We shouldn't have come here.
Frelsa's mind-voice was surprising, sounding through the silence and half-light.
She was on the outskirts of the clearing, looking off into the dark-shadow-forest. Her voice was normal, yet her mind was filled with anxious-fear.
They'd been tailed by the two-legs from the traitor-spice-city-Belatona for hours since their escape, the two-legs following on four-legged-horses that ran far too fast, faster than his wings. They'd corralled them with bows and arrows, forcing them into the forests around the Spine-green-sea. Their weapons flew true every shot, the arrows cutting through their magic-shields, wards, and piercing scale. Unnatural. Strong magic.
Kalla had wanted to kill all the two-legs, and Errol felt she was right, but Dýrgrir had also spoken true. They had no right to kill them, especially when they were under such strong-mind-magic. Kalla had changed her mind right then and there, and Errol wasn't blind to the reason why. Dýrgrir had earned respect from them when he had breathed-fire, and reverence from Kalla.
Frelsa had drawn her green-steel-sword and not kept it since they'd stopped for the night. It seems she was still convinced they were still in danger. Brother-of-soul-and-mind-Shepherd laughed and said, "Come on, girl, sit down and rest. They wouldn't dare come into here."
She scowled back, "And why is that? This is the Spine! We have no place here."
Dýrgrir slept on his belly on the opposite side of the clearing, silent, with Drukjl by his side and inspecting his scales. The ram-horn-Drukjl called back, "Have no fear. While I am by your side no other tribe will challenge us, they won't dare touch an Urgralgra Rider and his firebreather."
"It's not the other Urgals I'm afraid of."
Fearful words. Ominous.
Errol let his eyes wander around the clearing, then they fell upon Kalla's sleeping body and stuck there. He shuddered as his dreams surfaced again, heat and passion. Their bodies pressed close, her ragged-fiery breaths against his scales. He wanted to lay down next to her and feel her fire as if it were his own.
Strange, wrong, bad, bad, bad.
She's right there.
The strange-bad-mind-voice was always there now. Before it would leave for days at a time, then hours, then seconds of silent-safety. Now it was always there.
Right there.
His eyes were forced to follow the line of her body, every line on her green-gem-scales, every curve and angle of her wings. He wanted her, he wanted to feel her under him, struggling and panting.
Get her, pull her away and away and away into the forest, where they won't find you.
The strange-bad-mind-voice whispered and whispered, its voice cunning-sly and cold.
Into the forest where she'll never get away.
Drukjl picked away a few specks of dirt from his rough claws. They were caked with years of accumulated dirt and soil. He felt the rough ground and moss beneath him, the chorus of bugs and birds and far away animals. He'd grown up in a tribe not many leagues from here, and it pleased him to be back in the Spine again after so long.
His dragon stirred awake and noticed his Rider labouring. He shook his neck and scrathched at the scaled skin with one of his claws, growling, Two-legs, you call those blunt little things claws? Your thinking never fails to amuse me.
Drukjl chuckled and pushed Dýrgrir's snout away. He got up and flexed his shoulders, shaking off the lethargy. He breathed in a deep hearty breath of the forest, wet wood and mossy soil. He made his way to the edge of the clearing, feeling the young ferns against his ankles and the soil soft underfoot.
He sheathed his axe and placed one foot on a raised root at the edge of the clearing, staring off into the dark forest. He saw shining eyes staring back, many of them were fireflies flitting about between branches, many others were something else entirely. A light fog hung over the ground, adding to the ghostly atmosphere. Ghostly it may be, but it was still the Spine. It was still home.
A fox's shadow danced between trees, other obscure creatures darted from darkness to darkness. But none dared come close. He was back in power. He was the hunter here.
There was a loud thunk and Drukjl spun around. A huge arrow, longer than his whole arm outstretched, stuck quivering from the tree trunk besides Shepherd's head.
Drukjl drew Zhâda immediately and roared into the forest, the loud sound echoing into the dark. Frelsa scowled at them in an 'I told you so' sort of fashion and settled into some sort of fancy sparring stance. Shepherd just sat there, completely still, his head turning slowly to look at the huge arrow that had struck inches from his head.
He looked to the darkness where the arrow had flown from. Errol and Kalla were beginning to stir, rising sleepily, while Dýrgrir was already up and with his wings flared out, growling lowly as he faced the dark.
"Help!"
Drukjl turned to Frelsa as she screamed out, just to see the tip of her fingers disappear into the darkness beyond the clearing. He bounded across the space and stopped at the edge where the clearing ended, his body telling him not to go. There was nothing beyond.
Shepherd got to his feet and another arrow came, slamming into his stomach. The impact of the huge arrow was so great that the human's entire body was thrown backwards and pinned against a tree. Drukjl roared, "No!"
He reached forward and tried to help Shepherd up but he screamed and tried to push the Urgal away. Drukjl looked behind his friend and saw that the arrow had gone straight through the human's stomach, the arrowhead disappearing a whole foot into the tree trunk.
