The Legend of the Hunter
The Queen

The Throne Room was as angular as the Queen herself: all jutting elbows and cheek bones and pointy chin. And her eyes resembled grey flecks of icy flint sharpened to lethality. It was painfully evident from the way a vein in her neck was pulsing, and her death’s grip on the arm rests of the throne, that she was furious. She wore a dress made of rich dark blue brocade that flowed from just under her chin to splash around her feet in a wide spray of lace.

Nothing in the room spoke of comfort or luxury, and it was nearly as sparsely furnished as the guest quarters. The only concession to the starkness was an incredibly stunning tapestry hanging behind the throne. The wall hanging depicted a gory battle between two savage armies, red and black being the most prominent colours woven into the scene. Yet, paradoxically or purposely, it had a gloriously golden sunset as the backdrop to the violence in the foreground.

Belac tore his eyes away from the tapestry and once more noticed the Queen’s barely suppressed fury. He recalled the visitor saying they couldn’t keep the Queen waiting, and he cast a quick sidelong glance at the now revived man to see how he was holding up. Belac was relieved to see he was actually up, and not prone in a faint again.

When he had fainted, Talat had gone over to him and administered a few hard slaps to wake him up. The Thug had only stopped slapping the poor man when he had cried out that he was awake. Belac mentally shook his head at the undue delight the Thug had derived from hitting the man.

Lathlin had gone over to the man and asked, “Who are you? Do you know what you have done?”

To which the man had said, “My name is Zaherain. I’m only a simple Weaver whom these brutes have captured. I have done nothing!” And then Zaherain had pointed a finger at Belac and said in reverence, “Rachmin, the Hunter of Truth.”

Belac had reasoned the man was addled, probably because he had hit his head as he had swooned, and dismissed his remark. Talat, however, had spun to face Belac as if seeing him for the first time. The man had actually blanched right in front of his eyes. Belac had never seen a brown skinned man turn white in seconds. If their situation hadn’t been so grim, he would have found the sight hilarious.

He was brought abruptly back to the present by the Queen’s icy, menacing and threat-laden voice.

“You dare tarry when I have summoned you? Have you become so bold as to make me wait because you know my People value those Weaver-skilled hands of yours?”

Belac shelved her last comment for later in-depth analysis, but noted that the Queen was not using the royal plural pronoun, and it strangely made him see her in a different light. He looked more closely at her, and was amazed to see that she was no old crone, but merely a young woman who had aged unnaturally fast. He thought this might be because of whatever was ailing her, and he wondered what Lathlin was observing with his otherworldly sight.

In answer to the Queen’s question directed at the Weaver, Lathlin stepped forward. A few of the Harvesters ranged along the walls of the Throne Room made to intervene and restrain the Elfling, but a mere lifting of a Queenly finger froze them in their tracks.

“Your Emptiness, we ask pardon. It is entirely our fault, but I hope you will be gracious and forgive us for being late, and spare this man from punishment.” The youth gave a short bow and faced the Queen fearlessly. Belac couldn’t help but admire the Elfling.

“Since you are our guests, and you in particular have been brought to diagnose and possibly heal me, I shall be magnanimous and forgive all of you. Come, let us get down to the real reason for this audience so that you may retire for the night. I know you have had a long trek to the Shrine, and I would be an abysmal host indeed if I were to deny my honoured guests a well-deserved night’s rest,” the Queen stated.

“Crazier than crazy,” Talat said very softly under his breath.

“Mistress Pain, bring forth chairs and refreshment for our guests,” the Queen instructed, and instantly some Harvesters entered with chairs and a small table on which other Harvesters placed various fruit, bread, meat, cheese and drinks. The Queen gestured grandly for the three guests to be seated and partake of the food, but Lathlin remained upright.

“The food is not to your liking?” the Queen asked upon seeing him still standing.

“He doesn’t eat meat,” Talat said without thinking while stuffing food in his mouth, then wished he could bite off his tongue.

“No, it is not that, Your Emptiness,” Lathlin quickly said. “I am perturbed and intrigued by what my healing powers are perceiving about your royal presence. You are in extreme pain, are you not?” he asked bluntly.

The Queen stiffened, for she felt affronted by his question. Again, Harvesters moved towards the Elfling, but it was Mistress Pain who intervened this time with a curt, “Halt! Your Emptiness,” she said to her Queen, “the Elfling means no offence. We have asked him to come to your aid, and this is surely his way of determining how he can help you, would you not agree?” she asked in supplication. It seemed to work, for the Queen relaxed and sat back in the uncomfortable-looking throne.

In answer to Lathlin’s question, she nodded once. Lathlin looked at her more intently, then said, “May I approach, Your Emptiness? I need to observe more closely the energies swirling around you. You may have your Harvesters search me for weapons, but I assure you, I am completely unarmed,” he added.

“But he isn’t defenceless,” Belac wryly thought to himself.

Again, the Queen merely gave a curt nod and Lathlin stepped closer to her. Everyone in the Throne Room tensely watched the strange scene unfold. The blind Elf tilted his head left, then right, then up and down before tilting it left again. He also moved his hands slowly around the Queen, as if he were physically manipulating something. And a gradual but remarkable change in the Queen became evident to everyone present: she looked less aged and more like her previous self.

