Hunters Unlucky, Book 1 Storm

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  Hunters Unlucky

  Book 1 - Storm

  By: Abigail Hilton

  Published by: Pavonine Books

  Cover and Interior Illustrations by: Sarah Cloutier

  Map and Cover Design by: Jeff McDowall

  © 2014 Abigail Hilton. All rights reserved. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This material may not be reproduced, modified, or distributed without the express prior permission of the copyright holder. Artwork is displayed by agreement with the artists. All artists hold the copyrights to their work.

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  Chapter 1. Hunter’s Moon

  On the worst night of his life, Charder Ela-ferry stood on the blood-red rock of a steep cliff trail and argued with an insane child. “There are ghosts up ahead,” she whimpered, tucking her tail and crouching against the path. “I can smell them. Please, Charder, don’t make me go! Please!”

  “Lirsy, stop it!” Charder planted all four hooves and used his teeth to drag her up by the back of the neck. They were both ferryshaft, but Charder was an adult, and Lirsy was not yet a year old. He tried to be gentle, but he was shaking, and her skin felt as fragile as a bird’s. He saw the outline of her ribs through thin fur as he released her, and he felt ashamed. When did she stop eating? Two days ago? Four? Why didn’t I notice?

  Charder himself had not eaten in three days, but he’d thought the foals were getting something. Between all the fighting, it was hard to remember to check. But I should have remembered. Coden had asked only two things when he’d left Charder in charge of the ferryshaft herd. “Hold these caves and protect my daughter.”

  I’m not doing so well on either count.

  Lirsy was rocking back and forth, staring upward. “There’s a jellyfish in the sky,” she breathed.

  “That’s the moon,” said Charder wearily. A bright, full hunter’s moon, and this night belongs to hunters.

  “Lirsy, please get up.” He decided to risk the truth—a little of it, at least. “One of your father’s friends came back to the caves this evening.” He was dying. “He told us that your father…”

  Lirsy was staring at him so intently now with her sea-gray eyes—Coden’s eyes—that Charder had to look away. “He’s dead, isn’t he?” she whispered.

  Probably. “No,” said Charder. “I mean, he may have hidden somewhere. He’s good at hiding—your father. But I don’t know how much longer we can hold the caves, and I think the creasia will hurt you if they overrun us.” I think Arcove wants a surrender, not an extinction. But you’re the last of Coden’s foals, and he’ll see you as a focal point for future rebellion. He’ll kill you.

  Lirsy’s eyes searched his face.

  “So I am taking you to Keesha,” continued Charder. “You remember Keesha, don’t you?”

  Lirsy cocked her head. “The big white snake that sings?”

  “Yes.” Charder felt a measure of relief. She was making more sense than she had at any previous point in the evening. “And the closest entrance to Syriot is on the beach on the other side of the cliffs. We just have to get there. You can do that, can’t you?”

  Lirsy considered. “Will Mother be there?”

  Charder could have howled in frustration. Will she never stop asking that? “No.” You saw her die; don’t you remember? “Your mother cannot be there. Now come on.”

  He was immensely relieved when she trotted after him again, though her moment of lucidity seemed to have evaporated. “The jellyfish is singing,” she told him.

  “Of course,” mumbled Charder as he tried to make her move faster.

  “It’s singing to the ghosts,” said Lirsy.

  “Whose ghosts?” asked Charder. Not your mother’s, obviously; I can’t get you to remember that she’s dead.

  Lirsy made a show of squinting at the top of the cliff. “They look like us,” she said at last, and Charder felt a chill. “I think they’re our ghosts, Charder.”

  The hunter’s moon was sinking down the western sky, throwing the trail into shadow, by the time Charder and Lirsy reached the cliff top. Lirsy was crowding closely against him, wide-eyed. Charder did not dare ask what she thought she saw.

  He hesitated for a moment, blinking in the brilliant moonlight. The cliff’s edge stretched to their right and left as far as Charder could see. Beyond the bare rock, the trees began. Charder strained his nose and ears, but caught only the usual scent of pine and the distant salt tang of the sea. I have done the right thing, he thought, and I have done it in time.