Dýrgrir roared and breathed a gout of copper flame into the forest but the torrent seemed strangely weak and mellow, dying out almost immediately and the heat disappearing within seconds. Not a single piece of wood was charred, not a single drop of water was gone.
Another rustle. Drukjl glanced to the side just in time to hear snarling, not of dragons, and Errol roaring as something tugged at him, dragging him into the shadows. Dýrgrir lunged across the clearing, beating his wings twice to speed himself along and alighted at Errol, clamping his claws down on Errol's body and leaning back, trying to drag both of them back.
The brown dragon bared his teeth and snarled, You're not getting away, brother.
Errol snarled back and scrabbled, trying to get back into the clearing. Then his eyes widened and focused on something behind Dýrgrir. His eyes slanted and he roared, Kalla!
When Drukjl turned Kalla was already gone, the ferns swinging idly as if something had been dragged through them.
Drukjl laid both hands on the thick shaft of the arrow protruding from Shepherd's stomach, groaning as he pulled back. Shepherd gritted his teeth and his eyes watered and there was a fleshy gristling and the arrow slid a few centimetres, before Shepherd could bear the pain no long and pushed Drukjl away. He screamed and curled up, his whole body held aloft by nothing but the arrow pinning him to the tree. His whole silk tunic below the stomach was soaked and shining with blood.
Dýrgrir roared and struggled to pull a struggling Errol, who kept on roaring, Kalla! Kalla!
Another arrow flew silently from the shadows, thudding into Dýrgrir's back. The arrow sunk through scale and flesh, and with an unearthly crack of splintering spine the brown dragon toppled forward. The impact of the arrow sent both he and Errol rolling into the forest.
Drukjl roared after his dragon and wanted to help him, to chase him into the forest and into the Spine. But deep inside he knew that if he went out into the Spine he'd be shot down in seconds. He wasn't the only hunter here now.
He tried to pull Shepherd off the arrow but the human was screaming so loud, his voice filled with so much pain that Drukjl just couldn't go on. He scowled and raised Zhâda high, intending to cut through the arrow shaft and drag Shepherd's convulsing body away to take out the rest of the arrow and heal him.
But just as he swung the copper coloured axe down another arrow flew. This one struck him, sinking into his right arm, just before his wrist. The arrow had been shot so strong that the stone arrowhead had gone straight through his thick forearm bones and out the other side of the arm.
He looked in shock at the thing that impaled his arm straight through, then the pain reached his mind and he roared, falling to his knees as Zhâda fell from his fingers and sank a few inches into the moss. He reached up with his other hand and tried to pull to arrow out, but the arrowhead was wide and impossible to pull out. He tried to break it off with his hands but the shaft was strong. Probably enchanted to not break.
Drukjl snarled and tried to pull out the arrow. It came out an inch before the head stopped on his wrist bones, stopped from going any further. He screamed and tried to pull it further, but the bones held fast.
There was the sound of a bowstring being drawn and strong, thick wood bending. Then a growl, like a wolf's.
"Barely a Hunt."
Shepherd saw Drukjl dragged away by the bow wielding Hunter. There had been yipping, teeth snapping at his hanging heels. The arrow stuck through his abdomen was so high that his legs dangled above the ground.
Soon the snapping things left him and he was alone in the clearing. He cast out his mind, looking, seeking for help. Praying for help. But they were all gone. Even Errol.
Shorren was on the ground, just below him. Out of reach. He bent down anyway, hearing the gristly grinding of flesh as the arrow shaft shifted in the wound it had carved. He reached out with a bloody hand for the grey sword on the ground, nearly covered up by the moss and dead leaves, but it was too far away.
He groaned and tried to remember the words, before spitting out, "Eom eka!"
The weapon shivered once, then twice, before shooting up into his outstretched hand. He felt its familiar pommel in his hand, and raised the weapon to try and cut the shaft but his arm was too weakened, the blade mearly rested on the shaft. He groaned and raised the blade a bit, before pressing down on it with his chest. Nothing. Shorren slid off and nearly slipped from his grip.
He raised it a bit higher and brought it down. A soft impact but nothing. Wait, was that a tiny little scar? Shepherd smiled through the blood and pain, and brought the blade up again. Another nock.
One more time. He raised Shorren high as he could manage, and brought it down. There was a loud snap and the end of the arrow was sawed off, spiralling away and landing in the soil.
Shorren slipped from Shepherd's grasp, his fingers too weak to hold it aloft any longer. He tried to push himself off the shorter arrow now. He'd have to push himself off, forcing his body to slide across the arrow. He shuddered at the thought of the wooden shaft sliding against his bones and organs, and immediately vomited.
He raised his legs and tried to tip his body forward, placing the soles of his feet against the tree trunk and pushing. A disguisting, fleshy sound of grinding flesh and wood. Shepherd slid forward a few centimetres, but he still stayed upon it. He gritted his teeth and pushed again, but one of his legs slipped off the side of the trunk. He screamed as the arrow shifted in the wound and struck a bone.
