Serpent's Lair (The Forgotten: Book 1)

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  Hunter clicked his tongue at his mount, urging it to move faster, but the stubborn beast clomped along at its own slow pace. His cart hit a bump and rattled, drawing his attention behind him to make sure his cargo was safe. The sun was not yet at its peak in the sky, but he had been traveling since dawn, forced to leave earlier than he otherwise would have liked. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the light and searched the surrounding landscape for a good place to stop.

  Spotting a grove of trees ahead near the road, but far enough away to not attract unwanted attention, Hunter gently pulled the reins to move the mare towards it. She turned obligingly, bumping the wheels of the cart up over the edge of the ruts of the well-worn road. To his surprise, the area also held a natural spring and after he unhooked the mare, he led her to it where she drank greedily.

  He tied her with a lead long enough for her to graze and get to the water as she desired, and he rummaged through the cart until he found a bag of provisions. Taking out a half-loaf of bread and an apple, he settled down to enjoy his lunch, facing towards the road to observe any passers-by that may happen along.

  Weylyn suddenly appeared out of nowhere in typical fashion, and plopped himself down at Hunter’s feet. He watched Hunter’s hand intently as he ripped the bread apart, ready to snap up any crumbs that might fall. Hunter tossed him a chunk. It was gone before it hit the ground.

  He had just finished his apple and was about to toss the core away when a faint sound of many horse’s hooves was carried to him on the wind. He felt a tingle go down his spine and he quickly moved the mare further into the camouflaging foliage, and he crouched beneath a large tree. Weylyn growled softly, his hackles rising.

  After a few tense minutes, the source of the clatter could be seen. Hunter counted at least thirty armed men on horseback galloping towards the town of Hardonia. It was a border town, on the west of the country along the ridge to the untamed lands, and bandits were well-known for raiding. However, this wasn’t just a group of the noble’s mercenary coming to protect them from bandits.

  Hunter stiffened as he caught sight of the symbol emblazed upon the warriors’ shields. It was the same one that the men who had taken the young girl yesterday had displayed. In the wake of the passing troupe of men, Hunter weighed out his choices. There was no reason for him to go back and investigate, and little he could do, but he also had few pressing matters to attend to. He wasn’t meeting his uncle in the capitol for another few weeks, so he could afford to take the time to satiate his curiosity. The taking of the girl yesterday had also painfully resurfaced memories from long ago he had hoped to have forgotten forever. But seeing the young woman being dragged off…when she had looked back at her family, growing smaller and smaller in the distance…The face which displayed agonized fear was not that of the little girl he’d seen earlier playing in the market, but rather it was hers.

  He put the clamp on the wagon wheel roughly and hauled a few branches on top of it to keep it unseen and set the magical wards on it. Then, tearing the mare away from her goodies, he mounted and steered her back towards the town. She looked back at him, seeming annoyed to have him change his mind as to the direction they were heading, and clomped forward.

  Though she was not hauling the cart along behind her for this journey, her pace did not quicken, and Hunter’s trepidation grew as wisps of smoke started snaking up towards the heavens in the distance. He clicked his tongue again and nudged her in the ribs, but this only had the effect of stopping her altogether. Hunter sighed exasperatedly and coaxed her forward once more.

  The small wisps of smoke soon became large billowing clouds and Hunter had a horrible gnawing in the pit of his stomach. Keeping a keen eye out for the soldiers’ return, he led the mare as close as he dared take her, then tied her up to make the rest of the journey on foot. Weylyn had trotted along beside them, but now shied away, disappearing into the forest.

  His own pace was quickened as he drew near to the town and the sound of shrill screams, men shouting, and the clashing of swords could be heard. The smoke was so thick it almost blotted out the light and the acrid smell grated on his lungs. There was also a rancid undertone that burned his nostrils and made him want to wretch: Burning flesh.

  He snuck in the side, slipping into a house on the edge of the square. A muffled scream alerted him to another presence, and he searched for the source. He found it beneath the bed, the voice belonging to a little boy no older than four. Hunter knelt beside the doomed hiding spot, holding his hand out to the boy and urgently whispering, “This way, we need to get you out of here.”

  The little boy’s eyes were so wide they were nearly round, and he was clinging to a ragged stuffed bunny. The noise of men shouting from outside grew nearer, and the boys eyes darted towards the door before he hastily scrambled out from under the bed.

  Hunter grabbed his hand and led him back the way he had come in, hoping to sneak him out and hide him in the woods until whatever was going on had ended. The side room was already up in flames and the blaze was licking the edges of the surrounding rooms. Hunter let go of the boy’s hand to push the window up, peering outside to make sure there was no one to observe their escape.

  The front door abruptly burst open and Hunter whipped around, raising his sword. A woman stood there, staring at him with intense eyes and Hunter let his guard down in surprise. The little boy rushed forward, arms outstretched, before Hunter could stop him. He seemed to watch in slow motion as the woman’s stare dulled and a dribble of blood ran down out of the corner of her mouth. Then Hunter noticed what he had missed earlier: A point of a sword sticking out of her abdomen.

  He watched in horror as the tip of the blade withdrew as the man behind her raised his foot and kicked her body forward off it. Time sped up again and Hunter surged forward while the solider noticed the little boy and grabbed for him.

