The Witch Hunters, Book 1: The Prophet of Ash

Janus looked back at the farm, and the six mounted figures gathered at the crest of the hill beyond. A part of the fence had been dismantled to allow them to pass easily. One by one, they vanished over the horizon, until only Klara remained in sight, staring back down at him.

Janus cursed her, and turned away. “Let’s go, human.”

Kurt sullenly fell in beside the savage. They rode down onto the main road where their pace slowed considerably.

“What. now?” Kurt asked.

“I’ve orders to take you to the Palace. When we get there you’re to report to the garrison commander. He’ll send out troops to help you clean up that mess back there.”

“What about you? What will you do?”

“Don’t ask me like you give a shit, Bauer. Once I’ve taken you back I’m going to resign, and go home. I’ve had it with all these fucking people. I’d be a respected warrior by now among my kin if I had stayed. That bitch back there though, tricked the elders of the clan into sending me with her.”

“How did she manage that?” Kurt asked. Their pace was slowing even further, as Janus grew visibly agitated.

“She told them that Sturmwatch hadn’t had a runner hunter for more than a hundred years!” Janus growled. He spat on the ground, his nostrils and eyes flaring. “As if that matters! She told them if they gave me into her care that she’d make me famous, and that would make them famous all over the world, too! Can you believe that, Bauer? Those old bastards act wise, but they’re as stupid as they say the pups are!”

“It sounds like she was trying to do something good for you.”

“How would she know what’s good for me, human? How would you know? My people commune with the trees. We hunt, make war against other clans of the woods, mate under the stars and take what we need from the blessed earth, while the gods plot and toy with us. This is how it had been with us for as long as the stories stretch back. We don’t need anything from anyone. Out here there are so many stupid rules and ways of doing things. I don’t belong here, human. I’m going home.”

“So you’re no longer a witch hunter?”

Janus sighed, but nodded.

“You’re still wearing that star, though.”

The runner shrugged. “It’s a keepsake, now. I’ll call it my severance, or whatever that word is you people use. A tax? Yes, it is a tax for the time I can’t get back.”

Kurt nodded. He looked ahead. Beyond the trees that seemed to crowd on them from either side of the road, he could see a cart coming towards them, pulled by a pair of bullocks being whipped by a ragged old man.

“What did you all talk about in my house?” He asked.

Janus became very quiet then.

“What’s wrong? Do witch hunters take vows of silence?”

“I suppose you could call it that, Bauer.”

“Well, you’re not a witch hunter anymore, are you? You were a guest in my home. You slept under my roof, and you ate my food.”

“Yes.”

“What did you talk about after you all sent me out to ready the horses?”

Janus sighed. Kurt turned to look at him again.

“I looked everywhere on the farm, Janus. I found everyone I knew, except for my son. Is he dead?”

“I don’t know. We don’t know.”

Kurt pulled the reins. His horse stopped. Janus reined his horse in a couple of steps later. He turned around in the saddle, and watched the human urging his horse to turn on the road.

“They’ll send you back if they see you,” the runner told him.

“They’ll try to.”

“You won’t be able to find them. Do you know anything about tracking?”

Kurt paused. His hand slipped to his waist. On Eisengrim’s advice, he had secured all of the money in the house in small purses on his belt and on the saddle of his horse.

“Do you?” he asked, turning to look back at Janus.

The runner stared back at him, his eyes wide, but with a growing glint in them. “Yes.”

“How much to hire you?”

Janus said nothing. He grew visibly agitated, and the feeling spread to his horse. He looked down the road, at the approaching cart as if it were a bad omen of some sort, or perhaps he was looking beyond that, and thinking of the destination and orders his masters had given him. Kurt was uncertain, and was incapable of caring just then. There was one thing on his mind. Everything else was meaningless now.

“I have a letter from the Prince that needs delivery,” Janus said.

“That man coming will do it for you,” Kurt said, pulling out a quartet of gold coins. “Give him these, and the instructions. I can wait.”

