Going Feet First Ch. 03

"Celia..." Galen muttered as the two men came and knelt down on either side of him. Heaving together the two managed to flip him over onto his back. His entire right side began aching in pain from his landing and blood, again, begun to pool out from his wound. With all his pain, there was neither strength nor ability within the Private to fight the two men robbing him of his gear.

After a struggle with the buckle of the webbing and the buttons of the jacket, the two men managed to open up Galen's uniform. Carefully as to not damage the Private or his possessions any further, they removed the jacket and cast his other gear aside. In their haste to satisfy Pretayus' impatience, the leather holster hanging off his belt slipped beneath their notice.

"Give me that," Pretayus ordered, snatching the green jacket away from his subordinate and holding it up before him.

He gently rubbed the fabric with his mutilated hand, testing its texture and strength. An impressed look quickly came about the slaver as he touched it to his face to sample its softness.

With an approving nod, he started to go through the jacket pockets. First one he searched revealed folded piece of paper, though Pretayus only took a few seconds to analyze the writing before he shrugged and tossed it aside. None of the characters made any sense to him, thus they weren't of any interest to him. The other breast pocket proved more bountiful. From it the slaver fished out a small silver locket, opening it up and to reveal two color photos inside.

"The artist who painted these portraits must be the finest on all of Raska, putting such detail into something so small."

Pretayus inspected the tiny photo of a brunette woman, smiling with a puzzled-looking baby in her lap. A taller, more muscular man stood behind them, his arms placed upon his wife's shoulders as he smiled at the camera. Interestingly enough, Galen was near identical to this man in most every way. The only real difference was the man's gruff, hard look and blonde hair as opposed to Galen's brown.

The locket's second photo depicted the same man, only now standing alone dressed up in a strange, dark-green costume of clean-cut lines and refined appearance. Several colored ribbons and decorative, metal studs attached to the chest fascinated Pretayus, though he did not recognize the land or people from which it might come. The whole attire of the pictured man proved quite admirable and desirable to the slave master, especially the bronze star and gold heart hanging off a purple ribbon.

Closing the locket and tossing it to the ground, Pretayus smugly asked, "Tell me, were those paints of your parents? I must find them someday; put their heads upon pikes and burn their home to the ground for spawning such a bastard child."

"I'll... kill you," Galen muttered, finally able to focus on something more than his pain. Lying sprawled out in the dirt, he tried to pick himself up, only to have a heavy mithril boot brought down upon his chest.

"Stay down, boy. I'm still enjoying this moment," Pretayus growled.

The slaver posed for a few moments, taking in the sweet air of victory over the Private at his feet. There was a smile on his face as he took in the sun, a slight breeze picking up to blow his back his long black hair.

Filled with a glorious feeling, Pretayus then cast his shredded robe aside, the expensive silk collapsing at his feet as to reveal his shining, mithril, plate armor. Every piece fit tight against his muscular body, almost becoming a second skin as it did little to constrict his movements. A fine, gold-handle, longsword hung at his side in a hard, leather sheath decorated with silver inlay. He swung the jacket around and fed his arms through the sleeves, snugging it up over his armor and checking the fit.

"Aside from your filthy blood staining the belly and the long length of the sleeves, I say this looks much better on me. It's not soft like silk, but it's tougher, it's rather unique, hehe, and it's yours." He chuckled. "Whatever you have made this from, I find myself quite an admirer of the material."

Galen glared at Pretayus as he swept his mop of black hair out from under the collar and began doing up the buttons. When the Private seemed to be getting too comfortable, Pretayus pressed his boot harder onto his chest and swept a bit of sand off the jacket's shoulder boards. "So what do you call this? Where do I find it?"

"Go to Hell," Galen wheezed.

Pretayus crossed his arms, one hand stroking his chin while the other patted the screaming eagle patch on his shoulder. "I do not know if this 'Hell' is where I find this material or some unpleasant place of suffering you wish me to be. Bah, it does not matter; I will get what I want eventually. Somebody in these damned woods will know where this material came from."

