Young Writers Society

I was awakened the next morning by the obnoxious bell. Muttering a few words about the damn domed thing I dragged my sorry hide out of bed and into my uniform. I’ll admit it took me a couple tries to figure out how to put the thing on- by the time I was done, I nearly was late for assembly.

The uniform was a white long-sleeved shirt, dark gray pants, and a silvery-gray tunic with the Hunter insignia- a shepherd standing guard as the sun rose behind it, a cat’s paw print crossed with the talon of a dragon visible in the lower left corner on the sun. Protecting the dawn. In the upper right corner, behind the sun, was a star- Akaron. The insignia was embroidered in white thread.

Besides that, I wore my weapons belt. I tied my shoulder-length red hair back with a scrap of old orangish-brown fabric and knee-high leather boots- a luxury I before had gone without. I’d never actually had shoes before, unless they were just wraps of fabric or perhaps thin leather sandals I scraped together. These, though, actually protected my foot from the muck and whatever sharp rocks that lay in the dirt.

Scē came to inspect everything as promised. He walked right past me without seeming to find a flaw, much to my relief. He scolded his younger brother who’d left several of his belongings on the ground, but other than that we all seemed to be acceptable.

The second-year led the way to the mess hall that I later began to call ‘the war zone’, and for good reason.

Being all around fifteen years old, and most of us from the peasantry, we did not mess around with food. If you didn’t eat fast, it was gone before you could do a thing about it. No matter how good you were at guarding your food, there were far too many people crammed into the room to keep it safe from everyone. I’d learned my lesson at the Guild already- hide some food for later and wolf the rest down.

This I did, but not nearly swiftly enough. I lost around a quarter of my breakfast to thieves but managed to devour the rest. I didn’t hesitate to take other slow-eaters’ food, either. There were no rules in the mess hall. It was a cruel, ruthless place of food stealing and devouring other peoples’ nourishment without mercy.

After breakfast we found ourselves being herded towards the doors, Scē’s voice barely audible over the noise of everyone talking and the clamor of all the second years fighting to get their groups. Finally the Iiedoran managed to get us outside and moving towards the stables.

“Normally this is when you would care for your mounts,” he told us. “But seeing as you don’t have them, I’ll just have to show you where the stables are. You’ll get assigned steeds today after hand-to-hand combat.”

He proceeded to bring us to the stables, quickly show us where everything was, then lead us to the training yard where a large orc awaited us.

There weren’t many orcs in Alliance territories — alliance being the halfling/gnome/human alliance formed when the Hunters were created — so those that were certainly stood out. They probably would, anyways, if not for the tusks and green skin then the sheer size of them.

This orc was probably six and a half feet tall. He wore a Hunter uniform with four pips on it. If I did my math correctly, that meant he was a third rank Hunter.

He glared down at us, his dark eyes none too friendly. He was the first person since Lynx who actually intimidated me as I stared up at him.

“I am Urag,” he informed us in a low, growly voice, the guttural accent of the orcs still prominent in his voice. Some of the others struggled a bit to understand his words through the thick accent, but I didn’t have a problem with it- Wolven was my first tongue, after all, and nothing got more guttural than that.

“I’ll be teaching you hand-to-hand combat,” he continued. “You will address me as ‘sir’ and nothing but ‘sir’. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” we chorused.

“Now, how many of you have had prior training in unarmed combat?”

I raised my hand along with Scē’s brother who I still hadn’t gotten a name from. No one else answered.

“How advanced are you?”

“I learned the basics of Iiedoran-style unarmed combat with my family, sir,” the half-breed answered before Urag’s gaze moved to me.

“I’ve been fightin’ w’ unarmed combat ’n daggers fer all me life, sir,” I told him. “Winnin’, too.”

“Where do you come from, then?” he inquired, his voice level. I wasn’t exactly sure I wanted to answer that question.

“Er….the streets, sir.” I decided rather quickly to omit the fact I’d been a wolf child.

