Chương 528: The Fae Hunters

"By my Stars and Garters, from what twisted mortal realm does this hat-stealing fiend come from? It won't die!" The Fox Prince was upset that after putting a third lance into his Snarlfang, it wasn't being polite about the situation and quite frankly refused to die. Worse, his hat had come off and the damned thing had eaten it. He'd placed his third lance perfectly, passing through the ribcage and into the heart... or where it's heart should be.

You never could tell with some monsters until you gave them to the cook and she dissected and cooked them properly. He had danced around the creature, not giving it a chance to catch him with its jaws and pull him from the saddle. He was fighting by planting his lance and running past, only to turn his horse after another 60 feet, circle, and come in for another pass. He had paused, sure the thing was vanquished, but, astonishingly, the beast wasn't dead and had covered half the distance to him.

His horse took over and sidestepped, letting the Snarlfang race past, then galloped the other direction to where the Summer Lord, the other two Princes, and their retainers were watching from the safety of a Glamour. This allowed the Fox Prince to hunt his trophy and claim a solo victory. As he raced by, his squire held up another lance for him to grab. The Summer Lord, a student of monsters and their anatomy, observed the fight and voiced his observations.

"Winter employs many strange creatures, some of which they hold frozen in caves for hundreds of years. It's less efficient than using a pocket universe with slowed time, but far cheaper. This specimen is most likely from the last great Ice Age, when Winter claimed most of the lands mortals now call the Empire. Notice how the claws are chipped and blackened? Its old fur is falling out as new fur grows. You can see that it has Remarkable Regeneration, Nearly Brainless, and Immunity to Pain.

If you do kill it, it might keep fighting for some time without realizing it is dead." The Fox Prince was too far away to hear, but the Bear and Stag princes listened eagerly, and had their squires taking notes. The mortal realms had changed, and would change again. The clever hunter sought out information on his prey, the better to avoid embarrassing things like death and dismemberment. The near-death and subsequent torture of the Knight of the Jackelope was a reminder that they were not all-powerful.

All of the hunters relished the challenge, but the astute ones also took advantage of the opportunities that honor afforded.

"What advice would you give our brother knight about fighting the beasts, Alwyn?" Inwardly, Alwyn rejoiced. The use of his personal name spoke of acceptance, and while not of their illustrious order, he enjoyed the friendship of these accomplished hunters.

"Commit to the kill, treat this as war, and do not fight for sport. These are dangerous beasts and must be respected as such. The fifty wolves we dispatched? They are just notches in the tally sticks for the competition. The real danger to us, and the mortals, is these great beasts. They must be dispatched brutally and with caution. Half measures will not do. And observe them carefully: Winter has Beastmasters that link with their animals.

A Snarlfang with intelligence would be more dangerous than these brain-frozen beasts." Everyone nodded as they thought over his words and watched as the Fox planted yet another lance into the body of the snarlfang and then looped around it, trying for an opening where he could land a sword strike. The Fae bound themselves with rules and tradition. They had been treating this outing as a happy change of pace from the boring repetition of tournaments.

They had come with squires, banner bearers, hounds, a wine steward, and a stable boy. Their traditional weapons of light lance and sword had been used in the hunt for centuries with little change. The light lance was a difficult weapon to master and lacked the killing ability of a war lance, but that was the Fae tradition. That these would be insufficient to deal with the local beasts hadn't occurred to them.

But in the back of their minds was the fate of their brother-in-arms, who had only escaped a grisly fate by the intervention of mortals. Those same mortals had done the unthinkable, utterly destroying the Duchess of Silverthorn, fighting tooth and nail with every weapon at their disposal. As they debated the theory of war and the hunt, the Fox Prince continued his battle. Probably, if more of the local fauna had politely stayed out of the fight, he would have won.

As it was, he was lucky to survive even briefly when he was suddenly outnumber. If the second Snarlfang hadn't roared and announced its arrival before charging, there would have been a very sad Fae Prince wandering the halls of the dead, busking for spare copper from passing ghosts until he could afford passage back to the Fae Realms.

Alwyn knew the Fox was in trouble as soon as he heard the roar and was on his horse and charging into the fray in an instant, tradition thrown aside, and his Barbed War Lance of Accurate Strikes in his hand. His companions were behind him by only seconds, but they were seconds that the Fox didn't have. Startled by the second beast, he tried to turn and avoid both with a clever move. He and his horse moved as one, sidestepping and leaping.

It almost worked, but a near miss by heavy claws injured his horse and cut the strap of his saddle. He fell to the ground, rolling and coming up with sword and shield deployed, facing two angry Snarlfangs. The Summer Lord urged his horse to speed, and it gave its all, flashing across the distance. He yelled, taunting one of the beasts and turning its attention from the Fox. There were no fancy maneuvers to plant a lance and speed away. Horse and Lord charged directly at the second beast.

Alwyn went for the kill, planting his lance with the accuracy drilled into him by the Arms Masters who had despaired of his ever mastering the lance. At this moment, all of their lessons bore fruit as the heavy forged silver tip entered the Snarlfangs right eye and drove deep into its skull and out the back of its head. There was no dodging the impact, and if the beast didn't die, Alwyn certainly would have. He was knocked from his horse, both of them taking injuries.

