Chronicles

The Hunter Part Five

The air thrummed with magical energy as Valen's eyes slowly blinked open. Waves of blue energy flowed off him and became a torrent as his eyes sharpened taking in his surroundings. His groan came out a growl as he rose, one hand leaning heavily upon the pine's trunk. His usually immaculate face was smeared with mud; his ponytail loose and askew. Valen's piercing blue eyes flitted around taking in his quiet surroundings. He told a deep breath reigning in his magical power. The blue waves slowly dissipated into the air leaving Valen alone in the forest. Valen spotted Huberts body on the trail, unmoving and pale. The bloody arrow stuck out of his gaping mouth like the marker on a grave. Valen inhaled but the magical trail was lost because of his immense magical outburst. He shook his head and moved back to the trailhead. He considered Hubert's frozen form before taking his backpack and heading East; the last direction of the magical source. The calm sunny morning was a complete contrast to the burning anger that consumed Valen's mind. He had survived the Mage wars, the last of the brovakin warriors yet had been bested by a human. The human had moved like a brovakian, but had no magical traces. That thought gave Valen pause. Every being that inhabited this world, no matter how small, had magic. So why did this human not? Valen's mind mulled over the question as he wove between the trees and down into the valley beyond.

He moved with purpose increasing his speed as the last dregs of poison left his system. He did not have the energy to teleport vast distances and the magical trail had gone cold. Valen rubbed his chin, scratching the newly formed stubble as a thought occurred to him. If the human had no magical trace then who had he been tracking before and why had the hunter shown up stop his pursuit. Unless the two were linked. Valen grin looked more like the feral snarl of a wolf as he connected the two thoughts. He had a score to settle and his pursuit would only end with his death.

The man looked more demon than man as he entered the warm tavern. The villagers stared at the newcomer with bated breath like rabbits in the meadow frozen in fear at the presence of  a predator. Valen paid them no heed as he moved to the innkeeper, and asked. "Do you have a room?" The innkeeper was a portly fellow, with a red nose and large ears that peaked out of mousy brown hair. He had looked up at Valen's arrival and watched him with a trained eye taking in his expensive clothes. "For the right price."

Valen placed a silver coin down without a word. The innkeeper's long years in the business  suppressed his expression of surprise. He snatched the coin up in a blink and nodded towards the stairs. "Room at the end of the hall is open to you traveller." The innkeeper spoke not missing a beat. "Do you have a bath?" Valen asked. The innkeeper nodded, saying  "I'll have hot water brought up soon." Valen nodded in thanks and made his way to the room without another word. Valen shed the traveler's pack and started to slowly undress. The blood of the wound had encrusted into the hem of his shirt. As he lifted the shirt it tugged at the wound, valen paid no mind to the pain and continued to pull. Valen made no sound as the scabs ripped open and a steady river of blood oozed from the wound.

The innkeeper's daughter, a young woman of seventeen, quietly entered the room. Her head was down, focusing on hefting the hot water bucket into the tub. While a small woman, her lean muscle bunched upending the last of the water into the tub. She wiped her forehead and gasped in surprise at the bleeding man before her. "You're wounded." She stated in shock. Valen nodded, raising an eyebrow at her obvious statement  and causing the woman's cheeks to tinged pink." I-I-I will bring you clean bandages." She stuttered, but her face was set with the determination of a child face with an adult task. The young woman scurried out of the room. Valen slowly entered the tub and proceeded to scrub every inch of dirt from his skin. By the end his skin was rubbed raw and the bar of soap reduced to half its size. Ever since the war Valen couldn't stand the feel of filth. It brought back memories of digging graves for his fallen brethren.The woman returned with an armful of bandages. She halted almost tripping forward from the force of her haste.

"I can wrap it for you." She said, proffering the bandages to him. Valen shook his head, "Thank you for your kindness young one, but I will manage." The young woman nodded and ducked her head, scampering out of the room. Valen sank into the tub, his mind's sole focus on hunter and the mystery behind his lack of magic. Valen had lived for over a century and never come across a being void of magic. Was something inhibiting the human's magical flow or was it not human nor of this plane. During the mage wars, wizards had reanimated the undead for the use of front line soldiers. Valen shook his head at the thought. The undead's movements had been slow and they were easily dispatched while this human moved with uncanny speed and skill.

Valen pressed his wound as he exited the tub drying himself and wrapping his side. His magic had slowly been reknitting the muscle of the wound but the wrapping would keep it from getting infected.

Valen fell to bed, thinking of the morrow, the time when the hunt would truly begin.