Chapter 1
The beast had ruled the northern valleys for longer than many villages could remember. Among the upland settlements beyond the Great Ridge Mountains, where the forests grew thick with bamboo and mist and the roads narrowed into little more than game trails winding through ancient hills, stories persisted of a one-eyed sabertooth whose savagery had become legend. Entire generations had grown old hearing tales of the creature while shepherds vanished from isolated pastures, woodcutters disappeared along forgotten paths, and caravans traveling without adequate escorts occasionally failed to arrive at their destinations. Some believed the beast to be little more than an unusually large predator, while others claimed it possessed an unnatural cunning bordering upon malice. Whatever the truth, the result remained the same, as the northern marches of Thyuratahn had surrendered large stretches of wilderness to a single predator whose reign of terror had endured for decades.
The road leading northward climbed steadily into colder country where jagged peaks rose against the horizon like the broken teeth of sleeping gods, and dense Blackwood Pineborder forests cloaked the valleys beneath them in dark green shadow. Along that road traveled two hunters whose appearance alone was enough to draw attention wherever they passed. Both were wolves by blood, broad-shouldered and heavily built beneath weathered travel cloaks, with rifles slung across their backs in the easy familiarity of tools long mastered. Sidearms, knives, and various pieces of hunting equipment hung from belts and harnesses worn smooth by years of use, and nothing about either hunter suggested uncertainty. They moved with the quiet confidence of males who had spent much of their lives pursuing creatures capable of killing them and had survived long enough to make that pursuit their profession.
As the road crossed the border into the Northern Ro’Edyne Kingdoms of Thyuratahn, a small detachment of royal guards emerged from a fortified checkpoint overlooking the pass. Their captain, signaling for the travelers to halt, and the two hunters complied without complaint, for formalities remained formalities, particularly in frontier territory where strange things often wandered across borders without regard for law or kingdom. The captain studied them carefully, his gaze lingering first upon the rifles and then upon the scars visible beneath fur and armor alike, recognizing the quiet markers of experience that could not be easily hidden from another veteran. “What business takes you beyond the border?” he asked.
The older of the two hunters adjusted the strap of his rifle and offered a faint grin that revealed the edge of a canine fang as he answered without hesitation. “We’re hunting.”
The captain raised an eyebrow at that. That much was obvious. The younger wolf allowed himself a quiet chuckle while the older continued in the same even tone, describing their quarry with the blunt precision of a professional recounting a contract rather than a story. “We’re after the sabertooth, the one with half its face torn away and only one eye left, the one with the foul temper and worse habits, the one that eats travelers, livestock, and anything else foolish enough to wander into its territory.”
A murmur spread among the nearby guards as the name of the beast, unspoken yet fully understood, passed through them like a cold wind. The captain’s expression shifted almost immediately, as what had begun as routine inspection became something more serious. The northern beast was no mere tale told to frighten children. It was a presence, a known terror, and nearly every soldier stationed along the frontier knew someone who had been lost to it.
“You intend to kill it?” the captain asked, his tone no longer casual. The younger hunter shrugged slightly, as though the matter required no further elaboration. “That’s generally how these things conclude when we’re involved.”
Several guards exchanged impressed looks while others simply stared at the weapons carried so casually by the two wolves. Neither hunter appeared particularly concerned by the reputation of the creature they intended to pursue, and there was no boasting in their voices nor any attempt to impress their audience. If anything, the calm certainty with which they discussed the hunt made the matter seem all the more serious, as though the outcome had already been decided and only the process remained. The captain stepped aside and motioned for the gates to be opened, conceding both authority and respect in the same gesture. “Then I won’t delay you. If anyone can put an end to that beast, perhaps it would be hunters carrying weapons like those.”
The older wolf inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment. “Appreciated.” The two hunters continued northward, passing through the checkpoint and following the winding road as it disappeared into increasingly rugged country, leaving behind the last structured presence of the kingdom. Behind them the guards watched in silence until the hunters became distant silhouettes against the hills, their figures gradually swallowed by the vastness of the northern landscape. Just as they crested the next rise and began their descent into the deeper wilderness, the captain suddenly called out after them with enough urgency to halt their progress.
