Pride Pt. 01 - The Hunter

Author's Note: "Pride" is a stand-alone story written in the same world as my Talos of Evora stories, and can be enjoyed without reading my other works. It is a long, long, long tale of romance, with a twist. It takes place four years after "Elan".

As per my other works, if you're looking for a story of gratuitous sex I'd humbly advise you to look elsewhere. While there are sexual scenes within this story, they are used primarily as plot devices and are not the story's focus, which is ultimately of romance in a brutal medieval setting.

The Hunter

----

A cold, autumnal air emanated through the forest this evening. The trees, once awash with bright greens, were now showing their patterns of golds, oranges, and reds as the carriage made its way along the lightly-traveled dirt path.

The carriage's occupant, Countess Jasmina of Heurbon, sighed to herself as the stiff wheels bounced along the road. She pressed a silken-covered hand gently against her back to relieve a minor pain, a trifle really. She should have been used to the sensations by now, having ridden in carriages all her life since she was a little girl growing up in Beaumont. Yet the pain persisted, and Jasmina found at least some sense of deliverance in being near her home of Heurbon. Her husband, Count Marco of Heurbon, must be awaiting her arrival patiently.

Jasmina frowned, realizing her wishful notion was very likely false. Marco cared of nothing in the end except for his own ambition, as men of power so commonly did. The Count's primary directive when greeting Jasmina was one of contractual obligation, a polite but loveless affair. A mere stepping stone on his path to greater power.

She ran her hands along the sides of her dress, happy with her garb's elaborate design and expensive material. Her neck and hands held some of the purest golds and diamonds of the world, glimmering exquisitely in the lamplight. The lands of Santaria were the richest of anywhere, after all. It's nobility was used displaying that fact in turn.

Suddenly, the carriage jerked to a halt along the dusty road. A moment of silence held in the air before horses whinnied, men yelled, and steel clashed with steel. The carriage moved once more, the driver urging his horses to move with utmost haste. Jasmina looked out her window, gasping when she saw the blood on the ground. Strangers and soldiers alike littered the ground, almost a dozen in all. She soon heard a wail from her driver, his body falling from his seat and thumping onto the dirt path. Jasmina shook as the reality of the situation made itself known, a loud banging on her carriage door frightening her.

At twenty years of age, Jasmina had never known an ounce of danger. Now, it seemed the world was out to test her.

~~

Almost one-thousand collected souls ran into the trees in tight formation, their haphazard collection of armors and weaponry swinging and clanking in the summer light. Most of the men wore shields painted with a blood red moon, yelling as they charged to test their fate in combat.

At the edge of the forest, just about four hundred elves wearing nothing more than leathers or furs rained arrow upon arrow into the mass of bodies. Aleron saw nothing but the danger ahead of him, his sword and shield raised above his body as he screamed. Men fell around him, taking arrows to the chest or neck that somehow pierced the shield wall. And yet, many more soldiers continued the attack.

Shields clamored against sword and flesh as the mercenaries of the Blood Moons company found their foes. Half of the elves stood and fought while the others retreated further up field, and out of the woods to continue their relentless onslaught of missile fire. Aleron's sword slashed into an elf before him on instinct, his shield meeting the elf's own as his ripped through flesh and bone. Blood splashed on his face with an iron taste as he turned to face another elf, his friends falling around him as the rain of arrows persisted.

A trumpet sounded twice in the woods beyond and to the left. A hundred horses were arrayed at the treeline, their riders shouting encouragement to one another before the beasts began to gallop in formation toward the line of elven archers. Aleron spotted the boy-captain Talos at the center of the charge, spear pointed forward as he rode atop his black stallion.

Aleron already knew this was how the day would play out. The captain and the noble-borns beside him would win the day, riding in on horseback as the poor died on foot. Most battles played out in roughly the same manner, the only differences being the amount of poor that had to die before the day was won, or the rich riding in on siege towers instead as the poor charged through the gates of some doomed city.

An arrow glanced off of Aleron's shield as he turned to face his next foe, the elf before him swinging his sword gracefully at him. Aleron had no room behind him to avoid the strike; he had to raise his shield to deflect it, thrusting his own as steel clashed with steel. The elf danced gracefully away, his sword striking horizontally towards Aleron's gut as he awoke with a cold sweat.

