silencing his strange shouts. A chant? Probably something to stop the fall.
Feeling the building pressure, he tried to duck. His leg buckled. He was down on a knee. Turning, he drew and released. And again.
Phhit!!
Phhit!
And again…
Phhiiit!!
That was the quiet sound his bow made. Not a twang or a thunk, just a phhit. A deadly whisper.
No aiming required as long as he locked his eyes on the target as he released. Flashing bolts of yellow flung out faster than the hunters could release whatever they had been conjuring.
His shots landed true, killing the two hunters where they sat.
If they had used their bracelets instead of trying to attack, but no.
As the men slipped to the ground, the mounts turned and bolted back the way they had come. Trying to focus, he shot again. And again. The first mount he caught and it tumbled. A second bolt of yellow splashed through its skull to finish it.
He wasn’t so lucky on the last mount as he let fly.
The running mount somehow dodged his first shot and would not have dodged the next except for the fact that as it leapt away, he saw his bolt pop out of the air. He looked at the bow in his hands.
The arrow was dull now. Its magic spent. He looked up at the mount as it diminished in size. Hells and bloodstone ashes…
“You weren’t even going to help me you great–”
He elbowed her in the gut. Whatever she had been about to say was lost after that. He rose as she fell.
Bending down over her he growled, “Thanks to you now I’m a target! I should kill you here and be done with it!” He stood back, holding the bow aimed at her. The arrow was still dull. It needed hours to replenish its energy. It was useless until then but she didn’t know that.
“You…” her eyes suddenly dimmed. “…worthless…” sighing, she lost her spark. The tart was out. He stood over her, kicking her once to see if she was faking.
Damn. She was out cold. However far she had run, whatever power she had tapped into for those impossible spells, it was gone now. What had that weapon been and where was it? A quick search didn’t reveal any artifact offensive related. A few dull rings on her fingers were some kind of magical devices, no doubt. They were cold to the touch so they were still recharging.
He tilted his head to look at her.
The dress barely covered her. She was young. He could see her small breasts plain as day. Small, rose tipped mounds. Since she didn’t have any underclothes on, he could clearly see her bright red hair was not on her head alone. Strawberry–
So. A young woman then? How old?
He prodded her with his foot, rolling her over onto her stomach. Now what? He could kill her. That would be the easy way out. Kill her and take whatever those rings were. Not that easy now though. With one of the mounts escaping, he knew more hunters would come this way. A full hecter of them. That consisted of four winged and four mounted but if one had failed already, as this one had, would another already be on route?
He looked to the sky as he plucked the arrow away from the bow.
“What now, my friends?” He asked. “What am I to do now?” They were not talking today it seemed. Again. Were they mad at him?
After a time, he looked at the unconscious girl. He limped around her as he slid his small bow back into the black case he wore on his hip. He made another circle around her, frowning. What to do, what to do. He looked around, nothing as far as his eyes could see but he knew where a town was.
Question is, could he make it? Did he want to? If another hecter was coming, as he was sure they were, wouldn’t he be better off out here? High ground and foreknowledge of the coming attack?
Damn it.
He booted her again, sadistically satisfied to hear a pitiful grunt escape her.
Why did you have to come this way on this day?
In the middle of the maze plains, what were the odds? So much nothing out here he thought he’d never have to deal with people. So much for that.
Well, no help for it now.
He looked to the west. They would come from that way. No doubts. Worse still, the mount that had escaped would cause one of them to turn back and go for even more help. The hunters would see him clearly in that mount’s memories so…no help for it.
“Curse you strawberry tart.” He kicked her again as he walked by, this time letting out his own grunt of pain as his still injured leg reminded him of that fact. He laughed sourly at that.
Still healing? It had been long enough, it should have healed by now. “Must be a bad sign when a wound will not heal, right?” He looked upward, waiting. No response. “Fine.”
He looked down at the girl, a frown plastered on his face. He wanted to kick her. Hard. But he didn’t have time. Moving as fast as possible, he cut what he could from the hunters and rolled them as best he could under the tall grass.
