The Huntsman's Fate Prequel Read online

  A Huntsman’s Fate

  Prequel

  Liam Reese

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Heart Of A Huntsman

  A Huntsman’s Fate

  1

  “Is this a jest, your Grace?” Besmir demanded.

  He knelt before the ducal throne, his eyes cast to the feet of the man seated before him. A collective murmur rippled through the assembled nobles as his words reached their ears. When he dared to look, however, Duke Moncarthy wore the trace of a smile on his bearded lips.

  “No jest, huntsman,” the Duke rumbled in his deep, commanding voice. “It is time for you to select an apprentice.”

  “I have always worked alone, your Grace,” Besmir said.

  “Indeed, yet your chosen path is not without perils, and it has been decided you should train another to take your place, should the unthinkable happen,” Moncarthy stated.

  Besmir ground his teeth in frustration; the last thing he needed was some child fumbling around behind him.

  “While I appreciate your Grace’s offer, I choose to decline taking an apprentice,” Besmir said through gritted teeth.

  Duke Moncarthy’s eyes narrowed slightly, a minute deepening of the lines radiating from the corners of his pursed lips. Shifting forward in his throne, the Duke glowered at the kneeling form before him.

  “I am aware of your peculiarities, huntsman,” Moncarthy said, “and previously, they have been tolerated. But I will not be questioned in my throne room. You will choose an apprentice from those gathered outside, as your fellow master craftsmen will also do.”

  Besmir bit back his retort and bowed his head again.

  “As you command, your Grace,” he managed to say. “With your leave?” he asked, hoping to leave the room of prying eyes.

  “Go with my blessing, Besmir,” Duke Moncarthy finally said, using his name for emphases. “And Besmir?” he called as the man rose lithely from the polished flagstone floor. Besmir looked up, questioningly. “I do not expect to find one of your arrows lodged between my shoulder blades.”

  A hint of a smile touched Besmir’s lips and eyes as he spoke.

  “Of course not, your Grace. My arrows are far too valuable for such a task.”

  A collective gasp seemed to echo from the stone walls, despite the heavy, woolen tapestries hanging there. Some of the gathered nobles muttered to each other as Besmir strode past them, ladies averting their eyes even though he had no interest in looking at them. Duke Moncarthy, however, boomed laughter, slapping his thigh in merriment and elbowing his steward hard enough to knock him off balance.

  “Ha! Did you hear that, Skornfell?” he asked between guffaws, “Arrows are too valuable to shoot me?”

  “Hilarious, your Grace,” Skornfell grunted, staring at Besmir’s retreating back with a scowl.

  Besmir made his way from the duke’s main hall, leaving the crowd of cronies and dandies to fawn at the Duke’s feet.

  “Obscene man!” floated up to his ears as he passed one group of ladies who hid their mouths behind fans. Besmir paused, turning his frowning face towards the trio as he stared at them in turn.

  “Ladies,” he said pleasantly, “did you have something to say?”

  One stepped from the group, snapping her fan shut with a flick of her wrist. She wore a low-cut, light yellow dress made of the finest silk. A fine, gold chain graced her neck, drawing his eye down towards the swell of her bosom. Color rose in her cheeks as she noticed his lascivious smirk.

  “How dare you speak to the Duke in such a manner?” she demanded hotly. “You exist only at his whim and ought to show more respect.”

  “It seems to me there’s a massive difference between respect and toadying,” Besmir said lightly. “I respect Duke Moncarthy, but I don’t feel the need to hang around waiting for any scrap of attention he might throw my way.”

  “Why can you not just leave us in peace?” another woman asked.

  Her dress was pale blue but cut from a less costly cloth as her figure demanded a great deal more of it. Besmir looked her up and down before answering politely.

  “Judging from your appearance, you make plentiful use of the service I provide. If I were to leave, who would put fresh meat on your table?” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for an answer. When none came, he continued. “That’s what I thought. Now, if you’ll excuse me, some of us have work to do.” He paused, thinking. “Unless one of you would care to assist in gutting and skinning some deer for me?”

