A Hunter's Tale by goldfishlover (ebook reader 7 inch .TXT) 📖

she could care for her baby. Whether she chooses to use it wisely or not isn’t my or your concern. It’s her money now.” I said. Around us, a crowd was beginning to form.
The guard paid no mind to the throng of people and continued interrogating me. “Good. Now tell me, who has hired you and what for?”
“I don’t know. He’s paying me well and he knows well enough that I can easily choose to decline the mission, whatever it may be.” I said.
“Siria is a long ways away. Considering you’ve just given away all your money, I highly doubt you’ll decline the offer, especially if this man plans on paying you well.”
I bit my lip and looked at the crowd of people surrounding us. Hesitantly, I said to the guard, “I’ve answered your questions, now let me go. I’ve committed no crime, and therefore see no reason for you to continue to hold me against my will. I’ve got much to do and little time to do it. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to get through today with as little bloodshed as possible.”
The guard released his grip on my shoulder, gave a quick nod, and walked off. I put my hood back on and continued on my way, now desperate to find the man who needed my services. Villagers shot me dirty looks and snide remarks as I passed by, but I ignored them in my haste to find my client. As I walked through the crowds, I said to myself, “New rule. I won’t accept any request unless I get the name, or a description of my client before he or she makes me travel halfway across the Ageria to meet them.” It sounded fair enough, especially considering what I had gone through today. Bankruptcy, a near death experience with a guard, harassed by villagers… Today was not my day.
Chapter 3

Inside the pocket of my cloak, I reached for the note written by my client. I had already read it ten times now, but I still couldn’t understand the puzzle within the note. It read:

Read this note carefully. You have but five days to travel to Bartonia and learn my identity. If you fail, I will not require your services, as you will have proven yourself not up to the challenge I am ready to bestow upon you.
Dearest Victoria, I trust all is well in Selentia

. Send my regards to the king and queen when you get the chance. It’s been a

long time since I’ve seen you. I’ve heard you’ve become a mercenary

. Congratulations. Having that been said, I require your services in Bartonia. I understand

you rules and you will be well rewarded for your services. If you cannot solve this puzzle, I will look elsewhere

for a mercenary to hire, though I trust in your abilities. When you find me, we will discuss your mission and your payment at my house over a dinner of roast lamb

and wine. I wish you the best of luck!

I didn’t understand why some words were written in red. Were they the clues? Was I supposed to rearrange the words to make a sentence? Rearrange the letters to make a name? I hated puzzles, riddles, quizzes… Hell, I hated anything that made me think. I preferred to hunt, to fight, to kill. Like breathing, hunting came natural to me. It was one of the reasons I became a mercenary.
I read over the note one last time. Whoever wrote it knows me from somewhere, though I can’t say I remember him, I thought. I traced my fingers over the note, taking in every detail from the grainy texture of the paper to the slight depressions formed by the ink used to write it. The words didn’t add up. ‘Selentia’ had nothing to do with ‘a’. ‘Understand’ had nothing to do with ‘lamb’ and ‘elsewhere’ had nothing to do with ‘mercenary.’ Then it hit me. Like a candle in the dark, the idea shone bright, calling out to me like a beacon.
The first letter of every word written in red spelled a name. I grinned ear to ear at my discovery and didn’t hesitate to write down the name on the blank space of the paper. In my bag, there was a griffin’s quill and a bottle of ink given to me by my mother before she died. I wrote down the name: Samuel. Why did that name sound so familiar? My train of thought was interrupted when a boy, about twelve years old came up to me and reached into my bag. I turned around, knife in hand, ready to slice off the thief’s hand. Dumbstruck, the boy said to me, “It isn’t what it looks like! I’m sorry! I wasn’t going to take anything! Please, don’t hurt me!”
I put the knife away, and said to the thief, “What were you doing reaching into my bag?” People around us stopped and stared and I could hear the boy’s heart beating frantically in his chest as he mouthed the words of a sacred Agerian prayer to a god who may or may not exist. I knew how he felt; I felt the same way during my confrontation with the guard after giving a dying woman all my money. At best, my moral compass was crooked, but I knew how the boy felt and I certainly didn’t like the feeling myself. “Come with me, now.” I said, taking his grimy hand.
“Please! I didn’t take anything!” He shouted, struggling to break free of my iron grasp. “Let go of me!”
“Not yet.” I took him to an alleyway, which was shaded on both sides by buildings. A tall wooden fence blocked off the back exit. The alley smelled faintly of death, strong wine, and rotten meat. There were no people, no onlookers, and for that, I was grateful. “I won’t hurt you. I won’t lay a finger on you, but only if you tell me what you were doing reaching into my bag.” I said to the boy.
“Y-you won’t hurt me?”
“No. Nevertheless, if you’re lying, I won’t hesitate to kill you. I don’t like liars. Now talk.” The boy hesitated for a moment, looked at his feet, looked at me, and looked back at his feet. “Head up. I want to see your face when you talk to me.”
He flinched. “I need money and food. I haven’t eaten in days and I’m starving. I’ve got three little brothers and I’ve got no money to care for them. I’ve gone around, pick pocketing unsuspecting people for food or money. Your bag looked full… I thought you’d have food… I’m sorry.”
“Have you no family?”
He shook his head no. “My mother died giving birth to her fifth child. The baby died, too. I’ve never met my father. My mother told me that he lives in Siria, but I’ve never met him and haven’t the courage to leave Bartonia. Please, let me go!”
His story tugged at my heartstrings. He was like me; a bastard. “Not just yet. You’re doing good, boy. I’ve got one more question for you and you’re free to go. Do you know of a man named Samuel? I was told to meet him somewhere inside the city.”
The boy nodded. “Samuel? The whole city knows him. He’s crazy as a loon. If you’re looking for him, you’ll most likely find him in a brothel on the outskirts of the city. I doubt he’ll remember sending for you though.” Great. My client was a madman.
I reached into my bag and pulled out a couple of fruits. “Take these. You need them more than I. Unfortunately, I have no money to give. This is all I have. Be careful out there. Not everyone will understand.”
“Thank you, stranger. Thank you!” The boy ran off into the crowd of people just outside the alley. Like when I gave the dying woman all my money, I felt a sharp pain in my chest as I thought, there goes all my food. Damn, what was happening to me? I was never this sympathetic; the last person to steal from me lost a hand, yet, I had given this boy, this thief, the rest of my food. And for what? For telling me, he was sorry. The last thief got down on his hands and knees, kissed my feet, and cried for mercy, but that did not stop me from cutting off his hand.
“Time alone in the forest has made you weak,” I said to myself. “Made you forget that humans are good for nothing beggars who don’t know how to return a favor.” The last time I gave a man money to feed his family, I heard he spent every penny on pleasure at a brothel. His wife died. The next time I saw him, I killed the man for lying. The last time I gave a man food to give to his sick children, he sold it and spent the money on himself. I killed him, too. They got what they deserved. With my newfound information still fresh on my mind, I set out to find the nearest brothel. With any luck, I thought, I woul run into any more people until I find Samuel. “I should be so lucky.” I snorted.

Chapter 4

A

s the boy had said, and with the help of a slightly overweight bartender, I found Samuel in a brothel, staring at women with lusty eyes and hooting with excitement when they revealed their privates. The very thought of revealing myself