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  Presents…

  The Winter Hunter

  Book 1 of the Winter Hunter Trilogy

  By Robert C. Gemmell

  Chapter One

  Death in the cold.

  The first foretelling snowflakes of that awful season were dancing their way down from the high clouds and settling on the ground. The season’s first snowfall crunched under Cailean’s careful step. The chilled air of the coming winter filled his lungs before light steam rode his breath on the way out of his mouth.

  Cailean’s eyes panned over the woods as he crushed another piece of that first layer of snow under his boot. He searched the trees for any sign of the creature endangering the travelers and traders that the platoon of Winter Hunters had been enlisted to protect against.

  The fellow Hunters walked the woods with less caution and a more confident step. They were seasoned men, some in their fourth or fifth winter. Four or five seasons was a lifetime’s worth of experience in this profession. Fergus, a Hunter in his fourth season, came up shoulder to shoulder with the Cailean, “First Winter, you get your first kill yet?” He asked.

  “No, not yet,” Cailean said, taking a deep breath as he readied himself for the death he deserved.

  “It’s a Wood Scraper, easy prey, no need to worry,” he grinned, “Good first kill for any hunter, if you’re lucky, I’ll let you get the last blow in, let you finally earn your keep,” he said, grinning.

  “They can only move in the trees. We just need to get close enough to bait the scraper out for a long strike, but not so close that it can jump from the side to flank us,” Cailean thought back to his time in the Guild Hall library, researching every monster from common to legendary. Between grueling physical training to strengthen his muscle and body, Cailean thought it important that his mind was readied as well. Despite what his learnings had taught him and what his training readied him for, there was nothing a coward like him could do to stay courageous and dispel the reluctance carried in his step.

  A shake and the rustle of leaves in the woods. It could have been just another of winter’s winds, or it could have been the creature. Winter’s arrival meant that the monsters would be returning from their spring slumber to take dominion over the land. That’s why the land needed men better than Cailean. That’s why they needed the Winter Hunters. Cailean’s head was on a swivel, searching the brush for any trace of the creature as the leaves continued to rustle.

  You’re just going to hide like last time, what do you even think you can do? That taunting, clawing voice in the back of his mind hissed. You can’t think you're worthy of that sword, your shield, that armor, you think you’re worthy of the title they gave you? Are you really a Winter Hunter? It should be him with these men, not you. Cailean closed his eyes and steadied his breath, another stream of steam riding out from between his lips as he fought the voice of disdain that had been haunting him since he was a child.

  “The creatures, they’re out before the turning’s even happened. Winter has never been this soon in the year,” Cailean said. He felt that all his months of study and preparation for this most deadly season would amount to, at best, an extra twelve or so seconds of life once he was finally put face to face with one of the dread terrors of the cold.

  “Winter comes when the Goddesses say, not when we say. The turning is but a ceremony. A show of honor to those women who watch this world, a show that we’re ready to take the punishment they’ve reason to give us” Baltair, the Huntmaster, a large man heavyset with just as much muscle as fat with graying hair and beard said, stepping forward to the front of the party.

  “The Wood Scrapers know the people need its trees, its home, its body for heat, know that they’re going to need more. These are its woods, we’re the encroachers, we’re the danger here, never forget that.” Baltair reminded the seasoned men of the party and the young first season with a heart beating so recklessly that Baltair could sense its pounding.

  The Huntmaster looked over his shoulder to the young student, “First hunt, don’t let the excitement get to you. Calm your nerves, Winter Hunter,” he told Cailean as he raised his bronze great-sword.

  Cailean kept a death grip on his bronze sword in one hand and raised his shield with his other arm. He tried to calm his breath and slow his beating heart. A true Winter Hunter should have full control over every part of his body. He cleared his mind of memories, of that taunting voice. With another misted breath he could feel his heart slow. Feel it go from a panicked thump to a steady decisive pump that sent warm blood through the veins under his cold skin

  Another rustling. The party stopped, and with their hunter’s instinct, they formed a tight circle with one another. Shoulder-to-shoulder shields up, ready to protect not just themselves but the brothers beside them. “Gregor, Cailean, eyes on the trunks,” Baltair commanded, “Fergus, Simon, look to the roots,” the circle slowly beyogan to move forward and around, giving the party of five Hunters a view of every angle of the forest.

  “To the east!” Baltair called out as the bark of a mighty tree shifted and burst from its trunk. The wooden monster clawed out of it. A long snake-like body made of timber and leaves moved up its two limbs, sharp arcing claws that came to a sharpened point. It leaped to Gregor and Cailean.

