Hunter: Chapter 1.2 - Agrona [Edited]

It was that night I stole away. I may have been injured, but if there was anything I’d learned as a wolf-child, it was how to hide and escape. The moon was hardly even a sliver in the sky as I limped quietly out of the tent around Dyami. He mumbled something and rolled over.

Now just to evade the sentry. I might have stolen a horse, but being Hunter-bred, I wasn’t sure if they’d let me ride them. I slowed my breathing to listen. Most everyone was asleep. The only noise other than the sentry’s breath and heartbeat was the crackling of the campfire.

Slipping through the dancing shadows, I made my way around the other side of the tent.

Crunch.

I froze, heart leaping. There was the sound of movement from the Hunter on watch as they stood up and looked around. Footsteps, then, first approaching. They stopped for several moments, then seemed to shrug it off and go back to wherever they’d been sitting.

I let out a shaky breath and got low, stifling a growl as my leg screamed in protest. Trying to ignore the pain, I forced myself to get to my belly and pull myself through the long grass. Another pain shot through my arm like lightning and I gritted my teeth, breathing hard.

I just needed to get far enough out where they wouldn’t realize I was gone. I wished I knew when Dyami’s watch was; the minute he woke up, I’d be discovered. The small sliver of the waxing moon cast little light upon my path as I struggled through the savannah. I muttered a prayer to Winter, the wolven deity of survival, vengeance, and the Hunt.

Please, Winter, give me the strength. Give me the will I’ll need to live.

A break in the endless sea of grass made of pounded earth from endless years of footsteps and hooves and wagon wheels. I struggled to my feet and looked down the large path. I couldn’t see nor hear a soul.

I stumbled down the road. My bandages were beginning to bleed through, and if I left a trail…Well, there were a lot of predators there, from hyenas and wild dogs to big cats and even gryphons, and they wouldn’t hesitate to take down a lone human.

But there was light and shadows breaking up the fields of grass. Civilization. A village. Shelter, perhaps?

By now the pain was a dull ache in the back of my mind. I was thirsty and tired and hungry, but I was alive. It wasn’t much farther now. Maybe, though, I could rest here. It was dangerous; however, I was ready to drop. My legs shook as I walked. All I needed to do was lay down…

No! I would survive!

With a snarl of defiance, I forged onwards, unwilling to let that voice win over my sense. I wasn’t going to give up, not now.

Flickering lights…starlight dappling the ground…a soft breeze and the murmur of the endless savannah as it rustled in the wind…

The town seemed abandoned. It was all dark; the light that I’d seen earlier was either an illusion or had since been put out. There wasn’t a sound besides my own footsteps as I limped through the thatch-roofed village. Ramshackle huts had locked doors and boarded windows. It was almost as though the entire town had simply gone silent.

Judging by the scents, though, and how recent the smell of people was, it must have been alive. I slowly limped towards the nearest building with only the sound of my own footsteps to break the silence. It was an inn with a sign depicting a large black-and-white golden-eyed eagle. I tried the door and it swung open with a groan.

The room was dim, lined with stained tables and rickety chairs. An unreliable looking stairway crawled up the wall to my left and I could barely see the outlines of doorways in the hall above me. A long bar spanned the length of the room across from the door and shelves behind it were filled with kegs and utensils and such. It was obviously well-used for not a single cobweb was in sight.

However, it, too, was vacant — why the door was unlocked I knew not. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled and goosebumps lined my skin. It was eerie and my instincts screamed that there was danger, something wrong. Why else would everything be so quiet and the people locked away?

But I couldn’t run any longer. My bandages were soaked scarlet and though they once were white, now they were a dirty brown. My throat was parched and sweat dripped into my eyes, streaking the dust coating my face.

I locked the door behind me and stumbled to the bar, scrambling behind it with the last of my spent energy. I curled up in the corner and shook in exhaustion and fear. Time lost all meaning. All I knew is that eventually the world faded away.

~>*

I awoke with a start to the creaking of wood above my head. Dust fell from the ceiling and onto my face. I snorted and shook my head as I tried to get it out of my mouth and nose. There were footsteps up there — someone was definitely awake. Time to go.

