12th Bell - 88th Day of Winter, 515AV - South of the Vaspura River, Sea of Grass
Konrad had always thought of himself as a hunter. Word came to him through the streets, like rumors and wishes to kill were whispered up from the brick and the granite, and he went out into the city to do murder. Many times he knew where to find his quarry; often he had to go hunting. Sniffing the air and scouring old haunts; greasing palms or just breaking them to get titbits and good directions; then he struck, and dependent on his mood and the contract, it was either quick and precise, or slow and... leisurely.
The "real thing", as it were, was a much ruder awakening.
Crouching behind the Drykas with a crossbow in his hands, he realized with discomfort that he didn't know what he was doing. It was mud and dirt under his feet now, not cobbles and stone. There were no streets to navigate, nor old faces he could find. Everything had to be scrutinized minutely, and Konrad was fast understanding he needed whole new eyes to survive out there.
The two stalkers stopped for the fiftieth time, exchanging hushed words in their willowy, breezy dialect. Konrad wasn't too surprised that a bunch of the tattooed horsemen would be with the caravan. No-one knew the grasslands like the Horse Lords, though he wondered what could have brought them from the clean, open spaces of the Sea of Grass to the choking city of Sunberth.
Not then, though. Then he was watching, and hopefully learning.
One of the horsemen griped his bow and arrow in one hand, keeping it almost taut, and pointed with his other hand at a mark in the mud. Konrad edged closer and saw it was... a track. Not like a cat or dog. Something with less toes, by the looks of it. He could see two large ones up front, two smaller ones behind.
"What is it?"
They looked behind them at the interloper. Fucking pillar of shit on their backs, slowing them down. Some Sunberth scum still wearing that stupid hat, of all things, with a crossbow he didn't know how to use.
Then they remembered why that wasn't exactly true.
"Deer," the younger one said hurriedly, nodding down to the track. "Not long ago. See? No water in the hole it made. Not enough time."
"Where they headin'?"
"Where all animals go," the older Drykas said, almost absentmindedly, mind firmly on the hunt and the kill, not his chattering partners. "To eat, to drink, to fuck or to sleep."
Konrad wanted to shake him by his blonde beard and ask him what the petch that was meant to mean, but reined it back. No. He needed them. They knew things he didn't, knew ways and skills that made them valuable. Besides, the whole caravan saw the three of them leave, one of several hunting parties sent scattering out from their campsite to bring home game. Him returning alone would prompt... questions.
Which you could answer, maybe. But they're still useful.
On they went, sliding through rank after rank of tall, cold grass. Konrad could stand at his full height and jump straight up and still not see over the top of them. Not that it would have been much of a view: it was the same for countless miles, so he understood. The only reason the Kabrin Road had been hacked out of it was because the grasses were thinner and didn't grow back that close to the Suvan Sea.
Sea of Grass. Kabrin Road. Suvan Sea. Never thought I'd see any of it until-
"Hey?!" The Younger snapped him out of his reverie and jutted his chin at the quivering patch of grass The Elder had vanished into. "C'mon!"
For now, Konrad did as he was told. They'd been out for well over three bells now, wandering a path that he could barely see, but the Drykas could follow blinded. He'd seen grasses trampled down that spoke of nests for departed animals; longer stretches where they'd gone back and forth, feedings grounds and most of all, water holes. The three had bounced from pond to pond but, save for chittering cries and distant, fleeing hooves, they'd not seen anything.
This is hunting? Bloody boring...
But it was necessary, and Konrad assumed some sort of... patience, was part of that, too. So he shook off the mud caking his boots and kept walking, following the Drykas until he-
"Shyke!"
"Yes. Good for you."
That was The Elder, of course, caustic bastard that he seemed to be. As Konrad was trying to smear the smelly lump off his feet, the Drykas were gathering around it like some holy relic. Sniffing and poking and... oh, gods.
"Half a bell," The Elder said, spitting out what he'd just tasted. "Male, I'd say."
"Did... Did he just-"
"You wanted to learn," said The Younger with a shrug. "One of the lessons."
