The quivering peace of the past fifteen years holds on by a thread, whilst those who seek to break it gather their forces in secret. War beckons. Enemies of old and evil re-emerge. Who will be ready to defend the realm?
Chapter 1
“Honestly, Gelard, I don’t know how you do it,” said the squat man in the far-too-tight blue waistcoat, wiping the sweat from his brow. It was a hot Sun-Born day, and the tavern was sweltering. “That grass feels like green velvet.”
The giant of a man named Gelard smiled expectantly. “The benefits of being a sheep farmer, I suppose. They eat, shit and keep the land soft and flat. I haven’t had to work that field in almost a decade.”
“Well, maybe I should be giving the Investment to those woolly fuckers instead!”
The two men laughed heartily, as only old friends can. Gelard took a gulp of mead while the rotund man continued.
“Gods above, who’d have thought you, of all people, a sheep farmer?” he chortled merrily.
“Shhh!” hushed Gelard urgently. “Three hells, Murdoch, keep your voice down. Have you gone mad?”
Murdoch rolled his eyes. “Gel, it’s been what? Fifteen years?”
“Thirteen.”
“The people of county Elen know you. The sheep farmer, who comes to Elendor with his son once a week, sells wool to the tailor, meat to the butcher, three cups of mead and heads home again. Maybe it’s time to let your guard down a bit.” Gelard looked angry, furious even, but the pair were interrupted by the arrival of the barmaid.
“Here you are, Lord Mayor,” she said, setting down another tankard.
“Thanks, love,” Murdoch said, raising his eyebrows at Gelard. “Same again?”
The big man looked angry a moment longer, before sighing. “As long as you’re paying,” replied my father.
I’d been secretly following the Lord Mayor and my father all day, from the moment the former’s eloquent carriage trundled up the path to our farm. He and my father had been quite the sight as they traversed and inspected the farm, from the soft, sheep-trimmed grass to the condition of the barn and the farmhouse itself.
It was where I had spent all thirteen of my years. Being that it was just my father and I, my entire life had been spent working those fields. From feeding and sheering the sheep, raising and finding the buggers when they decided to jump the fence, lambing and milking, there was always work to be done. Not to mention, maintaining the old farmhouse and taking the flock to market at the end of the month. I was often left out and treated differently because of my isolated upbringing. That, and the simple fact that most were terrified of my father.
Twice the size of the town’s next biggest man, with a jet-black mane and beard to match, my father was a fearsome sight. However, to the townsfolk he was a quiet, kindly sheep farmer who kept to himself. He had no wife, my mother having died when I was just a baby, and interacted with others only when selling his wares, before stopping for a tankard or three.
With the farm inspected, my father had joined Murdoch in the carriage and made for Elendor, the capital of county Elen. I kept up easily and unseen, ducking through the trees and branches of the Elenwood, the forest land that covered the entire county. It was the place where I could do what I truly loved, where I felt most alive. Where I could hunt.
It had all begun a couple of years previous. The field next to ours was owned and lived in by our neighbour, Tally, a huntress who had become very close to my father and me over the years. She would often accompany us to market, pelts and meat from her latest hunts slung over her shoulders. She grew vegetables and crops too, which she insisted we take, and after years of nagging, finally convinced my father to let her teach me to hunt. Almost every night since, we’d stalked the Elenwood, tracking prey and setting traps in the dark, when even the birds were afraid to chirp. It was a thrill like no other.
The carriage had finally arrived at the stone-ruin town of Elendor. It was old; felled battlements and castle walls long since fallen. For larger, bustling counties, this could have been cause for concern, but for peaceful, green Elen, it was merely a showing of the town’s history. Elen was by far, the quietest of the twelve counties and provinces that made up the kingdom of Berencia, and as such, crime was almost non-existent. Even the Ferenian war, almost fifteen years prior, had left county Elen relatively untouched, save for the refugees in and around the county. As such, the bored looking guards, adorned in the brown and green armour of the Elenguard, didn’t look up as the carriage passed through, nor did they notice the young boy sneaking through the branches.
‘The Elf’s Entrails’ was the only tavern in Elendor, and thus became home to most of the men of the town and surrounding farms come evening. Situated in the main square, between the butcher’s and the apothecary, the tavern was a long, low building of aged timber and stone. A sign hung from a post displaying a crudely drawn elf glugging heartily from a tankard, despite his innards spilling from his gut. Two glassless windows stood aside an arched door, behind which muffled sounds of merriment and music could always be heard.
