The moons were aligned for them tonight, for the first time in oh so many years. The captain could almost taste the sweet flesh of children on her tongue. There was no better flavor than that of innocence.
Eleven steeds, eleven riders stood on the brink of the Other World, the cursed favorite. Soon the hunt would begin. Tonight they would dance in the halls of the mighty.
Raider Two began the incantation. “Let the elders feast once more upon the young,” said he.
“Let those who were abandoned seize their bounty,” spoke Raider Three.
“Let rash creators grieve their favorite children,” sang Raider Four.
“And we shall claim that which we’ve been forbidden!”
“And we shall steal a dream from every county!”
“And we shall suck each prayer from their gasping lungs!”
The captain raised her sickle high, and the others fell silent. “The Gateway opens,” she said now, just as she had said throughout the ages. “Eleven riders step across the boundary. Elven raiders take what should be theirs. Eleven riders revel in their suffering. Elven raiders teach their world to fear!”
She slashed the air with her sickle and the mists rose, just as they had risen a hundred years ago, and a thousand. The raiders slowly drew their nets out of the air, clutching the reins with their free hands. How they had waited for their hunt to resume!
The ring of steel met their ears. “–And get out here!” someone shouted from up ahead. “Something’s happening!”
Raider Two raised an eyebrow. Who could possibly be waiting for them on the young side? The tower had only fallen twenty-two years ago – had the godserfs really forgotten their loss so soon? Or was this some new trick the Goodweathers were playing on them?
“Phaedra!” shouted another voice. “Criton, Bandu! Are you all right?”
Raider Five looked to the captain. “Sickles?” she asked.
The captain considered. The voices sounded delightfully frightened. Perhaps they were not elves but only frightened godserfs, like the ones who had built the tower. She still had fond memories of slaughtering those terrified men after their unexpected journey through the boundary. She was glad they had returned to this gate.
“Nets,” the captain said. Even if these voices really were a Goodweather trick, capturing them might be a good deal more fun than a battle. The raiders could always cut them to pieces afterwards.
Two dark figures emerged from the mist, clinging to each other most wonderfully. How easy it was! Raider Five cast her net, and soon the couple was trapped underneath the silken wires. They screamed and cried out, the trapped ones, as the raiders circled round.
“Another!” shouted Raider Eight, and soon his net too had fallen, this time on a lone figure that had come running out toward them with a great jangling sound. How terrifically disorganized these runners were!
Within minutes, the raiders had caught another two figures and determined that there were no more. The glow of the nets revealed these five to be dark-skinned youths, wide-eyed and frightened.
“Godserfs!” laughed Raider Two. “Tonight, they come to us!”
“These are too old,” said Raider Nine. “Shall we quarter them?”
“Embowel them!” suggested Raider Ten.
“They’re younger and stronger than the others were,” Raider Four pointed out. “We could enslave them.”
One of the godserfs was sobbing now, the little one who shared her net with the tall scaly one. The scaly male tore uselessly at the net, obviously unaware of its powers. There was a flash of light from inside. “Nothing’s working!” he cried, with growing horror.
The captain laughed. “Godserfs, indeed. Leave them for now. Our hunt must not be forgotten. They will still be here when morning dawns. We can plan our games during the hunt, and play when we return.”
The raiders cheered, already thinking of wonderful games to play with their captives. What a pleasant evening this would be!
But first, the hunt. The captain gave her orders, and her raiders galloped behind her through the boundary. A delicious catch awaited them on the other side.