  His footsteps echoed from the walls as Besmir made his way through the stone arteries that ran through the keep. He occasionally passed a servant, or maid, scurrying furtively about like mice on their way towards some errand or another. None met his gaze.

  Afternoon sun kissed the courtyard Besmir entered, casting a golden glow over the fresh, nervous faces gathered there. Dozens of youths milled about, not making eye contact with the older men and women gathered there. The assembly consisted mostly of boys in their late teens or early twenties, though Besmir saw a few female faces in the crowd. He made his way to the middle of the square, ignoring the other craftsmen, and faced the group of potential apprentices.

  “Duke Moncarthy has ordered me to take an apprentice,” he bellowed, silencing the low hum of mumbling voices that had been floating up from the groups. “Any volunteers?”

  Besmir scanned the faces before him – young, scared – and a flash of his own youth clawed at his guts. He clamped down on his feelings not wanting to weaken and show his emotions before so many people.

  “Wait your turn!” A deep voice called from the crowd of tradesmen. “We get to choose first.”

  Besmir turned to the source and saw Jobar the blacksmith staring at him.

  “I haven’t got the time to stand and gab like women, unlike you,” he said. “You had the pick of them while I spoke to the Duke.”

  Besmir paused while his words sunk into them all for few, if any, would have spoken directly to the King’s brother. Turning back to the youths, he shouted again.

  “No one then? None of you wish to apprentice to me?”

  He waited as the silence stretched out then turned and walked towards the gate with a smirk on his face.

  Can’t take an apprentice if none of them want to come.

  “Sir?” A high-pitched voice rang out across the courtyard. Besmir halted, turning slowly as whispered questions flashed from the gathered folk.

  “Who was that?”

  “Who would want to go with him?”

  “Did someone speak?” Besmir shouted, knowing fully someone had.

  A figure pushed through from the back of the crowd of youths, stepping forward with her hands clasped before her and eyes downcast. Besmir walked over and stood next to the girl who was easily a foot shorter and half as bulky as the hunter.

  “I did, master,” she said in a tiny voice.

  Besmir chuckled and turned to the blacksmith.

  “Funny, Jobar,” he said. “How much did you offer this girl to volunteer?”

  Jobar shrugged his muscled shoulders and shook his head. Dark scars and long healed burns covered his iron hard muscles.

  “Nothing to do with me, hunter,” he said, looking about to see if any of the craftsmen or women would claim to have put the girl up to it. “Wait a moment, aren’t you Keluse, the farrier’s lass?” he asked the girl.

  Keluse nodded wordlessly at his feet.

  “What are you thinking of, girl, going off into the wilds with the likes of him?” Jobar asked, nodding at Besmir who growled menacingly. “What’s your father going to think?”

&nbs
p; Besmir missed her answer as his thoughts were churning fast.

  If this little girl comes with me she’ll never be able to manage. I can bring her back and tell everyone she can’t manage the work. Even so…

  “Look at me, girl,” he said. “What are you, fourteen summers?”

  Keluse looked up and Besmir’s breath caught when the bluest eyes he had ever seen held his gaze.

  “Twenty, master,” she said in barely a whisper.

  Besmir frowned.

  Has someone been starving her?

  “You’re serious?” he asked. Keluse nodded. “Really?” he asked again, geunily surprised.

  “Yes, master,” she said in a marginally louder voice.

  Besmir heard chuckling from beside him and turned to see the blacksmith grinning at him.

  “Yes, hunter, you and your little girl can go play in the woods.”

  Chuckles and jeers echoed around the courtyard as the gathered craftsmen joked at Besmir’s expense. He clenched his fists and turned to Jobar who he dwarfed almost as much as he did Keluse.