As my father and Murdoch continued to drink, I checked again that I couldn’t be seen, high up in the rafters of the tavern. It hadn’t been hard to sneak up; a handily placed chicken coup led to a hatch in the side of the tavern. From my vantage point, I could see and hear the entire room. They sat for a long time, talking idly about something called ‘the Investment’, but just as I was beginning to get bored, Murdoch looked around and ushered my father out, into the garden. I followed, intrigued.
The roof of the tavern was divided in two, and the only way to get to the other side unseen was to cross over to the butcher’s roof and back onto the other side of the tavern. Nervously, I crouched low and sprang onto the thatched straw roof. From here, I could see the whole town, though the two had been talking far longer than I had first thought; a twilight mist had descended, blocking out the remainder of the sun’s flailing light.
I skulked slowly and as lightly as possible across the roof so that I was now at the rear side of The Elf’s Entrails. I would need to leap back across, through the pane-less window and back into the attic. It was maybe three metres across, and another metre or so down to the flat wooden roof of the tavern. Easy.
Directly below was a pigsty, with three fat, pink hogs snoring loudly. I took a cautious step back from the edge of the roof, the mist becoming thicker and thicker as it so often did around county Elen. My knees began to shake, and my nerve threatened to desert me. I’d been an idiot to climb up here. Why even follow Father and the Lord Mayor at all? Father always said I was too nosy for my own good, and that one da—
A loud crack filled my ears and I felt myself fall. With a terrified yelp, I realized that my right leg had fallen through the straw roof.
After what felt like an hour, but in reality, was only a few panicked seconds, I regained my breath and assessed my precarious position. I tried pushing myself up to free my leg, but felt my hands begin to sink into the thin straw. Another moment passed, and I had the idea to lean my body and try to crawl forwards, but the angle was too great, and I couldn’t get my knee through the hole. I began to cry.
My mind raced, thoughts of how and when I would be found. Perhaps they’d think me a thief, and whisk me off to the bailiff to have a few fingers removed? Or would it be the butcher himself? Would he be filled with rage and feast his cleaver into my unprotected, dangling limb? He was a thick, bald, man with a left eye that wasn’t quite forward facing. I was sure he could sever my leg with a single swing. I was brought swiftly out of my despaired imaginings by a scream that froze the tears on my cheek. It was a girl’s voice, a single high-pitched shriek followed by heavy, frantic breathing.
“Mum!” yelled the voice suddenly. “It’s the goblins, they’re breaking in again!”
A muffled shout from deeper inside brought me out of my resignation. I started to move and squirm as much as possible, left and right whilst pulling myself forward. My knee burst through the hole, tearing through even more of the damaged roof, but just as I allowed myself a moment of triumph, a vice like grip wrapped itself around my ankle. I looked down into the gaping hole in the roof, expecting the weathered face of the irate butcher. But to my astonishment, I was looking into the face of a young girl, not much older than me. Curly blonde hair and sparkling grey eyes looked back at me with what appeared to be an equal level of confusion.
“You don’t look like a goblin,” she stated, as some fear left her face. Her grip loosened and I ripped my leg free of her grasp.
In an instant, I was on my feet and bounding towards the edge of the roof. Without a second thought to the swine below, I launched myself towards what I hoped was the tavern below, jamming shut my eyes as I prepared to hit the roof. But the impact came far later than I had expected. For a second, it seemed the darkness of the roof had swallowed me up. I landed hard on my back, and clenched my eyes shut to stop myself shouting from the pain. As I opened them, I saw the beautiful night sky above me, both stars and moon alike shimmering, as if to praise my daring escape. But something was off. They seemed to be framed; only a small square of the sky had come out that night. I wondered then if I had fallen into the abyss, the third and lowest plane of Hell that the old priests rattled on about. As I regained my faculties, I realised I was in no abyss or demonic plane of nothingness. I was in the attic of The Elf’s Entrails. Conveniently, the square hatch window had been opened and by some miracle, I had landed right through it. Hardly able to believe my luck, I stood up gingerly, still groggy from the rather unceremonious landing, and allowed myself a relieved smile, which was swiftly replaced with stark terror as I saw a shadowy figure approach from the darkness.
The Way of the Hunter is available now in paperback.