I'm not going to die here. I'm not going to die.
Screaming, he pushed against the tree and slid a bit further, his body sliding across the blood-slick shaft easily. Just one more time. He screwed up his eyes and screamed louder, before he pushed one last time and he fell off the arrow.
He lay on his stomach upon the soil, the moss soaking up his blood. One hand slid down to his abdomen and he tried to remember the words. He coughed up the words. "Waíse h-heill…"
A slight numbing, the blood flow was slowed down slightly. He patted the skin gingerly and still felt the wet and ragged wound, so hot it burned his fingers.
Shepherd was too tired to curse. He tried to think up of any other healing spells, but he had never cared for healing and Eragon had rarely touched upon the subject. 'Waíse heill' was far too simple a spell to repair his body now, but he spat out the words anyway.
"Waíse heill…"
The blood slowed down again, but the difference was so small Shepherd fancied he had imagined it. He gripped the ruined flesh with one hand and placed the other under him, propping his body up. With wild, half open eyes he threw his gaze around the clearing. Nothing anymore.
He looked behind and saw the arrow shaft still protruding from the tree trunk, his blood still dripping from the end where he'd cut it off with Shorren. The sword was half hidden by dead leaves, reflecting the weak moonlight. He reached forward with a bloody hand and grabbed the handle.
I need to get out of here. His mind knew that but his body was not willing. Groaning, he rose to his feet and faced where Drukjl had been dragged off to, or where he thought he'd been dragged off to.
Two steps and Shepherd's knees gave out and he toppled forward, rolling onto his back. He looked up at the half moon so high above, like a half closed eye.
Something blocked out the moon and the stars. Something big, something familiar. A dragon's head.
Could it be? His heart didn't dare to believe it. He asked, Errol?
Kalla you mean.
The green dragon looked down at him in concern, her emerald eyes glinting and twinkling. The light of the stars made her scales look like hundreds of green gems set in her skin. She craned her neck down and sniffed at his wound, before recoiling and snarling.
There was a far away howl, like a wolf's, and Kalla bared her teeth, looking around in, was it paranoia? Her mind was worried, and amazingly, scared. We can't stay here. The four-legs will find us.
Four-legs?
They're small, but very fast, very strong. We need to leave.
Shepherd nodded weakly, before asking, How did y-
Kalla stamped her feet impatiently and cut him off, I'm more capable then you all give me credit for, now come on!
Shepherd coughed up a globule of something warm and dark, before reaching up. Kalla lowerd her head and allowed him to wrap his bloody hands around her skull, before pulling him to his feet.
After a moment of struggling he managed to throw himself across Kalla's back and onto the hollow of her back. He retched at the sight of the bloody handprints and splashes his body had painted across her green scales.
Kalla growled impatiently, continuously looking back as if to check for something. Faster!
This is as fast as I go, Shepherd complained as he finally found a secure spot, lying against one of her spines.
Finally!
Kalla immediately took off loping into the forest. As she bounded Shepherd saw her looking up at the canopy, searching for somewhere where the forest was sparse enough to take flight.
Soon the howls came. Shepherd assumed that these were the things that had taken the rest away. Speaking of them, Kalla, what happened to the others?
She looked back behind them and muttered, I don't know, I don't know…
She leaped over a log and Shepherd yelped, both of his hands clutching his wound. The blood was still trickling from between his fingers. He furrowed his brow and wheezed, "Waíse heill."
The bleeding slowed.
The wolves were fast, catching up to them quickly. Shepherd happened to glance to one side and saw a dark creature sprinting through the forest, weaving between trunks and leaping over streams and logs and raised roots. It looked back at him with glowing eyes of dirty yellow. As it ran it began to edge closer, and closer.
Kalla roared at one of them before there was a snapping sound to the other side. Shepherd glanced to his left and saw another wolf, this one close enough that he could see it clearly. A canine, its body cloaked in a rippling coat of liquid fur, white flecked with black, the beast's yellow eyes savage as its fangs scythed through the air, snapping at Kalla. But what was frightening was its size. The thing was nearly Kalla's size, the size of a horse at least.
Shepherd knew what it was. He's heard hundreds of stories about these things from the Dwarven Riders. A Shrrg. Giant wolves that hunted in packs and were known to kill huge things, the giant deer of the Spine, Feldûnost, Fanghur and even Urzhad, the giant bears that haunted the Beors. They were even said to be able to take down Dragons. But dangerous as they were Shepherd had never heard of them ever existing within the Spine.
Kalla roared at a third Shrrg as it bounded up alongside her, trying to sink its teeth into her scales. She swiped one claw at the wolf and it leaped agilely aside, before bounding back. Shepherd reached out with his mind and seized one of them, closing his eyes and fuming in concentration as he tunnelled into the beast's mind. The body of the Shrrg he'd targeted was seized by spasms and it fell behind, convulsing in the dirt.
