The Hunters

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. They were lured there by the hunters.

Jorn hoisted his spear with its bright pennant tied near the tip, and trudged along the steep path winding along the face of the cliff. He shivered as the cold dawn wind cut straight through his ring mail hauberk and the patched and threadbare padded gambeson underneath. It was too early for his liking, but then it always was. He slipped on a wet, slick stone and lurched suddenly, reaching out in panic for something to stop his slide.

He heard a rumbling laugh behind him, and an iron grip seized his shoulder, steadying him before he lost his balance completely.

“Watch yourself, lad. I need you to help me bring this next one down,” Wulfgar said. “Even if you’re only good as a distraction, you falling off a cliff now isn’t going to help me. Mind where you’re going.”

Jorn took a deep breath and resumed the climb, keeping a careful eye on the rocky path ahead. He glanced over his right shoulder and saw the river churning through the early morning fog far below, rapids roaring over the rocks. No one survived a fall from this path. Dragon hunting was no easy task, and if the conditions didn’t do you in, the dragons often did.

They reached the third platform along the northern cliff a few moments later, a natural shelf in the rock face with enough space for half a dozen men to stand abreast and four deep. There were already three men there, clad in armour, leathers and furs, bristling with weapons. Long, heavy iron spears like the ones Wulfgar carried were the weapon of choice for most hunters, along with large crossbows. A powerful ballista on a swivel was also mounted on this platform, hanging half over the precipice like many others across the narrow valley.

“I see you’re still wasting your time with that one Wulfgar,” one of the other men said as Jorn and his boss approached. “Why don’t you just feed him to the next drake and then join us instead? We need a new spear carrier and bolt loader. We’ll even let you have a little bite of our next dragon heart. Might even help an old relic like you squeeze out a few extra seasons.”

Wulfgar spat on the scorched stone of the platform, and glared at the men. “I’d sooner let the dragons eat me than join you scum. Stand aside.” Wulfgar glanced to his left, where a deep cave bored into the cliff face, a refuge from attack for hunters when things went badly. “You worms stay here where it’s nice and safe, and we’ll go up to where the real hunters work.”

Jorn watched as the other hunters laughed, but they moved aside all the same. Though he was old as hunters went, Wulfgar was still an imposing warrior and he could still fight with the best of them. Age may have slowed him down slightly, but not so much that the other hunters would really test him just yet. Maybe in another couple of winters they might get up the nerve to challenge him, but not this year. Jorn did his best not to flinch as he passed the largest of the three hunters, an unsavoury looking half-ogre who looked like he might pick him up and throw him off the platform just for the fun of it.

The next section of the path was even narrower and more treacherous than the first. Wulfgar took the lead on this path, for he had trodden it many times over the years and knew the way better than anyone. Jorn took hold of the rusted iron chain hammered into the cliff face and made sure he had a good grip. This path led to the most dangerous platform in the valley, for it was the most exposed. It was also the one the most experienced hunters used, while the others took their chances on the lower platforms.

Jorn looked up the cliff face to the stone arch at the bottleneck of the valley above, and wondered if this would be the day. He’d been up to the arch with Wulfgar four times now, and though he’d never seen a dragon brought down, he had seen six other hunters die. Two had plummeted to their deaths after being swiped off the arch by a dragon’s talons, one had been eaten whole, two had been roasted to charred hunks of meat by dragon fire, and one was smashed to a pulp against the cliff face after a dragon’s thrashing tail lashed out contemptuously as it dived past.

Up on the arch you made yourself the first target as dragons approached, and usually hunters only got one shot in return. The dragons knew the best hunters liked to wait there for them, and though they could easily bypass it, they preferred to try and pick off any hunters who dared to challenge them as they entered the valley.

On either face of the valley near the arch there were twisting, shallow caves, where hunters fled if things turned sour. Jorn knew them well, as did every hunter who climbed to the arch. The trick was reaching them. Unlike the other platforms, these caves were not so close, increasing the risk.

The hunters lured the dragons into the valley with herds of livestock, usually oxen. The dragons knew it was a trap of course, after the first of them had been brought down, but they were also willing to risk flying the gauntlet of hunters for an easy feast. The dragons also seemed to enjoy the sport of smashing hunters off the platforms and incinerating the ballistae mounted on the valley cliffs. On a good day most of the hunters escaped with their lives, and only a few of the platforms and ballistae needed to be rebuilt. On bad days many died, and most of the platforms were enveloped by flame that destroyed any ballistae or hunters standing on them.

They reached the top of the ancient arch and saw Kritt was already in position. Wulfgar nodded a greeting to the tall, rangy fellow, who called out to them as they stopped.

“Same as last time? Sixty-forty split if I down one using your shield boy?”

