The Witch Hunters, Book 1: The Prophet of Ash

A man nearby screamed. Theo turned to see Dietrich, knife in hand, falling on him as he tried to get out from under his blanket. The bandit reached for the mace by his side, but Dietrich’s knife plunged into his throat. As he started his death spasms, noise echoed from further off in the woods. Incoherent screams and shouts filled the young bull’s ears as he rose. Doubt slipped away. Hesitation did, too. Now it was time to kill, or be killed.

A trio of men across from him were awake by now, fearfully pulling themselves to their feet. They were half-dressed, but the adrenaline had woken them fully as they scrambled for their weapons. Theo surged towards them. The first to find his sword drew Gerda’s eye. He grunted and fell to the ground, a crossbow bolt in his throat. The second found his shield, a cheap round wooden thing, but gave up on finding his sword and drew a dagger from his belt. His friend cowered behind him, axe in hand. The man raised the shield before him as the minotaur reached them.

Theo roared as he attacked. He struck the shield with his gauntleted fist, adding all his adrenaline and fear to the momentum of his charge. The shield shattered, as did the arm that held it. The man with the wreckage on his arm toppled to the ground, howling in agony, leaving his friend, another scaled male, standing alone. He was screaming too, his eyes wide with terror as he tried to back away from the huge horned monster. He swung with his axe. Theo deflected the stroke with his vambrace, a mistake. The whole of his left arm throbbed in sudden agony as he felt the wound in his shoulder open. Teeth grit, hissing in rage, Theo batted the axe away and lashed out at the man with a kick at the poor fool’s temple. The corpse crumpled to the dirt. The head glanced off of a tree a few feet away. A handful of men were still standing in this part of the camp. Theo saw Klara, terrifying in her blood-stained armour, standing over one dead dwarf as her blade carved into his companion’s head. Three more had clustered together on the farther side, driven away from the relative safety of the rest of their camp, hemmed in by Dietrich. One swung a cooking pot at the man. Dietrich easily blocked it with his shield. His return stroke saw his blade sink halfway into the man’s unprotected belly. Klara stalked past Theo, moving to support Dietrich. The man at his feet with the destroyed arm was still screaming. Theo had no idea where Gerda was, but given the screams further away, he could guess where Eisengrim was. The young bull followed the noise. Somehow, amid the rising chaos and the hammering of his own heart, he recalled Kurt then, and remembered why he had come here.

“Martin!”

The young bull walked through the trees, following the screams, his senses afire as he tried to keep himself awake and aware of his surroundings. Attacks might come from any direction. He found himself among terrified horses, tethered together in small clusters around some trees. There were a trio of men trying to untie some as they argued and fought to control their shaking hands. It said a lot about their general confusion that Theo was able to sneak up on them and break one’s neck before they were even aware of them. A punch to the ribs felled one of the survivors. The other was too far away. He threw his weapon down and fled into the trees. Theo turned to continue his search for Eisengrim, or Martin.

But the ground shook. Trees quaked. A dozen of the horses farthest from him screeched and fell, silent. What sounded like a low thunderclap swept through the air, filling it with dead leaves and twigs. Theo’s body reacted faster than his head, covering his face with his arms as the shock wave nearly knocked him over. There was a ringing in his ears as he righted himself. A cold lump formed in his belly. The remaining horses were panicking, kicking and thrashing as they fought to escape. Beyond their dead kin, Theo saw the tops of trees a little further off crack and crumble as they died.

Eisengrim…

Theo surged forward, running through dead trees and living ones. The smell of burning wood filled his lungs as he shoved his way past several frightened armed men, knocking them flying as he picked up speed. The young minotaur pounded through the next campsite, ignoring the mangled bodies littering the ground with missing heads and caved in torsos. Branches and leaves filled the air as the trees died and collapsed all around him, sending everyone still alive into a panic to get away. Theo saw tents ahead, a handful of frightened men about them hastily gathering supplies. One wrestled with a boy whose legs were bound.

“MARTIN!”

The men all jumped and turned pale when they saw him coming for them. They started to run. The man holding Martin Bauer threw the thrashing boy over his shoulder and turned to flee. Theo was only a few feet away. He felt a surge of adrenaline race through him as the boy looked over his captor’s shoulder and their eyes met. The boy called out as he stretched out his hands.

Something hit the young bull then, the impact so violent that it knocked the air out of his lungs. Theo lost his footing, stumbling to his left even as his forward momentum carried him through a small dead tree. The tree exploded when he hit it, preventing him from hitting the ground. His momentum was such that he began to roll, and earth and leaves filled the world as he rolled. The pain hit an instant later, beyond anything he’d ever felt before. He tried to stand. He couldn’t breathe. His chest burned and seized up every time he tried to draw breath. He rolled onto his back and pushed himself up onto one elbow. His eyes disbelievingly traced a ragged line torn across his breastplate. It was weeping blood. His blood. Theo suddenly felt weak and light headed. Things began to slow. A shadow loomed over him.