“I’m not cheap,” said Janus.

Kurt shrugged.

“You will do everything I say, Bauer. You understand me? This will be dangerous.”

“I don’t care. They’ve got my boy. Just tell me your rate, and we’ll get started.”

“I would move faster without you.”

“You’re not getting one pfennig if I don’t come along,” Kurt yelled then, his apathy buckling at last. “You all knew my son was alive, and you didn’t want me to know! Why?!”

The runner stared pitiably at the man. “Because we think he’s a witch.”

*

The farm was hours behind them. The woods loomed dark and mighty on all sides. They spoke little. Gerda was in front, riding her pony. Occasionally she would raise her hand and their tiny column would stop. Everyone else would rest, while she would dismount, check the ground, bushes, and low hanging branches for hints of passage. She had felt, as the hours had progressed that she was beginning to know her quarry. It was male, and he was big and heavy. He walked upright, with brazen confidence, and made no attempt to cover his tracks at all.

“What is he?” Eisengrim asked her during their latest stop. He loomed over her hunched shoulder, observed the deep, unmistakable print left in the damp earth.

“He’s a minotaur,” Gerda replied. She traced her index finger along the groove left in the soil. She looked up at the branches of the tree they were under, noted the snapped, dangling limb. “I’d say he’s got…maybe six inches on you, sir. At least fifty, perhaps as much as eighty more pounds on him as well.”

“Well,” the old bull said with a wry smile. “Let us hope it is all fat, then, and that he may be about to pass out just from the effort of walking.”

Gerda nodded, and even managed a bit of a laugh. She looked back down at the deep imprint on the ground, and felt ill.

They had perhaps an hour of daylight left, when they stopped to camp. They all felt uneasy. Dietrich suddenly became chatty, but only Prince Siegfried would humour him. Gerda sat at the edge of the camp, the fire to her back, facing the way she knew her prey, and its companion had gone. She took out her knives in turn, and oiled and sharpened each carefully. She checked her crossbow next, and the two score bolts she always carried for it. She would set traps tonight around the edges of their camp. She had already found a tree whose lower branches looked strong enough to support her weight, and that of her gear. Eisengrim had decreed that they would all be sleeping in the armour until further notice. Gerda had not needed this, and supposed it had been directed more at the Prince than anyone else present. Siegfried had looked annoyed, but echoed the sentiment. He might not have been much use to them back at the Palace, but at least he seemed to be trying his best to stay calm, even though the richly dressed human had looked to be on the verge shitting himself the entire trip so far. Gerda liked to think that she could give credit where it was due.

Meagre rations were cooked over the flames, along with a couple of rabbits Gerda killed as they had ridden along that morning.

“Should we sing to pass the time?” Siegfried asked.

“I would not recommend it, your Grace,” said Eisengrim. “Gerda, is the perimeter secure?”

The dwarf nodded.

“Are we close?”

“I think so, sir.”

“Then we had best eat and get some rest,” the elder minotaur said. “I shall take the first watch. Theo, will you take the second.”

The younger minotaur nodded, only half listening it seemed. Gerda watched him out of the corner of her eye, and wondered just how close he and the fat human they left behind were.

“I’ll take the next watch,” Siegfried said then, rousing the dwarf from her thoughts. She was not the only one taken aback, for Siegfried looked about the company defensively after this. “I can do it. I had to stand watch when I was being taught military tactics and deployments.”

“Are you certain, your Grace?”

“Let him,” Gerda said, turning about. “I’ve traps set, and I’m a light sleeper. We’ll be fine, sir.” An impish smile crossed her face then, that she could not be bothered to conceal. “Let the boy earn his star.”

“Very well,” said the elder bull with a nod. Across the fire, Siegfried smiled gratefully at the dwarf. Gerda pretended not to notice. She had bolts to sharpen, and poisons to select. They were close, now. She could feel it. Come late morning, or early afternoon, this hunt just might be over.