The fae and the hunter, p.1
The Fae and the Hunter, page 1
First published in Great Britain in 2023 by
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Copyright © 2023 T. E. Mountain
The right of T. E. Mountain to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
This work is entirely fictitious and bears no resemblance to any persons living or dead.
ISBN 978 1915853 578
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
To my family and friends,
for all their love and support.
To Liz, who cannot read this book
but might try eat it.
Contents
Act One
The Natural
Chapter One
Grind
Chapter Two
Occurrence
Chapter Three
Arrest
Chapter Four
Meeting
Chapter Five
Oath
Chapter Six
Payment
Chapter Seven
Remodelling
Chapter Eight
Debt
Chapter Nine
Hansom
Chapter Ten
Guild
Chapter Eleven
Bounty
Chapter Twelve
Familiar
Chapter Thirteen
Woods
Chapter Fourteen
Camp
Chapter Fifteen
Tome
Chapter Sixteen
Shield
Chapter Seventeen
Break
Chapter Eighteen
Decision
Chapter Nineteen
Barrier
Chapter Twenty
Nemean
Chapter Twenty-One
Flood
Chapter Twenty-Two
Hunt
Chapter Twenty-Three
Reprieve
Chapter Twenty-Four
Insight
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Purpose
Act Two
The Supernatural
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Summons
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Partnership
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Blood
Chapter Thirty
Crooked
Chapter Thirty-One
Guide
Chapter Thirty-Two
Imposter
Chapter Thirty-Three
Doppel
Chapter Thirty-Four
Fairy
Chapter Thirty-Five
Departure
Chapter Thirty-Six
Road-Stop
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Research
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Intel
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Traveller
Chapter Forty
Blizzard
Chapter Forty-One
Stand-Off
Chapter Forty-Two
Melody
Chapter Forty-Three
Dragon
Act Three
The Unnatural
Chapter Forty-Four
Interview
Chapter Forty-Five
Pledge
Chapter Forty-Six
Trio
Chapter Forty-Seven
Memorandum
Chapter Forty-Eight
Ride
Chapter Forty-Nine
Suffala
Chapter Fifty
Indifference
Chapter Fifty-One
Obfuscation
Chapter Fifty-Two
Cottage
Chapter Fifty-Three
Hunter
Chapter Fifty-Four
Soldier
Chapter Fifty-Five
Queen
Chapter Fifty-Six
Reunion
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Servant
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Calm
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Storm
Chapter Sixty
Choice
Chapter Sixty-One
Hopeless
Chapter Sixty-Two
Gambit
Chapter Sixty-Three
Stand
Chapter Sixty-Four
Miracle
Chapter Sixty-Five
Return
Chapter Sixty-Six
Hierarchy
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Parting
Act One
The Natural
Chapter One
Grind
Ryheart stepped gingerly through the labyrinthine sewers that ran under the grand old city of Londaya, his balance only slightly hampered by the hand he had clamped over his nose. He did so to avoid the rotten stench emanating from the sewage that ran beside the walkway he was on. The hand’s effectiveness was considerably lower than he would have liked. He could taste the filth as much as smell it. He could virtually hear it.
When he’d signed up with the Hunter’s Guild, this was not what he had imagined. The desk for registration had glorious illustrations of proud knights, resplendent in armour riding into battle against vile fire-spitting behemoths. He’d imagined riches, carousing with the exotic Fae, being knighted and celebrated. And in fairness, all that could be true. If – the big if – you were particularly good at it. Beyond good, really. Exceptional. Unfortunately, Ryheart was not. Ryheart was okay at it. Middling at it. Generously, he might have described himself as competent, even, on a good day.
Taking the dangerous, glamorous jobs when you were only decent was an excellent way to end up dead, he had quickly realised. Even for the good hunters, it was fifty-fifty. So, these were the jobs the middling hunters got. The less glamorous ones. The unpleasant ones. At the point he had realised this, he might well have quit the post altogether. But what the smiling, chatty representatives who signed him up had glossed over, was the cost of hunting. First, there was the mildly extortionate fee for the licence that allowed you to hunt offici
Helpfully the guild didn’t take the money upfront; they deducted a fee from the payment of every bounty you handed in. A substantial fee. So, Ryheart had neither the money for provisions nor the skill for the big-paying jobs that might wipe his debt. That left the lesser jobs. The low-grade bounties. The ones that left him scarcely a handful of copper beggars after each hunt. If he was extremely lucky, maybe a silver noble or two. Barely enough to keep afloat. At the rate he was going, it would take him five hundred years to pay off his outstanding balance. He hadn’t dared look at it for some time, but last he checked, it had been approaching a couple of hundred gold crowns. That was close to buying-a-house money. Or, in his case, owing-a-house money.
It was hard to keep motivated in a job he barely muddled through, and he had spent too long lounging and squandering the little spare he had left, till he had no choice but to take the first, quickest job he could get.
So here he was. In the city, in the sewer. Underground. Hunting a set of brownies who had blocked a drainage pipe.
Using his free hand to hold up the small lantern he unclipped from his belt, he surveyed the water – water being a generous description – and saw that it was lower ahead. Creeping along and lifting the lantern, he saw movement in the dim gloom.
