The Witch Hunters, Book 1: The Prophet of Ash

Eisengrim walked out of the woods as if he were taking an autumnal stroll. He heard Klara and Theo breaking through the bramble behind slowly, as if they were embarrassed to be seen with him. By the mild clinking of metal, he judged that Klara was just off to his right. He heard Theo take a deep breath to his left, then. He did not need to look at either to know they were both quietly terrified. They had both seen combat before, and it pleased the old minotaur to know that neither still seemed to like it, despite their proficiencies at it. This was essential in a hunter, and an enforcer of the King’s Law, which was of course the duty of any of his servants.

Deserted buildings passed them. Gerda was right about the horses. Eisengrim could just spy the prone heads of a couple at the very edge of his vision as they passed the stable. There were no signs of carrion birds, either on the ground or in the sky. The minotaur could not even hear the buzzing of flies. The signs were incontestable. Eisengrim tightened the grip on his hammer. He turned his attention back completely then to the large structure before them. His eyes scanned the windows that were not boarded up or smashed, looking for any hints of people watching them, but there was nothing. He felt certain he could hear music, though. Someone was abusing a wind instrument of some sort. They reached a rickety porch which the two minotaurs and the human female ascended with absurd care.

“Should I be in front?” Klara asked him. “I can cover our entrance. I’ve got the armour, and the shield.”

“Thank you, my dear girl, but that should prove unnecessary,” Eisengrim said, forcing a smile. He needed to stay calm, even though as he spoke he could feel his heart pumping the blood through his veins at a terrifying, frenetic rate. He slipped his hammer into his left hand, but did not raise his right immediately. He had to keep it in a tight fist for a second, until he was certain his comrades would not see it shake.

“Are you two ready?” he asked, glancing at the youngsters over his shoulder.

Klara and Theo nodded.

Eisengrim then raised his right fist, and knocked three times on the door. The rotting wood vibrated violently with each tap.

There was a crash inside. Muffled, confused arguments soon followed. Eisengrim waited, counted to twenty, before knocking three times once again.

There was silence on the other side. Eisengrim did not move. He was about to knock for a third and final time, when his ears heard the approach of a single, heavy, booted personage.

There was click. A bar was pulled out of place. The door opened a little, and a hairy human male stuck his head slightly out of the crack. He blinked at the heavily armed trio.

“Good morning, sir,” said Eisengrim. He offered a smile, hoping the man would keep his attention upwards, so that he would not see the minotaur subtly putting his foot in the small gap left between the door and the wall.

“What you want?” asked the man. His pupils were dilated, and his chin was trembling spit onto his frayed facial hair. Drugged, clearly, but was there still enough sense in him to surrender?

“Well, it’s very simple, sir. My name is Eisengrim. I am known as ‘the Hammer’ in these parts. These are my companions: Klara the Shield, and Theo the Oak. We are members of the Order of St. Heinrich. Perhaps you have heard of us? No? Well, we are, among other things, enforcers of the King’s Justice. You do know what that is, don’t you?”

Fright flashed across the man’s face. He tried closing the door, but Eisengrim’s foot wasn’t going anywhere.

“There were deaths the day before yesterday,” the old minotaur continued. “At a farm not very far from here. Many people were murdered, and a child was kidnapped. He is a boy of twelve years, with green eyes and blond hair. Exceptionally intelligent, I have been told. Tell me, have you seen a boy matching this description recently?”

The man shook his head. He kept pushing uselessly against the door, panting now in a mix of physical strain and rising terror.

“That’s fine,” said Eisengrim. He put his right hand to the door then, began to push it gently. From deeper within the house, there came voices calling out, asking what was taking so long, and who it was at the front door. “Are there other people here, sir?”

“No!” the man gasped. Eisengrim put some pressure against the door, and it began to open easily.

“I’m sorry, but I can hear other people. I am required to ask everyone inside if they have seen anything. I will also have to search the premises.”

“You can’t come in!” the man screamed. He threw himself at the door, trying to push him out. His hands started scrambling for a blade that was in his belt.

“Stop pushing against the door,” the greying minotaur snapped then. “Step back into the hall, and put your hands above your head. I don’t want to hurt you. I would prefer not to hurt anyone, but if you give me cause, I will put you down.”

The man screamed for help. He reached for his blade.

Eisengrim took a sudden step back. Before the door could slam in his face he kicked it, hard. The wood buckled and splintered as it was ripped from its hinges. The man cried, but the crashing drowned him out.

Eisengrim stepped into the hall of the building, his booted feet grinding on the buckling door beneath him. It shifted, shuddered. The man beneath it was weeping in agony.

“Theo, clear out the first floor. Klara, take the top. Go!”

His companions surged up the nearby stairs. Eisengrim took his hammer in hand, and began his search.

“This is a warning to anyone that can hear me!” the minotaur called out, readying himself. “We are enforcers of the King’s justice. We are not here to kill you. Drop any weapons you have, surrender yourselves, and I swear you will come to no harm. If you resist, however, your safety is forfeit!”