“Wait!”
The hunters halted and turned as the captain hurried forward from the checkpoint. The urgency in his voice immediately drew their attention. For the first time since passing through the gate, the officer seemed genuinely concerned about something. He slowed as he approached and gestured toward the northern road stretching into the mountains beyond. “There was another hunter passed through here earlier today,” he said. “Went up the same road you’re taking. Is he traveling with you?”
Both wolves became noticeably still. The younger hunter frowned while the older narrowed his eyes slightly. “What hunter?” he asked. The captain pointed toward the distant peaks. “Huge bull! Biggest fellow I’ve seen in years. Looked like he could uproot a tree with his bare hands. Carried a shield, a sword, and enough confidence for three. Said his name was Valhuma.”
Neither hunter answered immediately. The silence lingered long enough for the captain’s expression to shift from curiosity toward uncertainty. The two wolves exchanged a brief glance, neither requiring words to understand the other’s thoughts. Both knew Valhuma. Both had hunted beside him before. They knew his strengths as well as his weaknesses. Valhuma was brave, skilled, and strong enough to contend with most warriors. Unfortunately, he was also reckless enough to challenge enemies that wiser hunters would avoid. Courage and strength were admirable qualities, but neither was a substitute for judgment. A predator that had survived decades of organized hunts, military patrols, bounty seekers, and professional hunters was not the sort of enemy that yielded to determination alone. The younger wolf slowly exhaled through his nose while the older hunter considered the mountains ahead.
“How long ago?” he finally asked.
“Several hours.” The answer settled heavily between them. The captain glanced from one hunter to the other. “Is something wrong?” The younger wolf adjusted the rifle hanging across his shoulder and looked toward the distant peaks. “No,” he replied quietly. “Nothing’s wrong.”
The older hunter turned back toward the road. “But if Valhuma truly went ahead alone, he’s already committed himself to whatever happens next.” The captain waited for further explanation, but none came. The two hunters resumed walking and began making their way north once more. For a time only the sound of their boots disturbed the mountain road. Eventually the younger wolf glanced sideways toward his companion. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” The older hunter never took his eyes off the wilderness ahead. “Probably.” The younger wolf sighed heavily.
“Poor bastard.”
Neither spoke again. Beyond the hills stretched hundreds of miles of forest, ravines, bamboo groves, and mist-shrouded valleys where the ancient sabertooth held dominion. Somewhere within that wilderness a bull hunter had gone searching for glory. Somewhere within that same wilderness an old predator waited among the shadows with one eye, half a face, and a reputation earned through decades of bloodshed. The mountains gradually swallowed the two wolves as they disappeared northward, leaving the kingdom behind and entering the hunting grounds of a monster that had devoured enough heroes to become a legend.
Chapter 2
By the following afternoon the mountains had swallowed the last traces of civilization. The roads had vanished hours earlier, leaving only narrow game trails winding through dense wilderness and steep upland ridges. Vasco and Salidahn traveled steadily northward through a vast bamboo forest whose towering stalks rose high overhead like the columns of some forgotten temple. Pale sunlight filtered through the canopy in thin green shafts while the endless sea of bamboo whispered and creaked softly beneath the wind. Ordinarily such forests teemed with life, but the deeper the hunters traveled into the beast’s territory, the quieter the wilderness became. Birds no longer called from the treetops. Small animals no longer darted through the undergrowth. The forest possessed the uneasy stillness of a place that knew a predator was near.
Neither hunter felt compelled to comment upon the silence. The signs were obvious enough. Years spent tracking dangerous creatures had taught them that wilderness spoke through absences as often as sounds. Every living thing within these hills understood the boundaries of the sabertooth’s domain. Even without tracks, blood, or carcasses, the silence itself served as warning. Somewhere ahead lurked a predator so feared that the lesser creatures of the region seemed determined to avoid every place it walked. The further north the hunters traveled, the more pronounced the feeling became. The wilderness no longer felt merely remote. It felt occupied.