Her cheek bones were suddenly less prominent; there was more colour in her face, and her lips had grown fuller. Her hair, which had been hanging limply to her shoulders, suddenly took on a shine and bounce. To put it simply, the Queen looked more regal.

“What … what did you do?” she asked in obvious disbelief. She touched her face and hair and before she could ask for one, she was given a hand mirror to view herself. When she saw the change Lathlin had wrought, she became even more confused and elated.

“I have realigned your energies to their natural state, but this is only temporary. I need to identify the source of the contamination of your energies, and then see how I can heal you permanently,” Lathlin explained and stepped back to stand next to Belac.

The Hunter reached out a steadying hand to help his blind friend. It surprised him somewhat that he now thought of the Elfling as a friend, but then he reasoned that Lathlin’s very nature had made it inevitable that they would become friends.

“And how much time do you require for this, Elfling?” the Queen asked, her tone laced with fervour.

“I would like to begin tomorrow morning, Your Emptiness,” Lathlin answered her, “but I need to rest and meditate tonight to determine how best to approach the problem. I can tell you this though: you are suffering the effects of an extremely potent Curse.”

“A Curse!” the Queen shouted and rose from her throne. “And do you know who has been foolish enough to Curse me?” she demanded.

“Not yet, Your Emptiness. For the moment, I have cauterised its tendrils, so you should be free of its detrimental effects for the next two to three days. Could you tell me: when did your illness start?” Lathlin asked.

It was Pain who answered. “It started approximately three months ago, but it began gradually and nearly imperceptibly.”

“Yes,” Lathlin said, “I think that should be about right for the time period. But this is why I need to rest and meditate so that I can trace the origin of the Curse,” he added.

“But of course! How insensitive of me. All of you must be exhausted, and here I am demanding that you heal me immediately,” the Queen said and laughed cheerfully. With her energies restored, she was back to her vibrant, youthful self, and her excitement at being stronger was contained with difficulty.

“Mistress Pain, please see to it that our guests are escorted back to their quarters, and that they have everything they require,” she ordered the Harvester Mistress. “Let them not lack for anything,” the Queen stipulated.

“At once, Your Emptiness,” Pain said quickly and snapped her fingers at four of the Harvesters standing at attention.

“A moment, please, Your Emptiness,” Lathlin suddenly said.

“What now?” Talat groaned and waited for a new disaster to befall them. The Thug had become more and more fatalistic the longer they were in the company of the Hollow People, and his nerves were frayed to breaking point.

“I would like him to serve as our attendant for the night,” the Elfling said and pointed straight at Zaherain, who had been standing as unobtrusively as possible throughout the audience against the back wall furthest from the throne. At Lathlin’s unexpected request, the Weaver wavered on his feet.

“The Weaver? You want him to attend to your needs during the night?” the Queen asked in bafflement. “But he is not any good as a servant,” she said. “In fact, if we hadn’t discovered how skilled he is with his hands, we would have … .” She stopped herself from completing the sentence and instead said, “As you wish. It makes no difference to me who attends you tonight. As long as you are refreshed by morning to begin my healing, you may have anyone you fancy to serve you,” she ended and made a dismissive gesture with her hand towards Zaherain.

“Your Emptiness is too kind,” Lathlin said, making Belac think the Elfling was laying it on rather thickly. He did, however, wonder why Lathlin had specifically requested the Weaver as a night attendant.

“If you ask me,” Talat said, although no one had asked him anything, “we dodged an arrow or knife thrust right there. Can we leave already?” he whined.

“Man, show some backbone for once, won’t you?” Belac chided him, his patience with the Thug having finally run out.

The Harvester escorts led the way out of the Throne Room, followed by an eager Talat, a pensive Lathlin, a very suspicious Belac, and an utterly perplexed Zaherain.

As soon as they were out of hearing range, the Queen turned to Pain and said, “Once the Elfling starts working on my cure, imprison the Hunter in the breeding pens. He should be able to father very healthy babies. You may take the Thug for experimentation, specifically: genetic splicing. I think he would be a wonderful candidate for our human-dreiche splice.”

“Yes, Your Emptiness,” Pain said, smiling broadly in anticipation. “And Zaherain? Are you truly not going to punish him for his insolence?”

The Queen gave a nasty chuckle and said, “Oh, he will get what’s coming to him. He has been far too fortunate these past three months, but I think it is time we taught our skilled Weaver what happens to slaves who dare to rise above their stations!”

“May I hazard a guess as to what you have planned for him, Your Emptiness?” Pain dared to ask. The Queen nodded graciously in permission.

“Staggered amputations, beginning with his right hand? Eventual death after torture by feeding him to the frunx?” Pain asked in relish.

“Oh, Pain! Dear, twisted Pain. You make me so proud to be your sister! Only you conjure fates worse than I do for these souled ones,” the Queen praised her and laughed heartily. Pain joined her in her merriment, their laughter echoing hollowly in the Throne Room.

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