The Hunting Raven chapter 5

Unwelcome Revelations

The tavern became much quieter as the Rathbane entered. Only the most drunk hunters at the tables talked in anything above a whisper. Sitting on the counter on the far side was a short, pale, mustachioed man. He was too engrossed in whatever he was writing to notice the change in atmosphere.

He was not, however, engrossed enough not to notice that the table vibrated with each of Michael's steps.

His mustache drooped slightly when he saw Michael, luckily his face didn't seem able to become any paler.

"Is that-" he started.

"Yes," Thardus interrupted, smirking.

"Why didn't you-?"

"I did tell you," He interrupted again.

The Guildmaster closed his mouth, looking a bit miffed. Then he looked up (way up) to Michael's helmeted face.

"I-I'll n-need proof o-of-" He began. But he was interrupted yet again by Michael slapping a triangular, ribbed hunk of rock on the counter, the flintstone.

The Guildmaster took the stone with a look of awe. The small bones and feathers still clinging to it was strong evidence of the fact that it had been ripped off of the Qurupeco with bare hands, rather than cut off with a carving knife. He wordlessly handed a slip to Michael, verification that he was now a full hunter.

Normally this would not be the case, he would have simply been promoted to the second rank. But the situation was far from a normal one.

"What will we hunt next?" Michael asked as he, Thardus, and Cydni left the Rathbane's quest planning room. Michael had to turn sideways and duck to fit his armored bulk through the doorway.

"We'll decide that tomorrow," Thardus said with a yawn. "Right now, all I'm doin' is gettin' some grub and hittin' the sack."

Startled, Michael looked up and realized that the sun had already set. He had lost track of time.

Cydni gave a long, loud yawn. "Well," she said, not just to Thardus, but to the other hunters leaving the room as well. "I'm going by the tavern. Anyone else comin'?"

Most of them declined, Thardus included, looking too tired to want to eat anyway. Jazz refused, though Max was willing to go.

Cydni turned her attention to Michael as the others left. "What about you, big guy?" She asked.

He shook his head. "There is no need. Space Marines can survive for days without food, several weeks in emergencies."

But Cydni was insistent. She shook her head, golden hair flowing across her face in the process. Her deep blue armor clinked at the joint between the neck and shoulder armor. "Even if it's just a snack, you need to eat something," she said. "You can isurvive/i without food, but this isn't the wilderness. You can stand a bite to eat."

Michael thought for a moment, but decided that she was right. Perhaps it had just been his instincts, as this world was light years behind the Imperium. He nodded to her and followed the group of hunters.

Cydni's frown became palpable despite the fact that her back was facing Michael. He looked toward the table that she was glaring at.

Sitting there was a group of hunters in the most ridiculous armor that Michael had ever seen. The men all wore armor that looked like crude copies of Space Marine armor that was painted gold. The women wore even more ridiculous armor. It looked like...rhino hide? Yes, it looked like rhino hide that had been painted pink, with a laughable helm that resembled a teddy bear.

Michael leaned down and asked, "Who are they?"

"The Gilden Claws," she said tersely. "Hunters in name only."

At that moment, one of the men in golden armor noticed them, he pointed the Rathbane group out to his comrades, saying something to them that Michael couldn't hear. Abruptly, their entire table erupted into a fit of roaring laughter. Cydni's expression darkened, and she walked over toward a free table on the other side of the Tavern, the rest of the group followed, scowling similarily at the Gilden Claws. Michael stared at them, his expression inscrutiable. One by one the 'Claws fell silent as they noticed his gaze. When their table was finally silent, he trudged after his newfound comrades.

Cydni was standing there with a man who appeared to be the waiter. Each of the other hunters then spoke, apparently placing orders. Michael couldn't hear them over the racket of the others in the Tavern, they were either too drunk to notice, too engrossed in conversation to notice, or (most likely the way Thardus and Cydni would be) simply didn't care.

Presently, Cydni continued talking and jerked her thumb behind her, in Michael's general direction. The man blanched, but nodded and walked off. Seeing that Cydni was still in a bad mood, Michael decided to wait until after they sat down to inquire further about the "hunters in name only."

As it happened, he spent the next few minutes marveling at the fact that the wooden bench hadn't shattered under his weight.

Cydni's expression once again darkened when Michael asked.

