“On your feet at once! All of you!”
Colton rolled over in bed and sat up slowly, squinting past the torch light at Bordstern. Guards were pulling men from their bunks, but there had been no fight and the darkness outside told Colton it was still night. Tyran shrugged off the grasp of a soldier and stood up.
“What is this, Bordstern?” he asked.
“You are all to assemble outside the building immediately. Any man who is not there within the minute can be sure to skip breakfast.”
At this the men tumbled from their beds and poured down the corridor, under close watch by the guards. Colton was less quick to jump from his bed, but he joined the others alongside Tyran.
“That was close,” Tyran muttered to Colton. “I only just slipped back in.”
“It seems we have a long day ahead of us,” Colton answered.
They stepped out of the building onto the fields, still cool with the night air. Just outside the walls were drawn up several great wagons, beside which stood a great number of guards mounted on horses.
“Today marks exactly one month till the Games,” Bordstern announced, yelling, as was his habit. “Consequently, the routine you have become accustomed to in training will be changed. You have learned to wrestle and fight, to attack and to defend yourself, even to hunt and subdue wild animals. But now you will participate in a manhunt.
“For one week you will dwell in the forest outside the city, having been selected at random to become either the huntsman or the hunted. As a hunter, your task is to deliver to me all those who shall be your victims. Those others have simply to last the week without being subdued. Each of you will be given a short sword and a small pack of food. It will not be enough. If you wish to survive till the end, you must find game in the forest.
“Let me make one thing absolutely clear: no man is to be wounded or dealt any significant harm. The purpose of this week is to ready you for the Games, and no injured man can participate. Finally, understand this: the forest will be completely surrounded. Any man who attempts escape shall be beaten and exempted as a choice for the Games. Am I clear?”
There was a general nodding of heads and grunting, which Bordstern took for a yes.
“Into the wagons, then,” he said. “The ride will not last long.”
For once, the men were intrigued by Bordstern’s orders, and there was no complaint. It would also be the first time for most of them to ever step outside the city, something few trainers would ever have allowed. The wagons rolled across the rugged roads and out of the borders of the city, and every man among them felt a burst of freedom as he inhaled the fresh air, somehow even more precious outside the city. There they jumped down from the wagons, their tiredness having vanished.
“You have only to draw a piece of parchment from the basket,” Bordstern gestured toward a large basket set in one of the wagons. “On it will be written your position as either huntsman or prey, which will then be recorded so as to ensure your part in the test. Now, then, don’t delay! You would be wise to be the first in the forest.”
The men pushed over one another to reach the basket, drawing their positions and, being given their few supplies, disappeared into the forest. Autumn was beginning, but though the forest floor was overlaid with leaves the trees were no less full. There it was very calm, a cool peacefulness lying over the trees. Through the great branches of the trees a gentle wind rustled, the taste of freedom in its breeze.
Colton was glad for their shade, having drawn—with little surprise—the position of the hunted. The first day passed slowly, and for any who knew how to hide themselves, becoming no more than the shadows, it was uneventful. The men spread quickly throughout the trees, and Colton spent the day marking those who attacked and dragged the less fortunate away through the trees. What became clear above all else was that hunters worked best in bands, but for their victims it was safer to remain alone, silent, with no one to contend with for food or a place to hide.
The forest grew quieter as night drew near, and a chill swept through the air. Colton climbed a tree and waited on its lower branches, sword in hand, for a sign of game. He had little hope of actually slaying any animal, for the men had surely driven away any large creatures, and anything smaller would be too quick for him to kill with only a short sword. But he was to be proved wrong in his doubts, for as dusk faded to night a stag stepped lightly beneath the tree, nosing through the leaves.
Colton was taken back for a moment, marveling at such a great creature, for never had he seen so mighty an animal. Tremendous horns rose from its head, majestic in their beauty. It would be a deep shame to kill such a creature, but he could not let the very means of his survival prevent him from that existence. Colton fell from the branch onto the creature’s back, burying his sword into the animal. The stag fell snorting to the ground, and he slit its throat swiftly. Then he knelt and began to skin the animal, when behind him a man crunched on a branch and he felt the point of a sword against the back of his neck.
“Drop the knife,” the man said calmly.
Colton paused. Judging from the man’s approach, he was alone. Colton rose to his feet slowly, and then in an instant whirled and wrenched the sword from the man’s grasp, giving him no time to react.
“Leave this place,” Colton said, holding the sword to his opponent’s neck. “Now.”