He smiled smugly and tried it upon another, but that effort had weakened him. The next Shrrg tumbled head over heels, and the next merely lost its footing and tripped. They both promptly rejoined the chase. Shepherd looked behind and saw a frightening scene, a dozen or more pairs of yellow eyes moving through the forest at their pace.
Two of them flanked Kalla on either side, growling and snapping. One of them sank its teeth into Kalla's shoulder but was rewarded by a stab from Shorren upon its snout. The dragon tried to fight them off but they were nearly her size, and it was one against a dozen.
The two Shrrg on either side kept pace with Kalla easily. It seemed that they were toying with them, playing with them. They kept on adjusting their course, blocking their way with a snap or goading them another way with a snarl.
It seems they lost interest to keep their food alive after a while. Another Shrrg lunged from behind and clamped its claws onto Kalla's back, careful to avoid the ivory spines. She roared in pain but didn't lose her stride, growling, Shepherd!
On it! He turned around in his seat and raising one foot, kicked the beast in the nose. It gave a whimper and flinched but didn't let go. Shepherd growled and stabbed with Shorren as the Shrrg opened its mouth to snap at him. Its jaws clamped down on the blade and the grey brightsteel sunk into its gums, shattering fangs and teeth.
The Shrrg on Kalla's left seemed outraged by this, and lunged towards him. It slammed into his side and sent him flying through air, until his other shoulder slammed into a tree. There was an ungodly splintering noise, and Shepherd was pretty sure it didn't come from the tree.
Kalla looked back and roared. She tried to clear the distance between her and Shepherd, but a Shrrg tackled her from the front and both of them rolled back towards the rest of the pack.
Shepherd groaned and looked down at his right shoulder, the one that had slammed into the tree. Was his arm supposed to have two elbows? No, that was just where the bones had been shattered. He didn't dare attempt to move his limb.
His stomach still bled, the blood had returned with a vengeance. He felt gutted, defeated, dead. Kalla still fought against the Shrrg, she roared and slashed at them, kicked at them, bit at them. But they fought back. She tried to face one and another would bite her exposed back. Then another would leap upon her back and sink its teeth into her scales. She flared her wings to intimidate them and they slashed the wing membranes to tatters.
Shepherd spat out the healing spell but nothing happened anymore. He didn't know how to fix bones, he wasn't even sure Frelsa knew. But he had to help Kalla somehow.
His mind wrapped around that of a Shrrg and he struck, screaming as he killed the Shrrg then and there. Its lifeless body slid off Kalla's back. He targeted another, intending to do the same, when one of them knocked him over as it loped towards Kalla.
He fell over and the wolf seemed to realise what it just hit. The huge silver thing plodded forward and stopped above him, its jaws opened in a fierce snarl. Its front paws alone were the size of his head. Its eyes were like dirty suns, shining their light upon him. Shepherd grabbed Shorren with his left hand and tried to strike the beast, but the blade merely bounced weakly off its fur.
Its silver and tan fur rippled like waves. Shepherd struck again with Shorren but the blade didn't even reach it this time. He saw Kalla tackled by two Shrrg at once, before the rest of the pack fell upon her.
Then a howl, the loudest he had heard so far. And different, as if a hundred Shrrg howled at once. The rest of the pack heard it and cowered, their tails dangled between their legs and they whimpered, cowering and backing away.
He saw Kalla, bloodied and with countless wounds upon her, deep and savage. The brilliant green was gone now. She got to her feet and tried to fly away, but her wings were tattered rags, she flapped and beat them weakly but they refused to bear her aloft.
A huge being came into view, a giant. It seemed to wear a cloak over its body that was tattered and torn at the edges, flapping and snapping in a phantom wind. It held in one hand a huge black bow that was as such as well, seemed to be covered in a tattered and fluttering cloth.
The hooded shape looked to Shepherd, then to Kalla. Shepherd saw that within its hood was a void of black, within which twinkled two new moons of dirty yellow. The thing growled like a wolf, "And so the Hunt ends."
Drukjl awoke upside down, hanging from a chain tied to his feet. His arms were chained to his side and his horns were connected with a smaller chain to his hands. He struggled like a worm, flopping through the air uselessly.
Then he saw the arrow. He'd been shot through the arm, above his wrist, and the arrow was still there, its shaft poking through his chains like some strange alien tower. And from the horrible pain in his leg the arrow head had been shoved through into his thigh as well.
He craned his neck up to see the chains around his legs. Another chain suspended him above the ground, connected to some strange spoke above. He looked back down to check the distance to the ground but it was too dark to see. He cursed and looked back to the chain suspending him, intending to shatter it with magic. But what was the spell?
He tried desperately to remember the lessons he'd never paid attention to, the ones about magic. Jada? Erda? No, no, no.