~~

Aleron rose from his bedroll, gasping for air as he dropped his sheathed sword to the ground.

Just a dream, he thought.

He'd had the very same for two decades now, a recurring nightmare which made itself known at least once a month. He had been but a boy then, a foolish one who believed a couple years in the service of some little lord's band of hirelings would make him rich as a king.

That battle in the now-called Tardian Interregnum marked the end of Aleron's career as a mercenary. Even once his wounds had healed, he would never again return to a battlefield. He found pitched battles undeniably unfair, death being dealt to those who had made all the right moves. A stray arrow here or a spear glancing off of a suit of armor there could end a man's career, regardless of their personal skill in combat.

And you never get an ounce of gods-damned recognition for it all. The glory goes to the rich, who only get richer as they loot the best of war's spoils. Sure, to a lad that had been tending potatoes the year before, obtaining a suit of plate would be like discovering your own personal goldmine. But eventually your luck would run out, and you would have nothing to show for it but a stone grave surrounded by endless others.

But if you're rich... If you're rich, you get first pick of the wagon train. You get titles, renown, glory, and hell, even land if you're at the top of the food chain. Aleron now had thirty-nine years of age, and shared none of his youthful enthusiasm. He promised himself he would never again shed blood in the service of another. He would only work for himself.

Aleron equipped his gear and packed up his tent, placing most of his belongings on his horse and the rest on his person. His trusted long sword and kite shield were placed on his back, a well-oiled and loaded crossbow at his hip, and a half-a-dozen daggers sheathed appropriately on the small of his back, wrists, and boots. Lastly, he fastened a long length of rope over his belt, a grapple tied at the end, before he set off on horseback towards a carriage he hoped still existed.

Aleron sighed, realizing what he had given up in Catriona to take this job. To leave the comforts of city life and a decent woman for a pile of coin that may only last you six months? It's always a tough decision.

He was now an entire day's ride from Count Marco's castle in Heurbon, the rotund, haughty noble giving Aleron his latest hunting contract over hushed words. The count had nervously explained the details behind locked doors, not wanting his court to become aware of his young wife's obvious disappearance. As if they hadn't noticed.

Aleron had chuckled when the count had ordered him to retrieve her untouched, as if the missing countess would ever be so lucky. A kidnapped woman on the side of the road was either gang-raped by bandits, or dead. The countess' position may save her innocence for a time, if there were coin to be had. However, there hadn't been a bounty letter received, and Aleron knew that only meant one thing. So, he had declined that the contract should be held to the standard of an untouched woman, and the count reluctantly agreed.

Aleron had seen it all before. He'd had six or seven similar contracts, the only difference this one presenting was the fact that it was the kidnapping of a countess, and not one of a lower lord or commoner. But the details remained the same. To Aleron, the fact that Count Marco hadn't received a ransom notice implied that the countess was already dead. Bandits wouldn't turn down the opportunity for such a payout, otherwise.

But hey. Sixty golden Imperials is sixty golden Imperials, enough money for Aleron to live lavishly for half a year. A decade if he lived like a commoner, not that he would do such a thing with sixty clinking golden Imperials in his pocket.

Aleron the bounty hunter rode onward, day-dreaming of everything yet nothing at all.

--

Half the day had passed by the time Aleron found the ditched carriage on the side of the dusty path. Bodies had been buried by now, yet the footprints of the skirmish seven days past were still readily visible to Aleron's experienced eyes. Years as a hunter had trained him well, divining facts from evidence few others could see. He was glad that the rains of autumn hadn't yet begun, which would have made his task all that more difficult.

Aleron dismounted from his mare and scanned the battlefield carefully. The highwaymen had ambushed the convoy along a bend in the road, hoof-prints of the countess' guard scattered amongst the path and the carriage's tracks stopping soon after. A tree trunk, now rolled to the side of the road, appeared to be part of the bandit's attack strategy in halting the carriage. Aleron noted that the ambush appeared well-planned, and any bandits capable of fighting a noble's guard, even if they were surprised in the dead of night, would be worthy adversaries for a single man to combat.