  Charder moved forward, into the wood, and Lirsy followed, ducking and weaving, as though to avoid an invisible crowd. It seemed very dark under the trees. Charder reminded himself that the wood, though dense, was not wide. The creasia are far away, he told himself, chasing Coden…or killing him…or celebrating his death. This is the only thing I can do for him.

  Then Charder heard a soft rustle in the quiet of the wood, like wind among leaves. Except there was no wind. Without stopping to look around, Charder bolted forward with a cry of, “Run, Lirsy!” The shout startled her, and she leapt after him. For a few moments, Lirsy and Charder raced side by side.

  He heard a muffled thump behind them, nothing else. Creasia run so softly... Charder resisted the temptation to look back. He galloped with Lirsy through light and shadow, over logs and under branches, always with a silent terror at their heels. Charder’s heart gave a bound as a brighter patch appeared through the trees ahead: moonlight glistening on water.

  Then a shadow appeared before the trees in front of them—a shade blacker than all the rest. Charder knew that shape. He’d seen it in battle…and in his nightmares.

  Stung with fear, Charder veered away, and for one moment he forgot about Lirsy. Before he could turn back for her, three enormous cats flashed out of the darkness ahead. Charder reared and spun, lashing out with powerful back hooves, snapping with his teeth. He felt one blow connect with a creasia’s ribs and the unmistakable give as something broke. He danced out of the path of a charging cat, caught a mouthful of the animal’s shoulder and flipped it with its own momentum. He tore at its belly with his teeth and would have had its guts out on the ground if its companions had not already been on top of him.

  At his peak, Charder might have handled the lot of them, but hunger and exhaustion made him slow. A cat caught him across the shoulders as he ducked away, and the pain reverberated through his body like the echo of a scream.

  Lirsy galloped past him, running unevenly now, and Charder guessed that she had been injured. The three creasia abandoned Charder to race after her along the cliff. Charder tried to follow, but the muscles of his wounded shoulders pulled painfully.

  To his right, the Sea Cliffs made a dizzy drop to the beach. He did not think he would ever reach it now. Lirsy was still slightly ahead of her pursuers when she turned inland, back towards the wood. Charder decided that she must have encountered a fissure in the cliff. Although she appeared to have gone into the trees, she must really be behind them.

  Just before the first cat disappeared behind the blind, Charder heard a shriek and the rattle of loose stones. Charder’s heart sank as he put on one final burst of speed, reaching the edge of the fissure a short distance behind the last of the creasia.

  The cliff looked just as he had imagined—a long, jagged arm of the sea, cutting sharply inland and leaving a narrower space between the edge of the forest and the lip of the crag. The edge looked crumbly at one particular spot. The creasia were no
sing about without much interest, for it was obvious what had become of their victim. Charder remained rigid, staring at the cliff. He was still standing there when a shadow fell across his head and obscured the moonlight.

  Charder spun to face his enemy. Arcove. You were supposed to be chasing Coden. Arcove Ela-creasia was the undisputed champion of his violent and aggressive race. He was the largest creasia that Charder had ever met—a massive, night-black cat in his prime, who outweighed Charder by at least four to one. Charder’s head did not come much past Arcove’s shoulder, and even without these obvious advantages, Arcove had a reputation for skill and ferocity in battle that made Charder dizzy with fear.

  Arcove stood close enough to pounce, but he didn’t.

  Charder felt numb with his injuries and the loss of the foal he had sworn to protect. It’s over. He stood his ground and steeled himself for death.

  Arcove sat down. He was so close that Charder could see the individual black whiskers.

  “Charder Ela-ferry. I had hoped to have a word with you this evening.”

  Charder glared. He’s playing. Begin the fight yourself. But he could not move. He was afraid to die, and hated himself for it.

  “The ferryshaft herd is crumbling,” said Arcove, his deep voice so quiet it was almost a whisper. “Soon they will need a new leader.”

  Charder should have seen it coming, but he hadn’t. “No,” he said weakly.

  “No, what?”

