The Lost God

Chapter Two

998AF

The wind bit and howled at Conrad's ears as he made his way slowly down the hill, slipping a little on the snow, his bow held aloft. His keen eyes were fixed upon the mighty paw prints that had stormed through the thick layer on the ground, and his nose was sniffing for the scent of the beast he was tracking. His feet gave way down a particularly steep incline, and he fell head first. The powdery snow filled his mouth and nose, and he emerged coughing and sneezing. Two low giggles made him look around, and a faint blush rose to his already reddened cheeks as he saw the young woman and the boy behind him.

'If you think this is easy, then you take the lead,' he grumbled, running a gloved hand through sopping hair. The woman slid gracefully to his side, laughter still in her eyes. The boy followed, rather less gracefully, but managed to avoid falling all the same. In spite of himself, Conrad smiled and ruffled the boy's hair. Silky and straight, it hung into his blue eyes.

'Well, Adil. What say we find and kill this cat, and be back in time for your birthday feast?' The boy grinned impishly and shook off Conrad's hand. He began to move forwards, fighting against the wind.

'With you leading us, I shan't be twelve when we get back, I shall be twenty! Come, Mina,' the woman laughed again and patted Conrad on his shoulder before following her younger brother. Conrad shook his head and started after the two royals.

They had been tracking the cat since early morning, following its prints in the snow. Conrad had promised to take the prince hunting when he had turned twelve, and to his displeasure, and his mother's, the prince had remembered. Princess Mina had decided to come along to watch over her brother, and much to the youngest Princess' disgust, Pola had been made to stay behind. So, instead of preparing for his eighteenth birthday, Conrad had found himself trudging towards clawed death. With a deep sigh, Conrad pushed his curling hair away from his face and waded through the snow. The cat couldn't be too far away; they had spotted it an hour ago, but their progress was undoubtedly slower. Within minutes, he had overtaken Adil and Mina, and within another five, he held up his hand to stop them. He pressed a finger to his lips and pointed towards the patch of snow two hundred metres in front of them. Camouflaged well, the white cat had stopped and was sniffing at the ground. It was huge; one of its paws was easily the same size as Conrad's face. He winced as he imagined its claws raking across his cheek, but hopefully he wouldn't have to get that close. He motioned for the two royals to stay where they were as he moved slowly closer to the cat. He stopped when he was fifty metres away; luckily, he was downwind. Slowly and carefully, he knocked an arrow to the bow, praying that he wouldn't have to face the full fury of the beast. The arrow flew, whistling against the wind, and stuck in the flank of the cat. It let out a bloodcurdling shriek and spun around, kicking up the snow around its feet as it searched for its attacker. Conrad quickly let another arrow fly, but the wind turned it away and it grazed the cat's fur. He saw the realization in the cat's eyes with a thrill of terror and began to try to retrace his tracks, pulling out a hunting knife as he did so. The cat started to make its way towards him, and he could see the hardened muscles rippling under the thick fur. He heard thin cries from Mina and Adil, and reasoned they were probably trying to reach him. He stopped moving and stood frozen, weighing his knife in his hand, the bow and quiver discarded on the snow beside him. The cat stopped just as suddenly and crouched, ready to pounce. Conrad scuffed the snow in front of him, his eyes never leaving the beast's. Its anger seemed to have gone and what was left was even more terrifying; a cold, calculating expression, with a hint of curiosity. It tensed, and Conrad readied himself. As it pounced he threw himself forward, turning to see it rolling over and crumpling a foot away. He waded through the snow and quickly slit its throat, but not before the claws ripped through the skin of his left forearm. The pain flew through him like fire, and he groaned as his blood mixed with the cat's. He didn't turn around when he heard the gasps of the two royals, instead inspecting the slash on his arm. The claws had ripped through his thick clothing, but the actual cut wasn't too deep. Nevertheless, it would scar. Breathing heavily, Conrad looked down at his conquest. In death, it seemed shrivelled and pathetic, its hard muscles giving way to an almost skeletal structure. Upon its face was a death-snarl. He glanced at his two companions and saw their pale faces, but whether it was at the expression on his face, his cut or the dead cat, he could not tell.