The Great Hunt (9 page)

Paxton could immediately tell the true hunters from the ones motivated only by the king’s promised reward. He couldn’t help glaring at the gentlemen with their pretty bows and pristine arrows as they took their time aiming at the wooden targets. No doubt they’d never had to raise a bow for protection or a meal. He’d be happy when the hunt began and the impostors cleared out, wetting their fancy trousers in fright.

Aye, being on royal lands put him in a fine mood.

The west commons area was surrounded by a stone wall, a miniature version of the wall protecting the royal lands. The area’s single entry had two iron gates that swung inward, covered in vines. At the far side were long tables for eating.
Against the wall by the tables were sets of stone and wood steps, likely used for spectator seating at events. The middle area of the commons consisted of fine grass where the men gathered for target practice and exercise. Tents had been erected at the southern end.

Next to Paxton, Tiern shifted from foot to foot, unable to stay still. “When do you think these idiots will finish? They’ve been at the targets forever.”

Paxton peered at the current archer and grimaced as his arrow missed the target completely, wobbling to the side and clanking into the wall. The archer frowned at his bow and grumbled, as if the bow were the problem. The man next to him commented about the gust of wind that likely took the arrow off course.

Paxton could take it no longer. He ran a hand through his unruly waves to get the locks out of his eyes as he walked over to the shooters.

“Oy, there. Time to rotate.” He didn’t bother with niceties. Paxton wasn’t there to make friends, but he nearly smiled in amusement at their startled expressions.

“We’re allowed five shots each,” one of them protested.

“Then get a move on. There’s a bloody line forming.”

The polished young men looked like they wanted to argue, likely unaccustomed to being spoken to in such a way, especially by a townsperson. Paxton stepped back and crossed his arms. He saw Tiern press his lips together to keep back a grin. The men, appearing rattled, turned back toward the
targets and fired off their last shots.

Soon after, Tiern was up.

“Don’t show off,” Paxton warned Tiern, who sighed with disappointment.

The brothers made quick work of their time at the target, angling their bodies from different positions for each shot, and hitting within the middle circle each time. Paxton heard whispers from the handful of wealthy men surrounding them, but didn’t care to gauge their reactions.

After they’d retrieved their arrows, Paxton sat with Tiern on the stone seats by the wall, eyeing the crowd of hunters. Tiern rambled on about each of them, telling Paxton snippets of things he’d overheard, mostly braggarts boasting of their kills.

“That one there hunts lions down in the Kalor hotlands,” Tiern whispered excitedly, pointing to a man with what appeared to be lion hair around the sleeves of his shirt. “He had to wrestle one and kill it with his bare hands!”

Paxton almost laughed. “Don’t believe everything you hear from these hotheads. They’ll try to intimidate.”

“That’s a good idea. . . .” Tiern thought. “I could start a rumor about how we had to take down a twelve-point buck on a rampage with only our daggers.”

Paxton chuckled. “How about we ignore the ridiculous politics of the hunt and just kill the grizzly boar, aye?”

“Fine. Rob all the fun from it, won’t you,” Tiern said with a smile.

In a way, Paxton agreed with his mother, and wished his brother hadn’t wanted to participate. Tiern was a good hunter, but he was still naïve in so many ways. Paxton understood his mother’s fear for the lad, though he would never crush Tiern’s confidence by saying so. From what he’d heard of this beast, it was strong beyond belief and its skin was hard to penetrate. The last thing Paxton wanted was be distracted by worry over his brother while they were facing down the monster. But he knew Tiern was capable of being serious when necessary.

“High seas!” Tiern shouted as he jumped to his feet and pointed. “It’s the king!”

Paxton shielded his eyes against the angle of the sun, and, sure enough, the king was walking along the balcony, with its ornate pillars of stone, that overlooked the west commons area. He was flanked by several heavily armed men. All through the commons, Paxton saw guards dispersing themselves through the crowd, eyeing the hunters.

“Brave hunters of Eurona!” called one of the king’s advisers from the ledge above. “I respectfully ask that you lower all weapons to the ground while His Majesty King Charles Lochson speaks.”

Paxton reluctantly obeyed. The king stepped forward, the sun glinting off his gold crown.

