The Legend of the Hunter
Betrayal

Zounith had been waiting for his opportunity since the time he had carried Zenia to Zidayt’s cabin after she had had her convulsions. He had kept close watch on the cabin and was ready to act once Zenia was out of her apparent coma. He had clandestinely contacted the other members of the Raajat Cabal, those who believed in the indisputable sovereignty of Warlock Azlotlin, and every one of the four hundred Weaver members spread throughout Wrochcia was waiting for his word. Then they would deliver the prize in glory to The Master and become Immortals.

When he saw Zenia setting off alone for her grandmother’s cabin after the speech made by the execrable Rachmin, he knew his moment had come. Looking about stealthily to ascertain Zidayt’s whereabouts, and seeing the Weaver woman engaged in conversation with one of the Council Members, Zounith walked as unhurriedly as possible to the cabin. He felt fortunate that no one else was on the lane leading to the cabin, and he could see Zenia blissfully traipsing a few metres ahead of him. He timed his approach so that he arrived at the cabin door about two minutes after Zenia had entered the house. Without knocking, and first once again searching the immediate area to see if anyone else was in the vicinity and not spotting another soul, the Weaver boldly entered the lodge.

He nearly collided with Zabida who was apparently about to leave.

The Weaver woman let out a loud gasp of shock, but when she recognised Zounith, she smiled. Just as she was about to speak to him, Zounith pulled her into a deadly embrace. His dagger slid into her body just under her right breast, piercing her heart instantly and extinguishing the light in her eyes like a candle blown out by a harsh wind. He carefully caught the lifeless body and silently lowered it to the floor behind the couch. Once done, he went into the kitchen from whence sounds were issuing. He assumed Zenia was probably doing the dishes, and he was right.To prevent her from being frightened, for he needed her to be compliant, he called out her name.

“Zenia! There you are! Zidayt sent me to call you. I met your mother on her way out, but she asked me to take you to your grandmother, as she was in a hurry to go somewhere.”

“Yes, Mother needed to go help grandfather with some task,” Zenia replied as she dried off her soapy hands. “We can go right now to Zidoo; the dishes can wait,” the girl said eagerly.

Zounith gave her a broad smile and said, “That’s perfect. She asked me to accompany you, seeing that night has already fallen,” the Weaver man said in an effort to assuage whatever suspicions Zenia might have. However, the girl had none for she hastily started for the front door.

“No, no,” Zounith said and stopped Zenia from leaving the kitchen. “Your grandmother asked me to bring you to her through the forest behind the cabin, as this is some kind of secret meeting,” Zounith lied. From the way Zenia suddenly frowned and tilted her head to the side in query, Zounith instantly knew he had made a mistake. In one smooth motion, he pulled the rag soaked in soporific from his back pocket and covered the girl’s nose and mouth with it. She dropped limply into his arms.

Carefully exiting the back entrance with an unconscious Zenia in his arms, Zounith hastened once he had reached the cover of the dense pine trees behind the cabin. He exulted at his success and his heart raced with wild abandon and vicious glee. He wanted to shout out in triumph, but instead he restrained his impulse and giggled softly and inanely to himself.

“The Master will be so pleased! The Master will be oh so pleased,” he kept saying to himself as he disappeared down the forest track.

After about a five-minute jog he reached the cart he had taken great pains to secrete earlier in the woods for just this moment. He had also ensured that he would have two carrier pigeons on hand, and he quickly dispatched these with a message to two other Raajat members. They would pass on the message to the other members and within hours, all the members would know of his success.

The message read: Ripples set in motion. Meet at Grief’s Spire at sunrise. Praise the Master!

The Hulya Elves arrived as the sun started to slowly disappear behind the horizon, and those in Zanderon marvelled at the thousand strong army that marched into the fortified village. Kloneithlin was relieved to see that his Ghoshal Elves had joined those from Hulya, and every soul in the Weaver Village felt their spirits buoyed by the arrival of the stalwart Elves. Each of them keenly felt that they now stood a winning chance against the Drakheen and his hordes, and the Village elders quickly organised accommodation and camp placements for their guests.

Zanderon was bursting at the seams, but everyone was afire with hope and courage. This lasted only as long as it took Zidayt to discover her daughter’s murdered body, and Zenia’s disappearance. Her wail of anguish cut through the night and the sounds of battle preparation like the sharpest knife slicing through tender meat. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared off in the direction of her cabin. Zaherain was already racing to his cabin by the time Zidayt’s second cry of loss split the air. Belac, Marethlin and his twin sister were close on the Weaver’s heels. All four of them reached the cabin at the same time, and found a bereaved Zidayt cradling the head of her daughter’s corpse in her lap. Zaherain dropped hard to his knees next to his mate and stared in dumbstruck incomprehension at the lifeless and bloody body.

Belac, Marethlin and Qarethlin quickly searched the cabin, dreading to find a slain Zenia, but to their relief she wasn’t there. All three instantly assumed that the girl must have been captured by whoever had killed her mother, and Belac voiced what the Elves were thinking.

“They must want her alive, else she would have been here in the same condition,” the Hunter said as tactfully as possible.

“Yes, it stands to reason that that is the case,” Qarethlin agreed.

“But who could have committed such a cowardly murder of a defenceless woman? Such a one is devoid of honour and would surely have revealed his traitorous true self long ago to these Weavers,” Marethlin said in frustration.

As if mention of the word “traitorous” opened a window in Qarethlin’s mind, the Elf woman reached a conclusion about the identity of the murderer with such conviction and clarity that she knew she was not mistaken.

“Zounith,” she pronounced in a tone that brooked no argument.

“What?” Zidayt asked from where she was still sitting with her deceased daughter. Marethlin swore loudly and said, “Vardu! Was he not the one who came to tell us that the two Silent Ones had escaped when we brought them to Zanderon?” the Elf asked.