He kicked off from the Private, turning to his two men who had begun looking over his webbing and toying with the locket and pistol magazines. "Leave those things and pick this bastard up. I have something special in mind for him."

Not wanting to leave the curious objects behind, the two men stuffed the items into their pockets and took hold of Galen's arms. The Private had not the strength to fight them as they pulled his arms over their shoulders. Praying for Celia's safety, he let his feet drag along the ground as the two men hauled him off to god-knows where.

...............................

A whole strip of bark had been torn from a tree's body as a sharp claws dug right down to the outer layers of the phloem tissue. Petra's throat rumbled with deep growls as she sneered at the two men hauling her master away in an unceremonious manner. Every man in the group, from the Lycans to the leader had their face locked into her impeccable memory, where it would stay for as long as she drew breath.

The assassin watched as the Pretayus and his human followers met up with their Lycan friend holding onto Celia downstream, stopping so the wolfman could unbind the Elf's feet. He then pulled a long chain from his belt, wrapping it around his waist and hooking it onto a collar around her neck. With his catch on a short leash, he proceeded to lift up the large treasure chest on which he had been sitting and rest it upon his shoulder.

Brandishing an amused smirk, Pretayus inspected the features of the Elf. Her face, her breasts, her body, he analysed and undressed the entirety of her with his eyes. Then he suddenly made a motion with his hand while talking aloud. His men forced Galen to lie on the ground with both hands brought together over his wound.

Forcing herself to be calm, Petra sat idly by as the Lycan snapped his jaws at Celia's face in a threatening manner, likely to silence her as it appeared she broke down into tears once more. Not that she could be blamed. Something was happening in front of her, and though the assassin couldn't see what exactly, she did catch Pretayus fiddle with something hanging around his neck.

The slave master struggled with his necklace, and then whatever he fidgeted with came apart. A pulse of magic burst through the air, rustling the trees and making Petra waver in her stance as she felt a rush of energy course through her veins.

What in Necela's name was that? she wondered as Pretayus turned to Galen, yelling for him to do something.

It was then that Galen's fingers began to glow with his gifted magic, his mouth moving to begin a chant. The soldier's pained cry scattered several birds to the winds; the collar around Petra's neck snugging up against her skin. When the Soldier moved his hands away from his belly, the gouge left by the knife was gone, color returning to his paled skin.

They want him alive, Petra thought, watching as Pretayus pieced his necklace back together.

After speaking a bit more, and spiting a hateful reaction from Galen, the slave master's men forced open the Private's jaw. Laughing, Pretayus pulled a vial from his girdle and poured a yellow elixir into the soldier's mouth.

Nothing visible happened to him at first, but Galen's physical resistance came to an end; his body stiff as a board. An order was issued, the slavers picked him up off the ground, and the group continued on downstream.

Not long after that did the second Tree Elf, the brainwashed slave of Pretayus, came out from the bush with a bounty of greens in her arms. Wearing nothing but one of Celia's roses in her hair, she happily greeted the slavers and began offering up her gatherings. When the party all finished taking their shares, she hugged onto the arm of her master and hand-fed him the rest of her greens.

Tapping her claws against the trunk of the tree, Petra began plotting her next move in this twisted situation. She knew what she faced, and she doubted the slavers truly knew who they were dealing with, having let her flee as they did. Perhaps they underestimated her strength, and if so, they would soon pay dearly for it.

All I have to do is get Galen his thunder-stick and pull Celia away from the Lycan. Pretayus will die, and our goddess will be pleased, she thought.

If she figured out how to operate the rifle herself, she may have been able to use it. The one time she had the opportunity to learn how Galen wielded it, she had been too frightened by the deafening blasts. All she did know was that she would have to learn how to ignore it as it began to weep at her side, a sorry sound resonating from the moss and carrying on to the trees.

"Do not fear, weapon. We will have our master back," she assured, looking over to the pack and combat webbing lying on the ground where Galen had fallen.

Her few words gave the weapon a devious hum, the moss body massaging her palms as she returned to the river.