Konrad was about to tell him where he could shove that lesson when a twig snapped so clear and lonely in the grass that it was practically a thunderclap. All three men raised their bows and started forward, cautious, slow, moving on the balls of their feet and-
Wet ground, remember? Feet on wet ground so you make less noise. Dry things snap; wet things just... something else.
Time slowed as they heard their meal snuffling yards away. Konrad felt his senses sharpen from the focus. Things so small and meaningless suddenly became clear, from the slip and slide of his boots to the bird calls above them. And the animal, whatever it was, as they got closer...
"There she is."
The Younger's voice was barely a suggestion of a whisper. They were too close to screw up now. Beyond a curtain of glass, Konrad could see a definite shape. Four long legs, thin at the bottom, powerful towards the top of a thick torso. A furry neck that was dipping down, head unseen. Teeth chewing and black antlers standing out sharply in fits and starts, swaying this way and that.
"We shoot as one," The Elder said, but Konrad already had his crossbow resting at his shoulder. "Don't ruin this by-"
Oh, go fuck yourself.
Konrad remembered his practice. He tucked the bow tight to his shoulder, cocked his head so he was aiming straight down the handle, the long groove. Lined up the nut and the bolt and the tip of it touching the blurry shape behind the grass and finally-
-pulling the trigger-
"Damn you!"
It was a hit, but not a kill. The bolt flew in a blur and whistled across the narrow clearing. Konrad gave a quick, ugly grin as he heard it thunk into something not wood, not grass, but meaty and suddenly braying out in pain, a splash of scarlet into the yellow and green and brown-
-and vanishing from sight again.
"Idiot!" The Elder raged, charging forward with his bow still at the ready. "Now we have to chase it down!"
Konrad stuck his foot in the stirrup, yanked the string back to the catch, replaced the bolt and-
Fuck. Downside of these things: take an age to load.
-plunged into the stiff grass the Drykas had already disappeared into, pursuing the pursuers as the deer tried to outrun Dira with a crossbow bolt buried in its back.
Konrad had always thought of himself as a hunter. Word came to him through the streets, like rumors and wishes to kill were whispered up from the brick and the granite, and he went out into the city to do murder. Many times he knew where to find his quarry; often he had to go hunting. Sniffing the air and scouring old haunts; greasing palms or just breaking them to get titbits and good directions; then he struck, and dependent on his mood and the contract, it was either quick and precise, or slow and... leisurely.
The "real thing", as it were, was a much ruder awakening.
Crouching behind the Drykas with a crossbow in his hands, he realized with discomfort that he didn't know what he was doing. It was mud and dirt under his feet now, not cobbles and stone. There were no streets to navigate, nor old faces he could find. Everything had to be scrutinized minutely, and Konrad was fast understanding he needed whole new eyes to survive out there.
The two stalkers stopped for the fiftieth time, exchanging hushed words in their willowy, breezy dialect. Konrad wasn't too surprised that a bunch of the tattooed horsemen would be with the caravan. No-one knew the grasslands like the Horse Lords, though he wondered what could have brought them from the clean, open spaces of the Sea of Grass to the choking city of Sunberth.
Not then, though. Then he was watching, and hopefully learning.
One of the horsemen griped his bow and arrow in one hand, keeping it almost taut, and pointed with his other hand at a mark in the mud. Konrad edged closer and saw it was... a track. Not like a cat or dog. Something with less toes, by the looks of it. He could see two large ones up front, two smaller ones behind.
"What is it?"
They looked behind them at the interloper. Fucking pillar of shit on their backs, slowing them down. Some Sunberth scum still wearing that stupid hat, of all things, with a crossbow he didn't know how to use.
Then they remembered why that wasn't exactly true.
"Deer," the younger one said hurriedly, nodding down to the track. "Not long ago. See? No water in the hole it made. Not enough time."
"Where they headin'?"
"Where all animals go," the older Drykas said, almost absentmindedly, mind firmly on the hunt and the kill, not his chattering partners. "To eat, to drink, to fuck or to sleep."
