Chapter 8

The better the prey, the better the pay.

—Old hunter saying

“You sure this is the safest route?” Dugan stood in a small area secluded by a clump of waist-high, bristling bushes about a quarter mile from Argis. He’d long ago sheathed his gladii, which Alara took as a sign she might have earned some trust.

“Yes, and we made good time too,” she said, removing the pack from her shoulders. They’d started their trek westward at first light. Alternating between running and jogging, they had slowed to a walk as they’d moved into their present location about eighty yards from the flagstone road leading up to the gate. They’d more than enough room to run or hide, while also having a clear view for much-needed surveillance.

“My boat is waiting at the docks.” Alara rested the backpack by her feet, digging through it as she spoke.

“It doesn’t look that impressive.” Dugan studied the port town with a doubtful gaze. It really was a simple affair. Common stone walls sectioned it off from the plains while leaving it open to the beach and waves. There was some traffic here and there on the road, but it was sparse.

“That’s the idea,” Alara said, pulling out a common brown cloak from her backpack. “Someplace out of the way to shield us from anyone who still might be after you.

“All we need to do is get to the boat,” she said, shoving the cloak at Dugan. “Take this. If you hold it closed tight it should keep you hidden, as long as you don’t speak. Slump to hide your build and keep your face in the hood.”

Dugan scowled at the garment. “It smells like a hunter.”

“I got it off one while I was tracking you. The scent should add to your disguise. I expect you’ve had enough experience with them to pretend to be one.”

“You were right.” Dugan donned the cloak. “You are full of surprises.”

Alara let a small smile trace her lips as she drew up her hood. “Are you ready?”

“Why are you cloaked, though?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I’m a Patrious. The Elyellium don’t favor us too highly. Right now it’s better if I assume the role of a hunter as well.”

“Better for who?” Dugan drew up his own hood, adjusting it to conceal as much of his features as possible. “I thought you said I’d be safer with you than on my own.”

Alara finished donning her backpack. “As long as you stay with me, you are safer than on your own.”

Dugan paused before giving a curt nod. “To the docks, then.” She made her way for the road, Dugan behind her.

“So why don’t the Elyellium like you?”

Alara kept her attention directed on Argis’ advancing gray walls. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

Beyond the town’s thick, iron-shod wooden gate, a whole new world appeared. A commercial sector thrived amid stern stone edifices, columns, and walls, and color leapt out at all who regarded the shops and carts and people milling through the streets. Argis’ narrow lanes and outer walls didn’t make fresh air too common, which allowed for some less-than-pleasing odors alongside the aromas of fresh-baked bread and exotic spices dominating certain sections of the town.

“How much farther?” Dugan rasped from his hood while taking stock of a drunken beggar plying his tin plate for sympathy against a nearby step.

“We’re near the docks.” Alara’s eyes darted small looks here and there as they walked through the thinly populated streets, careful of anything or anyone who might hint at causing them harm. “About another two streets, and we should be there.”

Much of the population were elves, but some were Telborian sailors and merchants. None of them appeared curious about their presence. This was good news, for they were reaching the area of Argis where the hunters would be roaming—seeking those who might try an escape by sea, as they were about to do. Get past them and they’d be free.

“Aghh!”

Alara spun around and found Dugan had stopped. He was looking at the sole of his boot.

“What is it?” She kept her voice low. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Dugan muttered in a hoarse whisper. “I stepped in a pile of—”

“May I be of some assistance?” A voice speaking Elonum drew the duo’s eyes to a lean elf wearing the garb of a hunter. He appeared an average-looking Elyellium, black haired and blue eyed, but his manner spoke of some training and experience. Alara cursed under her breath as she managed a smile. They were so close.

“Are you hurt?” The elf addressed Dugan, who was still deeply cloaked in the dark hood and now lowering his foot as calmly as he could.

The air seemed to draw itself closely around the pair as the elf continued staring at Dugan. Alara sweated profusely as she tried to think up ideas to get them out of the hunter’s grasp without arousing any unwanted attention. As she racked her brain, Dugan saved them both.

“That’s all right.” An old voice speaking Elonum came out of Dugan’s hood. “I just stepped on a bad spot of road, that’s all. Thank you for the offer.”

Alara couldn’t believe what she’d heard.

“Very well. Take care—you too, sister. I’d advise some rest. You look fairly pale. Good hunting.” The congenial words were more unnerving than his presence.

