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Chapter 63

On How to Hunt Humans

I have said many times how bards get wilderness survival and pioneering wrong. The wood was a mix of struggling conifers and deciduous trees the settlers had brought with them, mixed with the native coconut, palm, and bamboo.

We were debating how to push back against an aggressive pack of wolves when the humans came.

Blackfur sent me pictures, but I only recognized Jacob Hoyland. There were exactly thirteen of them.

“Damn it! If only I could capture all of their souls!” Madonna said, “The things I could do...”

.....

“Ssh! Hist! Shut it.” Kismet said.

I sent a smell to Blackfur.

“Ah. Blackfur says they smell like ale. They aren’t as watchful as they should be.”

Call us sadists; we wanted to see whose trap wounded the first hunter.

It turned out to be a dog, much to my regret. The injured mutt howled and barked and whined, and was carried back by its owner.

Blackfur sent.

She rolled over onto her back.

The men were shouting to each other. Pits full of bamboo spikes weren’t something wolves did. But they had come this far, and the elderly woman nagged at them. She was an interesting look through Mystic Sight.

In spite of her reservations, she made it look easy. Two of the other hunters escorted him back toward the camps of the herdsmen.

“Almost.” I said.

“I want my crossbow.” Madonna complained.

“Stick to the plan.” I said, “And we might get two of those bows.”

“I don’t want a bow, and you can’t use...”

I held up a hand for silence, as one of the men did similar. They listened; we kept our breathing slow and regular. I muttered a silent curse at the dogs, but then they led the men away from us.

We waited. I began to lead my group off to the left.

“Where are you going? They went that way!” Madonna said.

“Yes, but the animals are panicking and moving away in this direction.” I replied.

Never let it be said that Commune With Nature is worthless.

He was moving carefully. Without magic, we’d have never known he was circling around until he had come up behind us.

“Slumber.” I whispered. It wasn’t enough. He sounded the alarm, waving his bow around, arrow already nocked.

#

Six men, one old woman, and three dogs came to aid him. Did they notice their missing member? Nobody seemed to.

They fanned out in search of us after a brief discussion. We fell back.

“Shit.” Kismet said, when the dogs picked up our scent. “Shit.”

“The river!” Madonna said.

“That’s a myth.” I said, “The dogs can pick up our scent even if we swim across. This way.”

“Rhishi, that area of beehives is this way.”

“Yup.”

“You know bees like to play in my fur! I hate this plan!”

I tried to pick out the moment when the eight voices became seven. I missed it, but they were calling for someone named Deke by the time we reached the trail crossing.

I read the tracks, flicked my tongue out for scent.

“This way.” We scurried along the trail, no longer concerned with stealth. I barely had the fatigue to reach the overhang.

“He’s passing out.” Madonna said.

“I’ll be fine.” I huffed. Of the three of us, my breathing was the loudest.

The voices of our pursuers became frantic.

“Have fun with the bees.” Kismet said. “Are you sure none of them are in my fur?”

“Get over here.” Madonna said. “I’ll check.”

There were three paths, all of which were coated in wood chips boiled in a broth of my shed skin and scales. It didn’t smell that strongly to me, so we also scattered ground garlic and onions along all three paths.

They dogs might have been confused a little, but they found us almost without delay. I wanted dogs like that.

[You have earned a point of Envy. After sin armor, you have gained zero points.]

“In here.”

“That’s too small for the Cousin of Fenris.” The old woman said. “They’ve been distracted by smaller prey.”

“Oh, let the hounds have them.” One of the men said.

“Wait, hounds?” Madonna said. “Not wolves? Kismet, sister, we’re saved!”

I had thought that bit of the ruse to be overly theatrical, but the six humans of our audience lapped it up, how they had “rescued” us from the violent wolf.

“Let me see that stump, boy.” The old woman commanded. “This is nice work. You used cat-tail, garlic, and sage. Still, a miracle this didn’t fester. The gods love you, boy, you’ll get to keep the remainder of that arm.”

“Thank you, mormor.” I said.

She backhanded me. “I’m not that old, though my daughter is hard at work making it the truth. Little hussy.”

“Feor, my father says you were even more outgoing at her age.”

“Aye, and look at what I’ve got to show for it. No husband, and I’m out here with you lot.”

“If we’re to camp here, this isn’t a bad spot.” Jacob said.

“Fool,” Feor replied. “But yes, the hounds have clearly lost the scent. It is time to head back.”

“Tomorrow, then.” He grumbled, “Though I had hoped by moving early I would get the beast’s skin uncontested.”

#

The five men and old woman led us toward the near edge of the forest. “Make haste!” Feor said, “We’ve lost far too much time searching for those dolts. Make haste, else the Fenris will claim the hindmost!”

Blackfur bit the hindmost in the leg, slowing the group when they drove her back into concealment and carried him. But come dusk, we were free of the forest, with no further casualties.

“Well,” Feor said, “Let’s be about seeing who made it back and whom we’re holding wakes for.”

Of the twelve men, only nine were accounted for when we set around the campfire to assess the day’s hunt.

“Who were the last to see Sven, Harold, and Yervis?” Feor asked. “Heh. I warned you all not to split up. Stay within easy line of sight. Didn’t I say that this morning?”

“Yes, Witch-Eater, you did.” Jacob said.

I won’t go through her entire tirade here. The herdsfolk (largely black and brown of hair) had the mutton stew to us well before it ended.

Madonna had carefully crafted the casualties the day before. Two of the three dead were cityfolk; all of the wounded survivors were herdsfolk or hunters. In theory, this would create an environment where both sides could envy the other.

Theory rarely survives contact with actual people. Cups and horns of ale were raised to all of the valiant fallen; the tales of the wounded were lauded by the cityfolk.

And loud among those voices, Jacob Hoyland. He praised both living and dead, and the keepers of the hounds above all save the dead.

“In fact, it is their fine noses that allowed us to save the first survivors of the rage of the Fenris.” Jacob Hoyland toasted.

Feor sniffed at the air, regarded something only she could see among us. She raised her staff, pointing it directly at my stump. “I have a question, a growing doubt about that. How DID you survive, so long in the woods claimed by the very shadow of death?”

“Oh, we became well and good at hiding.” Kismet said.

“And once we knew where the lair of the Fenris was, we stayed well and away from it.” Madonna added.

True statements, both of them, though not as accurate as they could be.

“Wait.” Jacob Hoyland seemed suddenly sober. “Did you just say you know where the beast sleeps?”

“We know where the Cousin of Fenris lairs.” I said.

.....

“Well, then. You three must remain our guests, and guide us there in the morning. Trust me, better with us who desire the beast dead, than with any of the others, who only want to present its hide to Findseth in trade for governorship of the town.”

“I’m sorry, they want WHAT, now?” I asked.

“We are the spear flying before the army.” He said. “Come tomorrow, over three hundred stout warriors will be competing to see who can claim the prize.”

Oh. That was going to derail our plan, then.

Crap.

#

Yes, I know the Daurian claim that they brought bamboo to the Isles. Given the characteristics of bamboo trees, I find it unlikely unless the Daurians were there a millennium or two before they claim. I find it more likely that the Ancirians brought the trees with them, although I cannot fathom how they would travel that far with the fragile boats they must have used.