Toward evening the bamboo forest began to thin, giving way to a series of rolling hills overlooking a narrow valley shrouded in shadow. Beyond the valley rose another ridgeline cloaked in mist and dark evergreen forests. Numerous game trails converged toward the region, some old and heavily worn, others faded and abandoned. The land itself revealed the influence of the beast. Predators shaped landscapes in subtle ways. Trails shifted. Migration patterns changed. Entire regions gradually transformed around the habits of a successful hunter. The sabertooth had ruled these hills for so long that the wilderness had adapted around its presence.
The two wolves established camp upon a defensible rise overlooking the valley below. The fire remained deliberately small, little more than a bed of glowing coals concealed behind a ring of stone. Supper consisted of dried provisions consumed with the efficiency of professionals who viewed food primarily as fuel rather than pleasure. Conversation remained sparse. There was little left to discuss. The journey was effectively over. What remained was the hunt itself.
Night settled gradually across the mountains. Darkness gathered first within the valleys before climbing the slopes and consuming the ridges one by one. The moon eventually rose above the distant peaks, casting pale silver light across the sea of bamboo stretching below. For several hours nothing disturbed the stillness. The wilderness seemed frozen beneath the weight of its own silence. Then, sometime after midnight, both hunters became aware of movement beyond the neighboring ridge. The sound arrived first. Branches snapped. Vegetation shifted. Loose stones rattled down unseen slopes. Whatever traveled through the darkness possessed tremendous weight. Neither wolf moved. Both listened. The noises continued for several moments before abruptly ceasing, leaving the night silent once more.
The silence lasted less than a minute before a scream shattered the darkness. The sound echoed across the valleys and hills before ending with startling suddenness. No struggle followed. No second cry. No desperate call for aid. The mountains absorbed the noise and returned to silence. Somewhere beyond the ridge, something had died. Neither hunter commented. There was little point. Both knew exactly what they had heard. The beast had fed.
The remainder of the night passed without further incident. Sleep came lightly and without comfort. Both wolves rested with rifles within arm’s reach and ears alert for danger. Experience had taught them that genuine rest became impossible inside a predator’s territory. Every unfamiliar sound demanded attention. Every shift in the wind invited consideration. Beyond the boundaries of the firelight the wilderness remained silent, as though the creature’s presence weighed upon the entire region.
Morning arrived beneath a blanket of dense fog. Moisture clung to fur, equipment, and clothing while the surrounding hills emerged only as vague silhouettes beyond the mist. Visibility extended little farther than a hundred paces in any direction. It was ideal hunting weather for an ambush predator. Distances became deceptive. Sounds traveled strangely. Shapes appeared suddenly where moments earlier there had been nothing. The world seemed reduced to shades of white and gray broken only by the dark forms of trees and stone.
The hunters broke camp quickly and without ceremony. Rifles were removed from travel slings and prepared for immediate use. Actions were checked. Ammunition inspected. Every motion occurred through habit developed across countless hunts. Familiar rituals possessed value. They steadied the mind and focused attention upon practical concerns rather than imagination. Once camp had been dismantled and equipment secured, the two wolves began climbing toward the upper ridges where local reports placed the creature’s lair.
For a time they traveled in silence through the fog. Eventually Salidahn remarked that perhaps this hunt might prove different from those that had come before. The observation earned immediate disapproval from Vasco, who informed him that such thoughts had no place this close to an objective. Whether born from superstition, experience, or simple habit, the older hunter maintained that inviting uncertainty into a hunt served no useful purpose. Salidahn found the reaction mildly amusing, but allowed the matter to drop. After several moments Vasco added that there was no reason to expect anything unusual. The hunt would unfold exactly as every successful hunt had unfolded before. They would find the beast, survive the encounter, kill the beast, collect the reward, and return home wealthier than when they had arrived. The statement carried neither arrogance nor bravado. It was simply the practical outlook of a hunter who had spent decades doing the same work.
The younger wolf nodded and the conversation ended there. Nothing more needed to be said. Somewhere beyond the fog lay the cave identified by local reports. Somewhere beyond the fog waited the one-eyed sabertooth that had terrorized the northern marches for a generation. The beast had fed during the night and could not be far away. Armed with heavy rifles and the confidence earned through years spent hunting creatures that most sensible folk fled from, Vasco and Salidahn continued their ascent into the mist and disappeared among the hills as they approached the lair.