I pulled myself to my feet with a wince. The bleeding had slowed considerably. My wounds would take a while to heal, but they’d improved at the very least. I should grab some water, food, and something to work as bandages before I left. There was a waterskin filled with wine on the bottom of one of the shelves. I dumped it out and refilled it in a bucket.

As I did so, whoever was above me was beginning to finish up getting dressed. I didn’t have time to spare, and if I was discovered…well, I’d learned young not to be caught on another wolf’s territory, particularly an enemy’s.

I had water, which was the most important thing on the plains. Now for food. I dug through the piles of dishes and kegs and various foodstuffs desperately, searching for jerky or cheese or anything that would keep.

The groan of an opening door.

I didn’t have enough time! I shoved the food and water into a burlap sack that was leaning on the counter and dashed for the exit.

They were walking down the hall to the stairs.

No, no, no, no, no!

I fumbled with the latch, using up precious time. They were nearly to the staircase, and when they turned and saw me…

It swung open and I raced outside onto the road. People were getting up by now. The doors were unlocked and a few early risers were setting up market stalls or carrying buckets of food to give to their animals. Mangy hounds wandered the alleys in search of nourishment, so emaciated one could count their ribs and see the outline of their hips and skull.

I slung the bag over my shoulder and didn’t even look back as I strode quickly down the street. A few odd glances were thrown my way but no one confronted me or even addressed me. A couple of guards looked like they might, but evidently they had other things to be doing, for they quickly lost interest in the limping redheaded pup.

The road outside wasn’t cobbled, but it was obviously well-used. I hadn’t really looked at it much the night before, but now in full daylight when I wasn’t in a hurry, I let myself get oriented.

Wagon wheels and worn ruts in the road, and many years of traveling feet had pounded down the dirt so hard it was almost like rock. I could smell humans, halflings, and gnomes, not to mention the wild animals, which I’d never seen the likes of.

They were fantastical. A huge, long-legged, long-necked deer-like creature with brown spots over a white coat nibbled at leaves in the treetops. Milling around the endless plains were horses with donkey tails and black-and-white stripes and ears like a white-tailed deer. Huge cow beasts were there, too, with large, curving horns and a strong neck.

My breath caught as I stared in unmasked amazement at the spectacle. I’d heard of such things as giraffes or zebra or wildebeest from my father who’d been a human blacksmith before he’d been bitten, but I’d never dreamt of seeing such things. Now they stood in front of me like a waking dream.

But those were nothing like the creature that sprang from the grass and spread its wings as it sped across the earth towards the now-scattering heard of wildebeest. It had the hindquarters of a cheetah and the forelegs, head, and wings of some sort of falcon. It had slaty gray feathers on the top and was heavily barred on the bottom, with a reddish-brown nape, head, and mustache-looking marking.

The beast was gaining on one of the adults of the herd. It was still to far, but instead of continuing to run, it leapt and spread its wings, flapping to get more force behind the pounce. It grabbed its prey in its falcon talons and knocked them both to the ground. All I could see through the long grass after that was floundering and bating before everything went still.

I gawked wide-eyed at the scene for several minutes after it was over, still in awe of what Lupus had described as a gryphon. I shook my head in disbelief and continued onwards down the path.

As I plodded along, my mind began to drift back home. Instead of hard dirt I’d be walking on soft leaves and pine needles. The air wasn’t hot and muggy, but clear and crisp. I remembered the hours upon hours of training with Grimm, then the fighting with the other omegas for scraps. I could recall the Huntsong and how I wished to be a part of it when I heard their chorusing cries in perfect harmony. The pride in my mother’s eyes as I won the Ru’leth.

What had I done? Why’d they turn on me? I was Agrona, the Harbinger of Death. Was not I one of them? I’d followed all the rules and obeyed every order.

“Fight, my daughter; fight until the moon wanes and the sun rises, fight until the night is gone and there is nothing left to fight for. Never lose hope, death-bringer, because you are a warrior.” Grimm’s words echoed in my mind. Then she’d turned and attacked me, tried to kill me.

It was the utmost betrayal, a leader turning on her follower, a mother turning on her own cub. My vision blurred and I felt myself choke on a sob.