  Cailean, the coward he was, lifted his shield over his sword. The creature’s claw dug into the bronze weapon and slid down as it sliced with its other towards Gregor, his bronze axe snapping the monster’s appendage. It shrieked in pain before diving back into the tree like a pulled and released spring.

  “It’s moving through the roots! Underground, flank to the east!” Fergus called out as Cailean and Gregor turned. Cailean kept his shield up. No, he said, lowering it and raising his blade to attack. You’re a Winter Hunter, he said to himself, Now hunt damn you. He felt the root network of the forest tremble under the deep ground. He took a breath and tried to focus. Where was it going to come from? He thought, looking to the trees, figuring every possible place of attack the Wood Scraper could burst from.

  “North!” Cailean yelled as the monster sprung from another tree. It rushed towards Cailean with its blades raised high. Cailean sidestepped and tried to swing his sword at the beast, just grazing it and tearing a bit of bark from it before it retracted back into the trees. Cailean’s eyes looked all around the thick woods they had wandered into. So many trees, and so many places the threat could come from.

  “Look out!” Gregor yelled as he shoulder-checked Cailean out of the way of the monster lunged from above, striking at Cailean like a viper. Its blade caught Gregor right under the arm and through a slit in his chain-mail, penetrating deep into his side as the Monster shrieked and ripped its appendage back and forth, massacring Gregor’s insides.

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  “No!” Cailean raised his blade in the air and brought it down on the Wood Scraper’s arm, slicing it from the creature as it let out another, sharper and more painful shriek as it retracted back to the tree.

  “Turn about!” Baltair called out as Gregor fell to the ground with blood gushing from his wound. It seeped from the side of his neck and through the gaps in his chain-mail. It leaked onto the ground, staining the first pure white snow of winter that raw crimson shade that could only come from blood.

  Cailean raised blade and shield, his teeth grinding against each other as his breath took quick, short gasps. His eyes darted to the left just for a moment, seeing Gregor continue to bleed out from a wound that was destined to have given Cailean the death he deserved.

  “Hold, hold!” Baltair commanded his party.

  Above them, the leaves continued to rustle and move, the creature whose home was the woods shifted and tossed as the creature searched for the best angle to attack from.

  “Use your training, use your instincts, find it!” Fergus said back-to-back with Cailean as the young hunter’s eyes tried to follow the rustling woods, and his senses tried to narrow down the next angle of attack.

  “West flank!” Baltair cried out as the hunters turned, raising their shields. The monster leaped from another thick tree trunk. Baltair’s bronze claymore swung from ground to sky, catching the monster in its deadly arc. The sacred bronze of his weapon broke through its bark skin and sliced its wooden body in twain. Separated from its body in the woods, it struggled with just enough time to let out a death shriek that made leaves tremble as it echoed through the forest.

  The body of wood remained lifeless on the snow-powdered ground. It did not twitch, it did not struggle, it just lay there dead. Baltair gave it a kick and nodded to Fergus and Harris.

  Cailean cared not about looking over the party’s kill and instead rushed to Gregor’s side. He pulled some bandages from his belt and tried putting pressure on the wound Gregor suffered in his selfless sacrifice. As Cailean tried to save his brother, a death gurgle came from Gregor as he let out a weak cough of phlegm mixed with blood.

  “You’re wasting good cloth boy, a wound like that, that much flesh sliced,” Baltair came to Cailean and rested a hand on his shoulder.

  Cailean closed his eyes as he felt Gregor’s blood cool. The pressure from his bleeding wound lessened, but only because there was no more blood left for his body to pump out.

  “He took the hit for me. It should have been me,” Cailean said as his bloody hands slipped from the injured hunter and onto the stained snow-covered ground.

  “It’s not your fault. It’s winter,” Baltair said, “Winter is when men die,” he rested a hand on the young first season’s shoulder.

  You were a coward then, and you’re a coward now. At least back then, you had the excuse of being a child, of being young and stupid, young and cowardly. What kind of a man have you become? Cailean tried to shake the voice from his head as he bucked his shoulder from Baltair’s care.

  “I missed a chance to strike. I should have lunged before he pushed me out of the way. It should have been my neck, not his,” Cailean’s head held low as he knelt next to his fallen brother.

  “You can’t afford to think that way. Not now, not in winter,” Baltair said, grabbing Cailean’s arm and lifting the young man to his feet, forcing the boy to turn to him. “If you keep blaming yourself, you’re only going to lose more brothers. Take the lesson, take this hard lesson that Winter teaches all of us,” Baltair took his other and grabbed Cailean by the back of his head, forcing the young man to look him in the eye.