Faintly he heard the unmistakable noise of brownies, a screeching, nonsensical chattering. Their low, misshapen bodies stood out in the gloom as they packed their nest with gleefully pilfered goods. They had managed to scavenge cutlery, a jug and what looked to be someone’s underwear from what he could make out. They were dim-witted, gangly creatures, but quick. He could dimly make out that there were five or six of them, and he very much hoped to be able to corner them and at least get a few before they had a chance to flee. He was unlikely to get all of them, but he needed at least three to call it a good day’s work.
The brownies were stupid and unsettling, but ultimately, they were just pests, more nuisance than a genuine threat. Ryheart didn’t quite have the sustained, unyielding hatred for anything and everything magical that some of his esteemed colleagues in the Hunter’s Guild did, and the guild taking virtually everything he earned didn’t exactly help his motivation. The imminent threat of starvation, however, did. Consequently, as a fresh surge of stench hit him as he let go of his nose, he felt past the knife on his belt, and instead pulled out a small cudgel. He’d knock them out and drop them off somewhere outside the city limits. Luckily the one advantage of his lack of importance was that the guild didn’t exactly do much follow-up work, and they’d practically take him at his word. If he took their horns, that would be enough proof for the guild he had dispatched them.
He crept slowly forward, keeping as quiet as he could. The brownies were still virtually oblivious to his presence, and they scampered on their gangly limbs, sharp little teeth glinting in the light. The tunnel ahead had a fence of iron bars, the bottom half solid with no gaps.
The brownie nest also sat ahead, built like a dam across the gate, blocking the grating that would have otherwise let through a steady supply of water, cutting its flow to barely a trickle.
Ryheart peered into the gloom past the gate, and his heart nearly jumped from his chest.
Stood behind them, dimly lit by a lantern of his own, was another figure. A human figure. To his side was an iron bar jutting from the wall, that Ryheart couldn’t quite make out in the shadows.
The mystery person was covered nearly head to toe in a dark fabric, a cloth wrapped around his face, presumably a somewhat better solution to the stench than Ryheart’s admittedly ill-conceived one.
Ryheart couldn’t make out his features, but he recognised the smug voice that spoke to him.
“Ryheart?” the human asked in a surprised voice.
Ryheart put his finger to his lips and glanced at the brownies. The last thing he needed was them fleeing. Fortunately, they seemed so enamoured by their chatter that they were oblivious to the fact they were effectively surrounded.
Slinking as close as he dared, Ryheart whispered back, “Yeah, yeah, it’s me. Why are you here, Harand?”
“Well, rumour has it, there are brownies around. You haven’t seen them, have you?”
Ryheart glanced down at them. His rival might not have been able to see them at such an angle, but their chatter was loud enough that he had to have heard them.
“Maybe. I have it covered, though.”
“Yeah? Are you sure you don’t need help? Might be a bit much for a D-rank hunter.”
Help. As if the man had any interest in helping. By Divana’s name, Ryheart hated him. He wanted to punch him in his smug face. Instead, he answered. “I think I can manage, thank you,” he forced through gritted teeth. While a hunter signed their name to proclaim they had taken a bounty, technically, nothing stopped multiple hunters from taking the same contract. With longer jobs, the idea someone had a head start on you, and you might be wasting weeks, tended to stop people from taking a duplicate contract. With such a small job, though, all that was left as a barrier was common courtesy. That was in short supply. Harand had stolen more bounties from him than he could count. That wasn’t going to happen this time, though. The spoils went to whoever claimed them first and overt violence between hunters was prohibited, so all Ryheart had to do was grab them before Harand could find a way around to him.
“Well, I was going to suggest splitting the bounty, but if you insist on competing…” Harand said, almost managing to sound regretful.
Ryheart thought it more likely he was about to be crowned King of Brittaya than any hunter willingly sharing a bounty, let alone one who hated him.
“Yeah? Well, you’re on the wrong side of the bars there,” Ryheart gloated, “so, looks like I win this one already.”
“That’d be a first,” Harand snorted. Disconcertingly, he didn’t sound concerned. “But I have a better weapon than you.”
“Yeah. What’s that?”
“I checked the layout of the sewer,” he said, taking hold of the iron handle, “and I know what a sluice gate is. More importantly, I know you open it on this side.”
There was a creak of rusty iron as he pulled the bar. The bar, as Ryheart shortly learned, was a lever. A lever to the floodgate Harand stood behind.
A stream came through as the gate started to creak open behind the brownies’ dam, beginning to wash it away from the bottom up. It battered Ryheart’s legs, and he staggered back with the current, barely keeping his balance.
With a laugh as he held the lever for purchase, Harand stooped down through the now half-open floodgate and flung a net across the top of the startled brownies now collapsing home, catching all of them in one go. With a wink, he pulled the lever the rest of the way.
The sewage took its newfound freedom in earnest and rushed forth, a torrent of black ooze. With an involuntary howl that filled his mouth with something putrid beyond mention, Ryheart was bowled over into the now-rapid flow.
He caught his last glimpse of the triumphant Harand’s hand merrily waving goodbye to him before he was carried away by the deluge of filth, along with his hopes of claiming the bounty that he so desperately needed.
