Fugitive of the Sky

Chapter Four: The Hunter's Sword

SNAP!

"Would you keep it quiet?!" Tampul hissed at Natan for the thirtieth time. Grimacing, Natan shifted his boot off the unfortunate dead branch and onto the leaf mulch, refocusing his attention on the ground instead of the Larkwing they were supposed to be looking for. If it were not for the fact that taking part in a hunt would land him a hunter's share as well as the trader's share, he would never have stepped foot in this cursed forest, let alone dared enter the Malterbelah Mountains. His fate was already doomed enough as is.

Don't think about it. The forest was bare and dead as any other in winter, making it near impossible to move without making some kind of revealing noise. Yet Hornar and the others glided through the trees as if they were wraiths, ducking around branches and confidently avoiding mud and snow patches like they were born to trespass on the god of chaos's domain. Natan gritted his teeth and willed himself not to be angry. Or jealous. This was the hunter's profession, after all. All he had to do was take part in the Larkwing kill, pay off Firot, and he could never join a hunt again. Business would be normal.

Normal, except for the fact that Natik was drowned at the bottom of the godless sea along with the rest of his fortunes. Normal, except for the fact Maru still would not look at him after hearing the outcome of their son's fate. Normal, except that he was going to declare tarpersi on Notir if he would not stop pouring salt on every open wound and whispering insults just within earshot. His cocky smirk taunted him from twenty steps ahead, and he tilted his head in the sharp motion that meant he was mocking his slowness. Natan jerked his eyes away and refocused on the trees.

Hornar's whispered commands ran through his thoughts as he searched and discarded one sign after another. They take shapes like human beings, but they leave footprints in the ground unlike wisps. A flash of cloth, tended plants, and footprints in th' mud are the easiest markers to see. They like to watch from the shadows and pounce when you're least expecting it. They'll take your eyes and rip out your throat and leave you to die on the bloodstones, so always watch the sky. Otherwise you'll never see them coming.

No broken branches, certainly no footprints, and there were no living plants to tend to in the near vicinity. Natan swallowed and risked a look at the sky. No imminent, gruesome death from above either. But then, Death did not announce its presence unless it was on the battlefield. Not until it was too late.

Vines of grief plunged thorns in his chest and he forced his thoughts on the hunt once more. There would be time for mourning later.

"Sh!" Tampul held up a hand far on the right, and Notir and Hornar froze. Natan checked his movement and held his breath, not daring to look more than the corner of his eye. Silence flicked through the woods, broken only by the distant buzz of insects. Tampul lifted a single finger and shifted his chin towards the evergreens.

A flash of gold glimmered in the upper branches, and his pulse quickened. They'd found the Larkwing's trail again. Natan risked turning his body to face the trees and let out his breath. Slowly, ever so slowly, Notir took an arrow out of his quiver and nocked it. Then, quick as lightning, he drew and fired, breaking into a sprint.

The Larkwing let out a blood-chilling scream and Natan jolted into motion, drawing his sword and hurling himself after Notir's dark form. Hornar and Tampul spread to the sides, following some tactic he should have been taught by now. Another arrow flew through the air, another screech, but still the gold fluttered above the tall branches and the Larkwing fled onward without faltering. He would have to fight the Larkwing once it was on the ground, but until they brought it down it would be no use. Why wasn't it out of the sky already? How come he had never learned how to use a ranged weapon?

Clouds of warm breath misted his vision, and his legs already ached from the long day of chasing the Larkwing in fits and starts, but Natan refused to let his pace slow. He would be the one to land the killing blow, inexperienced hunter or not. Notir would learn that he was not a coward and that his honor was not tarnished. He only had to make it until someone shot down the Larkwing.