  “No, I wouldn’t—” He couldn’t say it. “They haven’t chosen me.” Attack him! Just attack him!

  “They will. You know they will. You’re the only officer left.”

  “The only one you haven’t killed?”

  Arcove’s voice dropped to a growl. “The only one I haven’t chosen to kill.”

  Charder trembled.

  “Would you like to start by improving their lives or by torturing them?” asked Arcove. “You would like to feed them, yes? You would like to tell them that their foals will see adulthood, knowing that they can wake up in the morning and find water to drink?”

  I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. “I can’t surrender the ferryshaft.” Charder almost choked. “They’re not mine to give! Go to Coden with your vile proposals. You won’t wait long for an answer!”

  “That’s true,” said Arcove, “but it won’t be true by tomorrow. The ferryshaft will need a new leader, soon, and they will choose you...if you are there to be chosen.”

  Charder despised the trembling in his hooves, yet he could not still them.

  “Your choices,” said Arcove, “are few. I have the power at this moment to exterminate every ferryshaft on Lidian. However, digging you out of those caves will be difficult and bloody. It will cost many creasia lives. I prefer peace. If you seize the opportunity I am offering, you and yours will live. If not, I am sure others will pounce on the chance.”

  Charder said nothing. His thoughts raced like rabbits pursued by a hawk.

  Arcove flicked his tail. “The choice is yours. The effects upon your herd will be the same. If you do not surrender, someone else will.” He leaned forward until his whiskers tickled Charder’s ear. “If you refuse me, you will die here and now.” Charder could feel the cat’s hot breath on his neck. He could smell his own fear. He was aware of the other three cats, standing a respectful distance away, but watching closely. “Lirsy came to a swift end. You will not be so fortunate. We have all night. Need I go further?”

  He certainly need not. Charder tucked his tail against his belly and crouched down to get away from Arcove’s mouth. He felt sick. “Alright,” he heard himself whisper. “As long as you stop killing the ferryshaft, you can have your surrender.”

  “You are in no position to make conditions,” rejoined the cat. He took a step back. “We’ll call this war over for the moment and discuss your terms of surrender in the morning.”

  Charder raised his head, eyes burning. “Your methods,” he hissed, “are not those of a warrior, but of a vulture!”

  Arcove watched him without emotion. “If the methods of vultures win battles, then I will study them. I could hardly expect you to praise me. Nevertheless, you will submit. If you betray me, I promise that you will regret it every bit as much as you hate me.”

  “I keep my promises,” snarled Charder.

  Arcove sniffed. “A debatable contention. You’d best keep those you make to me, at least.”

  The words stung like saltwater in a bleeding wound. Charder’s gaze dropped. He’s won. In every way.

  Charder remained on the cliff for some time after Arcove had gone. He could have returned to the ferryshaft herd, but the thought of trying to look them in the eyes repulsed him. He was trying to work out how he would give them the news when he heard the first sounds of commotion from the north—snarls and hisses of cats, and their voices shouting orders.

  Not so far away, Turis Rock jutted against the yellow moon. It was the highest part of the cliff, and it hung, not over the beach, but over the sea itself. Charder watched as two animals shot out of the wood into the open ground at the base of the rock. At first, he could not tell who or even what they were. Not until three more creasia came out of the woods and forced them apart did Charder realize that one was a ferryshaft.

  Charder’s breath caught. Then he was running. I have to help him! I can’t…can’t… He stopped. His wounds were already beginning to pain him, and Turis Rock was farther away than it looked under the brilliant hunter’s moon. But I could reach it. Coden will hold them that long. Better to die fighting beside my king than to…

  He could almost hear Arcove’s voice. You’d save no one and kill yourself.

  So… I will leave a friend to die alone?

  Charder paced, but he could already see the terrible shape of his choice. You’ve sold your honor. It’s done. You’re afraid of Arcove, and he knows it. He’s kept you alive for this.

  Nevertheless, Charder kept walking. He did not run, but he continued towards Turis, sometimes stumbling, never taking his eyes off the fight. The four creasia were holding Coden at bay, but he was making them pay for it. Charder thought he saw a creasia body on the edge of the trees. Two of those on their feet were limping badly.