There was yipping and snapping below. Drukjl looked back down and saw strange creatures on the ground, a sea of shifting bodies and shiny fur, crawling about each other. He didn't know what they were, but they'd probably eat him if give the chance.
"And so the Billy Goat Gruff awakens!"
That voice! It had the same accent to it, the same lisp to it, that he'd grown all to familiar to. But it was happier than both those they'd seen before, cheerful and jolly with madness.
A striking sound like flint and the world roared to life and light. The entire forest around him became visible.
He hung above what must have once been a road, but now the cobblestones were covered with vines and moss. Under him was some huge, strange vehicle like a metal open top carriage. From the middle of the carriage rose a thick black pillar, and from that thick black pillar extended dozens of silver spokes, which were the thing that Drukjl hung from. He saw other things, other shapes, hanging from the length of the hundreds of spokes like they were in some sort of mobile slaughterhouse.
There was a figure down below, leaning against the metal carriage. The hooded one who'd dragged Drukjl away. His body still fluttered and snapped like a cloak in the storm, but his bow was not with him. He looked up with clouded yellow eyes and laughed, "So? How do you find your new housing?"
He tried to lower his horns at the Hunter but they were chained to his hands, which were chained against his legs. He settled for a growl, "Release me, demon!"
"Hah! Nice one!" The figure cried gleefully, before hopping up into the carriage. "Demon indeed!"
Drukjl realised that the animals he'd seen on the ground were actually in the carriage, a huge litter of little wolf pups that tumbled about each other clumsily. They whimpered and whined a great deal. One of them rolled out of the carriage and bounced around on the dirt, before crawling sleepily under the carriage.
The cloaked figure gave a chuckle and picked on up, holding it in the crook of his arm as he cooed to it. He took a seat and propped his legs up upon the side of the carriage, before looking up and shouting, "Oi! Girl! I know you're awake! It ain't nice to lie you know!"
Drukjl looked to the side and saw Frelsa hanging two spokes away. She seemed fine, mostly. He looked around, wriggling in his bonds, and spied a few other struggling figures. Errol was on the far side of the strange slaughterhouse contraption, wings and claws chained to his body. Dýrgrir was also there, a few spokes away, but his jaws were also chained shut as well. He roared a muted roar and a few wisps of fire and smoke escaped from the corner of his jaws. He couldn't find Kalla or Shepherd, but upon all the other spokes were suspended hundreds of other things, all covered with old rags. None of them moved.
The Hunter held the whining wolf cub in one arm and gestured to them with the other. "You all smell… strange. Like you're one of me, but you're not. So tell me, why do you smell like one like me?"
Drukl guessed easily enough what 'one like me' meant. This thing was featureless, a fluttering shadow. As insubstantial as Neoettr and the Tempest had been. And their eyes, they all burnt the same way, with hate, with savage fury.
The Hunter pulled out a piece of greyish meat and held it above the wolf cub's head. It immediately perked up, snapping with its stubby little fangs at the meat. It jumped up and snatched the meat out of the Hunter's fingers, before slipping on his arm and tumbling clumsily back into the mass of other cubs where a scuffle ensued for the meat.
The Hunter stood up and smoothly exited the carriage. He looked off into the forest off to one side of the old road, exclaiming cheerfully, "Look's like we've got new visitors!"
There was snapping and yelping of wolves. Drukjl's eyes widened as he saw a huge pack of Shrrg enter the road. The huge beasts were giant, larger than horses. If one of them wanted to they could jump up and snap him right out of the air.
They dragged something large. In the evening light the thing glistened softly, like it was wet. Drukjl assumed it was a slain Nagra or Urzhad, the giant boars and bears were regular prey for Shrrg. Then he recognised the angular bones of wings, the long claws and saw the few scales that were not wet with blood. One emerald eye looked out at the world through a half open eye.
Errol began to thrash and struggle, roaring with his maw and his mind. A dozen of the wolves around Kalla immediately fell to the ground struggling and writhing, crying out with horrible whining sounds.
Drukjl took one look at the Hunter and shouted at Errol to stop. The giant was silently fuming, his eyes blazing now. He reached into the shadows and his bow materialised there. He nocked a dark arrow into it and aimed it at Errol, and fired.
The arrow landed squarely in Errol's chest. Dýrgrir finally began to struggle, his brown eyes narrowed at the Hutner. He roared a muffled roar as Drukjl bellowed at the Hunter, "Demon!"
The Hunter's air of good humor returned. He threw aside the bow and it turned to mist that was scattered to the wind. He held up both hands and corrected, "Wrong, anyone can shoot a Dragon. But only my kind can do this."
He looked to the forest where the Shrrg, now recovered, had come from and Drukjl followed his gaze. A new stranger entered the fold, a giant identical to the shadowy Hunter. This wraith held an identical bow in one hand and with the other dragged a bloody body along, leaving a bloody trail on the moss and cobblestones.
