Kingdoms of Corruption

3. Mollin (Gatrasia)

The crack of the rifle absolved the silence in the too-quiet countryside. The rare white water-elk jumped up at the sound, instinctively springing from the place where it has just been eating the waist-length dewgrass. It darted to the east, for that was where the river was, and the river would be safe.

It had no idea where exactly the shot came from, nor what it even was. It only knew it as danger. Sensing danger was a trait the water-elk was all too familiar with. Its brain kicked into survival mode and it fled from the general direction of the sound, the webbed feet on its fore-legs gripping the ground as its back hooves spurred it forward. Two hundred paces away, the hunter reloaded, calmly inserting another bullet into the chamber of the rifle. Another bang and another projectile came whistling by, narrowly missing the water-elk's head. It veered off to the left, making for a clump of trees that grew near the river.

It was close now. Already the sheen of the water surface was visible in the distance. Out of the corner of its right eye, the elk glimpsed a figure rushing through the grass. It couldn't match the elk's speed: the water-elk's long, sinewy legs were designed to tread through the tall dewgrass. But the predator didn't need to catch up. It merely knelt down and took aim.

The next shot carved a tunnel into the grass, blowing aside the foliage as it barrelled through. A spray of dirt shot up into the air, inches away from the elk's hoof. A fresh wave of anxiety coursed through the water-elk. Each shot seemed closer than the last. The prey desperately increased its speed, charging toward the river.

Dry, thorny hedges lined the banks of the river, however the elk spotted a hole in the undergrowth. It instantly made for the opening-once through and into the water, the land predators would not be able to follow. The elk would vanish under the murky waters-after this night, it would be a long time before it resurfaced for dewgrass again.

Soon the wet mud was lapping at its feet. The water-elk splashed down into the shallows, manoeuvring through the tide and taking care so that its hooves did not slip over any submerged stones. In its intense concentration and haste, it did not notice the tip of the arrow glinting in the moonlight from the bushes nearby.

There was a second hunter.

The shaft soared through the mist, catching the elk in the side. The last thing it felt was the taste of dewgrass still lingering in its mouth.

*

Mollin and Rylak carried the deceased water-elk between them. The two boys weren't far from camp, though lugging the beast though the muddy fields in the dark took the remainder of their strength out of them. Dinner, however, would soon refill it.

"They won't believe us," Rylak had insisted beforehand. "They'll just say we shot it with a rifle."

"They can search the carcass," Mollin replied. "A bullet wound looks very different to an arrow wound."

"Then they'll say we attached an Attraction runestone to the arrow's shaft, in order to improve our aim. That wouldn't affect the shape of the wound."

"No," Mollin admitted. "But the Elya emitted from an Attraction runestone leaves a recognisable trace on its mark. You can sense it if you examine closely enough."

Rylak didn't seem convinced. The young Gatrasian had shifted the animal on his shoulders slightly, where one of the hooves had been digging into his skin.

"Most of our troops aren't Elya experts like you, Mollin, you know? Some of them wouldn't even be able to sense the presence of their own farts."

Mollin smiled despite himself. "In the end, it doesn't matter if they don't believe us. We'll know. It's true, most of the soldiers in the Dominian camp aren't well-versed in Elya theory, either. But my squad will be able to back us up. They aren't like the others."