“Exactly!” Qarethlin replied. “I remember Borethlin had been suspicious of him and had asked how the other two Weavers had been killed but he had managed to escape unharmed …” the Elf girl said before Zidayt interrupted her, speaking as if in a trance.

“And he had said he had left to relieve himself.”

“Vardu!” Marethlin cursed again. The Elf was nearly beside himself with impotent fury, but Belac reached out a restraining hand to rest on the Elf’s shoulder.

“We must remain calm and stay focused. We must not be brought to reckless action now,” he advised. “This is an obvious ploy to undermine and create despair among us. If Zounith is indeed behind this –”

“Trust me, Hunter: he is,” Qarethlin interrupted him.

“All right, seeing that Zounith is behind this, he must assume that we will abandon the village and spend our energy and forces on finding Zenia, thus leaving those in Zanderon to the mercy of the Drakheen and his army.”

“Well, is that not precisely what we should be doing?” Marethlin asked.

It was Release who answered the Elf. The young girl had silently entered the cabin and was standing at the door, looking aghast at the tableau in front of her.

“Yes and no,” she said. “Yes, we must go after Zenia and rescue her at all cost, but we dare not abandon this village. I assure you that the Hollow People are already on their way here, and they will ravage this place and annihilate it and everyone in it. They come to decimate this entire village without compassion or restraint. If no one is here to stand against them and stem their advance, they will continue on to the other towns and cities and massacre every living soul.”

Zaherain shuddered and said, “Release speaks the truth. Once the Hollow People start their slaying and murder, and nobody halts their bloodthirsty progress, Wrochcia will be lost to them.” Then the Weaver man could say no more as he was wracked by sobs anew at his loss. Release went over to comfort him while Qarethlin gently pulled Zidayt away from Zabida’s corpse, ensuring that she placed the dead woman’s head carefully down on the floor. To Zidayt’s credit, she allowed the Elf girl to take her to the bathroom where she helped the stricken Weaver woman remove her blood-soaked clothes.

A small crowd had gathered outside the cabin and those inside went to the porch to break the news to them. Gavurothlin, Kloneithlin and Maniglin being the Elf Commanders, immediately took charge and conferred with the Weaver Elders on how best to deal with the disaster. It was decided in short order that Belac had to stay in the village to help with its defence, but a small party would go in search of the Ripple.

It was Lathlin who pointed out in his implacable and unassuming manner that they were ignoring a pertinent fact.

“Belac cannot stay here. He needs to be with the Ripple, as that surely is where the Drakheen will be. The Weavers and Elves can defend Zanderon, but Belac’s place is beside the Ripple. It is inevitable that the Drakheen will follow the Ripple wherever her captors have planned to take her,” he reasoned.

Before anyone could respond to his logic, Belac asked, “Where or what is Grief’s Spire?” The Hunter was shaking his head intermittently, as if there were something lodged in his ear.

“Why do you ask, Rachmin?” Zando asked reverently. All the Weavers treated Belac with utmost reverence bordering on worship.

“I keep hearing the name very faintly, as if from a great distance. It feels as if I’m hearing it through a thick layer of water or cloth, and at times it’s just a sound,” Belac replied, once again shaking his head in irritation.

“Sweet Spirits,” Rusthlin breathed. “I did not expect the girl to be this powerful at her age,” he stated in awe. “It is the Ripple. It must be her!” he said emphatically.

“What are you saying?” Hojuthlin interjected. “Are you claiming that she can project her thoughts into minds? I thought she only had the ability to connect minds and find those she knows and those they know.”

“That she can do, yes, but her power has evolved much faster and at an unprecedented pace. She is obviously capable now of communicating telepathically with those she knows, as she is doing with the Hunter,” Rusthlin confirmed.

“But why can’t Rachmin hear Zenia clearly?” Zeyba asked.

“It is probably because she has been drugged and she’s only barely able to contact the Hunter of Truth,” Zinistral suggested.

“Yes, I think that would be a fair and accurate assumption to make,” Gavurothlin agreed. “Her captors must have used some sleep draught or potion to incapacitate her, otherwise the Ripple would have most certainly called out for help,” he rationalised.

“Krauwyk know where Grief’s Spire is,” the byrgreme said unexpectedly. “It massive mountain in byrgreme home, in Doondé,” she elaborated.

“That is about two hours north from Zanderon,” Marethlin said. “If that is where we will find the Ripple, I strongly suggest that we leave now and leave the talking for later,” the impulsive young Elf stated.

“I agree with my brother,” Qarethlin said. She had left Zidayt in Zaghrah’s care, who had given the grieving woman a strong drink that induced sleep.

“I am of the opinion that only a small party should pursue the captor or captors. I volunteer to be part of the group, and I am fairly certain Mareth would also wish to be a member of the rescue team,” she added with a wink at her twin.

“You bet I do!” Marethlin agreed, to nobody’s surprise.

“Krauwyk also go with to show way,” the byrgreme said. Before Kunkuna could add his voice, Krauwyk said, “Kunkuna stay here and help fight Drakheen army. Kunkuna get to slash-chop-slit many, many enemies,” she added as an enticement. It worked; Kunkuna licked his chops and grinned happily.

“I will make up the last member of the party,” Lathlin said in such an adamant tone that no one dared object. His entire mien communicated his determination to accompany his friend, and everyone present knew it would be futile to attempt to dissuade him.

Within ten minutes, the party comprising Belac, Lathlin, Marethlin, Qarethlin and Krauwyk departed Zanderon and headed for the Doondé. They left their hearts and hopes for Zanderon and her people’s survival behind them, and flew on wings of urgency and an all-encompassing need towards Grief’s Spire.

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