The Wraith let go of the body and it slid to a stop next to the carriage, then the phantom walked towards the Hunter and straight into him. Their outlines blurred for a moment, then when it came back into focus the Hunter was there alone, seemingly taller and stronger.
"Ah, that's better. Now, let's inspect our new arrivals."
Drukjl squinted and inspected the still body on the ground far under him. It lay on its belly, its tunic was stained with blood and one arm was all mangled and bent. It had a head of messy hair that might have once been brown, or maybe black. Now it was stringed with moss and soil from where he'd been dragged through the forest. It could only be one after all, the only one missing from their company.
Drukjl reached out with his mind and asked, Shepherd?
No response. His mind kept on flickering, awake a moment then silent the next. Drukjl saw a pool of blood begin to slowly grow around Shepherd, stemming from his stomach. Hate bubbled deep in him and he struggled harder, trying to dislodge Zhâda from where it was, chained to the side of his left leg.
The Hunter bent down next to Shepherd and grabbed his head roughly, lifting it up to inspect him. "Pale, deathly, but a Rider definitely."
A snarl. One of the Shrrg came forward with something in its mouth. It dropped the item and it clattered against the ground. The Hunter looked at it curiously, reaching out to touch it before recoiling as his finger grazed the item. He hissed vehemently, "Stáljerrn!"
He kicked the weapon away into the bushes, backing away from Shepherd. He came to Kalla and Frelsa finally managed to rouse herself from her stupor, shouting, "Get away from her!"
The Hunter paid her no heed. The Shrrg shied away from him, they respected him it seemed. He seemed to be the pack leader among them. The Hunter held his hand over Kalla's bloody scales, his eyes scanning her form. Errol, still with the arrow in his chest, found the strength to struggle weakly and gave a weak growl. It wasn't even loud enough for the Hunter to hear.
He roughly grabbed one of Kalla's wings and spread it open, causing her no little discomfort it seemed by the growling she gave. Drukjl's hate grew as he saw the wings. The translucent green membrane was now nearly gone entirely, bitten and clawed off by the Shrrg. In some parts the bone under the wing frame could even be seen. Drukjl flinched at the hatred that emanated from Frelsa.
The Hunter tutted disapprovingly. "I asked for them delivered to me, not for you all to chew them up. The Rider I could allow, but not this Dragon."
The Shrrg began to whimper, shying away even more.
The Hunter grew more displeased as he studied Kalla's condition. "She's as good as dead, what fun would she be in the Hunt? None, you disappoint me."
The Shrrg were on the brink of turning tail and fleeing from his quiet rage it seemed.
"No matter, we'll make do."
He laid a hand on her side and patted her gently. Her ragged breaths slowed, her eyes slid fully shut and her wings folded up gently. He gestured to two of the wolves and made a strange series of growls and snarls.
Frelsa shouted furiously, "What did you do to her!"
The Hunter paid her no heed, grabbing Kalla by her tail and dragging her over to the carriage. Frelsa shouted again, "What did you do to her!"
He kept silent, hoisting up Kalla over his shoulder as he scaled the strange slaughterhouse contraption. He came to its summit where the silver spokes radiated from and chained Kalla up, hanging her onto a random spoke, and sliding her out onto the far end.
Frelsa was thrashing and convulsing like a dying fish, screaming, "I'll kill you! I'll kill you and feed you to your wolves!"
The Demon scoffed, "You're wrong girl. The part where my wolves get a meal comes after, when we've chased you down. Then they'll rip you apart and eat you all. I think I'll get them to kill you last, so you can watch."
This shut them all up. He said it so gleefully, like he loved doing this.
The Hunter dropped back down to the ground. A few of the Shrrg came to the carriage and leapt onto it where they waded into the pools of cubs and began to nurse them. The cubs whined and yipped as they jostled for space, surging towards the older Shrrg.
The shadowy giant sat on a rock surrounded by the Shrrg. Many of them crowded around him, sliding their heads under his hands to feel his touch, while others held back and watched the new prisoners with vigilant eyes.
The Demon asked, "So, should we get started?"
"On what?" Frelsa snapped.
He gave another chuckle and wagged a finger at her, "You're fierce, I like that. You'll give my wolves a good fight, they haven't had one in years."
One of the Shrrg bared its teeth and snarled as if to emphasise on that.
You expect us to die for you? Dýrgrir growled, shaking his chains.
The Hunter now wagged his finger at the dragon. "I expect you to die to me. Big difference. Or my wolves, anyway this goes it's fine with me."
Dýrgrir gave a mental impression of a dragon's laugh, to which the Hunter responded, "Finally, one of you understands. Yes, this is very funny!"
Dýrgrir shook his chains again, It is not that, Demon, it is how different you are to your brothers.
This intrigued the Demon. "Brothers, eh? So you do know them, tell me how are they? I'd especially like to know the plight of Moarn."
