Hunters

“Guard up! Don’t leave your head open! Now, swing!” Arnya barked out the instructions like a drill sergeant. Panting, I struggled to obey, flailing my sword up and down as best I could. We stood outside on a clouded day in the courtyard, alone but for occasional dogmen and humans passing by.

“No! Keep the form I told you!” she said, reaching out to adjust my hips in the proper way. Satisfied, she ordered me to do another 50 swings. My arms were already trembling, and they completely gave out after 36. In an undignified way I collapsed, panting and gasping for air. Arnya pressed a waterskin into my hand which I eagerly used to gulp down the water inside. The water in this world was shockingly clear and refreshing. I’d have thought a medieval realm would have dirty water without modern purification methods, but evidently not.

Arnya sat down beside me. “You’re improving,” she said.

“Yes,” I replied. “I collapsed after 36 swings instead of 34.”

“That is progress!” She smiled so radiantly I had no idea if she was being sarcastic or not.

I supposed I had no one but myself to blame for this pain. After assigning Kyn the Youthfulness Potion project, after a few days I had grown frustrated staring over and over at alchemical notes that meant nothing to me. I had spotted Arnya training again one day and impulsively asked her to train me in the sword.

“Have some fun in this world,” I muttered too quiet for Arnya to hear. “Learn the sword! Act like a hero! Brilliant idea, Rei, brilliant.” Those fantasy stories always skipped over the parts where the hero’s muscles were on fire all day, every day, during his training.

“Still, Rei, I was ready to collapse in surprise when you said you wished to train! I had no idea you had interest in the blade.”

“Until recently, I didn’t. But I have to learn to fight, right?”

She cocked her head in confusion. “Don’t most alchemists fight by drinking potions of strength and invulnerability? I’ve never heard of needing a sword.”

Shoot, things like that existed? I needed to be more careful. I was already taking a risk by having Kyn brew the potion; if I left too many clues I could expose my lack of knowledge.

Although…was that such a bad thing? I half-listened as Arnya launched into an amusing story about a childhood friend of hers, laughing when she laughed. Why couldn’t I tell her, Kyn, and the king? This masquerade was annoying and morally questionable. Why was I keeping this secret to begin with?

My train of thought was cut off by a long, low blast from a horn coming from the direction of the gatehouse. I had not yet heard that tone, but it galvanized Arnya into action. She sprang to her feet, looking panicked. “Come on!” She grabbed my hand, pulling me to my feet. “We need to get to the throne room!” She began running in that direction, tugging me along.

I didn’t resist. As we ran across the space inside I caught a glimpse of the disturbance. A dozen dogmen guards stood a hundred feet back from the gatehouse, weapons at the ready. Across from them was a group I had never seen before. Assembled just inside the gate was a group of over a hundred human figures in black robes, carrying various weapons, heads covered in blood-red hoods that just left slits for their eyes. The figure in the front, who appeared to be speaking to one of the guards, wore more ornate robes and no hood. I didn’t get a good look at him before Arnya pulled us into a side entrance in the main keep.

There we were met by the dogwoman who attended Arnya regularly—Gaz, I think her name was—who said a few low, urgent barks to Arnya. I still didn’t understand any of the dogman language but Arnya nodded. An older human in a butler uniform I had never spoken to before appeared, carrying a formal set of clothes. “Sir Alchemist, if I may, might I suggest changing out of your training gear into this? Swiftly, please, we do not have much time.” He looked at Arnya and said “your highness, another servant is bringing a formal dress. She will assist you in changing.”

Something was clearly wrong, so I offered no protest but accepted the clothes, stepped into a small empty room, and wasted no time in changing. They were something like a formal suit that I would see in my world, but the pants were billowy, and the shirtsleeves only reached my elbows leaving the forearms bare. I emerged from the side room where the butler ushered me into the throne room where I had an audience with the king before.

Previously, the room had been fairly empty: the king, and advisor, and a few guards. Now, however, the room was packed with dozens of people, dogmen and human alike. The king sat atop his throne with a grim expression. He nodded to me when I emerged, looking a bit more relieved. The guards manning the door slammed it shut behind me.

Everyone in the room stared at the door with bated breath. I was concerned too, although for me it was because I had no idea what we were expecting.

My mental questions were answered when the doors practically flew open, knocking down the dogmen who had stood at them. The opening now revealed a practical army of figures in the black robes I had seen outside earlier. I got a look at their hoods, too: tall, pointed at the top, colored a dark red. When I looked closer, I realized the red wasn’t consistent; it was thicker in some places and thinner in others, showing a white base. Each of the people’s hoods was a subtly different, too. It gave the uncomfortable impression that they were dyed with splattered blood.

The frontmost figure with the ornate robes I had seen earlier had no hood, exposing a perfectly bald head colored a sickly pale white. Over his face, however, was a steel mask of a sorts. Over the mouth was corrugated metal like the air intake in front of a car. The metal piece continued up the face, covering the entire nose, culminating in metal disks over the eyes with only slits for the man to look through. In other words, he was terrifying to behold.

The king spoke first in an iron hard voice. “Grand Hunter. To what does our court owe the pleasure of a visit from so many Witch Hunters.”

“You know why we are here,” the other spoke in a flat, gravelly voice that barely sounded human. “You harbor an alchemist. Turn over this abomination to us to purge.”

“To murder, you mean.” The iron in the king’s voice was even colder.

“Of course. This land is almost rid of the twin abominations of alchemy and sorcery. We would see it fully cleansed of all who practice such. You do not wish us as an enemy.”

“And you,” the king said, standing up while keeping the dead calm in his voice, “aught remember where you are. The Witch Hunters may have influence, but you do not rule this land, Grand Hunter. I. Do.” He raised his left and clenched it into a fist. Instantly, every guard had their weapons out, fangs bared, ready to leap into action. The Grand Hunter seemed unphased as the king continued “I have struck a bargain with my alchemist for his protection, and I will not break my word at this show of petty force. Now get out of my castle before I order you slaughtered.”

The king and the Grand Hunter stared at each other for a long, long moment. Finally the Grand Hunter put up his hand. I tensed, but at the signal his troops turned and began marching away. “I will return, King. The Witch Hunters do not wish to interfere with the governance of kingdoms, but we do whatever is necessary to purify the land. Do not make a war necessary.” With that, he strode out of the room as well. No fewer than thirty guards followed them out.

The crowd in the room started speaking to each other in hushed murmurs, casting worried glances at me and the king, but I barely noticed. Those were the Witch Hunters. Part of the court alchemist’s bargain with the king was he would protect him and Kyn from them. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that without the king’s protection I would be dead by now.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right?” a voice murmured. Arnya. I hadn’t noticed she was here. “You should comfort Kyn,” she said. “He seems shaken.” She pointed to Kyn sitting against a wall, clutching his knees and rocking back and forth. Like in a dream I moved over there, my mind racing. Earlier, I had been wondering if I could just tell everyone my secret. Now, that was impossible. If the king found out I couldn’t keep my end of the bargain and brew him potions, he’d throw me out. Out there… I pictured the steel mask once again and shuddered.

I hugged the shaking Kyn. “It’s going to be ok,” I said, to myself just as much as him. But as I repeated those words, I couldn’t help but think that it would only be ok if my secret never got out.