Wulfgar nodded, and Jorn waved his agreement. Kritt used to have his own lad, but he’d been eviscerated by a dragon’s talons only a month before. Jorn still heard the screams in his nightmares.

The two hunters gave each other enough space to work, taking one side of the arch each. As first hunter up, Kritt had his choice of which side of the arch to use, but Jorn and Wulfgar usually preferred the north side anyway, so there was no argument.

“Soon, lad. Let’s be ready,” Wulfgar said.

Jorn watched as Wulfgar unslung a bundle of spears from his back and laid four out in a neat row on the stone shelf. The old hunter withdrew a thick ceramic flask from his pack and unstoppered it. He picked up each black iron spear and very carefully poured a few drops of viscous green liquid onto each tip. He then smeared the dark green liquid over the spear tips with an old, darkened leather gauntlet until all were thoroughly covered. The familiar scent of the lethal poison wafted on the cold breeze. This was every hunter’s real weapon against the dragons. Normal weapons alone were next to useless against the massive beasts. Their armored scales were all but impenetrable, and they flew so fast they were difficult to hit at all. Most projectiles simply bounced off unless they hit a weak spot, but there were very few of those, especially on the older, larger dragons. Some had been brought down by a well-timed ballista bolt through the open mouth as they prepared to breathe fire, or by striking an eye, but without the poison a single spear or bolt was not nearly enough to kill a dragon.

A distant horn sounded from a watchtower to the east outside the valley, echoed by another one just a mile south of the valley. They were coming.

Jorn unshouldered the large shield from his back, and slipped his arm through the straps. The coarse underside of the hardwood frame scratched against his forearm. The shield was made from seven dragon scales, lashed together and bound into an impenetrable oval of toughened dragon hide. Its outer surface was blackened by fire and had a few scrapes and cuts from near misses, but it would still serve its purpose.

As the sun broke over the mountains far to the east, Jorn saw the silhouettes of the dragons. There were four, and even from this distance he could see one was enormous, almost double the size of the other three. As they flew higher, their scales scattered reflections from the rising sun. Three were red, but the largest was black.

“I’ll be damned,” muttered Wulfgar. “It’s the one, lad. The same beast who did this,” Wulfgar said, pointing to the right side of his face, scorched and melted by dragon fire. “No one’s seen him for two seasons. Don’t make the mistake of ignoring the others though. They’ll try to distract us and he’ll incinerate us soon as look at us.”

Jorn nodded and took a deep breath. He’d heard the stories of the black beast that had nearly killed Wulfgar, three seasons ago. Everyone knew the story. This dragon was the worst of all of them, a massive brute that enjoyed torching everything it could see. Last time it had flown in from high above the valley, diving straight down out of the sun to avoid the ballistae. Then it flew passes up and down the valley, burning everything in sight. By the time it was done, there was no one left to even try to bring it down.

Wulfgar was the only hunter to escape with his life that day, though his horrific burns were almost the death of him afterward. Jorn knew that beneath the old hunter’s mail and leather armour over half of his body still bore the scars and melted skin from the fire, and two fingers on his right hand were fused together. The old hunter liked to boast that it had improved his spear cast.

“In position!” Wulfgar yelled, and he and Kritt dropped to their bellies on the rough stone blocks of the arch behind the battlements, both lying beside their spears, facing the oncoming dragons. Jorn stood in the middle of the arch, planted the butt of his spear on the stone and began waving the spear back and forth, its bright pennant snapping in the breeze, catching the early morning sun and ensuring the dragons could see him.

The horns from the watchtowers sounded again, twice in quick succession, signalling the final approach. One of the reds broke off and torched the near watchtower, but they were designed to withstand dragon fire and it was more of a show of power than a serious attack. Jorn heard the distant shouts of the hunters behind and below readying their crews, then there was silence as the dragons began their approach.

Two of the reds flew overhead, too high for Jorn or the two hunters on the arch, though a few bolts were loosed by the ballista crews on the south side of the valley. None found their mark, but it let the dragons know the hunters were ready. Jorn looked back to see the third red flying straight at him, speeding in a shallow dive at the platform, legs tucked and tail whipping back and forth. He rolled sideways toward Kritt and avoided the sweep of the tail as it rasped against the stone. The gale force wind of the dragon’s passing nearly blew him off the arch. He hastily climbed back to his feet and looked toward the front of the arch. The black dragon was nowhere to be seen.

A second later the black dragon burst up from beneath the arch and hovered in front of the battlements, its massive outstretched wings buffeting the platform as its great maw opened. Jorn instinctively crouched behind the dragon scale shield as tightly as he could, pulling it close to his shoulder and tucking his head down. He heard the hissing intake of breath from the black beast, then Wulfgar’s shout of “Now!” just before the flame enveloped him. The heat sucked the breath from his lungs as the flames burst around the fire proof shield, blasting out in two jets of fire behind him.

