The Kurnothi ran, their lithe, bestial legs leaping over the thick tangled undergrowth of the forest floor with ease. It was their home, their natural habitat, their hunting ground, and yet. Sweat ran thick down their faces, and the breath heaved in their lungs. The pursuers were close and they knew it, for all their natural born speed and agility, they could not shake them.
As he lept a fallen branch Kaseth twisted his half beast body in mid air, raising his already knocked arrow and letting it fly. He could just make out the figures in the half light of the evening, their forms like shadows flitting through the thick boughs of the forest. Their coming marked by the glare of the torches they held aloft. He had already hit the ground and was running again before he heard the cry of pain from behind him. Beside him, Latherie, Praetlar and Coirynth all let loose their own weapons, eliciting a wave of shouts and wounded snarls. It was not enough though, however many their arrows felled, more seemed to take their place, the torches drawing ever nearer.
A bark of black powder marked the pursuer’s response and Praetlar fell, the front of his head exploding in a welt of blood. Another round splintered the roots beneath Coirynth’s feet as she made to jump, sending her tumbling to the ground. Kaseth glanced back to see her trying to pick herself up, only to be set upon by two black hounds that brought her down with a flurry of claws and fangs. Crying out in anger and sorrow, Kaseth let loose another arrow that saw the closest hound slump to the ground as it pierced the beast’s eye. It was a futile gesture, but it was all he could manage as his flight took him ever onwards.
“Defilers, they will pay for this-,” Praetlar snarled before another hail of shots took out his throat.
Kaseth felt a blinding pain in his knee as the entire bottom half of his left lug seemed to fall out from under him. He lost his footing and tumbled head over heels through the brackish undergrowth until he came to a stop with a skull shaking this against the bough of towering tree. Head swimming with the concussion of impact and the searing pain in his leg, he heard the crunch of boots approaching through the undergrowth. He reached for his blade but a sharp blow knocked it from his hand. The footsteps came to stop above him, and he looked up.
A grizzled man, rough cut beard more grey than black, hunting leathers stained with blood and dirt, a patch covering his scarred right eye, looked down at Kaseth. There was no fury or hate in his one grey eye, just a cold relentlessness. He raised the pistol in his hand, the light of the torches reflected in the metal, the barrel yawning over Kaseth like some endless abyss.
“Beasts all over the shop,” The man spoke, his words gruff and weary. Then he pulled the trigger.
Hunt Marshal Heinrich stowed the still smoking pistol in his belt and clambered onto the nearby root. Before him, the forest stretched on, but there on the horizon, for the first time, he could see a break in the thick foliage. Behind him, the riders of the hunt came, their torches burning bright in the young night. The hunt had come to the Slidecrown Isle, and the prey would be great indeed.