The man returned his glare with something between anger and humiliation, but he turned and left all the same. Colton watched his back till he was out of sight, and then returned to his kill. It was not wise to remain there, he knew, but there was nowhere he could take the deer. He spent the rest of the night butchering the stag and roasting it, laying out strips to dry by the fire. Having satisfied his hunger, he returned to the tree and passed the remainder of the night restlessly, not daring to sleep deeply lest his food be stolen and so exhausted he feared he would be forced to sleep during the day if he did not rest then. His dilemma was solved by a half hour of sleep near morning, and though it did not fully cure his weariness he at least was able to move on when dawn came.
That day and the few that followed held little excitement. Those who were the victims of the hunters were gradually driven to the south of the forest, the huntsmen having joined their forces to take out the hunted. But Colton had little trouble with them for the most part, outmatching easily those who attacked him unaided. He located a stream through the forest, providing him with ample water, and the meat from the stag was more than enough to last him through the week. Tyran seemed to have vanished, so that Colton became sure he was one of those tracking him down.
As the days wore by and the end of the week drew near, the huntsmen doubled their efforts and forced the remainder of the men to the far side of the forest. There they were easily picked off by groups of two or three. With only two days left till the week was up, it became increasingly clear to Colton that if he wished to remain hidden for those last 48 hours, he would have to go north past his pursuers. This in mind, he backtracked as far as he dared and climbed the largest tree in sight, settling there as silent as a snake might have lain in the same tree. Within only two hours the hunters appeared in sight, passing directly beneath him without ever glancing up.
When they finally had disappeared beneath the shadows of the thick branches, Colton dropped down and continued north. It was a short matter of time before he encountered two more hunters, straying behind their group, but he disarmed them both and was gone before they ever collected themselves or carried a more tactful attack. After that he was more careful to stay aware of his surroundings and slip away rather than encounter his other opposers.
The day soon led to night, the next morning marking the final day of the hunt. Colton was sore and tired, ready for any bed besides that of tree branches. Now far beyond the group of hunters he had left behind him, he let loose a little of his caution and proceeded nearer the edge of the forest, ready to claim his victory the moment dusk fell. By midday he was growing thirsty, and he ventured from his place to search for water, his mind on Fianna’s bright face, so earnest and sweet, blue eyes sparkling.
But in an instant the happy vision vanished. Nearing a stream just ahead, he stepped upon a trap—meant for small game animals—and fell to the ground with a cry of pain as its iron teeth sunk into his ankle. Wrenching the trap open, he released his foot, blood pouring from the wound. Just a moment later three men appeared from the brush and fell upon him.
“You fools,” Colton spat, shoving them away. His face was pale with the pain. “You had orders against this very thing.”
“That was nothing more than a joke,” one said. “Bordstern’s never really serious about any of his threats.”
“He’ll be serious when it comes time to punish you,” Colton said sharply, trying to raise himself and failing. He ripped his cloak and wrapped the wound, grinding his teeth against the pain. “I’ll need a horse.”
“Don’t take us for fools,” the man smirked. “We’re taking you in as ordered.”
“By all your foolish spirits, I’ll have your head when this is done,” Colton shouted. “Bring me a horse!”
“I’m doing as he says,” the second man said, a boy hardly old enough to be there.
“You wouldn’t dare,” the man said, drawing his sword.
“He’s right,” the third intervened. “We were wrong to set those traps. Besides, this man is close friends with Tyran, and both of them excellent fighters.”
“I don’t care who’s friends with who. We’re taking him in all the same, just like the others.”
“You’ll have to do it alone, then,” the youngest said. “Bordstern will be in a rage to know we disobeyed, and I’m not digging myself a grave by listening to you. I’m fetching a horse.”
With that, he was gone, and the third man helped Colton to a tree, a watchful eye on his leader. The wait that followed was tedious. The first man paced to and fro in nervous anger, and Colton followed his movements with an angry glare.
Why had Bordstern ordered this foolish hunt? he wondered. He should be in the barracks over a warm dinner right now—no, he corrected himself—no, he should be in bed, in his own home, on earth. He should be laying down from a long day, perhaps a dinner with some friends, in a soft bed, in a quiet room, and he should never have to listen to a man snoring again. He had suffered on Vellatha long enough. And what had he gotten for his pains? A wounded leg, another enemy, and a grumpy trainer. And all this was leading directly up to the Games, he reminded himself. But his anger was soon softened, the sound of hoofbeats reaching his ears across the leaves of the forest bed. The boy had returned, with him four soldiers and an extra horse.
Two guards dismounted and raised Colton to his feet, helping him to the horse. His face turned ashen at the first bit of weight he put on the injured foot, but he bore the pain silently and rode out of the forest alongside the guards, the others having been arrested.