Chapter 3
The cave revealed itself only at the last moment, its mouth cut into the mountainside like a wound in the stone and half-concealed by the rising fog and broken terrain that surrounded it, and the slope leading toward it bore the unmistakable signs of long habitation, though not in any civilized sense, as game trails converged and ended abruptly while bones lay scattered in half-buried clusters where scavengers had taken what they could and fled what remained. The ground itself had been churned and hardened over years of passing weight until it no longer resembled soil so much as a trampled threshold between the outer world and something claimed, something that had fed and endured long enough to shape the land around it.
At the very foot of the cave, they found what remained of Valhuma, and the evidence of his end required no interpretation, for the head lay several paces from the entrance, half-turned toward the slope as though the final motion of the body had been resistance rather than retreat, with one horn shattered and the eyes still open, while the top of the spinal column remained attached though little else did, the severance ragged and brutal rather than clean, and nearby the hand lay buried to the wrist in torn earth, the fingers curled inward as if they had been gripping the ground with all the strength the body possessed while the rest of him had been dragged into the darkness, and the position of the limb told its own story, one of defiance overcome by force rather than surrender, a struggle that had ended not in retreat but in consumption.
As the two wolves passed, the eye blinked once, a final reflex or the last echo of life lingering within a body that had already lost its claim to existence, and neither hunter stopped, for the distinction between life and death in that moment held no value, and the truth of the situation had already been made clear by what lay before them, as the bull had reached the lair and failed to leave it, and that conclusion required no further examination or commentary from those who understood the work well enough to recognize its outcomes without explanation.
Valhuma had been a capable hunter, possessed of strength, training, and the kind of experience earned in open battle where opponents announced themselves with steel and answered in kind, and he had been raised to fight enemies that could be seen, measured, and overcome through force, and that knowledge had carried him far across battlefields where courage and power decided the outcome, yet it had not carried him far enough here, for this was not a battlefield governed by honor or symmetry but a predator’s ground where patience, instinct, and cruelty determined the outcome, and sword and shield had their place in the world of ordered conflict, but here they were insufficient, and the proof of that insufficiency lay scattered at the threshold of the cave in pieces that once had been a warrior.
Vasco studied the entrance for several moments before speaking, his voice low and controlled as he measured distance, terrain, and shadow, and when he spoke his words carried the weight of decision rather than suggestion as he said, “We draw it out,” and Salidahn nodded once and moved immediately to gather what was needed, as their teacher had drilled the method into them long ago until repetition had turned instruction into instinct, and fire denied concealment while smoke denied patience, and a creature that relied upon ambush could be forced into the open if its lair became untenable, and while the method carried risk, it remained preferable to stepping blindly into darkness claimed by something that understood it better than any intruder could hope to.
They worked quickly, building a crude bundle of brush and damp vegetation near the entrance and positioning it where the smoke would be drawn inward, and the fog thickened around them as the morning pressed on, lending the entire scene a muted, distant quality as though the mountain itself observed without concern, and when Vasco struck the flame the fire began to take, the first tendrils of smoke curling upward before bending inward toward the cave mouth as the air shifted under its influence.
The beast did not wait, and it came out of the darkness with a violence that collapsed distance into impact, a mass of muscle, scar tissue, and ruined flesh erupting from the cave with a speed that defied its size and its apparent weight, and the one remaining eye burned with feral intensity that spoke not of thought but of immediate and absolute intent, and there was no hesitation, no warning, and no separation between emergence and attack as the creature committed fully to the kill in a single continuous motion.
Shots rang out almost instantly as both rifles spoke in overlapping thunder, the recoil driven into shoulder and bone through practiced control, and the rounds struck the creature square in the chest with visible impact even through its forward momentum, and flesh tore while blood followed, and for a fraction of a second the beast faltered beneath the force of the strikes, its body reacting to damage that would have ended lesser creatures and halted lesser predators in their tracks.