  “Are you making fun of my apprentice?” he asked with a growl. Keluse smiled as Jobar paled slightly. Raising his voice until he was sure all could hear, Besmir cried out, “In all of Tyrington this young woman, Keluse, is the only one with courage enough to volunteer to put food on the Duke’s table.” He cast his disapproving glare over the potential apprentices. “She is braver than the rest of you combined.” He turned back to Jobar. “Good luck selecting a suitable apprentice from this bunch of children,” he said. “Still, I’m sure it won’t affect the quality of the forge work around here.”

  Besmir turned and walked off towards the main town, Keluse trotting obediently behind him as Jobar fought off the jibes of his peers and swore at the hunter’s back.

  2

  “If you have farewells to say, say them now,” Besmir advised as he walked down the hill leading from the keep. They passed through the dirt wall surrounding the hillside, sharpened stakes bristling out from the earth like a half buried porcupine. Soldiers at the gate saluted Besmir and even nodded at Keluse as they passed. The young woman stared back, eyes wide at being acknowledged.

  “We leave for my camp at first light,” Besmir added as they squeezed past a groaning cart pulled up the hill by snorting oxen.

  “Yes, master,” Keluse replied.

  Besmir turned to look at her. He’d set a punishing pace even though they were walking downhill and was pleasantly surprised to find she could not only keep up, but did so easily.

  “Besmir,” he said, “we’ll be living and working together closely so you might as well call me Besmir.”

  “As you wish, master,” Keluse said.

  Besmir was about to correct her when he turned and saw her smiling into the distance. A smile touched his own lips.

  Before long the pair made it to the small town that had grown at the base of the mound the keep sat atop. Tyrington sat at the fork of a pair of fast flowing rivers providing water, fish and a natural barrier in times of conflict. Much of the town’s rubbish was also sluiced away by the waters with heavy penalties in place for anyone caught polluting the waters upstream of an official mark. They passed homes and businesses, all either closing or readying for the night ahead. Inns and taverns were just beginning to welcome their customers while merchants took in their wares and blacksmiths banked up their forges for the night.

  “I’ll meet you at the Whitemill stables just before dawn,” Besmir told his new apprentice. “Make sure you let everyone know you might not be seen for a few months.”

  “Yes,” Keluse said in a low tone, “everyone.”

  Besmir frowned but dismissed his thoughts; it was his job to teach her to hunt not to baby her through her emotional problems.

  Besides, she’ll be running back here with her tail between her legs before long.

  Before even the silver light of pre-dawn had laid misty fingers over the sleeping town, Besmir had strapped saddles to his pair of horses and filled the saddlebags he’d slung over the back of a newly purchased mule. He stood with his snorting mounts, breath fogging in the chilly air, as he ran the edge of a silver-bladed knife over a fine-grained stone. Even though his senses were on full alert, Keluse almost reached where he stood before he knew she was there. Shock made his breathing stop as he turned to stare at his approaching apprentice.

  She’s certainly stealthy enough to be a hunter.

  “Morning, Besmir,” she greeted him in a high voice.

  “The mare’s yours to look after,” he said bluntly. “She was my pack horse but you’ll have to make do. I didn’t have plans for an apprentice so I haven’t got much in the way of provisions for you. Make sure she’s fed and watered,” he ordered, “the mule too.”

  “Donkey,” Keluse said quietly.

  “What?”

  “She’s a donkey, not a mule,” the young woman explained.

  “Donkey, mule, what’s the difference?” Besmir asked irritably.

  “Mules have donkey sires and horse dams, donkeys are pure bred.”

  “Oh, well that makes all the difference then,” Besmir said sarcastically. “Mount up if you can ride,” he added with a nasty grin, “learn if not.”

  Without another word, the hunter virtually leaped into his own saddle and set off towards the Eastern gate. He heard the clatter and rattle of his two mounts trotting down the road behind him.

  At least she can ride.

  Proficiently as well, she was steering her horse with one hand and her knees while coaxing the donkey along behind with her other hand. Both animals seemed happy enough to let her lead and Besmir smiled again.