“G-good hunting,” Alara stammered in Elonum with disbelief.

As the hunter made his way for the harbor, Alara stared at Dugan in astonishment.

“How did you do that?” she whispered in amazement.

“I’m full of surprises too,” he replied, scraping the sole of his soiled boot on a nearby wall. “Let’s get to the boat.”

“That’s just the kind of thinking we need on the mission.”

“The boat.” Dugan’s face became like stone.

Alara nodded, her manner all business again. “It’s up ahead.”

“Good. I’d like to be out of here by nightfall.” He made his way forward.

Alara pulled into the lead. Silently, the two continued for the harbor, keeping to the shadows as much as possible.

Argis’ harbor was a simple collection of docks constructed from wood and stone that jutted out into the Cerulean Sea. Vessels of varying size, from small fishing boats to massive trading ships, were tied at every pier, while others sought to depart or dock. Men scurried up and down the gangplanks with crates and barrels filled with a multitude of goods. Others hauled thick nets about, fat with fish and other delicacies.

All this was carried out in a self-contained world: a whole clockwork motion of people and things set to its own rhythm. Fishermen and traders worked from shops or directly from the back of their boats, seeking what business they could before day’s end. Shouts and creative chants tried to reel folks in for the catch of the day or the latest bolt of cloth, spices, or gems. While Alara and Dugan didn’t get distracted by such temptations, their progress was slowed by those who did, making it all the more maddening with their destination just in reach.

Slowing down for the fifth time, she dared a glance over her shoulder. Dugan wasn’t behind her. Frantic, she rapidly searched the area until she caught sight of him walking back into Argis.

“Dugan! What are you doing?” she hissed in Elonum, chasing after the bulky human as inconspicuously as she could.

He didn’t respond, just continued walking, reaching out his hand into empty air. Then suddenly he stopped and drew his gladii as if facing a fellow combatant. Alara stood in shocked horror as she watched him begin swinging wildly in the air, the motions of his thrashing causing his hood to fall back and scattering the people who quickly turned and stepped back or outright fled from him. The gladiator’s erratic behavior also attracted the attention of an elf entering the docks, who, upon seeing his antics, ran back into town shouting excitedly.

“What did you get me into, Gilban?” Alara wondered aloud before running after the Telborian.

Dugan had been following behind Alara when he’d heard a whisper.

“This one too?” It sounded like someone right beside him speaking in Telboros. Turning his head, he didn’t see anyone. Thinking it was nothing but his imagination, he continued on.

“Yes, him as well.” Another faint voice trailed past his ears. Turning around again, he stopped for a moment, looking more carefully than before at the motley scene around him.

Nothing.

As he was about to resume his trek, a shimmering white light appeared a short distance from him. It was faint and subtle, like a cascade of diamond dust, but it drew him toward it nonetheless. Almost as if in a trance, he instinctually stretched out a hand toward the sparkling air. But even as he did so, the same area grew dark and a series of ropy black tentacles began spilling out.

Reflexively, he pulled out his swords and took a few steps back, watching the tentacles shoot out of the now pitch-black section of open air. Each tentacle held a cruel-looking mouth, which snapped ravenously at the empty air—eager for something to catch between its teeth.

Dugan quickly leapt back when a larger tentacle darted for his head. Dodging the attack dropped his hood as he replied with an attack of his own. His sword passed through the tentacle as if it were nothing more than smoke. A haunting laugh followed the failed action, along with a bright white light. When he opened his eyes, he found himself facing an outpouring of hunters coming right at him.

“Are you mad?” he heard Alara shout as he felt her arm on his back. There was no time for explanations as the hunters and a few human sailors closed in on them like sharks smelling blood.

A small gathering of humans stopped their labors on the docks and sat on some chests and casks, eagerly cheering on the approaching fight. Many others dashed off for safer quarters until it was over.

“The slave’s mine!” said an Elyelmic male with a husky voice and twisted smile.

Dugan’s first sword clanged heavily against the nearest hunter’s blade. Swinging his second gladius, he pushed violently against the hunter and used his greater strength to gain access to the middle of their circle, which was quickly enclosing him. He estimated their numbers at half a dozen. He’d faced worse odds before.

