The Manticore Hunter

I

"Oh my God, that redhead was something else! What was her name? Patricia, Josephina, Xanthia?" A rugged traveller took hold of his tankard of mead and downed it in one. His red eyes, half-cocked smile and bewildering balance suggested that this was not his first one tonight.

The traveller's deep drunken growl bellowed across the tavern as its patrons desperately wanted to experience the warmth during the cold spring night. The tavern was filled with the smell of honey, wheat and garlic. Yet despite the sweet smells, they fought valiantly against the overpowering stench of body odour as patrons stumbled in and out of the establishment attempting to gain the many pleasures the night house had to offer.

All eyes briefly focused on the staggering traveller, desperately trying to concentrate during their various stages of drunkenness. A simple question gradually turned into a conundrum as merchants, mercenaries, soldiers and the occasional noble; all brought together by their shared goal of self-gratification, tried to recall the name of the girl they briefly frolicked with.

"Bianca?" Another patron in the tavern hollered.

The traveller pointed to the patron and smiled. "Bianca, that's the one. She's got tits like melons." He raised another tankard high in the air. "To Bianca and her melons." He called.

"To Bianca and her melons!" the rest of the patrons cheered causing a roar of intoxicated happiness to flow throughout the tavern.

The carefully groomed midnight-haired traveller laughed before emptying another tankard. He wiped away the overflow that trickled down his trimmed pristine beard before turning to the tavern owner and demanding another.

Rumours had circulated of substantial mercenary work in the east which had encouraged the patron to proceed on the journey far from his home. After weeks of travel, reaching the rumours had been far less forthcoming than the talk had suggested.

His experience, however, had prepared him for the potential disappointment that his profession had often brought him. Often taking on less glamourous work, like escorting merchants or providing security detail for nobles with coin to waste had allowed him to eat and drink in a way that he had become accustomed to. While enjoying the lusts of life in the less reputable parts of the Isovine and Ruvian empires had kept his wits, fitness and abilities honed and prepared. Fighting in illegal underground tournaments or stealing from those who made a living from stealing from others had kept his travelling east entertaining and rewarding.

As the traveller started to question how much alcohol he had consumed, a young man, probably no more than thirteen winters, sat in front of him. The boy raised his trimmed ginger brows and smiled, his whitened teeth crooked and mishappen, but well kept and healthy.

"Stop smiling, boy," the traveller mumbled. "You should be drinking and forgetting your sorrows like the rest of us! Or admiring Janice's melons." The traveller smiled.

"Bianca, my Lord," the boy responded.

The traveller looked at him, confused. "You don't look much like a Bianca!"

Initially, the boy did not know how to respond to the confusing response. As he pushed a ginger lock away from his shining freckled round forehead, his confused look caused the traveller to chuckle before taking another swig from his tankard. As the boy watched the traveller's reddened dull blue eyes dart around the room, focusing on the various patrons in the establishment, he realised that the traveller was not as drunk as he portrayed himself to be.

The ginger-haired boy responded "My Lord, my name is Mutt. I am a squire for Sir Vermund Briahart, Count of Oakfort and Knight of the Isovine Empire," he exclaimed enthusiastically. "By his edict, I have been tasked with finding capable mercenaries to accompany us on a dangerous and profitable adventure in the Sea of Sorrows."

The traveller's reddened eyes looked at him but no words exited his half-grinning damp lips.

Mutt's enthusiastic smile began to dwindle. "My Lord, would you be so kind as to provide me with a name?" he said, with confidence exceeding his apparent age.

"Ethelston," the traveller responded, "and please don't call me 'Lord'."

"Would this adventure be of interest to you, my," Mutt briefly paused as he watched Ethelston initially grimace at the words of respect. "Ethelston?"

Ethelston knocked his head back and downed the last drops of his tankard. "How do you... How do you know I'm a mercenary? Perhaps... perhaps I'm just some patron who kills squires for a living?" he mumbled, his attempts at sounding incapable of comprehensive speech more pronounced than before.

Mutt's enthusiasm returned as he leant forward to gain Ethelston's full attention. His sparkling blue eyes seemed to delight at the exchange of dialogue that they had between each other.

"You wear well-fitted armour and have spared no expense on it. It is light, which suggests you prefer to be more agile than protected. Your two sheathes on your back mean you carry two swords. I would, therefore, consider you unconventional. And since this is your eighth tankard this evening, you don't have a problem spending your money," Mutt replied, keen to bestow his quick and accurate observations.

Ethelston returned his gaze, the sounds of his tough, black, leather armour squeaked as he leant forward in his seat. As he smiled, causing excitement to flash across Mutt's face, as Ethelson opened his mouth, what appeared to be words of encouragement at Mutt's obvious intellect, ended up being a loud extremely ungentlemanly belch from deep inside Ethelston's abdomen.

He smiled at Mutt and pointed at him despite Mutt's briefly disgusted look on his face. "I like you, boy. Very observant for a normal Squire. Now tell me the details of this adventure."

Mutt's face lit up like a child on Christmas day, his words, while articulate, appeared to stumble as he eagerly explained the adventure, "Sir Vermund and his compatriot Sir Searmundr have brought a small army to slay a beast called a Manticore deep in the Sea of Sorrows; to increase their renown and favour with the Emperor. They wish to invite you on this excursion to revel in their glory and bask in their riches."

Ethelston laughed, his guffaw echoing over some of the nearby patrons, "They want expendable fodder you mean, boy! I'm drunk lad, but not stupid."

Mutt's enthusiastic smile seemed to diminish as he slumped back into the chair, despondent by the outburst.

As Ethelston struggled to his feet, swaying as his balance adjusted to the unstable floor, Mutt sighed in resignation.

"You, boy, need to learn not to give up so easily. I shall slay your Manticore for you, so make sure your Lord is good on his word." Ethelston responded while swaying wildly like wheat in a breeze.

A huge grin broached Mutt's face, amused by Ethelston's constant and irrational swaying. "He is my... Ethelston."

Ethelston staggered past Mutt while placing his hand on his shoulder. "Now be off with you boy, I shall find you on the morrow, for I must now find some entertainment this night. I must find my Tara, or Marika or whatever her name is as it may be my last chance to bury myself in those melons before I encounter this dangerous mythical creature, this Manticore."