He moved to the carriage next. It was a small vehicle, suitable for no more than two occupants for any long stretch of time. Much of the countesses clothing were strewn about the cabin, rich, delicate fabrics that few commoners could ever hope to obtain. Aleron found no jewelry, which a countess of Santaria would have had in droves. The fact didn't surprise the hunter, but he was pleased that the attack had indeed been performed in the search of wealth and not for a more sinister purpose.

To an untrained eye, there was nothing more to survey of the site. A battle had taken place, a carriage run off the road, its occupants and assailants were missing, and a dozen graves had been dug.

Aleron, however, noticed that sections of grass underfoot were a pinch more flattened than elsewhere, which matched up to footprints of those not born by soldiers. A branch was broken by the carriage, which had likely been grabbed during a struggle. That, combined with the fact that no blood had been spilt in the carriage, signified to Aleron that the countess had lived through the initial fray.

But the battle had been a week ago. To learn more, the hunter had to ride onward. He guided his mare into a trot, and followed the gentle tracks of at least half a dozen men through the undergrowth of a Santarian forest.

--

Two and a half days had passed as night fell over the forest once more, the chill air silent but for the shouts of drunken men near a raging fire. Aleron had slept but six hours since he'd left the carriage site, the path of the highwaymen becoming ever more difficult to follow the further he ventured into the autumnal forest. Aleron crept softly towards the edge of a cliff that overlooked the bandit's camp, the trail he'd been following having ended there. The hunter silently studied his prey.

He saw five men by the fire, who were shouting wildly of topics that Aleron couldn't quite make out from this distance. Aleron waited patiently, immobile for twenty minutes until he noticed the moving shadows of two more within a nearby tent, their silhouettes making a lewd display against the canvas.

A man's shadow rose and fell onto a woman's who lay on her back, her hips buckling against the man's eager thrusts. A rough groan, a soft moan, the anxious sounds of a pair entwined.

Aleron grinned as he realized he had located the missing countess. Curiously, the humping silhouettes against the canvas did not appear to be performing their actions with haste, nor by force. He was too far away to hear the whole story, of course, and assumed that this particular highwayman simply did not know how to properly fuck a woman, and merely made love instead.

The hunter silently unsheathed each of his six daggers one after the other, dipping them into a glass jar from his pack that contained the latest poison he'd purchased on the road. Gone were the days of the red viper toxins, much to Aleron's dismay. That particular snake's venom had made his life easy, as it could incapacitate a target and render their heart immobile in a matter of twenty seconds.

Aleron had instead opted to coat his blades with a strong hallucinogen this night, one brewed of a deathcap mushroom found only in the far-off swamps of Masakrai. He paid a pretty silver or forty for the brew, and had even tested it on himself to prove its efficacy. Once this particular toxin hits a person's bloodstream, their mind is immediately and simply severed from reality. It turns the world around them into a land of spinning, dizzying shapes and lights, and renders them helpless to speak, much less defend themselves.

Aleron realized that day that one's perception of the world is only held in place by an orderly mind. Without that, a soul is simply captured within their own nightmare, just as useless to the world as it is to them. In his personal test case, the toxin lasted for approximately five minutes. A short window, but more than long enough to prove effective in a combat situation.

Once all seven blades and the first bolt of the crossbow were coated in the deathcap brew, Aleron made his move. He slid away from the cliff, and slowly sneaked towards the bandit's camp.

Aleron noticed that one of the outlaws who had been at the fire had traded spots with the man in the tent, now with a pleased smile on his face. Aleron almost felt sorry for them, clearly just enjoying the world's greatest past time with the countess. Because he knew on this night, one just like any other, their lives would be forfeit.

Aleron decided that his crossbow would be used first in this encounter. Sometimes he kept it in reserve if his opponents weren't huddled close together, but that didn't appear to be a problem tonight. He crept closer, towards the optimal range of his small crossbow; a mere twenty meters, only half the range of its larger counterparts.

He could make out the voices emanating from the tent at this distance. He listened to Countess Jasmina, moaning like a whore as her latest lover pounded quickly into her.

