite topped with white peaks, like rigid spines on back of some great beast. Foothills and valleys rolled below them, shimmering rivers and streams snaking their way through the forests. 

The Expansion was a tough land, rugged and untamed by man, until recent years. The King's victory against the Valhonians had brought the lands into the Kingdom of Elenglade. They were a gift of peace, to end a hundred years of brutal killing and raiding by both sides. The great noble families of Elenglade eagerly bought up swaths of the land from the King, but there was just so much of it. They turned around and parceled it up among those who could work it and earn a tax.  

Various opportunists fled to the Expansion, packing up their homes and their families. Some sought the freedom of the wilds, while others were lured by the prospect of fortune. 

To Fenris, the Expansion seemed to be the perfect place to escape his old life. Out here, a man was on his own.

Thorben led his horse by the reigns and Fenris his pig by the leash. Little was said as the morning passed into afternoon. 

"What's your plan?" Fenris asked.

"My plan?" Thorben replied, his voice rising with confusion. 

"If you're going after two mages, a plan is needed. So, what is your plan so far?"

"Well, I suppose I am starting off recruiting experienced men, like yourself. Then I will go to the Scarlet Enclave in Enersen and see what information they have on the mage's last whereabouts."

 "A rogue mage is free to exercise their power. That means that they're intimidating. Men will flock to that power, typically other outlaws and deviants. We'll have to face a small army to get their heads. How will you handle that?" Fenris said.

"Oh," Thorben said, looking down at the dusty trail. "I guess I'll hire more men."

"It's likely to get bloody, fast. Are you prepared for that?"

Thorben furrowed his eyebrows and puffed his chest. "I'm not a coward."

"Never said you were. Judging from how you had to defend yourself there, you've got something to prove. A man with something to prove isn't the kind of man that men will follow. You have to be a man that knows himself, knows his own fears. If you're afraid, be afraid. But, don't be the sort of fuck that gets himself killed because he thinks bravery is important. Fear is what keeps you alive."

The sun hovered over the western tree line by the time the village came into sight. Great columns of clouds were stained deep violets and fiery oranges. To Fenris they looked smashed fingers set on fire. The village itself sat where two streams met. It was little more than a granary and a lumber mill with a scattering of other various buildings all around it. He wasn't even sure what they were calling it now, as the name and lordship had changed hands two or three times since he had come to settle in the Expansion.

Fenris sold his pig to the butcher for two silver pieces and a handful of coppers. He stuffed them into his leather coin pouch and headed to the inn where Thorben would be. The people of the village were finishing their days work. The villagers were hard folk, the dirt under their fingernails type. People in the towns and cities of Elenglade were filled with false smiles and warm hospitality, because they wanted you to buy something, usually. The people here didn't have any money, nor did they expect any one else to have money. So, they were full of scowls and bad attitudes. But, Fenris liked those sort of folk better, as they tended to come with less bullshit.

Inside the inn, some sweaty fat guy was playing a wood harp. He wobbled in his chair, half drunk and couldn't carry a tune. Men and women gathered around the tables, drinking ale and talking. Their voices rose and fell as a low murmur over the horrible tune. The room smelled of stale beer and piss, the sort of smell any kind of drinking room ought to have. Thorben sat the counter on a tall stool, sipping at frothy mug. Fenris pulled a stool up beside him.

"I purchased you a horse," Thorben said from the rim of his mug.

"How generous of you. Where we going next?" Fenris asked.

"Back south into Elenglade. I mean to find another experienced slayer like yourself."

"Who do you have in mind?"

"I hope to recruit Rorik Omalik," Thorben said and smiled.

Fenris snorted. "That ought to go over well." 

"Why do you say?"

Fenris flagged down the barkeep and ordered a mug of his won. "Because, Rorik Omalik hates my fucking guts."