“So you’re self-taught then?”

No, I’d been trained by the wolves. I had a feeling that lying was probably better than admitting I was a wolf-child, so I went ahead and did so. “Yes, sir.” I hoped to hell that he wouldn’t recognize my combat style as wolven.

“Come to me after your classes today, both of you.”

“Yes, sir.”

He continued on to tell the class about the basics.

Next after hand-to-hand combat was mounted combat and riding. I didn’t know the first thing about horses. I’d never even been near one except for the one job where we stole Kennewick’s falcon, and even then I hadn’t interacted with the creatures.

My first impression was that they were very big. My second one was that they were very, very different from any animal I’d worked with before.

Our instructor was a human woman. She wasn’t a Hunter- rather, she was one of the breeders for the Realta Horses, the breed the Hunters rode. She was a small woman, but fierce as it got. She called herself Dulya. We called her ma’m.

We were instructed to go into the field with a rope and find ourselves a horse. When we found the one we wished to have, we would catch them and bring them back outside the paddock and to Dulya. She didn’t even tell us how to catch the horse or lead it back.

A bit uncomfortable with winging it, but with no other choice, I clambered over the fence with the rest of my group. The horses gazed us warily and I eyed them just as cautiously. Slowly I approached the nearest grazing group. They watched me a approach, and then turned and trotted off. Great.

After a bit of aimless wandering towards the back of the field, a flash of movement caught my eye. I turned to look and found myself staring at a large dark bay mare. She snorted and glared at me with such ferocity I wouldn’t have been surprised had she killed me on the spot.

I liked her.

I didn’t dare move lest she decide she’d rather me be under her hooves. She didn’t move, unsure of what I was going to do.

I’m not sure how long we stood like that, each waiting for the other to make the first action. Eventually it was me. Slowly, cautiously, a bit unsure of myself, I took a single step forward. She didn’t move a muscle.

Step.

Her dark brown eyes watched me, unreadable.

Step.

The horse snorted, agitated.

Step.

I could almost feel her breath.

Step.

We were standing nose-to-nose.

Moving as if in a trance, I looped the rope about her neck. She let me, standing still as a statue, looking straight into my eyes with a piercing gaze.

“Grren rhock lakh,” I muttered under my breath. It had no direct translation from Wolven to Common- it was simply a greeting, words of peace and welcome.

She eyed me for several more seconds, then, seeming to decide I really was no threat, snorted and moved her head down to graze. I hadn’t expected the move, nor her strength, and she nearly yanked me over. Growling a few less than complementary words in Wolven, I tugged the rope, hoping she would get the hint. She couldn’t have cared less.

“Come on.” I tried again. She continued enjoying her grass. A third time I pulled the rope, this time a bit harder- at the very least I wanted her attention. She stopped eating, raised her head, looked at me with those piercing eyes, her message clear- cut that the hell out or I will murder you in your sleep.

She then commenced with more grazing.

Stupid horse.

“Please?”

No response.

“Look, I’m sure we can get along if you’ll just…come on….please? No…..right.”

She swished her tail.

I didn’t have time for this. I grabbed the rope and yanked the damn creatures muzzle out of the grass. I didn’t think she expected me to suddenly decide to establish my authority so she obeyed- more out of surprise than anything else, I believe.

I just started walking. She almost just stood her ground, but seemed to decide that following me was not the worst thing she could do. As it turned out, I was the last one back- something that rather irritated Dulya.

“Yer askin’ fer trouble,” she informed me as she eyed the horse.

“Yes, ma’m,” I said, not really sure how to answer that.

“They call t’at one Nightmare fer a reason, newblood. Go and bring her over to the other horses. I’ll be showin’ y’all how t’ care for ‘em.”

I obeyed without a word.

