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Monster Hunter

Idris

F or fifteen years, it had been Idris’s solemn duty to protect the towns of Fenrir from the monsters of the western wilds. Over time, through experience and the magic of his Oath, he’d grown sensitive to the movements of abominations—their paths, their patterns, their methods of spreading. His very purpose was linked to the wretched creatures, to the keeping of their secret and their eradication.

But today, as he followed Percival and Len toward a big red barn on the outskirts of Brine-on-Wend, he felt like he’d failed.

Of course, he was not the only Knight of the Order of the Valiant. He encountered others from time to time—to share news, commiserate, feud, and, in his younger years, track and kill large creatures together. He’d watched great men fall to their final Fate by the teeth and talons of the monsters they hunted—including Grinnick. When Idris fought, he fought for his brother and his realm, and also for the brave souls who’d fought before him.

The collective responsibility of his Order did not lighten Idris’s sense of blame now—it made it heavier. The wolverine by Waldron and the bear at Anya’s prisoner caravan were disturbing enough, but a monster venturing so far east as to encounter true civilization, a town ? That had never happened before, and the news was deeply unsettling. It seemed that in spite of the Order’s efforts— his efforts—the abominations were undeterred. This made Idris not just a single failure, but a small part of a failing enterprise, which was all the more disconcerting.

Discouragement, however, was not an option at present. What better way to expel his pent-up guilt than to eradicate Brine’s current and dire threat? It might’ve been the duty of Idris’s Oath to prevent further citizen deaths, but it was his anger—with his own weakness, his own disheartenment toward his life’s duty—that motivated him now.

As Idris trudged up the hill, his boots crunching through the semi-frozen overgrown grass, his tongue still stung with the bitterness of his Oath’s warning, the secrecy he was bound to. He’d never expected to confront the limits of his Oath by conversing with folks who already knew the heart of what he could not say. Anya had helpfully, gracefully assisted him in navigating their conversation with Percival, but he wondered now if having witnesses to this fight also contradicted the tenets of his Oath.

Then again, to let the abomination run free was also a contradiction of his Oath, and—in Idris’s opinion—much worse than the spreading of information he himself hadn’t even confirmed.

Besides, it was folly to hope to eradicate the creature without witnesses; as Anya had reiterated in her gossip from Waldron, in small towns, word traveled fast. Indeed, by the time their intrepid foursome reached Len’s barn—halting some fifty yards from its entrance—the crowd from the town square were already halfway up the hill behind them.

To mitigate risk and rumor, Idris concluded he would have to fight the monster inside the barn, with the door shut.

“Keep them back, would you?” he asked Anya, his heart already tripping into a faster beat, the rancid scent of the nearby monster stinging his nose. “No matter what you hear, don’t allow anyone to enter the barn.”

Anya reached for him, her delicate fingers squeezing his forearm just above his silver vambrace. “Please be careful?”

This was yet another reason not to get attached. When he had no hope or worldly desires other than to serve his brother’s memory and the tenets of his Oath, he was fearless; when he had something personal to lose—such as more time with the woman in front of him—the danger was illuminated in greater contrast.

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about me,” Idris said, making light of her concern.

She smirked. “I’ve become rather accustomed to your aggravating ways.” Real worry laced her carefully playful tone.

He stared down at her, surprised by her transparency, even in humor. Her brown eyes were flecked with gold, her pink cheeks freckled. A strand of hair that’d come loose from her customary braid now caught on her wet bottom lip.

Fates , she was beautiful. But more than that, she was quick-witted, which Idris was finding to be a real weakness of his.

He covered her hand on his arm. “I’ll be fine,” he promised, then he gently removed her grip.

“You truly wish to go in alone?” Percival interjected. “It seems—well, forgive me, but—it seems rather foolish to face it one-to-one.”

“I agree,” Len added.

Idris gave them both a tight-lipped smile, repeating, “I’ll be fine.”

“I can’t say I condone the risk,” Percival said, “but you are your own man.”

The crowd was gathering into a half-moon behind them, eyes wide and voices hushed. Children hugged their parents’ legs fearfully. A few brave men and women held pitchforks and shovels. Percival’s expression was resolute, but thin as ice, a cold terror visible under his smooth surface.

It was not Idris’s job to comfort the people of Brine; it was his job to protect them. Without another word, he turned and strode toward the barn.

The sliding door was nailed shut with shoddy boards and bent spikes. Idris retrieved his small axe from its holster on his back and used it to wedge the boards free. It took a few minutes of anticlimactic fiddling, in which he felt painfully aware of his audience. But then he wrenched the boards free, squeezed through the door into the shadows, and closed himself inside.

The barn reeked of death. Overpowering the familiar scents of hay, grain, and manure was the iron-tang of flesh and blood, along with the cloying rot of monster. No sound emanated from the darkness. For all their snarling viciousness, abominations could be surprisingly silent—perhaps the extra legs lent them stealth.

Idris unsheathed Halgren, the metal singing into the quietude as he stepped forward. “Here, kitty, kitty,” he called tauntingly, feeling the energized calm of adrenaline hit his bloodstream. He took a sick sort of pleasure in the killing of these creatures, all his vengeance and frustration funneling into a focused hatred. An outlet for his pain.

