The Hunt

Gala sat on her haunches, hands gripping her knees in nervous anticipation. The alley opened up to the road before her. Robyn darted forward, propelled by the confidence of an experienced predator. Her movements were crisp, precise in a way that Gala still had yet to fully emulate. No wasted motion, each step planned and executed with the perfection of a dancer. Gala could feel a childish smile tugging at the corners of her lips. This is what she had waited her whole life to see, and now that it was here, she wished it would last forever. She lost all thoughts of the cold, her hunger, her thirst. The world narrowed to just Robyn, and the target.

Robyn came up just short of the mark. Even through the veil of darkness, Gala could see her body tense slightly, coiling like a snake ready to strike. The first blow came like thunder after lightning, loud and quick. Her movements were no longer that of a river, fluid and graceful, but like gusts of powerful wind, fast and precise. She cut the man’s legs out from under him with a brutal kick to the back of his knee. His leg buckled under him, and he crumpled to the ground amidst cries of pain. Deftly, Robyn grabbed his left wrist, and twisted it hard. It snapped audibly, the distant echo that of a twig underfoot. She dropped the hand, and struck the man in the temple with an open hand, silencing him.

Where is it? Where is it? Gala thought frantically, caught up in the excitement of the action. Her heart raced when Robyn stood, holding a small black box in her right hand. Yes! Victory!

First came the elation of victory, followed closely by the swelling rush of relief. Only with great effort did she stop herself from exclaiming, but her body simply would not allow her to remain still. She stood, and danced a little jig, filled to the brim with a buzzing exhilaration.

Then came the confusion. A shout of alarm. An unfamiliar curse. Gala spun out of her dance, and looked frantically about. Men. Red and green doublets, gold lion insignia. City Guard.

All three carried heavy wooden cudgels gripped in white knuckles. Only the lead man wore a helmet, conical and polished to a bright shine. Fear rose like bile in Gala’s chest, a tide beating against her. She did not move. Could not move, as if her feet were the roots of an old oak tree. Her heart beat a staccato rhythm, pounding against her ribcage as if begging to be let free. Then, something powerful rose up against the fear. Something from deep within her, unexpected yet not unwelcome. Terror fled like moths before flame, and a dull heat rose from within her.

“Robyn, run!” She screeched.

Robyn locked eyes with her for the barest of seconds. Gala stumbled back from the intensity of her gaze, and the heat she felt only moments ago vanished.

Gala screamed in her head. Why aren’t you running? Run damn you, run! She furiously scanned the area, looking for whatever caused Robyn to hesitate. A second group of guards stalked cautiously closer from the north, spread across the wide road to stop anyone slipping past them. Her beating heart stopped cold, and dizziness washed over her. Robyn, her mentor, her friend, was going to die.

Gala turned back to the alley, frantically searching for anything she could use to help Robyn. A weapon, a distraction, anything at all. She knew the City Guards were merciless. Criminals rarely made it to the noose, especially in the Lower City.

Aha! She thought. Her hands came to rest on a row of loose bricks. She wiggled one furiously, her tiny frame shaking with the exertion. It popped free of the surrounding mortar, sending her sprawling to the ground. Not much, but it will have to do.

The din of fighting started only seconds later, and mingled with the pounding of the pulse in her head.

*****

Everything stood motionless in Robyn’s mind. She took a deep breath, and let it out in a puff of white mist. She was surrounded, a semi-circle of guards hemming her in against a wall. Then, everything sped up.

Robyn sprang into violent action. She rushed the middle guard, feinted left, then pivoted off her left foot and dropped into a sweep with her right. The kick caught the guard on his ankle, the strike was met with a satisfying crunch, followed by a yelp of pain. Robyn turned her momentum into a roll, continuing to her right. A cudgel struck the earth where she had been, spraying the air with thick clods of frozen dirt. She rolled on her back, then up to her feet, and brought her hands up in a loose fighter’s stance. One guard eyed her, mouth agape. Another showed no hesitation. He swung his heavy club at her head. She took one calculated step backward, and the wood whooshed past her. With the speed of a predator, she darted forward, using the club’s heavy momentum to her advantage, closing the gap before the man could bring it back around. He dropped the club, and threw a heavy-handed punch at her. She deflected it with the palm of her left hand, and followed with a single crushing punch to the throat. He crumpled to the ground, clutching at a broken trachea, gasping his last pained breaths.

Everything slowed down again. Robyn could hear the labored breathing of the remaining three guards. She closed her eyes, listening. None of them wanted to approach her alone.

“You go right, I’ll take her head on.” A deep voice whispered behind her. She gave herself a small smile.

Robyn ducked, and rolled to her left. The guard behind her shouted in surprise as his swing missed her. With lithe grace, she came out of her roll, several feet from the guard. One powerful kick to the side of the knee dropped him, and he screamed in agony.

She turned to her right, facing the other guard. He smiled. Robyn froze, and tried to turn around. She was too late. Crushing arms grasped her from behind, and squeezed the air from her lungs. Blackness threatened the corners of her vision. She squirmed, but made no progress against the iron grip.

The smiling guard stalked forward, a vicious gleam in his dark eyes. Robyn closed her eyes, struggling against unconsciousness. Then, the grip loosed around her.

She took the opportunity, and ducked out of the ring of his arms. Confusion warred with the void, and the darkness receded from her vision. She breathed raggedly. Pain shot up her right side, and she winced.

Gala stood behind the crumpled form of a guard, holding a bloody brick. She shook, whether from cold or fear Robyn could not tell. Spots of blood stained the snow from where it ran down her arm, but she paid it no mind. Horror crossed her face, followed by fear, then revulsion. She retched.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” A voice came from down the road. Robyn looked over. More guards.

“Run.” Robyn said to Gala, a quiet command in her voice. Gala stood motionless, fixed to where she stood despite shaking legs. Her eyes, wide with fear, flicked between Robyn and the oncoming group. She took one forced step back.

Robyn turned to the men, and settled into a fighter’s stance. She dodged one blow, but these men were clearly more experienced fighters. Several of them attacked at once. She took a hard blow to the stomach, the air forced from her lungs in a violent expulsion.

“Run!” She gasped. The men hesitated for a moment, confused. Then one of them saw Gala. His eyes went wide, as if he had not noticed her there before. A heavy blow took Robyn across the cheek, and she felt something crack. Her jaw hung limply, and her words slurred. “Run!”

Gala ran.