He was half aware of Alara engrossed in her own conflict, but focused on his own battle. Human thug joined elven hunter as they encircled their prey, hoping he’d be an easy take. They swung wide for their first attack, giving him the time he needed to ready his stance. He unleashed one deep thrust followed immediately by another, sending two hunters to their graves. As the elves fell, the rest of the hunters attacked with vengeful fury.

Of the three Telborian sailors and thugs who also joined the fight, two were hopelessly drunk and missed Dugan by such a large margin that they nearly managed cutting off their own heads. One of the two remaining hunters jabbed into the fray, making it through an attempted block. This attack pierced Dugan’s side. At the same time a blow from behind struck across his back. He felt the blood flow from the wounds. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer at this rate. The hunters drew closer, dark mirth dancing in their eyes.

A new surge of rage filled Dugan, flooding his muscles with pulsating strength. Shouting a deep-throated roar, he swung his blades wildly, cutting down the last of the elves. His swords laid waste to much of their flesh, even cleaving to the bone on one strike. He quickly yanked the weapons free, shifting to his next challengers.

Witnessing the carnage, the remaining slack-jawed humans decided no award was as important as their lives and ran off into the streets, merging with the cowering populace. Watching the fleeing thugs, Dugan grinned wickedly before seeking out Alara.

He saw the other hunters had surrounded her. She was holding her own for the moment, but appeared in danger of losing that advantage rather quickly. With fierce determination, he leapt for the circle of brown-cloaked elves.

Alara lost Dugan in a flowing ring of steel and brown cloaks that rapidly swirled up and around him. Some of the elves had continued forward, advancing on Alara, but their threatening posture faded when they realized she was an elf. Her hood was still drawn, hiding much of her distinguishing features, but she kept her falchion readied in hand.

The hunters hesitated.

“Are you hurt?” a thin elf asked Alara in Elonum.

“Not yet,” Alara replied in the same tongue.

“Then come with us,” said the same elf. “We can get you to safety and then work out the details of how to split the money when we take the slave in for a reward.”

“That could be a problem, since I’m aiding in his escape.” In one smooth motion Alara pulled back her hood, birthing a small gasp from all present.

“A Patrious in Colloni?” questioned the thin elf in shock.

“She’s a spy!” A haggard, scratchy-voiced thug stepped forward with his cutlass firmly in hand.

“She might be worth more than the gladiator.” The thin elf had become bold. “Take her alive.”

“Don’t come any closer.” Alara planted her feet. “Stand down, and none of you will be hurt.”

“Get her!” A hunter pointed his weapon at Alara.

The hunters formed a tight formation around her, their weapons poised for any resistance. But to Alara’s surprise the hunters didn’t move. She was unclear as to why until she felt the unmistakable pinch of a dagger point at her kidney. A rough arm then laid hold of her neck in a choking grasp as hot, sour breath slapped her ear.

“Not so tough now, are you?” the voice sneered. “Nothing says we can’t have a little fun with you before we turn you over to the emperor either. And I can think of at least one way to entertain—” But his bravado was cut short by a sword strike through his neck. His severed head fell at Alara’s feet with a hollow echo. The three other hunters rapidly retreated from the spectacle as the headless hunter’s grip quickly uncoiled from her neck. From out of the corner of her eye she saw the body drop, joining its head in a growing crimson pool.

In a blur of motion she witnessed Dugan race into the fray. When she dared a look backward, her mouth dropped at the carnage the gladiator had wrought. The clanging of steel pulled her focus back toward the man himself as he swung his swords in a great arc, slicing through all three of the stunned elves. As soon as the final hunter fell, Dugan’s eyes found Alara.

“Where to now?” A brief coughing spasm took him, ending with him spitting out some blood.

Taking in a deep, shaking breath, she carefully drew near. “How badly did they—”

“Boat.” Dugan snarled through his bloody lips.

“There.” She pointed to a clump of boats docked for the day. The dock was deserted following the fight; only a few brave souls still watched while hidden away in shadowy corners or from behind fat barrels they’d recently mounted.

“Where?”

“That one over there.” Alara motioned to a single-mast sloop whose white sails were rolled up tight. “Come on.” She dashed for the vessel. “I don’t want to fight the town guard too.”

Once he saw it was safe to follow, Dugan returned his swords to their sheaths. Jogging after Alara, he kept a hand at his right side, grimacing with every step. In the short time they’d been running she noticed the wound had already drenched his hand in blood. As vital as it was to attend to the injury, the only goal right now was making it to the boat. That and nothing more.

The boat and nothing else.