Aleron grinned as he reminded himself of Count Marco's request to bring Jasmina back untouched. He supposed he didn't need to tell the count of this part of the tale; but he probably would, anyway. Just to see another noble brought low.

Aleron rose to a knee, leveling his poisoned crossbow with the largest looking man by the fire. With a soft squeeze of the trigger, the bow twanged, and bolt pierced both leather and flesh. Aleron knew it had been a lung shot when he heard the helpless gasp for air. The hunter dropped his crossbow to the dirt as he rose to his feet, then drew his sword with his left hand as he gauged the outlaw's reactions.

"'oly shit! Ramiro!" one idiot wailed.

"There 'e is! Get 'im!" another exclaimed.

Aleron wasn't hiding. In his peripheral, he noticed a man's shadow halt his assault on the countess and begin to rise from her embrace. A bow was being equipped by another bandit at the fire, a somewhat unfortunate predicament for the hunter. The bow's existence forced Aleron to make the first move.

Aleron strode towards the four by the campfire, placing his right hand on his bracer as he got closer. He threw a well-hidden dagger towards the archer, not particularly caring where the blade landed on his body, so long as it did.

He swept his sword diagonally when the first bandit met him with an axe, the slash coming from the wrong hand for Aleron's opponent to make an appropriate reaction. Before the bandit had slumped fully to the ground, Aleron had grabbed his shield from his back and slung it over his right arm.

The two outlaws remaining before Aleron closed the distance just as he tightened the second strap, an overhead swing coming from the bandit to his right. He raised his shield to deflect the blow as he thrust at the bandit to his left, narrowly missing his chest. The thrust was answered with a horizontal swing, a clumsy and poorly-timed strike from the half-naked man. Aleron sidestepped, giving himself just that much more distance from the outlaw to his right as he swung his shield to meet the outlaw's sword, then stabbed the bandit's leg from underneath his kite shield.

The strike wouldn't be fatal, but he'd be a writhing mess on the ground shortly. Aleron backpedaled a couple of steps, raising his shield towards his remaining opponent.

"Oy, what in da fuck is goin' on out 'ere?!" Aleron heard from the direction of the tent. Alright, two remaining opponents. He couldn't detect what weapon his new opponent was equipping, and decided to take the fight to the shaken outlaw before him.

"Stop it, stop it right now!" the countess cried, Aleron barely registering her voice as he bashed the man's skull in with his shield. He stabbed over the top of his steel bastion, driving his sword into the bandit's shoulder. Another trapped soul.

The bandit from the tent had grabbed another bow. Aleron sighed, sheathing his sword deftly then retrieving one of his back-mounted daggers, swiftly flinging it underhand at his opponent. The dagger missed, thankfully missing the naked woman behind his target as well.

"Fuck," Aleron muttered, grabbing his final wrist dagger and keeping his shield in front of him as he charged the bowman with all haste. The hunter kept one eye on the man's draw, then dropped to his knees with shield raised when the bandit released.

Having not been struck by an arrow, Aleron rose once more and threw his blade with some manner of concentration towards the bandit, striking him in the neck.

"Stop this, please!" the naked woman repeated, a silly request to Aleron seeing as her captors had all since been eliminated.

"Countess Jasmina, I presume?" Aleron asked calmly with sight unmet. He stepped towards one of the writhing men on the ground, who had been spinning in his own fantastical world. Aleron stabbed him in the neck, and the woman fell to her knees and sobbed. Aleron found her hysterical nature ridiculous, but not entirely unsurprising.

"I'm here to rescue you," Aleron explained softly when the woman didn't answer. Aleron reviewed the battlefield, soon finding another outlaw who was not quite dead and trudged that way.

"I did not ask for, nor do I want your rescue, sir!" the woman exclaimed, her balled fists weakly pounding into the dirt.

"That's too bad," Aleron replied reticently, swinging his sword lazily in a vertical circle before plunging it into another neck. Satisfied, he sheathed his sword and walked towards the maiden, then lifted an armored hand towards her.

"Looks like they're all dead, my lady. Time to go back to dear Marco," Aleron said.