The copper dragon gave another laugh. We only met the great one under the mountain, and the one who calls himself Aqírni. But even in the few moments we shared with them they respected us, as foes at least. And foes warrant an explanation to why they must die.
The Demon rubbed his chin, or where his chin would be, and said thoughtfully, "You speak true, but you're not my foes. You're my prey. Big difference, you see?"
"There is none that I see!" Frelsa called. "And even if we are, what does that say of you? You're not even one of your brothers anymore! You're just a mangy wolf!"
The Shrrg growled and snarled at her for this, but the Hunter raised a hand to calm them. He rose and when he spoke his voice seemed deeper, stronger. He looked up and the light from his eyes was stronger and harsher. "Be it your way. I'll warrant you your verdict."
He sauntered over to the carriage, several of the Shrrg tailing him. "For hundreds, thousands of years, I've wandered these forests, the forests of the Spine. The Forests of the Beors. The Forests of the North, of the South, the East and the West, all in search of the ultimate Hunt."
He plucked an arrow of shadow from the shade and twirled it between his fingers. "You see, to me the ultimate thrill is in the hunt. Running down your prey, watching from the shadows. Seeing them, stalking them when they think they're safest, then when they think I've given up I find them and…"
He clamped his fist around the arrow and it evaporated into mist.
"But I've found that in all my travels, the Hunt is never good enough. I hunted hare and falcon, then wolf and deer, then Nagra and Urzhadn. But it was never enough! I took to the sea to hunt for Nïdhwal and Sahadjinn, but they fell to me. Then I returned to Alagaësia and found that there the sub-sentients there had formed a pact of sorts, an order of creatures bonded together to create the ultimate warriors."
The Riders.
"When I'd last left some usurper or the like had ended the order, but when I returned they were back in power and with greater numbers than before. I was wandering the Beors and saw a dragon far above, and thought what a Hunt it would be to stalk them. Prey that could think, fight, use magic. Prey that had a chance to beat me. Exhilarating. So I hunted them, corralled them into the Beor Forests and hunted them for nigh on a year. After that, well…"
He pointed to the slaughterhouse contraption and the rags upon the hanging bundles flew off. Drukjl recoiled from what he saw, hundreds of huge skins. Skins and hides of dragons, some small as dogs and others larger than Saphira was in life. Each chain held three, four and even five skins at one time. There must be hundreds, thousands even. Their scales were green, yellow, red, blue, brown and a million other shades, but all were stained with long dried blood and peppered with bite marks and arrow wounds.
The Demon's eyes flared with pride. "I've killed perhaps a thousand dragons in my prime, but these 'Riders' were nothing like I've hunted before. But soon, I learnt their ways and manners. I killed another Rider and her dragon in Elf Forest, they screamed so loud when I shot an arrow into their eyes. Such a beautiful hunt…"
He spoke as if relishing a cherished memory. "The next two were in the Great Sand Sea, Hadarac you call it? Yes, I imprisoned them within its clutches and followed them for eight months, watching them struggling to find water and drawing tiny sips from the earth. When I finally came to them the Rider had already dies of thirst, the dragon was begging me so, so miserably, he begged me to end him so he could join his soulmate in death. I healed him and sent him on his way, and got a whole extra month of stalking from him before he killed himself."
Drukjl felt a hint of fear at the thought. To lose Dýrgrir in the Hadarac, then wander its wastes for months, begging the Seven Stone Gods to take his life. Then when he thought fate had finally come to claim him, he was healed and forced to endure the torture for a whole more month. All for some crazy Demon's enjoyment.
"Well, I learnt and perfected the way to kill your kind. The next ones, a nice purple dragon and his Rider, I used magic to send them to the great sea, far beyond your borders. There the waters extend in every direction for a hundred thousand thousand leagues, no dragon could fly a quarter that distance let alone in the storms that haunt the sea. But still they flew out there for a whole month, impressive really. A good hunt, but not the best."
The Demon gestured to one of the skins that seemed faded and tattered. Seaweed and dried salt was obvious upon its scales.
"You see, I need the Greatest Hunt Alagaësia has ever seen. I will never rest till I find a prey too great for me to slay, and they slay me instead, but that time will not come for another thousand years. Until then I'll keep on hunting, searching, craving. Hungry for the Greatest Hunt."
He plucked his bow from the shadows and nodded to them.
"I've never hunted six at one times, you'll be the Greatest Hunt yet."
She was glaring at the Hunter one moment, then the next her face was buried in a pile of dead leaves.
Frelsa spat out the leaves and scrambled to her feet, drawing Delswoir and throwing her gaze around wildly. They were in a forest, that hadn't changed, but this forest was different. It had a heavy fog over it, thick and impenetrable. The trees here were twisted and gnarled, their black black and foul bark seeming to give off waves of shadowy smoke.
She was alone here. None of the others had alighted at the same place as her its seemed, but she knew that they would be somewhere near. From The Hunter's words he meant to hunt them all at one time, so it was a safe bet they were in the same general area.