Paxton had been expecting an arrogant man with cruelty in his eyes, but he saw none of that. This man appeared to hunch with fatigue. His eyes, lined with dark circles, glistened with emotion. It somewhat annoyed Paxton, who didn’t
care for surprises. He had his reasons for not liking royalty, or many other people for that matter. Reasons he wouldn’t share with anyone. Ever.

Reasons only his late grandmother understood.

“Welcome, each of you, to the kingdom of Lochlanach,” King Charles said in a powerful voice. Paxton and the other men squinted in the midday sun above the king. “I am honored and grateful that so many brave men have responded to my proclamation. Our kingdom is in dire need of your expertise. Throughout the day my men who have faced the great beast will be among your ranks to share their experiences and provide insight. Maps of the land are available. You will each be fed and housed here in these quarters until the waterlands are freed of the beast. I have no doubt that one of you will achieve this feat of greatness and reap the rewards.”

A roar tore from the crowd. Tiern punched the sky and hollered his own war cry. Paxton never took his eyes from the king.

“And to the one who does . . .” King Charles paused, and turned to gesture behind him, as Paxton felt the breath he was drawing stop short. “I would like to introduce you to my daughter Princess Aerity . . . whose hand you will have in marriage.”

Was it Paxton’s imagination, or did the king’s voice falter?

A hush fell over the hunters as a shocking beauty walked gracefully to the king’s side. He put an arm around her slender shoulders, and she moved close, fitting her own arm around
her father’s waist before eyeing the crowd somewhat shyly. She certainly didn’t look as if she hated her father for being willing to give her away.

“High seas,” Tiern whispered.

Paxton stared at the girl. Like her father, she was devoid of the haughtiness he expected to see from someone who lived a life of privilege. Around her head she wore a small golden circlet, which held a sapphire in the center of her forehead that sparkled like the sea. Her arm seemed to cling to her father with nervousness, though her face appeared assured and resolved. The princess’s act of kindness was well played.

A breeze lifted her strawberry blond strands, which fell gently back against her waist. Tiern whispered something else, but it was lost in the wind. Princess Aerity was the very image desires were made of. Her silken cream dress was cinched at her waist, accentuating her femininity.

“You don’t live with the looks,”
his mother had always told him.
“You live with the personality, so try and be pleasant. And choose a girl with a loving heart.”

Paxton wasn’t here for the girl anyhow. He was here to kill the beast that terrorized his people. Despite whatever show the king and princess were putting on for them, he had no doubt she was a spoiled lass, probably incapable of passion for anything other than herself. Paxton would not be fooled. He would do as he must to keep his family healthy and at peace.

But, seas alive, she was sweet on the eyes. He unabashedly took his fill.

As the king turned to escort his daughter from the balcony, Paxton caught his brother’s starstruck eyes.

“I think I’m in love, Pax.”

He grabbed his younger brother around the neck and ground a knuckle into his head, pulling hair from his perfect ponytail.

“Gerrof me! Not the hair!”

Paxton chuckled, but let out a grunt when Tiern put a fist in his stomach. Tiern was smiling as Paxton released him. The boy’s hair stuck out everywhere.

“You always were a fool for a pretty face,” Paxton told him.

“And gorgeous hair,” Tiern added. “And perfect curves. Don’t forget those.” He pulled the leather strap from his hair and smoothed the strands back again.

Paxton shook his head, trying not to smile. “She’s probably as cold as the far seas.”

“Don’t speak that way of my future wife,” Tiern said.

Beside them, a group of older men in fur-lined vests and dark trousers were passing. They had beards of differing lengths, and hair of dark blond past their shoulders, some balding on top.

“Only in your dreams, little boy,” one of the men said to Tiern, making the others laugh. The man was squat and wide, like a hairy boulder. “You probably wouldn’t even know what to do with a lass like that.” More raucous laughter.

Tiern’s joking demeanor shed, and his spine straightened.
Paxton stepped closer to his brother, making his loyalties known. When their eyes raked over him, their laughter quieted a fraction, but the man who’d spoken only smirked. With a jerk of the man’s head, the foreign hunters walked away, talking loudly once again.

“Ascomannians,” Paxton murmured of the coldlands natives. “Best not to engage them when they provoke.”