The rest of the classes were rather uneventful. I was bored out of my mind during ‘wolf culture’ where we learned about those which we fought, including their language. Already being fluent in Wolven and having been a wolf-child, I knew more about the subject than the teacher, which, firstly, bored me to death, and, secondly, annoyed the hell out of the teacher. After that we learned about the Hunter’s code that they used to relay orders and such. Survival and first aid came after that. Finally, the day ended. As the others returned to the barracks, the half-Iiedoran boy and I went to report in to Urag.

The orc was petting the giant dark gray dog that he called pack as we approached. He stood and walked over to us.

“What are yer names, then?” he asked.

“Evron,” the Northerner introduced himself.

“A- Tasha,” I said, hoping neither of them had noticed my slip.

“Spar,” Urag told us.

We glanced at one another, then backed off at readied ourselves. Evron was about the same size as me, and judging by the way he stood I could tell he relied on speed over strength- just like me. His style was Iiedoran- mine, Wolven. His fighting be a lot more tactical and evasive than my own, so I needed to be quick and chaotic so that he couldn’t predict my moves as he would try to.

I made the first move. I wanted to test the waters, see how he would react. So I just charged him. He dodged and attacked from behind before I could recover- the oldest trick in the book. I ducked and hit the ground in a roll, using my forward momentum to my advantage before landing on my feet and pivoting.

By the gods, he really was predictable. And on the defensive. I had control of the field then, and that was something I didn’t want to relinquish- if I won this swiftly and cleanly, he wouldn’t have time to learn my strategies or realize that I was manipulating him. He obviously didn’t have very much experience in real battle, but he very well might have been faster than myself. Instead of relying on sheer speed as I usually did, I’d have to change up my tactics.

This was the first time he’d fought me- he’d be assessing my tactics just as I assessed his. If I acted predictable, he would assume I was predictable. If he assumed that, I could use his ignorance to surprise him, and, in turn, win.

I played it by the book, fighting in the most expected and easily anticipated fashion as I could. I even took a few extra hits just to really pull him into the trap. Dodge, swing, block, feint, fall back. He was gaining confidence. I went on the defensive. Block, block, block, dodge, dodge, block. He was sure he was winning. Block, take a hit, block- duck.

As he swung, I ducked under the blow and jabbed my elbow into his stomach, knocking him back. As he stumbled, I hooked my ankle under his leg and yanked it towards myself, sending him to the ground. Instead of trying to stop myself from following suit due to my forward movement from slamming him, I let myself fall. I slammed my leg onto his chest, pinning him, and brought my right forearm to his throat. If I applied pressure, he wouldn’t be able to breath.

“Enough,” Urag stated. I stood and extended my hand to give Evron a hand up. He accepted- evidently he wasn’t one of those who, after losing, held a grudge. If anything, he seemed to admire my ability.

“You can go back to the barracks,” the orc told us.

“Yes, sir.” We started back.

“I’d like a moment with you, Tasha.” My heart nearly stopped in fear. Had he recognized the wolven style of combat? What would he do if or when her figured it out?

I froze and willed myself to turn around and walk back over as Evron disappeared around a corner. “Yes, sir?” I somehow choked out without sounding completely terrified.

“You fight like a wolf.”

“….yes, sir…” I shifted a bit uncomfortably.

“Where did you learn to fight like that?”

Damn! “I…I….er….”

“Spit it out, trainee.” Was it just me or was he bigger than I’d thought?

“Uh…..well, I….um….I’m a wolf-child, sir,” I managed to say.

“But you aren’t a wolf. Being how old you are, you should either be dead or a lycanthrope.”

“I won t’e Ru’leth, sir, but….I didn’t turn.”

“Tasha isn’t a wolf name.”

“No, sir. Didn’ want t’ join t’e ‘unters w’ a wolven name be all.”

“Well, learned from the wolves or not, you’re a good fighter. You’ll do well, Tasha. I’m going to put you in with the second-years. Being a wolf-child, you shouldn’t need wolf culture. See me then. During the time that you’re supposed to be doing this, just take off until I figure out something for you to do.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

I nodded and returned to the barracks, ready to collapse.