  As Charder watched, Coden whipped around an attacker and chomped off most of his tail. The creasia roared in pain and fury. Charder squinted. Halvery? He was Arcove’s third in command and probably the one in charge of this clutter. He’ll be seeing red after that. Loss of a tail was a particularly insulting injury, thought to signify cowardice and retreat, and Halvery was an arrogant creature.

  Is Coden trying to make them kill him?

  Charder was just close enough now to hear some of the shouted insults. “What’s the matter, Halvery?” Coden snarled. “Are the rocks too sharp for your tender paws? Are your claws trapped inside your feet?” The ferryshaft slashed at a cat with his teeth, while deftly sending a small stone in Halvery’s direction with a back hoof. “Or are you infested with ticks? Are they sucking all the courage out of you, Halvery?”

  They’re not supposed to kill him, thought Charder. They’re supposed to wait for Arcove. Charder felt a moment of sick vertigo as his surrender replayed in his head. Arcove knew this was about to happen. He was warning me not to interfere.

  Halvery roared. Soon he was slashing as savagely as his subordinates, but they made little progress. Coden was too quick, and they were getting in each other’s way. Gradually, they all slowed and then paused to pant and glare.

  Coden was lean and ragged. It was obvious that he’d been running from the creasia for days. But he was not badly injured. Not yet. His pale gray fur, so unusual in a ferryshaft, looked almost luminous in the moonlight. He still carried his bushy tail high, and his chin had that defiant tilt that Charder remembered.

  You were always an excellent fighter, thought Charder, but you’re a trickster at heart. Run away, Coden. Please. Look up and see me and run.

  Lirsy is dead, Charder remembered. Will I ha
ve to tell you that? Charder could not decide, for an instant, whether he wanted Coden to see him.

  It did not matter, as Coden’s attention was wholly focused on the cats. Halvery was saying something, but Charder was too far away to hear their quieter voices. Coden sneered a reply.

  Charder’s thoughts stumbled on. Would Arcove really have killed Lirsy if I hadn’t tried to run with her? Would she have survived a surrender if I had just waited? What if Coden survives this fight? His mate is dead, most of his friends, and now the last of his foals. He was already half-mad with grief and now…

  Halvery and Coden looked like they were escalating to another engagement. Charder could tell from Halvery’s posture that Coden was baiting him, and it was working. Do you want to die, Coden? And then, in a moment of brutal honesty, Charder asked himself, Do I want you to die?

  Charder caught a ripple of movement on the edge of the trees beyond the combatants. He blinked. The moonlight caught the glint of eyes, and he could see a roiling of twitching, pacing movement in the shadows. The rest of the creasia had arrived. Too late to run.

  But not too late for me to redeem myself. Coden shouldn’t have to die alone. Charder started walking again, more slowly this time. He felt as though he were struggling through deep mud. He could not quite catch his breath.

  Arcove emerged from the trees. He looked like a piece of the midnight sky against the red rock. He said something to Halvery, who hung his head and stepped back. Coden stood his ground, bristling. They spoke to each other. Charder heard the bass rumble of Arcove’s implacable growl and the crackle of Coden’s contempt, but he could not catch the words. He didn’t really need to.

  Arcove is going to fight him one-on-one, thought Charder, with a degree of admiration. He’d never heard of a creasia hunt ending this way. Single combat was a courtesy cats reserved for each other, not for ferryshaft. And with all the other creasia watching… This is how they choose kings. It was probably the greatest compliment Arcove could pay to a rival, but it only felt like torture to Charder.

  Why am I still standing here? I should be there. I should be beside Coden. I should.

  Arcove and Coden leapt at each other. The fight was not long, but it was impressive. Charder had known that Coden was quick and that he could be clever when tackling larger enemies. But, exhausted as he must be, Charder would never have expected Coden to hold his own in a fight against Arcove. There was a moment when they came together in the air, and Coden landed such a solid blow to Arcove’s chest that Charder thought it might stun the cat long enough for Coden to open a vital vein.