He was as tall as Theo, the young bull supposed. He was not like the minotaur Eisengrim had killed back at the plantation house. This one had a brown hide. His shirtless torso was muscular and tattooed. He wore a short sword in his belt, and carried one of the largest bows Theo had ever seen in his hand. He wore cruel smile as he slowly, and with deliberate care, drew another massive arrow and knocked it to his bowstring. The archer took his time, aiming directly at Theo’s heart.

Theo tried to move. He willed himself to get up, to roll out of the way, but his limbs felt empty. This was it.

“Wait,” he heard himself stammer. “Please…”

The other minotaur’s grin became a sneer of contempt. He finished drawing his bow, and Theo watched helplessly as he waited for the end.

Klara appeared an instant later, smashing her way through crumbling branches, her kite shield raised before her. She caught the archer unaware. He glanced over to his left just as she crashed into him with her whole armoured weight. The archer staggered. The arrow flew, detonating a tree behind Theo. The archer roared as he regained his footing. He reached for his sword with his free hand, but Klara’s own blade snapped out then, slashing his leg. The archer bayed in rage at her and batted her aside with the arm that held his bow. The blow knocked her clean off her feet. His nostrils flared and the yellowing teeth in his mouth ground as his thigh bled from the shallow cut. Klara rolled along the ground. The archer reached for his weapon.

A crossbow bolt sprouted from his free arm then, buried halfway into his bicep. As blood welled the archer screamed, staggering back. Dietrich appeared then, coming from the same direction as Klara. He threw himself at the archer, smashing him in the chest with the full weight of his trim frame. As with Klara before, the minotaur was knocked back a few steps, while Dietrich lowered his smaller shield. He thrust upwards at the archer’s throat with his sword but missed, cutting across the left side of the beast’s neck instead. The minotaur screamed at him, drew back his fist and threw a punch at Dietrich. The elder human deflected the blow with his shield, but even that glancing blow was enough to dent the buckler and throw Dietrich to the ground.

Klara had regained her feet by then, as had Theo, much to his own surprise. The sight of his comrades in danger, and the realisation that he might not die just yet, had brought on another wave of adrenaline. He staggered towards the archer, clutching his heaving, bleeding chest with one arm. They shared one long, hate filled stare, before the young bull began sidling to the beast’s right. Klara mirrored his movement, and began moving around the archer’s left. The archer took a cautious step backwards, closing with some of the dead trees as he glanced furtively between the minotaur and the woman. Dietrich pulled himself to his feet, still stubbornly holding onto his battered shield, and advanced on the minotaur. The archer whispered a curse under his breath, suddenly surrounded on three sides. From prior experience in the fighting ring, Theo knew the other minotaur’s position was untenable and he grinned in spite of the pain.

The air quaked. More horses screeched from behind them, and died. Men just beyond the trees made the sounds of a riot. The shock wave tore the air all about them, filling it with scattered leaves and shrapnel from the trees. The four of them, the minotaur archer and his foes, barely seemed aware of the chaos. The archer had drawn his short sword, and eyed them all cautiously. The hunters began a ragged advance on him.

A crossbow bolt cut the air, cutting a deep slice across the bull’s bare side. The minotaur gasped and staggered back, doubling over. The sword fell to the dirt, and he nearly dropped his massive bow. He began to stagger back, and Theo felt the thrill of victory. The archer glared hatefully at them all as he forced himself to stand upright.

“I am Rahm, of the Dead Ravens,” he growled, struggling to speak through the agony he was in. “And I will see you all again!”

He turned then, and ran, smashing his way through dead, crumbling trees, bringing a monsoon of splinters down behind him. Theo tried to follow after, but his chest burned, and he couldn’t breathe as he chased their prey. He made it only a dozen steps before he stopped, struggling both to breathe and to keep his feet. The world started to spin.

He felt a hand grab his shoulder. Dietrich…

“You have to keep moving,” his old tutor said. “The bastards we’re trying to kill are scattered everywhere now, but they might come back and find you. Can you walk?”

Theo tried to answer, but a long, wet cough was all he could manage. He bit back a groan as the pain in his chest mounted. He was panting, his limbs tired and trembling. Despite it all, the young bull nodded as he noticed Gerda emerge from the woods, her crossbow loaded and ready.

“Good boy,” said Dietrich. He smiled then, and Theo felt stronger. “Let’s find Eisengrim. I think he might be in a spot of trouble.”