Pretayus and his kind had gone downstream and were nearly out of sight when Petra emerged from the bush. Both the belt filled with gold and the pack full of ammunition were hanging over her shoulder just as the rifle and shotgun were both slung across her back. Despite already being weighed down so heavily, she was still capable of pulling on Galen's webbing and main pack. However a problem quickly surfaced. The magazines in the bag rattled constantly against each other, and the two weapons she carried tended to slap around on her back.

Stealth will be a significant challenge... she thought, adjusting the many straps over her shoulders. But I will survive.

Careful to see without being seen, Petra returned to the shadowed comfort of the forest and moved in pursuit of the slavers. She was sure to maintain a visual on all of Pretayus' men at all times while keeping them out of earshot of the rattling ammo. This proved no challenge as they moved along the river bank in the open; the rushing water covering her own sounds as she moved through the bush not far behind them.

.................................

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Mila asked Michael, bracing a hand on his shoulder as she pulled her leg back to press her heel against the back of her thigh.

Standing at the edge of the clearing around the Willher village, with the eyes of several prominent hunters upon him, Michael answered, "I am, but are you? After what happened this morning?"

For a second the Neko paused, but then ultimately gave an assured nod. "I am still overcoming it, but I will be fine."

A smile grew from Michael's admiration of her strength, the Sergeant planting a kiss upon her cheek. It was a simple gesture that brought a brighter mood to her rattled nerves and a playful flick to her tail.

Despite the morning's events, the Sergeant was completely ready for the task ahead. A touch of lingering anger hung over him, but it only served to make him even more determined to complete his trial so he could finally confront Emiel face-to-face. Besides, he did not waste an entire day readying his body and preparing to prove his hunting prowess just to back out when it came time to deliver.

The Willhers had given him a home, a woman, and new, soft leather pants. That pair had his holster stitched into the side and various pockets and loops for both his bayonet knife and tomahawk. The hunters even outfitted him with a bow and quiver for his first hunt, though he still carried his rifle as well- A preference that did not go unnoticed by the Huntmaster.

Right from the start Michael could sense the doubt the Willher hunters had in his abilities. The bipedal felines were hard-pressed to believe a human could keep up to their demands: two deer or an equivalent amount of meat every time he went out on a hunt.

Most Nekos could fill such and order before the noon if they found the ever-changing, game-rich areas, and then would often spend the rest of the day how they wished. None could believe a human could have the strength to meet the quota. After the miraculous recovery Galen bestowed upon him two nights prior, Michael did not only plan defy their expectations and meet the quota, he meant to exceed it.

Every card was going out onto the table; he had nothing to either hide or hold back.

As Mila finished her stretches, Michael began pulling on the drawstring of his bow, testing its tension as the hunters waited patiently for them to finish their preparations. The Neko males watched with a distinct curiosity as their eager human recruit fired a practice shot into a nearby tree.

The first arrow struck the tree, the stone tip sinking into the bark. The successive two arrows fell into a tight group around it, less than a four inch deviation between the shots. A childhood spent out in the country where ammo was scarce made the soldier quite proficient with this ancient means of hunting, though he needed to blow the dust off that part of his brain and resurrect his long idle talent.

Showing no sign of being impressed, Huntmaster Hail broke from the standing crowd of hunters and approached Michael. With a hard edge to his tone, he stated, "You will have until nightfall to bring back what we ask of you. Any longer, and you shall not be accepted into the hunters."

"I understand," Michael answered as he crossed his arms, a smirk growing under his powerful green eyes. "But tell me, where should I hit the deer? In the heart, or in the eye?"

Hail scoffed at the remark, sticking his nose higher into the air as he said in a casual manner, "My hunters aim for the hearts to drop it quickly. They use only one arrow to save skin for leather work."

"Heart it is, then," Michael answered. "Come on, Mila, let's do this."

"Of course," she answered.

Retrieving his practice shots from the tree, Michael returned two to his quiver and kept a third on the drawstring. He gave the hunters his best regards, as well as taking a moment to lock eyes with Hail. In that single moment, the Huntmaster's eyes narrowed under a furrowed brow, Michael responded with a respectful nod before following Mila into the wild.