Bordstern’s face turned to iron as he heard the story, and though Colton intervened on the behalf of the two who had helped, Bordstern sneered and said that they should all receive an equal punishment.
“What’s done is done,” he said. “No amount of regret or sorrow can earn them a pardon.”
“Have you no sense of forgiveness?” Colton said.
“If they are to be dealt forgiveness, let it be in the life after death; they shall certainly need it more there than here. I will deal them justice.”
Colton could not agree with him, but it was useless to argue against his stubbornness, and the pain in his ankle was growing the longer it was not treated.
“Bring a stretcher for this man,” Bordstern said, “and have his foot bandaged.” He turned to Colton. “If I were you, I would put all my strength towards healing. The Games are not so far away.”
For once, Colton listened to the man. He had two weeks before the king’s inspector arrived, and if he was not on his feet and fighting by then he would have more luck being chosen dead than injured in bed as he was. He let the men put him to bed, and a doctor arrived to give him the slightly heartening news that the bone was not shattered, as he had expected.
“At the very minimum you ought to stay in bed for three weeks,” the doctor told him.
Colton grunted.
“Any shorter and you will risk permanent injury.”
The doctor was firm, but Colton’s mind was made up as well. He would heal in two weeks, and he would participate in the Games. His chances of winning against Tyran were small, he knew, but he would still go and show the king his worth. Perhaps he would not be crowned winner till the next year, yet even so an initial appearance before Alastor would give him favor the following year. And then, having been granted wealth and a place among the highest of lords, he would make Fianna a great lady.
The two weeks passed with an upbeatness and speed that touched all the men, even Colton as he lay confined in bed. His ankle healed swiftly, and though it was still quite sore when the two weeks had gone by, Colton rose from his bed without second thought and resumed training.
That week held a weight for the men that not even the Games provided. To be chosen meant you had a chance, that you were worth something. It meant there was something unique—extraordinary, even—about you. That after countless years of training you had achieved something. The Games could be worried about after—getting there was all that mattered now.
The king’s examiner arrived looking not at all how Colton had expected. There was a peculiar burliness in his gate, suggesting that he had once been a sturdy, muscular man, though now gray hair struggled to grow across his scalp and his face bore the wrinkles of a long and hard life. In his gaze was something very determined, even harsh, and his mouth formed a permanent thin line. He still carried a sword at his side, and perhaps he did not realize how much he had aged since his younger days. Nevertheless, old age had not softened him any, and he looked upon all the men with a scrutinizing, severe eye.
He ruled out many of the men after only a couple days with pitiless disinterest. These retreated to their self-pitying oblivion to continue the monotony of their lives, as the examiner turned his attention to those who displayed the finest talent. Yet as the week wore on, it began to appear impossible to meet such standards. Even the most minor of mistakes, it seemed, exempted one from his consideration. It was not enough to be talented—what the examiner sought was artistry and mastery beyond conception. As this became increasingly clear, the men increased their efforts in any way they knew how.
Then, as soon as it had begun, the week was ended, and any chance to prove themselves was gone for all but ten. Late that day as dusk settled, the examiner gave his list to Bordstern and left. The trainer entered the dining hall as they finished dinner, and for once a hush fell over the men.
“The examiner has made his list,” he said. “The ten who shall be given their chance at the Games are as follows: Marsynn, Tyran, Owain, Colton.”
The list continued, but Colton didn’t hear the rest. He had succeeded, then! He wished to go to Fianna immediately and tell her the news, but he feared he would see little of her in the next weeks. Tyran walked across the room to him and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Let’s hope we don’t turn rivals before this is done,” he said.
Colton smiled. “We shall only be opponents when we fight,” he said, and after a hesitation added, “Aiza will be waiting for you tonight.”
Tyran paused. “Perhaps you ought to go to Fianna tonight instead. I’ll see Aiza at the Games, and besides I’ve seen her recently.”
Colton looked at him curiously. “I thought you’ve been in the forest and swamped with training the past three weeks.”
“I have,” Tyran shrugged.
“Thank you, then,” Colton said.
“Just don’t get caught.”
Colton laughed. “You know I’ll be careful.”
Tyran’s glance was doubtful. “You do understand that you’ll be killed if you’re caught,” he said.
“Of course,” Colton said, but his voice had lost a hint of its confidence.
Getting Hunger Games vibes from this…. Lol!
On a more serious note, I love this quote!
“If they are to be dealt forgiveness, let it be in the life after death; they shall certainly need it more there than here. I will deal them justice.”
Fantastic job again! I'm looking forward to hearing the outcome of the Games :)