It did not stop, and the distance closed in less time than it took to draw breath, and Salidahn moved to adjust his position and bring his rifle to bear for a second shot, but the sabertooth reached him first, and its jaws closed around his arm with crushing force, teeth driving through plated armor as though it were little more than hardened leather, and the sound that followed was not a cry but the wet, breaking snap of bone yielding under pressure as the limb failed in multiple places at once, and the force of the bite alone would have been sufficient to cripple him, yet the beast did not merely hold.
It twisted, and the motion lifted Salidahn from his footing and cast him aside with brutal efficiency, his body thrown down the slope and across broken ground until he came to rest within sight but beyond immediate reach, separated from his weapon and struggling against the shock of the injury as his body fought to remain conscious under the sudden violence, and the sabertooth released him without hesitation and turned at once, its focus shifting with predatory precision as it sought the next threat before the first had even settled.
There was a sharp mechanical click followed immediately by the rising whir of a system engaging under load, and Vasco had already moved, the trench shotgun coming up with practiced certainty as the weapon’s mechanism cycled into full operation the moment the trigger was pulled and held, and the response was immediate and overwhelming as a rapid succession of heavy slugs erupted from the barrel in a sustained, controlled torrent, each round striking with concussive force as they tore into the creature’s head at point-blank range, and the sequence of impacts destroyed structure faster than the body could respond, as bone shattered under the first strikes while the second drove deeper and the third and fourth erased what remained, transforming skull and eye into a violent spray that painted the stone behind it in a broad arc of blood and matter.
The beast convulsed under the force of the assault, a wet surge of blood forced from what remained of its mouth as its body lost cohesion and momentum collapsed beneath the destruction of its skull, and it staggered once, then again, before slumping heavily to one side, its mass striking the ground with finality as the violence of its life ended in an instant of mechanical certainty, leaving behind only the echo of force and the stillness that followed.
Silence returned slowly, as though the mountain itself required time to accept what had occurred, and the air seemed to settle in the aftermath as the echo of the gunfire faded into nothing and the presence that had dominated the region for decades was reduced to a cooling carcass upon the ground.
By nightfall the work was done, and the aftermath of the hunt had taken on the quiet rhythm of survival rather than conflict, as Salidahn’s arm had been set and bound as best as could be managed in the field, the limb secured in a sling to prevent further damage while the worst of the pain dulled into something manageable, and the fire burned low beside them as darkness closed in once more, and between them rested a small flask of plum brandy whose contents were shared without ceremony as one measure was poured and taken and then another, while a third was poured and left upon the ground as an offering to the White Witch and to the memory of the one who had taught them how to endure such work.
Kyone’s lessons had carried them to this place and through what had awaited them there, and the proof of that success lay cooling behind them where the sabertooth had fallen, and the teeth were taken with care, each one a token worth more than most would see in a lifetime, and the reward agreed upon before the hunt would be paid in full, for three chests of Imperial silver awaited their return, heavy enough to matter and sufficient to justify the risk taken to claim it. Behind them the cave stood silent, its darkness emptied of threat and its claim broken, and within it nothing remained that would hunt again, and the valley that had once belonged to the beast would, in time, remember what it had been before fear took root within it.
Epilogue
Several days later the hunters finally reached the Highland City, where crowds gathered outside the gates long before the procession arrived.
News traveled quickly throughout the northern kingdoms, particularly when the news involved monsters. Hundreds waited along the streets as the wagon rolled through the city, and guards struggled to maintain order while citizens pushed forward for a better look at the fallen beast. The reaction was immediate. Some cheered. Others stared in stunned silence. Many simply stood and watched as the enormous carcass rolled past. Away from mountains and forests, surrounded instead by buildings, walls, and ordinary folk, the scale of the predator became impossible to ignore. It resembled less a natural animal and more some forgotten relic from an older age when monsters had ruled the world.
By the time the remains reached the ancient High Halls, plans were already being discussed regarding their preservation. The skeleton would be cleaned and assembled for display. The skull would be mounted above the great chamber. The hide would be preserved and hung among the banners of the northern kingdoms so future generations could look upon it and understand that the stories had been true. Long after the names of those who killed it faded into history, the beast itself would remain part of the city’s memory.