Not long after they had ventured into the trees did the village disappear from sight, leaving only the seemingly endless expanse of forest around the couple. Finally being away from that last touch of "civilization" left only the wonders of nature to beckon for Michael's attention.

All around him, he could hear flocks of birds chirp at each other, listen to wild canines barking over territory, see rodents of all kinds scurrying about the dirt and tree roots. The sweet smell of morning dew floated on a warm, gentle breeze, as well as the scents of a flower patch coming to bloom somewhere nearby.

The relative solitude allowed Michael to calm his nerves and focus on the senses he had honed all his life. It was for the first time since he was sucked out the side of the C-130 that he could pause and fully take in his surroundings, to completely meld with the nature he loved so much.

"Something wrong?" Mila asked.

Smiling as he shook his head, Michael answered, "Nothing. Just letting it all sink in."

"Sink in?"

"Allowing myself a chance to look at this place, without being crippled or dealing with some task. This is the first time I've had a chance to actually come out here and just... stop. Take it all in and admire it."

"I see. Shall I move ahead? Perhaps find some game?"

Michael thought about it a moment, then shook his head as he began moving again. "No, let's stick together for now. We have all day to hunt and I want to see what's left of the Hercules."

"Alright," Mila responded before drifting over to a tree.

She crouched down a bit, bracing her legs before leaping several feet up onto the side of the tree. Her claws sunk into the bark, her muscles flexing to support her body as she quickly scaled the conifer right up to the top branches. A broad smile crossed Michaels face as he flattened his hand over his eyes, blocking the sun to watch her take a perch.

"What are you doing up there?" he called, watching her crouch low and leap to the next tree.

"Watching for game and exercising my legs," she answered, swinging off one branch and landing perfectly upon another.

Michael laughed silently to himself as she prowled the foliage of the trees above. Her position definitely gave her a better view of the area and made tracking deer that much easier if they were close by.

As she moved within the treetops, Mila did not once let her soldier leave her sight. Ever vigilant the Neko remained on the lookout for some of Atzla's more dangerous predators: Creegers, the large, forest cats that had twin tails equipped with natural bone-blades that often raided the Willher pasture for food; Wargs, the vicious, feral wolves said to be a cousin species of Lycans. As well there were bears, jackalope, snakes, and a dozen other creatures that could harm or even kill a person, each one of the creatures on Mila's watch list as she doubted Michael knew the threat most of them posed.

A mile later into the wild, a bush rustled ahead of Michael, bringing both him and Mila to full alert. Bow taut in his hands, claws ready in hers, they stopped and waited for the creature to appear.

Out from under the branches and the leaves, a small hare poked its head out. Its nose wiggled and cringed as it sniffed about, its small, brown eyes staring at the human before it. For a second it paused, taking in the sight and cocking its head at the foreign-looking human.

At first the Sergeant laughed, but his Tracker did not. The hare crawled out from under its bush, shaking out its body and stretching its tiny feet. Even from her perch high in the tree, Mila could see the two antlers growing out from in between the creature's long ears.

"Michael, get away from that!" she snapped.

The Sergeant glanced up to her, one brow cocked as he formed an amused grin. "What? It's a hare with antlers."

"That's a jackalope! They're dangerous!" she retorted.

"Are you kidding? It's just a hare-"

A deep growl made Michael's eyes widen, then sink back down. The white, fluffy hare was standing on its hind legs at his boots, staring up at him with its teeth flashing in a mean snarl. Past its pair of big buckteeth, it had a mouth full of sharp canines in front and molars in back, a dentistry perfect for chewing both ferns, and flesh.

"Back away slowly, don't make any sudden movements," Mila ordered.

Slightly unnerved by the tiny beast, Michael backed up and popped the snap on his holster. This didn't even faze the jackalope as it came down onto all fours, drool dripping from its mouth as it snarled.

"Screw it," Michael muttered as he drew his pistol and shot the jackalope right between the eyes.

The ACP round slammed into the hare's skull, tearing open the fur but not piercing the bone. The creature flattened on the forest floor, still breathing but completely knocked from its senses with its eyes spinning in its sockets.