The Snarlfang reared high, screaming in pain, then fell to the side, dead. The Summer Lord wasted no time, drawing his sword as he sent a plea to his horse to leave the battle. As he charged the injured Snarlfang, he saw another silently stalking the Fox from the side. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

"Ware, my friends! Another hides in the bushes, looking to take us down as a lion kills a deer." His warning had an instant effect. The Knight of the Stag dropped her lance, and her Golden Bow of Swift Arrows was in her hands. Three arrows left the bow in an instant, striking the stalking Snarlfang. The beast roared and charged her, but her antlered mount, a veteran of a hundred hunts, circled it as its rider placed arrow after arrow into the beast.

She placed herself in a position to turn it, hiding the charge of the Knight of the Bear. He also had discarded his lance in favor of Headcleaver, his favorite axe. With his horse's momentum adding strength to his blow, he struck it solidly in the neck, cleaving halfway through and knocking it to the ground. His warhorse reared and brought its hooves solidly down on the creature's head, stunning it.

More arrows followed, and the beast could not rise, but both Bear and Stag saw intelligence and hatred in its eyes as life fled. Alwyn and the Fox had finished off the wounded beast, the Fox playing his part to perfection, taunting and dodging until Alwyn could deliver the killing blow with his Bastard Sword of Bloody Carnage, a prize won in the Menagerie of Gadobhra. There were wolves to kill, of course. There were always more wolves today. The squires, hounds, and even the stable boy took part in the slaying.

The wine steward, knowing his lords would be thirsty and famished, set about creating a picnic lunch for them, unpacking some of the fine food and wine from his Jellystone Picnic Basket of Holding and Travelling Wine Cellar. As they sat to eat and discuss the thrilling battle, Alwyn produced a bag of groat cakes for his horse. The stable boy had cared for his mount's wounds, but he wanted to reward the brave steed with his favorite treat.

Sitting down, he contributed a dozen cakes to the picnic, along with a plate of sausages, shocking the wine steward and his compatriots. The Fox tried to be polite, owing his life to this man.

"I see you have brought food for us, cousin. Mortal fare? I thank you, but there is no need. We have roast pheasant, fermented pears in rum, and bread stolen from the High King's bakery." A line divided the party, with Alwyn and his horse on one side, and the scandalized Princes and servants on the other. Even the three horses moved to put distance between themselves and their poor, deluded friend, eating groats, of all things.

Alwyn smiled and took a bite of his sausage, while his horse munched eagerly at its treats.

"Like many things in this little town, I have learned to appreciate their food. I didn't choose these normal-looking foods for no reason. The groat cakes are made from grains of the finest quality, not seen in the Empire for ages. The grain was soaked in magical potions designed to both heal and replace lost stamina, then flavored with Fae Maple sugar, honey, and harvest spices. Pressed and double-baked, they will last for years in a saddle bag.

My friend the Shepherd gifted me this bag, and if anyone knows what a horse prefers, it is he." The three horses had followed the conversation and were tentatively curious. The Bear sniffed the air, "And, the sausages? I cannot place what meat is in them." Alwyn shrugged, "I don't know, and I recommend you never ask how the sausage is made, especially from this Butcher. But one cannot deny their flavor or their restorative properties. Armies march on his sausages, and the Emperor himself has dined upon them.

The Butcher of Sedgewick has been permitted to take them to the next Grand Fair. Oberon is curious to sample them."

"Good enough for me. May I have one of your sausages, Alwyn?" The Bear's stomach grumbled. He was known to eat twice what any other Beast Knight could consume, although the Knight of the Jackelope had recently matched him. Groat cakes and Sedgewick Sausage were shared, and the Fae food was put back into its hamper. The line dividing them was no more, and if anything, the party had grown closer.

Inside their Glamour, hidden from all prying eyes, they watched as hungry packs of wolves found the site of the battle and devoured the fallen wolves. The Snarlfangs had bones that the wolves couldn't break and hides that defeated their jaws, and were relatively untouched. The stable boy set up his easel, took out his paints, and began to capture a scene from the battle, showing Alwyn's charge and the three knights battling the Snarlfangs.

He'd been brought along as much for his artistic qualities as his skill in handling the horses. As they sat and talked about the battle, another creature entered the clearing, catching the group's attention. It was a halfling, dressed in furs and carrying an axe with a six-foot-long handle. He swung it down, striking the ground and planting the axehead deeply, leaving the handle sticking up.

Then, to their dismay, he stripped off his furs and danced around the clearing in only a loincloth before grasping the handle of his axe and gyrating in a lewd and provocative manner, performing a pole dance only seen at the Summer Mushroom Festival in Madmoot Village. The Fae are fascinated by anything new, and stared in awe at the disturbing sight. The stable boy sketched as fast as he could, hoping to capture a montage of drawings.

He would later paint the scenes and open his own gallery in the Fae Lands, making his fortune and marrying well. As his pole dance ended, the halfling broke into song, performing the traditional ballad, I'm a Little Teapot. After thirty-seven scandalous stanzas, many not heard before by any of the Fae, and most of them pornographic, he put on his clothes, grabbed his axe, bowed to the four cardinal directions, and ran off.

The Fae Lords and their retainers stared after him for a full minute, stunned by the performance. It was only later that they noticed that both the Jellystone Picnic Basket of Holding and Travelling Wine Cellar had mysteriously gone missing. Luckily, the Summer Lord had an ample supply of sausages and oat cakes, which even the two-legged members of the party found to be tasty, if a bit chewy.