Witch Hunter

Chapter One: The Innocence of Youth

The target ran into the woods. Perfect.

Drawing a deep breath, he felt the thrill of the hunt awaken within him. Splinters fell from his cloak as he crashed through the house. Remnants of the door crunched beneath his feet as he launched himself through the back door.

Thud. Acutely, he felt his knees bend as he landed. He let his centre of gravity drop for a second longer, before kicking hard and propelling himself forwards. Never once did his eyes leave the target.

Sprinting with the powerful grace of a horse, he cut a parallel course to the one the target had taken. Adrenaline rushed through him, making him faster, making the breath come more easily to his lungs. Branches flashed past chaotically as he broke through the tree line, and caught telltale glimpses of a white robe flapping ahead.

Drawing his sword, he crashed sideways onto a different trail. There was a brief moment of respite, punctuated by the distant sound of foliage cracking underfoot. Swiftly, he reviewed the trap in his head.

It was simple really. Any living target would instinctively retreat from a source of danger. If he came in through the front door, the target would exit through the back. She would go straight into the nearby woods and instinctively follow the path of least resistance. Even if that path was one he had made especially for her.

The cracking sound grew louder. The two trails would soon intersect.

A white shape burst through the brush on his right. Immediately, he dropped low and slashed out. Fabric tore as the blade missed flesh.

Quickly, he twisted his wrist so the sword wouldn’t embed itself in a nearby tree. The target reached into her robes.

Off balance from his swing, he let the momentum bring him around and lowered his shoulder. Crunch. Driving his shoulder into the target’s chest, he brought her to the floor.

Leaping to his feet, he kicked her wrist before she could use whatever she had concealed in her clothing. A bag of coins skittered away, and for a brief moment, he was surprised – had she tried to purchase her life?

“Do you know anything about what happened four years ago at the Thorne residence?” he hissed malevolently, regaining his composure as he lowered the tip of his sword to her neck.

Terrified, she shook her head. Without any further comment, he buried his blade in the earth. Blood pooled around his feet.

*     *     *

Sigal, Capital of Lumir; it was a fairytale city of prosperity and peace. At least, that was what the Imperium wanted everyone to think. He thought that he made a rather fitting addition to the city’s image; walking down the main road carrying a severed head.

His fifteenth kill. By itself, that figure was impressive. Most averaged around nine before they were put into forced retirement. Death was an occupational hazard for a Witch Hunter. Kind of like a baker dropping a tray of cookies on his feet. Magic could savage, destroy, annihilate ... and any other equally pleasant synonym one could think of.

The other impressive thing about his fifteenth kill was his age. Fifteen summers old. The coincidence was mildly interesting. More remarkable was the sight of an eleven year old hauling the corpse of a full grown man through town. Eleven. His first kill.

How he had been brought into this world, hand in hand with death, was much the same as every other Hunter. Loved ones had been lost at the hands of witches and always, a helping hand had been there to guide them. The only difference was that he was the youngest to have chosen this path.

As always, the monotonous trek back to the Hunting Hall induced in him a reflective trance. Fifteen kills but not a single step closer to completing his vengeance. The witches knew nothing. They never knew. No one could tell him who had been at the Thorne residence that night ...