A new day began with fresh troubles.
The strange scent, and the crackling of twigs beneath cautious steps, told I had company.
Slowly, I peeled open my eyes and beheld the company of savage men and their scornful stares.
The morning was magnificent—rays tore through the canopy in streams of gold; birds whispered softly above; hues of pink, purple, and green filled my sight, and the leaves glistened with dew.
Such a beautiful morning—alas, it would end an ill one.
I was barely recovered from the previous night’s travail. My body still burned with pain; my head throbbed, my muscles ached, and part of my left arm was still sore—though somewhat better than it had been at night.
I was in no shape for another encounter, yet I was already surrounded by hard men.
Terror struck me swiftly—I thought they were Dakor’s scouts. I was in no state to challenge Dakor nor his host. Besides, stealth was ever wiser than gallantry.
I began weighing my options. I could distract them and flee—though I would not run far. I could fight, perhaps, and make a spectacle of dexterity. But as my senses cleared, I realized these men were not Dakor’s.
Though brutal in appearance, they bore no mark of his militia. They were clad in animal skins, armed with axes and ropes. Their beards were wild and unkempt, their skin sun-darkened, and their eyes restless.
“Nice kill there,” rumbled one, his bow pointing toward the dead bear.
So—they were hunters.
“The kill’s still fresh!” another called out, kneeling to touch the beast’s blood.
“Are you alone here, stranger?” asked the first—clearly their leader.
“Yes,” I replied, measuring the danger.
“And you alone brought down the grizzly?” another pressed, disbelief hanging on his tone like a cowl.
“Well,” I said, rising slowly to my feet, “you can see it yourselves.”
“I don’t believe him,” spat a third, his glare contemptuous. “No man alone could take down such a beast. He’s got company somewhere in this wood.”
“Believe me,” I said evenly, “if I had even one man with me, I wouldn’t bear such wounds.”
That was truth—and boast alike. The men exchanged uneasy glances; shock was plain on their faces.
“Who are you, stranger?” the leader asked again, this time coarser.
“Someone not interested in making friends,” I snorted, absurdly confident given my state.
“Friends!” he scoffed—and their laughter erupted like thunder.
“We’re not here to make friends either,” said the leader, a grin curling his lips. “And to be plain—we’re the last men you should think of friendship with.”
“I do not know who you are, hunters, nor care to. But I’ll tell you this—you are trespassing, and I want no trouble.”
“Trouble!” one barked. “That’s exactly what you’ve found. You’ve no right to hunt these lands. You’re the trespasser—and the one to pay.”
Their glare had grown intolerable. I could take them if I must—they were hunters, not soldiers—but I needed my strength for worthier foes. So I played the weakling.
“What do you want, that I may be rid of trouble?” I asked.
They loosened, smiles creeping onto their faces. Lowlifes, all of them.
“The bear is fresh,” the leader said darkly. “The head would sell for a fine price, the hide for more, and the meat for our own tables. In all, our pockets will be full.”
“So you want the bear,” I said dryly. “Take it, then.”
They blinked, surprised. They’d expected argument, but I had none to give. What was a bear to me? I could barely consume a fourth of its meat, nor was I desperate for its profit.
“You mean we can take it without a fight?” asked one.
“Yes. I said I don’t want trouble.”
They laughed harder this time—mocking, scornful.
“Well look at that,” said the leader. “A man who hates trouble.” He smirked. “But that’s not all.”
“What more?” I asked, weary of their games.
“The joy of the hunt,” he began, gesturing theatrically, “is not in the carcass, but the chase—the stalk, the blood, the clean cut, and the spouting of life’s warmth upon one’s hand. You robbed us of that glory. And now—you must pay for it.”
“But I’ve nothing else to give. I’ve given you all I have,” I retorted.
“Not all…” he murmured, eyes glinting. Then, quick as a snake, he reached for my rifle. “A fine weapon. Fit for royalty. I’ll take this too.”
I grimaced. That rifle was crucial to my coming strike on Dakor. I could not lose it.
“I can’t give you that,” I said coldly.
“No one asked for your opinion,” snarled another. “We’re taking it.”
“None of you leaves this place with that weapon,” I said, voice flat as stone.
They hesitated. My words burned through their false bravado. What gave me such confidence? Their eyes wavered, yet pride held them fast.
Then the leader growled and gave the signal.
So it began.
The first rushed in. Before his stride was complete, my blade flashed. I seized his wrist, twisted, and drove him forward—his back pinned to my chest, a perfect shield.
The second lunged wildly, his thrust blind with fury. His blade sank straight through his comrade’s heart.
His eyes widened—shock and guilt flooding in. That instant was mine. I cast the corpse aside and buried my blade in him. He fell wordless.
The third came roaring with savage strikes—wild, purposeless. While we fought, I saw the leader raising my rifle. My instincts roared. The clash became a desperate dance.
I feinted left, then swept low. My blade tore through his guard, and I sent him sprawling.
The rifle cracked behind me. I dove aside just in time—the shot thundered past.
I rolled, lunged, and closed the distance before he could reload. He swung the rifle like a club, but I caught and twisted it. We crashed to the ground, grappling.
Strength was with him, but fury was mine. I drove my blade into his rib—one clean, merciless strike.
He gasped—eyes wide with fading light—then fell still.
I rose, breathing raggedly. My body burned, my arm throbbed, but my spirit would not yield.
Blood dripped down my sleeve as I turned to the last man.
“Time to die,” I muttered.