Hunter & Hunted

Chapter 1: A Hunter is Hunted

I watched him stalk into the dimly lit room.

Around him, patrons continued their merry drinking, the man going unnoticed by them.

Even with his hood concealing his face, and the large sword across his back, I could tell it was him simply from his movement. Every step seemed planned, every twist and turn through the crowd smooth. He walked like someone who had been trained to do so since birth.

He seamlessly slid between two burly men seated at the bar. A raise of his hand was all he needed to get the barman's attention. Once he had his ale in hand, the man retreated to the far corner of the room, his back now facing me.

I knew from previous nights that he wouldn't leave after his first drink. He would either order a meal or another drink, though never both. Something told me that if it was a meal, he expected something to happen later the night. If it was another drink, he was done for the day.

Twenty minutes later, the man raised his hand once more. A barmaid appeared, nodding her head as he placed his order.

Another ale.

I grinned, sipping from my own mug. Perfect.

Now to cause the distraction.

Slipping from my seat, I approached one of the more merry men at the bar. From what I had observed, he was well into his fifth mug in the last hour. This seemed to be his daily routine if two weeks of observation told me anything.

And despite not knowing it quite yet, he was also ready for a fight.

"Yeah! I fucked her so good she could barely walk this afternoon," the man roared, earning a laugh from his friends.

I cleared my throat loudly, the attention of all three men turning to me.

"Oh, I doubt that was your handiwork," I remarked, leaning against the bar.

The man narrowed his eyes. Whether it was to assess me or because he was so drunk, he was swaying slightly, I wasn't sure. "And what would ye know?" he demanded. "Ye look barely old enough to drink ale, never mind bed a lass."

I threw my head back, laughing loud enough to catch the attention of the people around us. "True enough, I don't look my age, but if it's the bedding of a woman that you're doubting, just ask Mary where she was the last few afternoons before you got home."

The man slammed his mug onto the counter, face red as a beet. "And what do ye know of my wife," the man bellowed, spittle flying everywhere.

I reached up, wiping my cheek clean. "Well," I started, shifting my stance slightly. "I know a few things. For one, I know she enjoys walks along the river. I know she eats bread without butter. I know she had a dog as a child. But—" I finished the last of my ale before the sure-to-follow shitstorm, "my favorite part of her his that beauty spot just above her—"

I spun out barely in time as the man's fist swung past me. He was faster than he seemed. I had expected it to take a few seconds longer for him to understand what I was getting at.

"I'LL KILL YE," he screamed as he reached for me again.

But this time I was prepared.

Ducking underneath his swinging arm easily enough, but adding a stagger for the effect, I led him away from the bar. The crowd parted as expected as I stumbled back, knowing that in less than three, two, one—

My legs hit the table, sending me sprawling on top of it.

Right where I wanted to be.

"I've got you now," the man exclaimed, gripping the front of my shirt as he raised his other hand.