“Aye,” Tiern agreed. Paxton could see the tremble of anger in his brother’s chest. “That big one is called Volgan. I’ve deemed him Volgan the vulgar.”

Paxton chuckled. “You’ll earn their respect in time, Brother.”

Tiern gave a stiff nod.

In the meantime, Paxton would have to remember not to put his brother in any more headlocks or do anything to undermine his right to be there hunting.

Paxton was there to kill the great beast, not brawl with big-headed men who thought to pick on his brother. Although he’d been known to do the latter plenty of times.

Two Lochlan men approached then, one obviously a peasant with his threadbare tunic and mess of brown curls, the other dressed sharply in thick trousers with a military-short haircut.

“I’m Samuel Gullet of Loch Neck,” said the peasant. They shook hands, Paxton and Tiern introducing themselves in turn.

“Lieutenant Harrison Gillfin,” the other man said.

“Gillfin?” asked Tiern. “As in, related to Captain Breckon Gillfin?”

A shadow passed over the young man’s face. “Aye. The very one.”

Tiern swallowed and glanced at Paxton to save him.

“We’re sorry for your loss,” Paxton said.

Samuel clapped the lieutenant on the shoulder. “He’s become something of a legend, your cousin. The way he took on the beast single-handedly.”

Harrison nodded, grim.

At that moment royal soldiers came into the commons area, carrying oversized rolled papers. Maps of Lochlanach. Hunters flocked around the tables as soldiers pointed out marked areas where the beast had been spotted, places where people had been killed, and lands where the beast’s paw prints had been found. It didn’t take long before voices were raised, tension spanning like bands between the bodies as men shouted out the areas they wished to claim.

“Here!” Paxton had worked his way to the front and laid a solid finger on the strip of Oyster Bay where the beast had been spotted most. “We should all stake these miles right here. Every one of us. Our numbers can overpower it.”

The thick Ascomannian who’d arsed with Tiern earlier let out a sharp laugh. “All of us, you say? But what if the beast shows here?” Volgan stabbed a stubby finger at a northern waterway on the map. “Or here?” Now he poked a southern route.

“You’re called Volgan, correct?” Paxton asked the man, trying to keep calm.

The bearded man from the coldlands puffed out his wide chest and stomach, like a preening bird. “Aye, I am. And I say we break into groups and each scout different areas of the kingdom.” A few of his men grunted behind him in support. “What say you?” he shouted to the masses.

Most everyone nodded their agreement.

“Volgan,” Paxton said, “if you insist on spreading out in smaller groups, I suggest that each group takes a few of the Lochlan hunters—”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Volgan bellowed. “To have your hands in each slice of the pie and take all the glory!”

Fool. Paxton bit back his irritation. “We know these waterways and the lands, the best places to lie in wait—”

“We don’t need your help! Men of the coldlands can read a map and hunt better than any in Eurona. You offend every man here by assuming otherwise.” He waved a hand over the crowd as if Paxton had purposely disrespected the lot of them. “If you waterlands men are so valuable, then why haven’t you killed the beast before now, eh? You had to call upon us to help, so leave off and let us work!”

Anger boiled within Paxton, his fists tingling for rough contact.

In Paxton’s stewing silence, Tiern spoke up. “There was a curfew instated.”

“There was a curfew. . . .” Volgan mocked him in a high voice, and the Ascomannian men laughed. Bright red spots bloomed on Tiern’s cheeks.

The young soldier Harrison, spoke up. “Some of us here have lost loved ones to this beast already. This is not about glory for us but the safety of our lands and people.”

“So you say,” Volgan muttered, scowling.

Harrison glowered back at him. “My own cousin battled the beast and lost his life. I am here to avenge him.”

“And bed the princess, no doubt.” Volgan’s mirth was cut short when Harrison swiftly moved forward with his blade and sliced off the tip of the coldlander’s beard. Volgan watched it flutter to the ground in shock.

Pointing the blade at the man’s face, Harrison muttered. “Do not disrespect the princess.”

Volgan’s face was murderous. His fellow hunters moved in closer.

“Enough.” Paxton leveled Volgan with a hard glare. As much as he enjoyed seeing the Ascomannian bested by the Lochlan lieutenant, they needed to move forward with the hunting plans. “Have it your way, Volgan.” The foreign hunters would learn soon enough what they’d be battling.