Dragon Hunters

Dragon Hunters

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. The everyday lives of the everyday folk weren’t always spent in fear of a cloud that moved too quickly, or a shadow that suddenly became flame. There weren’t always mothers crying out to the heavens as they searched through the rubble and ash for any sign of their children. Death would come as death always did, the old and sick, sometimes the young and strong, but it was never vengeful.

This had been the way of things when all was in balance. This had been the way of things before the dragons came. Now, the ever-present fear and hate permeated the land. Crops withered from lack of care; livestock starved as the scorched earth yielded no grass. None who had once loved this land remained. All that could leave did, and what remained were those with nothing. Then the hunters came. They had tracked the dragons here after having driven them from the mountains and peaks in the north, where no man could live for long. The aeries and plateaus had been swept clean of the once majestic beasts. Now they were here, and they were angry.

Carit knew of no other way of life. He had heard stories of when no one looked to the sky, afraid of what they might find. But that was well before he was born, and now the only thing that filled his thoughts when people spoke of a dragon, was how to go about killing it. He may have been too young to be a hunter; he was barely strong enough to lift a sword, let alone the great pikes that hunters now used, but he was not too young to learn.

What few townsfolk that remained to run the alehouse and bury the dead, were all talking about the latest group of hunters to arrive in the small village of Naargas. Most of the other groups had already suffered losses great enough to prevent them from hunting further without recruiting new members. This group was different, or at least Carit hoped that it was. It had been said that she was traveling with them, and if that were true, then Carit had found his teacher. The only thing he had to do now was convince her of it.

*****

Iniuria had let the others enter first. She was hoping not to be seen. Her thinking was that if the spectacle of new dragon hunters could distract the other drunkards long enough, she might just be able to slip in unnoticed. The fact that it almost never worked did not stop her from trying. She hated when people noticed. When they noticed they stared, when they stared, they talked and when they talked… there was usually trouble. It seemed that tonight would be no different.

“So, you must be the one they all talk about.”

“I suppose that depends on what they are saying now doesn’t it,” she said not bothering to look up from her mug of ale at the loud man. His smell was enough to let her know exactly where he was and the fact that his particular aroma assured her that he had spilled as much of what he was drinking, on himself as in himself told her much.

“They’re saying that you killed one single handed.”

Now Iniuria did look up, and the man looked much like he smelled. Though she looked directly into his eyes she still took in all of him as any good hunter would. “Then yes, I must be.” She said without so much as blinking.

“Well then!” the man bellowed for all to hear. “The rest of us might as well pack up and leave town.”

He was large, even for a hunter, almost two times the size of her, she guessed. Light brown hair grown so long and unkept that once past his ears it was hard to tell head hair from beard. A jumble of metal plates covered his torso, and his weapons belt was heavy. His longsword was on his left hip, but that was not what concerned her. Just to the front of his right hip, the handle just above his massive thigh, was a curved and vicious looking dagger about as long as her forearm. She had seen daggers worn this way before; it was positioned so that it could be drawn by either hand. When the longsword was drawn by the wearers dominant right hand the dagger would be similarly cross drawn by the left hand, a lethal combination. However, in close quarters combat, which this was about to be, the dagger could be snatched out of its scabbard with the right hand and slashed across and enemies throat in one sweeping motion. It was perfect.

The other men in the alehouse laughed heartily and the large man turned his head to be acknowledged for his cleverness. That is when she moved. As quick as a viper her right hand shot forward, her fingers wrapping round the large man’s dagger. Before he could turn his head to see what had silenced his audience, the blade was resting against his neck, bouncing slightly in time with the beating of his heart.

“Ahhhh!”

The cry of the young boy made her -and every man who stood ready for the fight- go as still as stone. Iniuria still held the blade against the man’s neck and a small rivulet of blood trickled down the edge of the blade. Slowly she let her gaze leave her enemy and find the face of the boy who stared in horror at the life about to be taken.

The blade still against his neck the large man glanced to his left at a figure at the far end of the room, seated in the dark. The figure gave a slight nod, and the large man slowly raised his hands and took a step back.

Iniuria cautiously let her arm drop to her side keeping her eyes on the large man even as he turned and made his way back to his place at the bar. After a moment she allowed herself a quick look at the figure in the dark, who nodded in return. Looking back at the boy who was now breathing raggedly, she tucked the dagger into her belt. “Who in dragon fire are you?”

“My name is Carit,” he said just before passing out.