2
He wasn’t sure how long he’d been at it. He had walked as far as he safely could from his hill before he began setting traps.
Fire traps.
Ice traps.
Simple triplines in the grass that would boom and flare.
The day was swiftly heading to night. The wind was so pleasant, it was hard to believe he was about to have a mini-war. Again.
Will I never get a rest?
He had come out here, into the middle of nowhere, just for that purpose. Look what the Gods had brought him. He glared up at the clear sky. “Good one fools. Very funny.” He wasn’t happy with the Gods and his gesture showed as much.
He waited. Adding yet another hand gesture in case they had missed the first one.
When he was not struck dead, he sighed tiredly and continued.
What good Gods would let a man do what he has done and not smite him?
Bah! There are no Gods. That’s the simple answer.
Muttering, he continued to work his way back to his hill. When he was out of traps, he looked around. The magical devices were not very trustworthy but they would have to do.
If nothing else, at least I’ll know when they are coming.
Unless, of course, they come in from behind.
No. No. None of that now. They don’t know where I am and memories of me on a hill will hardly help. They will have to follow the trail left by the mount before it vanishes into the high grass and hope they catch me by surprise.
Yes. That was how it’d work.
Despite the nagging images in his mind of them swooping in from behind and those talons ripping–
Bah. He was back at his hill. Out here, the grass could kill. It did on occasion. Even now, he could see the mounts nearly vanished as the grass he had folded over them began to harden and sprout new roots to sink into their dead flesh.
The hunters were gone. Being smaller than their mounts, it was easier for the grass to consume them.
With the bodies taken care of, he scooped up the pile of rags he had cut away from them, as well as their money, travel foods, magical artifacts and potions.
No telling, if he lived, what he would find useful.
The tart was awake, watching him. He had known for some time. He could feel her eyes following him, still… it was something to see when he turned. Her outline seemed somehow…bright…against the skyline.
Am I seeing a ghost? An aura of some kind? Did one of her magical weapons recharge finally and I’m seeing it?
He walked slowly, trying to hide his limp–
Never show weakness.
–holding the bundle of blue and black leathers as well as his pouches of looted goods.
“So you live?” He asked her as he sat the looted goods onto his large, night cover. “Put these on. You’re naked.” He snorted. “It’s turning my stomach.”
“How dare you–”
“Do it tart!” He glowered at her. “Before I decide that what you’re offering with that view of your tits and ass is up for grabs. We both will probably die here soon so, w
hat’s the harm in a little sweaty, grunting fun, ehm? Even if it makes me sick.” He leered at her small breasts.
She suddenly burned red, trying to cover herself with her hands. She was shaking with some emotion. Rage? Indignation? “You filthy, low–”
He kicked some of the rags into her face. She instinctively caught them.
He turned back to the other newly acquired objects. “Just be ready tart. More are on their way and if we are to live through it, we’ll both need to be as well equipped as possible.”
She opened her mouth a few times. He could see it out of the corner of his eye. Then she turned her back and dropped the tattered rag she was wearing to try on the blue black leather of the hunters they had killed.
“Onsho would never have…” she muttered rather heatedly. “…to me! Who does this…” he tuned her out as a paper caught his eye.
What’s this then?
‘Tuo. Ma’oh jhe allar to. Sed tuk tuk lour–’
“Bah!” He tossed the paper aside. Whatever language the Antia hunters spoke, he could not make heads or tails of it in written form.
“It’s an execution order.” She looked at him over one, impossibly pale shoulder. Her aqua eyes seemed bright again. Lit from within. “Or is that, assassination order?” She shrugged. “Telling them what I look like. Who I travel with. Traveled with. The amount for my head. Things like that.”
She looked away, trying to wrap the blue black shirt around herself. It was comically large on her. Aside from a hole through the middle of the back, it was in great shape. Much better than what she had been wearing. This would cover her nudity and protect her. Somewhat.
He continued to stare at her as she bent over. He blinked at the view. Turned quickly away. Was she