"They're not really hunters," she said. "For several reasons, actually, not the least of which is that they're just a bunch of rich kids that decided to get some armor and act tough. They bought the materials for the armor they wear. The rule of thumb for hunters: you're only worth as much as the armor you forge, yet they gathered nothing, therefore they aren't worth anything."

Michael waited for her to continue, but the waiters had just arrived with their food. The smell wafting from the gigantic slab of meat in front of him was intoxicating. He noticed that a few of the other hunters had bowed their heads. Were they…praying? A hint of a smile came to his lips as he bowed his own in prayer to the Emperor. So these hunters weren't exactly servants of the God-Emperor, but neither were they heretic bastards of Chaos.

Once they had finished eating, Cydni spoke again. "There is also another reason, they…" she stopped, looking troubled. After a moment, she took a breath and began again.

"Do you know how Thardus got his scar?" she asked. Michael shook his head. "Well, you see-"

Max seemed to choose exactly that moment to slump onto her shoulder, interrupting her. She pushed him off and looked at him, frowning. Michael noticed that his eyes seemed a bit unfocused.

"Max," Cydni said in a hard tone. "You're drunk again!"

"Wha?" he asked, momentarily confused. Then he understood. "N-No, I a-ain't drunk. I'm good, Squi-eh…Cyd'."

Cydni rolled her eyes. "Alright, how many Golden Brews did you have?"

The Rathian armored hunter screwed up his face as he tried to remember. "Eh…four 'r five…I think…B-bu-but I'm sober, I tell ya!"

"Fine," Cydni said. "Then tell me, where are you?"

His face tightened again as he looked around, then said uneasily, "…Uh…hash browns?"

"That's it, to your guest house."

"Aw, come on Squi-"

"Go!"

Max slumped slightly and got up before wobbling uneasily toward the exit.

Once he had left, Cydni turned her attention back to Michael, but surprised him with an unrelated question.

"Michael, why do you hate aliens?"

The Astartes was caught a bit off guard by the question. Once he regained his composure, he answered simply. "They wish to destroy humanity, so they deserve to die…all of them."

Cydni recoiled slightly at the vehemence of the statement, then looked even more troubled. "All of them?" she said. "Including women, children, and the ones who aren't even military?"

Michael shrugged and repeated his statement. The other shook her head angrily.

"How can you say that?" she said in a quiet, deadly voice. "I don't care how many times they've attacked you, not every last alien deserves to die. There are innocents!"

A scowl deepened on Michael's face. "Among xenos," he said. "There are no innocents. The same goes with the bastard servants of Chaos and all of the Throne damned hereti-"

"Heretics?" Cydni interrupted. "Like who, me? Am I a heretic just because I don't kiss your damn Emperor's ass at all times of the day?"

Some Astartes are known for their patience and ability to control their anger, and Michael was one of them, but this was far more than even he was able to stand. He surged to his feet, face contorted with righteous fury, and his fist raised for a killing blow. But there was one thing that stopped him.

Cydni's facial expression.

It would have meant nothing had it been fear, he saw that on a daily basis in battle. No, the look on her face was smug satisfaction. He just had to know…

"Why?"

"Simple," she said. "You can learn a lot about a religion and the people in it by insulting their God. Do they argue with you, or do they just try to kill you? Now I don't doubt that you could kill me if you really wanted to, but doing that would simply prove my point. Almost the entire reason that I have respect for Thardus is that he passed that test. But you, my friend, have just failed it."

Michael's anger was undiminished, but her words struck a chord in him. For what was probably the first time in his life, Michael began to truly think about what he believed. He began to question what it truly meant. Not once did he have the heretical thought that the Emperor Himself was wrong. But could it be possible that those who interpreted his Words had been wrong? There were so many implications.

Cydni stood up from the table. "I'll leave you with one last thing to think about. When you have met every alien man, woman, and child, then maybe (just maybe) I'll believe you. But until you do that, ask yourself this; are the "xenos" really the bad guys here?"

Michael sank into his seat as Cydni stalked off, her Lagiacrus armor nearly black in the dim torch light. The other Rathbane and other hunters had left a while ago, as had the Gilden Claws. Michael was alone save for a few drunks asleep in their seats.

He closed his eyes. He did indeed have much to think about…

A/N: Ok, my honest opinion is that my writing quality sorta went down with this chapter. Don't worry, though, it won't happen again.