Voices raised in terror reached his ears from just down the opposite end of the hall. Eisengrim heard steel being drawn, heavy bodies moving on weakened floorboards. He stalked forward.

He passed several rooms that were empty, quietly amazed at how large the whole place was. There must have been quite a great number of elves here, once. Eisengrim tried not to think about that, or what might have happened here long ago. The now called him back, as he heard unmistakable sounds of a fight having broken out upstairs. He needed to hurry, and clear out the bottom floor.

In the kitchen he found three of them waiting, a pair of human males, who shrunk back to the opposite corner of the room as he entered.

The minotaur with them did no such thing. He was huge and fat, his topless body covered in clan tattoos that stirred memories in the old bull. He had a great sword in one hand, and a comically small looking meat cleaver in the other.

“Drop your weapons,” Eisengrim said.

The minotaur hurled the cleaver at him. Eisengrim was just able to dodge it, the whirling piece of metal cutting the air just by his ear before it embedded itself in the wall behind him. The younger, bigger male lunged then, swinging his huge blade single handed. It was an awkward swing. His main hand must have been used to hurl the cleaver. Eisengrim stepped back out into the hall, raising his hammer and parrying a follow up thrust. The shirtless male bayed at him then, charging forward, taking his sword in a two handed grip. He thrust again. Eisengrim dodged out of his enemy’s line of sight, disappearing back into the hallway. The younger male cursed in frustration, and followed after.

They were in the narrow corridor, then. Eisengrim gripped his hammer in his left hand, drew a short sword from a sheath on his belt. The younger minotaur seemed to realise his mistake. His sword’s size made it unwieldy here, and he had no smaller weapons to hand. He looked nervously back to where the kitchen entrance was.

“Come on, boy!” Eisengrim laughed. “What’s the matter? Forget your backbone, or the six racks of lamb you were eating before I came in?”

“Fuck you, cracked horn!”

The youngster lunged, trying to thrust for Eisengrim’s chest, but the old bull was expecting that. He deflected the momentum of the thrust with his blade to the left. The great sword shrieked as it glanced against the stone wall. Eisengrim struck then with the side of his hammer, slamming the large weapon in place, pinning just long enough for him to dash a step forward and with all the force he could muster on the bare, extended arms of his opponent. The short sword slashed the youngster’s left forearm, and he screamed, staggering back, trying to pull his sword away, but Eisengrim slashed again, carving up the inside of the bigger bull’s elbow. The minotaur screamed in agony. The great sword clattered to the ground. The younger male staggered backwards into the kitchen, screaming in pain.

Eisengrim rushed after. He caught up with the male before he could reach any other weapons, his shoulder slamming hard into the bigger bull’s chest, knocking the air right out of him. They crashed into the opposite wall, where Eisengrim drove his sword into the other male’s massive gut, the blade disappearing up to the hilt as the aged hunter plunged it in with all the force he could.

The younger male’s eyes widened. His throat tightened and he looked to be trying to scream, but nothing came out of his mouth save flecks of spittle and blood. Eisengrim stood back, and his enemy toppled to the ground, rolling onto his back, his arms and legs twitching, his bare chest shaking as he fought to breathe.

The two human men fled, rushing for a doorway that must have led outside, where the others were waiting for them. Eisengrim paid them no heed. He set down his hammer, and knelt by the boy. For he was a boy, the old bull realised then, now that he had a chance to really look at him. He might have been even younger than Theo, or Janus. Eisengrim started to feel sick, but he drove it away. He had done his duty. His conscience would be clear, in time.

“Can you hear me?” he asked. The boy groaned. His body writhed on the cold stone floor. Eisengrim shifted closer, lifted him up to rest his head on his lap. “Can you hear me?”

The boy nodded eventually, and coughed up blood.

“I know your markings,” Eisengrim whispered, holding the shaking boy close. “I know your clan. Golden Sky, yes? Tell me your parents’ names, son. I’ll get word to them.”

The boy coughed blood over his arm. The boy strained, tried to speak. A noise that was a mixture of a scream and a sob escaped him. The old bull leaned in. He was just able to hear the whispers.

“Scared…please…please…”

“I’m sorry son, but I’ve killed you. I know it hurts. I’ll make it stop soon, I promise. Tell me who your parents are. They have a right to know you’re not coming back.”

The boy started crying. Eisengrim didn’t know what else to do, so he held the weeping male to his chest. He repeated the question, over and over, until the boy had collected enough of himself to answer. The old bull drew a knife from the underside of his vambrace then. He laid the boy down on the floor again, cooing gently in his ear.

“Please don’t tell them how I died,” the boy begged. “Please don’t tell them why.” Eisengrim used his free hand to close his eyes. It ran down to the boy’s soft, shaking chest, feeling for the base of the sternum…

“I’ll tell them something else,” the old bull promised. A sob escaped the bigger male. Eisengrim did his duty.