Two red eyes appeared in the darkness ahead, glowing with inner evil like two coals in a bed of ashen fur. The wolf-faced abomination hissed low and from the throat, a guttural vibration that Idris felt in his core.

His Oath didn’t just hold his tongue and power his sword; it offered him heightened awareness that was separate from his sensory magic. A creature moved, and if Idris was close enough, he felt a reverberation against his skin like ripples in water. It was this sensitivity that rendered him unsurprised when the creature leapt out of the darkness.

Idris dropped to the ground, rolling across the blood-crusted straw out of the creature’s path, only to hop to his feet again on its other side. Halgren caught fire, illuminating the barn with its blue flame. Idris’s will and the monster’s proximity activated the sword’s magic, charging it like lightning in a thundercloud. Confronted with Halgren’s crackling fire, the creature whined and snarled.

This was where it got fun.

Idris swung, catching the tip of one of the wolf’s spindly forelegs, spider-like and protruding from its shoulder. It screamed , black blood spurting across the straw floor. Idris used its surprise to his advantage, swiping at its other wretched foreleg and cutting it off at the joint. The beast reared back, the tangle of its short, deformed antlers crashing against a crossbeam in the barn’s ceiling.

Dust sprinkled down from the rafters, and the walls shook. Idris heard shrieks and gasps from outside.

The abomination backed away, recovering from the surprise of Idris’s blows. It was in such pauses that he saw the animals that the monsters had once been, a flash of innocence behind the red glow in their eyes. He pitied the poor creatures. Whatever sickness took over—evil infecting their blood, bodies expanding in size, bone shoving through temples, new legs forming—it always seemed to leave a bit of awareness inside, as if the soul of the animal kept the disease alive.

It felt like mercy to kill them.

Idris let out a growling cry, swinging Halgren in a practiced arc. He caught the monster in the crease of its neck, but its flesh was tough. It wrenched free of his blade, snapping at Idris’s sword-wielding arm with a furious snarl. Teeth nicked Idris’s shirtsleeve, but didn’t manage to catch skin, for which he was glad—he was running low on Hattie’s salve.

Outside the barn, Idris heard the vague scuffle of concerned voices, a child crying out. He imagined the sounds he and the monster were making were alarming.

Sweat formed on his temple and along his spine. He lunged at the creature again, slicing at it in a quick series of blows that strained his old shoulder injury. Rather than backing off, the monster snarled at him, swiping out with an uninjured paw, its unnatural claws as long as Idris’s forearm.

Idris ducked, dropping hard on his knees. He found himself practically under its chest, and without enough space to stab up into its heart, he swung Halgren from the side, hacking at the wound he’d already started in the creature’s neck.

More slimy, caustic blood rained down, stinging Idris’s cheeks. He kicked his legs, scooting backward across the floor; he needed to get his feet under him.

But then a metal track whined, and light sliced through the barn door at his back. A child appeared, screaming, “ Daddy! ”

The child, hysterical, tried to rush further inside—but he was caught by a hand on his collar.

Anya.

Her red hair flashed in the light of Halgren’s flame. He saw her mouth round into perfect shock as she hauled the child back. Her presence was just distracting enough for Idris to falter, missing his Oath’s warning when the monster pounced.

Anya cried out in terror, her vocal cords cracking at the pinnacle of her shriek. “ IDRIS! ”

The monster’s teeth collided with Idris’s chest. Grinnick’s breastplate repelled the beast with a force, searing it with magic. The abomination wailed, stumbling backward.

“GO!” Idris boomed at Anya.

There was more commotion behind him, arguing voices and the door screeching shut again, the child crying uncontrollably.

Idris didn’t have time to worry that the child had witnessed the monster. He was on his feet again, burying Halgren into the side of the beast’s neck. This time, he hit something vital, and the monster yelped. Teeth snapped; another paw swiped at him. Idris growled again, leaning all his weight into one final swing. The killing blow.

The monster went down with a thud, Halgren’s edge buried deep in its spurting neck.

Idris gritted his teeth as his tattoo hummed, magically reporting the kill to the Oath Ledgers—then he yanked his sword out of the abomination’s flesh. Halgren’s flame flickered out, and he wiped the steel on the wolf’s fur before sliding the blade into its sheath.

Idris took stock of the rest of his body. His breastplate was dented, but it’d done its magical duty; his chest still buzzed with the sensation of the blow, an unpleasant vibration of force and magical energy. The muscles in his arms felt strained. The joints of his knees ached. Aside from the tear in his shirtsleeve, he was unscathed.

As his eyes adjusted to the flameless dark, he finally had a chance to observe the destruction of the creature’s presence. Body parts of pigs were strewn about, rotting and caked with black sludge. One corpse had the beginnings of new forelegs and antlers, but the wolf had torn a hole in its side. The floor was wet with old blood; the air smelled not just like death, but cloying disease and ominous rot.

Idris wiped his cheek on his sleeve. Then he retrieved a piece of flint from his pocket and struck sparks in the hay at his feet. The monster’s black blood was flammable, and caught quickly, igniting the body and the surrounding splattered beams. With its abominable form engulfed, Idris turned and walked out into the late afternoon sunshine to face the crowd.