Caracara's Hunt 25 Angry Merchan

Sylvester had prepared them some treated hides which were resistant to water, and they slept dry and warm. They were not running from anyone, not obviously anyway, so they made a fire, cooked dinner, and then drank some tea with dried food in the morning.

While they snacked, Arawn asked about where exactly they were going.

"Out of the country," Corwal answered mid-bite. "Lord Katalan is not Bretian. Like many of the n.o.bles from Mairya, he has a name and land in Ayersbert, but he spends only a couple months here. His ancestral home is in Mairya, where his family stays. If he's really the one who kidnapped the princess, we'll find more clues there."

"Isn't it far?" Eliot asked in a soft voice. Traveling didn't seem to agree with him, and he looked a lot worse for wear, but he acted like it wasn't something that others would notice if he didn't say anything.

Not wanting to reveal him, Arawn instead said, "Wouldn't it be better to go after the n.o.ble himself? He would certainly know where the girl is."

Corwal finished his cup and stood up. "Yeah, but there are others already in the capital. They'll take care of him. I want to be in place to free the princess the moment we learn where she is."

As he began packing, Arawn finished his jerky while pondering over what Corwal had said. Didn't it mean that the hounds were in contact somehow? But why had he gotten the feeling before that they were competing against each other, based on how Corwal asked Sylvester to not let anyone come after them?

When they started walking, Corwal explained the situation with Mairyan n.o.bles. A couple hundred years ago, there had been a huge war, and Ayersbert was on the verge of being swallowed by Tarhun. Without any shame, Mairya had offered help in exchange for a lot of land writs and numerous other concessions, which stopped just short of the king's crown.

The n.o.bles were furious, but the king was forced to accept the offer. It was either that or allow his country to be subjugated by Tarhun. After that, with Mairya's wholehearted a.s.sistance, Ayersbert managed to thrown off the oppressor. It was a b.l.o.o.d.y war that lasted for a couple decades and left the country devastated.

Many villages had been razed and the townsfolk slaughtered. Fields were burned and were left full of ditches in which retreating defenders had made their last stands. One couldn't find a single grain if they scoured the whole country, so all the survivors were bound to starve in winter.

And of course, the king's coffers were empty. He was forced to take loans to feed his people, plunging his country even deeper into debt. The concurrent generations had tried to pay them off or wriggle out of them, but it was a gargantuan task that even G.o.ds may not be able to accomplish. When one loan writ was paid, the person would bring out a dozen more.

Ayersbert was flouris.h.i.+ng now, but it was only a beautiful illusion. Foreign n.o.bles held incredible power in the court, and the king was tugged in every other direction by the other rulers to which he owed five times what his whole country was worth. The only good thing about it was that he didn't need to keep an army, for if anyone dared to attack him, the half of the continent to which he was indebted would rise in protest.

Corwal didn't say much about the king as a person, but it was unnecessary. Arawn had spent some time in the palace. Back then, he'd heard enough to know what a scheming and vile person sat on top of the throne. The king did well by the country, but it came from the wrong place. In his eyes, every single person was a tool, and he treated them with the same indifference. He pushed his people to the edge and then threw them away when they broke.

In the end, it had been the king who'd ordered him to be sent to the prisons. The archmage wanted him to be controlled, under constant watch, but the king found it too light of a sentence. He wanted the monster to be locked away.

The explanation about their country being almost owned by other people left both Arawn and Eliot in thought. The kid was silent, not voicing them, so Arawn sifted through his own.

He'd heard a lot about national pride and love for one's own country in the Gutter. Cayote had been a general, and for all his faults, he had never done anything against his country. For him, it was the holiest of ideals, the only true thing that anyone could possess.

He didn't believe in the king being infallible, he didn't trust in the G.o.ds to save everyone, but he was certain that there was a special bond between people born under the same flag. Betrayals and inner fighting were a normal thing, but when push came to shove, everyone should stand as one for their country.

It was also the reason behind his visit to the Gutter. When border villages got raided by Tarhun's roaming soldiers, he went after them without asking for any permission. It was a wild hunt that went back and forth. He won it in the end, but most of his people had died after going deep into the enemy land.

"What do you think happened to everyone else in the Gutter?" Arawn asked.

He hadn't thought about it before, but would any of them have escaped as well? It was a thought that left him unsettled.

Corwal glanced at him. "They stayed there. We barely escaped, and my element is water. Do you want them to be out?"

"Just wondering."

They traveled for a couple more days before they reached a larger city. It had a tall wall around it, and there was a huge line of people before the gates. Most of them were merchants with small wagons, but there were a couple families as well. One child kept screaming, not listening to his mother trying to shush him under the gazes of a good dozen people.

They walked to the end of the line and stopped there. "I'll do the talking, but in case we're separated, the story is that we have family in the city. We're all brothers. Look for the inn called Frog's Barrel if something really does happen."

The sun slowly prepared to set as they took half-steps once in a while. For some reason, the guards were in a bad mood and found fault with almost everyone that tried to enter the city. There wasn't a moment that someone wasn't shouting or arguing in a loud voice.