  There was a tense struggle before Hunter got the upper hand, and he hastily took advantage of his opportunity. Abandoning his sword in the close quarters, he withdrew his knife. He swiftly rammed the blade into the man’s ribs where his heart should be. If this man even has one, he thought angrily. He pulled the knife out roughly and let the man’s now-limp form fall to the ground, clutching at the wound as it drained the life from him. Hunter felt little remorse for the loss of a life so cruel that it could stab a woman in the back and go after a child.

  He looked around for the youngster and spied him a few feet away, his head tucked into his chest where he was tightly grasping the stuffed bunny. Hunter touched him gently on the shoulder. “Let’s get out of here,” he whispered, trying to block the boy’s view of his dead mother.

  The boy raised his head slowly, and Hunter’s breath caught in his throat, his heart constricting painfully. The once-brown bunny was soaked bright red and the boy only had enough energy left in him to look imploringly into Hunter’s face before collapsing sideways, his neck slashed open in a ghastly gaping wound.

  Hunter let out a quick breath and turned away, the image of the boy’s dying face burned in his mind. Outside, he heard the stamping of many hooves and men shouting orders to get back into formation. After gently closing the child’s staring eyes and wrapping his tiny arms around the cherished toy, Hunter slunk to the front window and looked out, ignoring the flames which were growing increasingly hotter and closer.

  The soldiers were remounted and already trotting out the front gates of the town. Hunter carefully stole out of the house and into the next, searching it for survivors. He found only death and destruction. He searched the entire town, but found only more of the same. Several people were still taking their last breaths, but their wounds were severe and they were so far gone that the only thing that Hunter could do for them was cast a sleep spell to shorten their suffering. Men, women, and children cut down in ferocious and calculated murder. The square was littered with bodies.

  As Hunter’s stomach grew s
trong enough for him to examine some of the carnage more closely, he discovered that there was also a smattering of bodies belonging to men dressed as bandits. Upon closer inspection, however, Hunter found it hard to believe that they were any such thing. Or at least, that they had anything to do with the raid that had happened here today. Hunter thankfully was not very knowledgeable about death, but even he could tell that these bodies were hours, if not days, dead before the townspeople. They had been brought here to stage the scene.

  Hunter felt a rush of anger towards the Queen. He had believed yesterday’s event to have been an odd occurrence that did not seem to fit with her policies, but these new circumstances put a different spin on things. Perhaps she realized what the stigma of her actions would be and killed them all to cover it up. She was no better than the others. The people, or at least the commoners who were the majority of people, had been excited to have a monarch who was not raised as a noble and would understand their plight. And the Queen had seemed to, blurring the lines between the classes as Treymayne had done years ago and seemingly increasing the standard of living for most in the kingdom.

  And all the while collecting talents for her personal use. Hunter snorted contemptuously. He should have known better than to believe anyone in power would be able to keep it from going to their head. He opened one last door on the edge of town and stopped short when he heard a moan. He pushed aside a table which had been overturned and spied a man’s boots under the rubble. Tossing aside chairs, cloths, and other debris, he finally managed to dig the man out.

  It was Lyam, the father of Natalya and the girl who had been taken. He was trying to drag himself across the floor towards the kitchen. Hunter hastily fetched a cup of water from the sink and gently poured it onto the man’s bleeding lips. Lyam tried vainly to drink it in, but most spilled down his chin, mixing with the dribble of blood oozing out the corner of his mouth. Then he pushed Hunter away, intent upon getting to the kitchen once more.

  Hunter looked around in confusion, and then spotted what Lyam must be trying to reach. The body of his wife lay sprawled on the floor behind the large wooden table, which had been overturned onto her. He lifted the large man with difficulty, trying to ignore the ragged painful breaths the man took as his wounds were aggravated, and moved him to his wife’s side. The man glanced at him gratefully and took his wife’s hand in his own.

  He coughed and more blood appeared. After a moment, he looked into Hunter’s eyes with such intensity that he found unable to tear his gaze away. “Tell my girls I’m sorry and I love them.”

  Hunter held him, helpless, and watched as the fire in his eyes died and his form grew heavy in his arms as it limply slumped. At least the old man died believing his children to still be alive. Hunter carefully laid the corpse on the ground and sighed, looking around the burned-out house. He noticed a scrap of a blue cloth poking out amidst a tangle of debris and he closed his eyes, his face pointing skywards. He had a flashback of the young girl he had helped bandage carrying the fabric, freshly bought at the festival.

  All of them dead. Why? Hunter gave the town a last look over, but deciding that there was nothing else he could do, snuck out as carefully as he had come on the off-chance that someone had been left behind to take care of stragglers. Finding his way back to his horse, he patted her neck affectionately, glad to be in the company of the living once more. She leaned into his caress; soaking up the attention, though Hunter hardly noticed.

  The eerie death-filled silence of the ravaged town haunted him. The young boy’s eyes still seemed to stare at him. The mother’s last look before she faded away. He had seen death before; he had served in the army during the short war that waged between Gelendan and Treymayne before Queen Layna took over and made peace. But even when they had been up against the bloodbeasts, Hunter had not witnessed such brutality. Women, children, animals had all been slaughtered, the buildings burned, everything of these people erased.

  Hunter moved abruptly away from the horse and was violently sick upon the ground next to her. She picked up her feet indignantly and shied away. Dry heaves wracked his body long after his stomach was emptied, and he sank to the ground.

  “Why?” he asked the heavens, then letting his gaze drift back towards the ruined town he whispered again, “Why?”