  Making a habit of that smiling thing.

  He set a demanding pace, his gelding easily able to outpace the smaller mare and even smaller donkey so by the time the sun had fully cleared the horizon, Keluse had fallen behind by at least a mile.

  If it wasn’t for the fact I’d lose all my supplies, I’d carry on and lose her in the wilds.

  As soon as the thought hit his brain, Besmir felt an uncomfortable weight in his lower belly. Reigning in, he slipped from the saddle and tied his horse to a nearby tree. In the distance, he could see farmhands starting their almost endless day in the fields and a slow-moving wagon hauling something towards Tyrington.

  “Sorry, master huntsman,” Keluse said when she reached his position, “Darnie is slow.”

  “Darnie?” Besmir asked with an amused twist to his lips.

  Keluse looked a little embarrassed but held his gaze with her intensely blue eyes.

  “I thought the name suited her,” she said patting the young donkey on the neck, “Do you?”

  “Haven’t really thought about it to be honest,” he said. “Let Darnie have a rest while you stretch your legs for a few minutes, then we’ll be on our way.”

  A slow trot along animal trails and little-trodden pathways, some of which Besmir had made himself, eventually brought them to a large clearing deep in the forest where a log cabin stood. Keluse stared at the building, taking in the impressive height of the walls and the heavy turf roof covered in moss and thin grasses.

  Did he build this? she thought.

  The small homestead was laid out neatly with a large, fenced off area for the horses and donkey, a waist-thick tree stump obviously used for chopping wood and a massive pile of split logs under cover. Off to one side was a smaller hut, the walls darkened by smoke. Several wooden frames had been built beside this, one of which had an animal skin stretched over it. The scent of pine and wood smoke tickled her nostrils while she could hear the musical chuckle of a stream somewhere nearby. The hollow popping rap of a woodpecker drilling holes in a tree somewhere was interspersed by the occasional high-pitched chirp as the male called for a female to inspect his handiwork.

  Calm peacefulness washed through Keluse, easing the tension that had tightened her chest to the point of painfulness ever since she had stood with the other apprentices.

  “We
’ll have time to get the animals unloaded, brushed and fed, get a fire going and cook a decent meal before nightfall,” Besmir told her.

  Keluse nodded quietly, staring back at his immense form, so much bigger than anyone else in Tyrington. With midnight hair and pale skin, eyes such a dark brown they were almost black, Keluse wondered if any of the rumors about him could be true.

  The pair of horses were more than happy to be home and trotted out into the field, frolicking and whinnying for a few minutes before settling into cropping grass. Darnie was a little less sure of her new surroundings and started to bray nervously, tossing her head and pulling Keluse off balance. The small donkey turned out to be stronger than she looked and yanked Keluse’s arm painfully. Yelping in pain, Keluse tried to let go of the rope attached to the donkey’s harness but she had allowed it to wrap around her hand and now it bit in painfully. Darnie, fearing she was trapped, tried to bolt and pulled Keluse along with her as she struggled.

  Tearing, searing pain shot up Keluse’s arm and a scream rolled out through the trees. Keluse yelled at the donkey, begging her to stop but the pain-filled, panicked tone of her voice only made the animal more afraid and she began a bouncing trot back toward the path they had entered from, dragging Keluse by her injured hand.

  Dark gray clouds invaded the young woman’s vision as the seconds stretched out into what cruelly felt like hours. Immediately before she blacked out completely, Keluse saw a hand grab the rope just above where it connected her crushed hand to the frightened beast. Instant cooling relief filled her hand as the rope was yanked hard, bringing the donkey to an immediate halt. Still holding back the struggling beast with one hand, Besmir gently unwrapped Keluse’s crushed fingers from the rope and tied it to the nearest tree. He lifted her uninjured arm over his shoulder and hefted her easily from the ground, carrying her back to the cabin.