Corwal explained that it wasn't unusual for cities near the border to have tighter security, but this was a bit ridiculous. In four hours, they had only moved a couple hundred meters, and there was still a good distance between them and the gates. "If this continues, we might not be able to enter before they close for the night."

A few more people got in, leaving only some ten until their turn. Arawn thought that was pretty good; they might actually get to sleep in real beds again, but Corwal's expression told him he wasn't seeing something.

"That merchant, he's from Mairya. Only they dress in such garish colors."

The man's clothes were somewhat similar to what Corwal had worn previously, but instead of browns or dark blues, he was as colorful as the rainbow. His cap was bright purple as was his coat. Two pink plumes intersecting each other like swords were drawn on its back, while its front s.h.i.+ned like a jewelry shop.

The bra.s.s chains and gla.s.s b.a.l.l.s weren't expensive, but they were everywhere: on the sleeves, the chest, and even the very bottom of the coat, almost dragging on the ground. And if that wasn't enough, the man wore a pair of salad green pants with yellow threading on the sides.

If being generous, one could say that he looked unique. If one did not extend that grace to him, he looked like someone had vomited on him while he was robbing a gla.s.s bead shop and he hadn't yet had time to clean himself.

"What do you mean you can't let me in!" the foreign merchant shouted while flicking his long, ash-colored hair from his face. "I have my papers right here! Can't you see? Read!"

The guards said something too low to hear, and the man rushed to them with a red face. His hands flew in all directions as he tried to explain that he HAD to enter, but the guards weren't listening. They ordered him to leave in a loud voice.

When he didn't move and came to point his papers straight into one of the guards' faces, he was shoved aside and landed on his a.s.s on the ground. His cap fell to the side, but the man ignored it. From a shrill scream, his voice went to a sobbing plea. He went on his knees and begged without any care for how he looked at that moment.

"Please! I'll pay double, no, triple the entrance fee! Please, just let me in! I have a very important deal, so I beg you, just let me in! My family's future depends on it! "

"Move! You're blocking the line," one guard said. "Do it or we'll push your wagon away ourselves." With those words, he pulled his sword halfway out of its sheath.

For a moment, the merchant remained on the road with a blank expression. It took him a while to realize that he'd actually been threatened.

White splotches appeared on his cheeks, and he slowly rose to his feet. He took a couple tottering steps like a drunk, then stopped. "You have no right to do this…" he murmured under his breath. "No right…"

As he said that, fury returned to his demeanor. His steps grew steadier and he rushed the guards with a madman's abandon. "You can't do this to me! I worked my whole life for this! You…"

He kept on shouting, but Arawn could no longer pay attention to his complaints. The man's arm rippled as if his vision had gone bad. But the rest of the world was fine, and Arawn wasn't the only one staring at the hand.

Only the merchant himself was unaware that after the left hand, his right and both legs seemed to s.h.i.+mmer as well. They seemed to come in and out of existence before there was a loud cracking noise. The man snapped his head back and roared, his voice filled with both ecstasy and insurmountable pain.

Tears flowed down his cheeks, but he didn't seem to notice. He fell on his knees, his long ash blonde hair covering his face. They curtained his features, but his screams only grew louder, more desperate.

It sounded like someone was quartering him.

His limbs twitched, then began to s.h.i.+ver with a violence Arawn had never seen before. The merchant convulsed, bile leaving his throat along with blood. It had silenced his screaming for a moment, but soon he threw his head back and roared again.

Fingers tore at the dirt road as if looking for something. As Arawn watched in disbelief, they shook and broke. Cracks broke out all over the man's body, and he screamed even louder. His voice was so piercing Arawn thought he was going to go deaf.

But the idea to cover his ears didn't even cross his mind. There was something in the man's sudden fall that froze him and everyone else in the crowd. They stood like snake's charmed by a flute's melody, unable to look away.

The merchant twisted and turned, but he was no longer in control of his own body. Most of his bones had broken, and he was bleeding a river onto the road.

The s.h.i.+mmering returned. He flashed in and out of existence, then there was another crack, louder. It sent a wave of energy in all directions, raising people's hairs and sending the closest ones a couple steps back.

In a flash then, the man's bones grew thicker and longer. Short, black hair covered his skin, and a tail grew from his tailbone. His head expanded and changed shape.

The whole transformation didn't take longer than a heartbeat, and an animalistic growl rolled over the stunned crowd. No one dared to move or even a blink.

A black beast stood before them. It looked like a large feline, with its sleek and muscular body, but there was no such creature in the wilderness. Its skin was glossy black, covering the whole body as well as the long, thin legs. They looked like they belonged to a hound dog rather than a large cat.

Sharp claws waited at their ends. They raked the ground a couple times as if to show off, then the creature opened its mouth, revealing two rows of pointed teeth.

Its tail snapped like a whip, and its muscles bunched. With a strength that a bear would envy, the black beast leaped on the first guard. The man crumbled under its weight and force, but the creature wasn't satisfied with just that. It slit his armor like it was paper with a single claw and tore open his throat.

With blood dripping down its snout, it turned to the second guard and grinned.