The black dragon roared as Wulfgar and Kritt leaped to their feet and launched their first spears from close range. Kritt’s spear deflected from a ridge of scales above the beast’s upper jaw and fell harmlessly down through the mist shrouded valley. Wulfgar’s cast missed the black dragon’s right eye, but only just. The spear struck the ridge of horny scales framing the dragon’s eye and failed to penetrate, but it was enough to stop the torrent of flame as the black dragon suddenly folded its wings and dropped out of sight beneath the arch.

Jorn gasped for breath as he felt the flames subside. He could smell his own singed hair and heat still radiated from the front of the shield, but he was unharmed. He pivoted toward the rear of the arch, still crouching behind the smoking dragon scales.

Wulfgar and Kritt also turned and were ready with their second casts as the black dragon flew beneath them. The dragon was too fast though, and their spears fell well short as it sped under the arch, banking down toward the third platform Wulfgar and Jorn had passed on the way up. A volley of bolts and spears greeted the dragon’s approach, but again, all failed to find their mark.

Jorn stood and watched as the black dragon spat a river of flame at the third platform, engulfing the ballista mounted on the platform and the three hunters as they ran for the cave. They’d underestimated the speed of the black dragon and now they paid the price. Jorn saw two of the hunters blasted off the cliff face and down into the valley, screaming fiery streaks falling all the way down through the swirling mist.

On the black dragon went, to the second and then first platforms on the north face, incinerating everything it came across. It was the largest, fastest dragon Jorn had ever seen, and it was cruel as well. He saw it seize one hunter in its front talons and bite both his legs off. Then it dropped the luckless hunter back on the platform, screaming in agony, but still very much alive.

“Watch for the reds!” Kritt called, and Jorn stopped watching the black dragon as the largest red dragon came circling back up toward the arch, after setting half the south face of the valley aflame.

Wulfgar and Kritt dropped back to lying flat on the arch as Jorn waved his spear and tried to lure the dragon in so the hunters could try another cast. There was nothing but ashes left of the pennant after the black dragon’s fire blast, but the red dragon still saw him and took the bait.

With a few beats of its powerful wings, the red dragon was level with the arch. Then it did something none of them expected. It landed solidly on the peak of the arch, between Wulfgar and Jorn on one side and Kritt on the other, and smashed its tail down on the stones, again and again. It spat a ball of flame at Wulfgar and Jorn, disrupting Wulfgar’s next cast as he rolled to avoid it, then turned and spat another toward Kritt.

Kritt managed to cast a spear, but it deflected off one of the dragon’s horns. Jorn peered over the rim of his dragon scale shield as he felt the stones shake. The dragon smashed the arch over and over with its thrashing tail, and Jorn heard the stones cracking and grinding.

“Run for the cave, lad! Now!” Wulfgar shouted, and Jorn didn’t hesitate, slinging his shield and dropping his spear, expecting at any second to feel the dragon’s fire on his back.

However, Kritt was the one who the dragon turned to instead, isolated on the south side of the arch. With a massive roar the dragon smashed the arch again, flapped its outstretched wings, then unleashed a full blast of fire at Kritt. They heard Kritt scream in pain before the dragon folded its wings and came crashing back down on the arch with its full weight. The arch collapsed, taking Kritt with it. The red dragon roared in triumph as it dropped out of sight.

At the mouth of the shelter Wulfgar and Jorn turned and watched the red dragon ascend again and fly off, back to the east. They saw long plumes of smoke drifting through the valley to the west, and in the distance the other two red dragons flew high out of reach of the remaining ballistae, over the south ridge of the valley.

As they were about to creep out from the shelter, Jorn crouching behind his shield again, the black dragon returned. It dived down on them from high behind the north ridge of the valley and blasted the outside of the cave with a raging maelstrom of fire. Wulfgar pulled Jorn back into the cave and they staggered back into its depths, only just avoiding the tongues of fire seeking their flesh. A second later they saw the black bulk of the dragon’s body swoop past in front of the cave, two terrified oxen clutched in its rear talons as it flew east.

After a few tense moments Wulfgar and Jorn emerged from the cave. They could see the jagged remnants of the shattered arch jutting from either side of the valley mouth, and the four dragons disappearing into the east.

“They’ll be back, and so will we,” Wulfgar said.

“Don’t you ever get tired of this?” Jorn asked. Wulfgar sighed and for a rare moment, Jorn saw the doubt in his eyes.

“Aye, lad. Sometimes I think we’re not the hunters, we’re the prey.”