Konrad wanted to shake him by his blonde beard and ask him what the petch that was meant to mean, but reined it back. No. He needed them. They knew things he didn't, knew ways and skills that made them valuable. Besides, the whole caravan saw the three of them leave, one of several hunting parties sent scattering out from their campsite to bring home game. Him returning alone would prompt... questions.
Which you could answer, maybe. But they're still useful.
On they went, sliding through rank after rank of tall, cold grass. Konrad could stand at his full height and jump straight up and still not see over the top of them. Not that it would have been much of a view: it was the same for countless miles, so he understood. The only reason the Kabrin Road had been hacked out of it was because the grasses were thinner and didn't grow back that close to the Suvan Sea.
Sea of Grass. Kabrin Road. Suvan Sea. Never thought I'd see any of it until-
"Hey?!" The Younger snapped him out of his reverie and jutted his chin at the quivering patch of grass The Elder had vanished into. "C'mon!"
For now, Konrad did as he was told. They'd been out for well over three bells now, wandering a path that he could barely see, but the Drykas could follow blinded. He'd seen grasses trampled down that spoke of nests for departed animals; longer stretches where they'd gone back and forth, feedings grounds and most of all, water holes. The three had bounced from pond to pond but, save for chittering cries and distant, fleeing hooves, they'd not seen anything.
This is hunting? Bloody boring...
But it was necessary, and Konrad assumed some sort of... patience, was part of that, too. So he shook off the mud caking his boots and kept walking, following the Drykas until he-
"Shyke!"
"Yes. Good for you."
That was The Elder, of course, caustic bastard that he seemed to be. As Konrad was trying to smear the smelly lump off his feet, the Drykas were gathering around it like some holy relic. Sniffing and poking and... oh, gods.
"Half a bell," The Elder said, spitting out what he'd just tasted. "Male, I'd say."
"Did... Did he just-"
"You wanted to learn," said The Younger with a shrug. "One of the lessons."
Konrad was about to tell him where he could shove that lesson when a twig snapped so clear and lonely in the grass that it was practically a thunderclap. All three men raised their bows and started forward, cautious, slow, moving on the balls of their feet and-
Wet ground, remember? Feet on wet ground so you make less noise. Dry things snap; wet things just... something else.
Time slowed as they heard their meal snuffling yards away. Konrad felt his senses sharpen from the focus. Things so small and meaningless suddenly became clear, from the slip and slide of his boots to the bird calls above them. And the animal, whatever it was, as they got closer...
"There she is."
The Younger's voice was barely a suggestion of a whisper. They were too close to screw up now. Beyond a curtain of glass, Konrad could see a definite shape. Four long legs, thin at the bottom, powerful towards the top of a thick torso. A furry neck that was dipping down, head unseen. Teeth chewing and black antlers standing out sharply in fits and starts, swaying this way and that.
"We shoot as one," The Elder said, but Konrad already had his crossbow resting at his shoulder. "Don't ruin this by-"
Oh, go fuck yourself.
Konrad remembered his practice. He tucked the bow tight to his shoulder, cocked his head so he was aiming straight down the handle, the long groove. Lined up the nut and the bolt and the tip of it touching the blurry shape behind the grass and finally-
-pulling the trigger-
"Damn you!"
It was a hit, but not a kill. The bolt flew in a blur and whistled across the narrow clearing. Konrad gave a quick, ugly grin as he heard it thunk into something not wood, not grass, but meaty and suddenly braying out in pain, a splash of scarlet into the yellow and green and brown-
-and vanishing from sight again.
"Idiot!" The Elder raged, charging forward with his bow still at the ready. "Now we have to chase it down!"
Konrad stuck his foot in the stirrup, yanked the string back to the catch, replaced the bolt and-
Fuck. Downside of these things: take an age to load.
-plunged into the stiff grass the Drykas had already disappeared into, pursuing the pursuers as the deer tried to outrun Dira with a crossbow bolt buried in its back.