Drawing Delswoir with a deathly scrape, she held it out in front of her. It was still dark, so it was still night. She held out her left hand in a cupped shape and whispered, "Garjzla."
A soft, mellow werelight flared to life in her cupped hand. She raised her hand up like she was carrying a lantern and cast the light around. She needed to find the others, they wouldn't stand a chance in the Hunt alone. Especially Kalla. The sight of her blood made Frelsa's rage bubble over, her wings all tattered and torn, her scales all rent and shattered. She swore to herself she'd make the Hunter suffer. She cherished that thought of making the Hunter feel the pain he'd caused her dragon, and advanced into the forest.
Frelsa gazed through the gaps in the gnarled trees' branches and saw hundreds of stars, more stars than she'd ever seen. Here the air was strange, sweet almost. So sweet it made her gag. Her foot clacked against something and she flinched, hopping back and pointing Delswoir at it. She'd stepped on a tile of some sort.
Bending down and holding her werelight close, she picked up a piece of the shattered slate and inspected its surface. Elven made, definitely Elven made. The flowing design and embossing was unmistakebly Elven. She threw it down and it was once again buried in dead leaves.
Advancing further, she began to see eyes in the dark. She swung her lantern around and sought out with her mind, calling, Solembum?
She did not find him, but her eyes found something else. Birds, shadows of birds. Shadows with no owners. Shadows of tall birds with bared plumes of feathers and glowing eyes. They chittered like squirrels and fluttered about as shadows. Frelsa frowned and furrowed her brows. Strange creatures, but she was sure she'd studied them before.
Their chittering was quite disconcerting, but she pressed on nonetheless. Soon there came the snap of a great branch, so loud it echoed through the forest's deep bowels. Frelsa stiffened up and held her werelight high, looking in every direction, searching for a Shrrg or The Hunter. She saw the glowing eyes of the shadow birds, watching her from every direction, but nothing great enough to break such a branch.
Another loud snap. She could stand it no longer. Frelsa clenched her fist and the werelight was doused. She slid to the base of the nearest tree and took cover between two buttress roots, clutching Delswoir with both hands. Without her candleflame the forest seemed frighteningly dark.
There was more snapping, then a wet sound she couldn't place. Then a growl, and a wet sliding noise. Frelsa pressed her ear against the thick root and listened. It sounded like the creature was on the other side of the tree.
She peeked around the side and saw a huge shadow, a giant round shell and a wet glistening body. Now she definitely knew these things, they lived on Nyr Doru Araeba after all. Snalglí.
This was a huge specimen, easily six feet high at the shell. Its waving eyestalks flailed wildly, the moonlight shining off its wet body. Frelsa decided to take a chance. She'd never heard stories of Snalglí harming Riders after all.
She rolled out from the roots to put as much distance between her and the Snalglí, before raking her brain for the words in the Ancient Language. "Snalglí, eka weohnata néiat haina ono."
Snalglí, I mean you no harm. All animals understood the Ancient Language, or its meaning at least. The beast regarded her for a moment, then gave a low growl. Frelsa gripped Delswoir and realised she'd never thought she'd be scared facing a giant snail. But the thing understood her message and soon slithered away.
Heaving a relieved sigh, she cupped her left hand again and whispered, "Garjzla."
As she walked she kept on searching with her mind, looking for anyone. Any human, Urgal, Elf or Dwarf would be kind solace in this place. Especially with the knowledge that at any moment she could be fallen upon by a pack of Shrrg, torn apart slowly. All for the enjoyment of some crazy demon who was greedy for the perfect hunt.
The chittering of the shadow birds grew so maddening she feared that if she listened a moment longer she'd lose her mind. Frelsa scowled and jabbed her werelight at the nearest one, spitting out through gritted teeth, "Ganga hrekja!"
Go away! A few of them squawked at her and the chittering continued. It was worth a shot anyway.
Frelsa soon came to a wall of hanging black vines, straggly like long human hair. She shuddered at the thought and cut through them with Delswoir, and gasped at what she saw. A ruined city lay before her, as giant as her home back on Nyr Doru Araeba had been. The streets were wide enough for three dragons to walk, the buildings larger than any on her Island. The towers rose so high they pierced the clouds and scraped the ceiling of the sky. As the moonlight shed its white tears on the place, she remembered this place. She'd learnt of it years ago, but never forgetten it.
The First City, the First Home of Riders…
"Doru Araeba…"
7-4-14
I won't lie to you guys, I had given up on this story. I had moved on and told myself, 'That ship's sailed and it was a fun time while it lasted but it's gone'. But then a month after that I came back and read my story again, and asked myself, 'God, did I write all of this? All? All 14 chapters? Wow, a shame this thing had to end'. Then I saw the reviews I'd gotten since then, and I realised, it didn't have to end? It could begin again couldn't it? And it will. I will keep writing, and I will keep updating. Thank's to all of you and your reviews, I love you all.