Several hours later, with payment received and formalities completed, Vasco and Salidahn finally began preparing for departure. The wagon carrying the trophies had been surrendered to the authorities, fresh supplies had been purchased, and Salidahn’s arm remained secured in a sling, though the worst of the pain had faded into something manageable.
The work was finished. All that remained was the road home.
They had just cleared the outer district when a voice called after them. Turning, they found a young fox sprinting down the street while clutching a narrow glowing tube in both paws. He looked no older than twelve summers and was entirely out of breath by the time he reached them. Vasco raised an eyebrow and asked what was so urgent, while the fox bent over with his hands upon his knees and struggled to recover enough air to speak.
After a moment he straightened, held up the device, and announced that he needed a picture. The request earned a puzzled look from Vasco, who asked what possible purpose such a thing could serve. The fox immediately pointed back toward the High Hall where the remains of the sabertooth now rested and explained that nobody was going to believe him. He had seen the beast with his own eyes. He had seen the head, the fangs, and the size of the carcass. Yet he already knew that everyone back home would assume he was lying the moment he tried to describe it.
Salidahn’s ears twitched with amusement as he asked whether the picture was intended as evidence. The fox nodded vigorously and declared that it was exactly that. The two hunters exchanged a glance before simultaneously shrugging. The request seemed reasonable enough. A creature that large stretched the limits of credibility even when its corpse was sitting in plain sight. Once the matter was explained, neither hunter could find a reason to object.
Several minutes later the fox positioned himself in the street and adjusted the glowing device while Vasco and Salidahn returned to stand beside the carcass one final time.
The resulting image captured the entire scene perfectly.
Two weathered wolf hunters stood before the fallen sabertooth, neither attempting to appear larger than they were nor positioning themselves in some absurd fashion to exaggerate the scale. There was no need. The beast itself occupied most of the image. Its body stretched across nearly the entire width of the frame, while the shattered remains of its skull remained immense enough to dwarf the hunters standing before it. The photograph required no embellishment. The truth alone was impressive enough.
When the fox finally lowered the device, he stared at the image for several moments before declaring it perfect. Vasco glanced at the result and snorted before asking whether anyone would believe the story now. The fox looked from the image to the enormous corpse behind them and grinned broadly. If they still refused to believe it after seeing the picture, he replied, then they were idiots.
The hunters laughed, adjusted their packs, and resumed their journey. Behind them the Highland City celebrated the end of a nightmare that had haunted the northern valleys for generations.
Ahead of them stretched another road, another wilderness, and eventually another hunt. Such was the profession. Monsters died, kingdoms endured, and stories passed from one generation to the next. Long after the sabertooth’s bones had been mounted in the ancient High Hall and its hide hung among the banners of the north, folk would still point toward an old photograph and marvel that two hunters had stood before such a creature and returned alive to tell the tale.
“Nothing Comes Easy”
“Stalking out at dusk from Roedon,
trench gun slung across my back
Iron boots on broken flagstones,
scent of blood along the track
Gods who watch the black pine shudder
old as rust and winter’s edge
Why leave teeth beneath the heather
why let nightmares cross the hedge
‘Fore I hunted shadowed valleys
in the madness of my youth
Tracked the thunder in the hollows
never pledged my soul to truth
Never knelt before a council
never kissed the master’s ring
Never prayed for peace or pardon
steel’s the only song I sing
Roedon , Roedon , doomed old Roedon
crown me king of claw and mire
Let the sabers prowl the moorland
let the night catch fire with fire
Let the bones of friends and traitors
bleach beside the haunted fen
I have come to wake the monsters
I have come to hunt again
Dreams are fangs in distant darkness
flashing quick through fog and bone
Hope is hot brass in the barrel
roaring out across the stone
If the halls are cold behind me
and the moon rides high and red
I will find my mercy hunting
where the wild things are not dead
Wind may shriek through shattered towers
mother’s whisper of the slain
Let them talk of crowns and kinfolk
I have loosed the dogs again
I have gone to seek the hunter
where the saber-tooth still go
And the guns ring under starlight
old Roedon need never know”