  “You learned well enough in training. You learned what training could teach you. But you’ve still a plethora of lessons that only a first winter can teach you,” His grip was still tight on Cailean’s scalp, “Learn your lessons, and we’ll make a Winter Hunter of you yet,” he said.

  “I’m not a winter hunter, I’m a fool with a sword he doesn’t deserve and a shield he clings to when he’s not brave enough to strike. I should have been faster. I could have swung and got a blow before it ripped Gregor’s throat out. I could have helped and left a better hunter than I could ever be to find the spring,” Cailean looked down again.

  Baltair smacked him across the face and forced Cailean’s eyes up, “Look at me, boy, look at me!” Baltair grabbed Cailean by the throat, “You think you're the first hunter to lose a brother? Do you think you’re the first of us to dodge when he should have slashed? It’s your first year, not a hunter alive who couldn’t tell you this or that regret, this or that brother dead. Steel yourself. Winter isn’t coming anymore, it’s here. The time for care and study is over. You have a sword, and you have a shield. That’s all you can count on in this world, all you can count on in this season of discontent. Now, are you going to use them and do your job, or will you waste precious time on those already dead? We can’t help those dead,” Baltair commanded, loosening his grip on Cailean’s throat and letting the poor boy step away.

  “I’m sorry, I-” Cailean shook his head.

  “Say the oath,” Baltair ordered.

  “I am a winter hunter,” Cailean mumbled, looking down, eyes heavy with regret.

  Baltair gave him another slap across the face, “Say the oath like you have a damn backbone,” he commanded.

  “I am a Winter Hunter,” Cailean gritted his teeth, “I am the first line against the scourge of the cold,”

  “Now you sound like you’ve some stones,” Baltair shook him.

  “I am the last line against that horrible darkness, I have sword and shield against threats old, against threats without names, I defend those with nothing and those with even less, whether those threats be a one or a thousand,” Cailean fought the voice in his head, “I will see the spring is found.”

  Baltair gave a nod of respect to the young hunter, “See that you remember those words, remember them when the monsters come for you. Those words and your brothers are all you have. Now, clean the blood from your hands, and help us dig a grave for your brother.”

  That was the second time in his life Cailean had heard that sentence. His cowardice would likely see many brothers killed.

  No.

  No one else.

  Cailean kept his breath as calm as it could be as he dug along with his fellow hunters. He would not lose his brother again, he would not lose anyone again. His soul couldn’t afford the grief.

  Get used to this, you coward. Get used to putting better men than you in the ground. That’s all you’ve ever done, all you’ve ever been good for.

  Cailean refused to let that voice again rip at his mind. Baltair reminded him of his duty. He was a Winter Hunter now. It would not be Gregor or any other brother who would take the hits from a rogue monster of winter just so he could keep living his pathetic life.

  You’re burying a better man than you. You know that, right?

  “Out of my head, you damn voice,” Cailean said to himself as he dug his shovel into the ground and struck a rock. He held his tool down, closed his eyes, took a breath, and tried to collect himself.

  Couldin was supposed to be here. He was the brother who was supposed to be celebrating a great hunt amongst the Winter Hunters. Couldin wouldn’t have to bury one of his brothers, not on his first Goddess damned hunt.

  Cailean’s father said it wasn’t his fault. His mother said it wasn’t his fault. Cailean could still remember the tears in his mother’s eyes as they buried the better son. He remembered stalking through his house at night, after that terrible night, and finding Couldin’s iron practice sword. He remembered stalking to the backyard and practicing the few movements of training that Couldin had shown him of the bare-bones training Couldin got at Hunter’s Hold as the older brother prepared to fulfill his dream of being a Winter Hunter.

  I have to be good enough. If I’m a tenth of what Coulidan could have been, that has to be enough, Cailean thought. It was a Baobhan that got him. It came for its prey with the allure of a ghostly and beautiful woman who lured her prey with a lovely call. Cailean remembered seeing how beautiful she was. That foolish young man’s lust Cailean had was dragged right into her clutches like the easy prey he was. He was a stupid boy, following a beautiful woman in the darkness of the woods and the only person that could defend him was Coulidan. He was always looking after his younger brother, always protecting him. Couladin got his dream of slaying a monster, and all he had to pay for the experience was his own life.

  The dream of becoming Winter Hunter, becoming a man who fought for those like the useless boy Cailean was. This was Couldin’s destiny, not Cailean’s. With Couldin’s death, Cailean accepted the responsibility of his brother’s destiny upon himself. He became a Winter Hunter, he was the last defense against that horrible darkness, he had sword and shield against threats so old, against threats without names, he would defend those with nothing and those with even less, whether those threats be one or a thousand, he would see that the spring was found.