I struggled to push back my despair and pain. I couldn’t cry — I was a warrior, and warriors didn’t weep.

That’s what my mind told me, anyways. My heart didn’t much agree. As hard as I tried the tears kept falling. I shouldn’t have been wasting water like that, not when it was this warm out, but I couldn’t stop myself. Eventually my face dried as I put one foot in front of the other like an automaton, an empty husk without home or hearth. But now all I could do was survive.

As it turns out, cooked dirt gets very hot underneath one’s bare feet. I found myself half hopping by midday to keep my toes from burning up and my skin was a fine shade of dark pink. Hot, tired, injured, and burnt, I grumbled in Wolven an uncomplimentary phrase as I gimped over to a tree. I guzzled a good half of my waterskin — quite probably not the most intelligent idea I’d ever had — and wolfed down some jerky and cheese.

Then came the problem of being able to walk on the road. It was only getting hotter and I wasn’t sure how much my feet could take. After much debating, I finally tore a strip off my sack and after ripping it in half, tied one around each foot. I forced myself to stand and continued onwards.

I’d been walking for perhaps an hour when there was a voice from behind me. I glanced back to see a man in perhaps his late forties riding a wagon loaded with various belongings. It was drawn by a sturdy old mule who eyed me with distaste. I couldn’t understand his words, but he was gesturing to the back of the wagon. Was he offering me a ride?

He stopped the vehicle next to me and jerked a thumb at the back, his voice questioning. I grinned and nodded, grateful for the save. I clambered up among the blankets and provisions, curling up under the thin sheet that protected his possessions from the sun.

The man said something that I understood to be an inquiry. Beyond that, I couldn’t decode his words. He asked me the same question once more, then asked me a couple others, but I didn’t answer. Eventually he chuckled, shook his head, and fell silent.

I stayed with him for a few weeks. He welcomed my company — I helped set up and break down camp and was able to handle his mule without getting myself hurt. Every night, he’d set me to work with instructions mostly of gestures and we’d cook dinner before going to bed and heading out at first light in the morning. He wasn’t half bad to spend time with. We couldn’t converse, but I didn’t mind that much and I didn’t think he did, either — he seemed like a quiet sort of fellow.

I watched as the landscape around us slowly changed over the days. More people were on the road both in front of and behind us, from caravans to carts and even a coach. The wildlife was less common, though we did startle a group of antelope or two, even on the busy road. Livestock was being herded along with dogs and children. There weren’t only humans here, either — plenty of the four-foot halflings and gnomes wandered, many of the latter with odd devices which I could not name. They were known for their inventions, I supposed. I noticed one man who was no less than six and a half feet tall with green tinged skin and tusklike lower teeth, like Urag.

I gaped at them almost as I had at the gryphon. The man saw the look on my face and smiled warmly before saying something that I, once again, couldn’t comprehend. This time he didn’t expect me to answer, so instead of repeating the words, he just turned back to the crowd.

But nothing was like when I first saw Akaron City, the capital of the Alliance and the main trading hub of Illyth. More than just halflings, humans, and gnomes dwelled here — half orcs, half elves, northerners, southerners, Plainsmen, traders, nobles, merchants, peasants, minstrels, and performers flooded the road to the city and within the walls. I’d never seen a settlement larger than the small town I’d stumbled upon and this was among the largest in existence.

Stone hunks as big as me made walls that were two or maybe even three stories high. The gates were wrought iron with silver spikes in the top and the city itself was spectacular. Buildings of stone and wood and brick lined the cobbled streets. Colorful signs decorated the entryways to taverns, inns, and shops. Hunters in their silver-gray uniform rode on horseback, mixed in with the Guard dressed in leather armour and plumed helmets.

Once within the great city, the man dropped me off to find my own way. Awed and stunned by the sights, I simply stood in the streets for what must have been several minutes as I drank in my surroundings. It was discordant here, all but pandemonium, in stark contrast to the small, relatively silent village of wolves where I’d been raised. There the loudest it got was when they sang for the Hunt or a fallen comrade. Here the noise was from every direction and was anything but harmonious — to the contrary, it was a cacophony of voices and hooves and rickety wheels.

Question was, what did I do now?