Chapter 1
Hellfire spewed out of the dragon’s toothy maw, melting the snow capping the mountain and barbequing his crewmates before they even got the chance to scream. Ben recoiled from the heat, fighting against the wind for balance.
“Stand tall, you maggots,” Marteus roared in his booming voice. The wind pulled at his long, flowing hair, his great battleaxe in hand.
The dragon beat its wings and dove toward the ground, right at the group of archers and crossbowmen Marteus had placed as bait.
“Now!” Marteus roared, and the half-dozen of them loosed their projectiles before diving out of the way. The dragon hissed and growled at the barrage and landed with force, loosening rocks and ice from the peaks around them. Two men disappeared under a slide. Another had his head caved in by a chunk of stone.
The dragon lunged with its mouth and grabbed a woman from the ground. With a flick of its head, it sent her and her crossbow spinning off the mountain. It swiped its tail and sent another archer flying off the edge as he tried to flee.
Ben saw nothing but grit in Marteus’s eyes as he glared at the dragon. Those eyes shifted to him, boring into his soul, exposing his vulnerabilities, dispelling his confidence. He must see the fear in my eyes.
“Go,” was all Marteus said to him. “Now!” he roared. The others around him ran toward the dragon, shouting with bloodlust, thrusting their spears and swords into the air. Ben didn’t move. His legs felt detached.
Sparks flashed on the peak above the dragon. The air cracked like a slaver’s whip, and a mass of rock shifted, then dropped onto the great creature’s tail, back, neck, head, and his crewmates too.
“What would you do, Benzan?” Marteus asked, his eyes wild. He grabbed Ben’s leather jerkin with both hands, lifting him, shaking him.
“What would you do?” he shouted it into his face again, shaking him with such force he thought his head might snap off. More than anything in the world, Ben wanted to shout back, to raise his sword and bury it in him, but guilt and fear stole his resolve. He bunched his eyes closed, and when he opened them again, he found a familiar hand grabbing his arm where Marteus had, shaking him.
“Ben. Ben. You all right?”
“Dudley, what the fuck are you doing here?” Ben said, sitting up, disoriented.
“You were shouting and swearing like a mad drunkard.”
“Swearing? Saying what?”
“Like ‘effin get off me you bastard’. You nearly punched me in the face. What were you dreaming about?”
Ben cleared the sleep from his eyes and gave them a good rub with his knuckles. “I can’t remember.” He sighed. Each night, the same dream—the mountain, the dragon, the helplessness of seeing the deaths of those he cared for, and feeling responsible.
“What is it, anyway? Why did you wake me?” Ben asked.
“It’s Lukas. I think we’ve got a problem.”
*
“I’m going to break that fat nose of his,” Ben growled as he stomped through the sleepy town of Pancho’s Hold. The dawn chorus was in full voice, finches and sparrows swooping from thatch roofs. Dew glistened on the tips of emerging flowers outside the rows of squat stone houses. “Where did you say he was?”
“Just off the green, in a house with a red door,” Dudley said, hurrying behind.
Ben looked at the doors they passed, then at Dudley. “They’re all red.”
Dudley shrugged.
They found the green soon enough—a triangular space in the heart of the town, and not very green. Feet had long trampled the grass to mud, and on market days, the wheels of wagons laden with goods churned it into a quagmire. Today wasn’t a market day, and the green was deserted.
“Can you remember where, Dud?”
Dudley squinted, looked around him. He changed direction, walked backwards, then forwards, looking around. “Just trying to get the right angles,” he muttered, seeing Ben’s frown. He pulled on the brown goatee that stretched to his chest, as he often did, then pointed to the right. “Over there.”
It was their best lead, so Ben followed him, though he knew entrusting Dud with responsibility always carried risk. Dud couldn’t remember the month or year he was born, which said everything about the man. Ben guessed he was about twenty-five, going on seven. Despite the goatee, he had a youthful, expressive face and big brown eyes that revealed everything he was thinking, which wasn’t much. Ben had schooled the lad when he’d first joined Marteus’s crew. He was the only one who’d ever been grateful for it.
While Dudley had life before him, Ben was a greying man of middling years. Yes, he may have slowed with age, but he could still chop the head off an ogre, no problem. And he didn’t tire on the hunt when some of the younger ones flagged. He couldn’t hunt alone, though. For all his idiosyncrasies, Dud was a decent shot with a crossbow. Still, they needed a crew equipped for all eventualities, and Ben had assembled one, or so he thought.
“I think it’s this one,” Dudley said, stopping outside a little house with a red door.
“How sure are you?”
“Mostly.”
Ben shook his head, then banged on the door. “Lukas,” he called.
A dog barked somewhere along the street. Another broke into a yappy song, too. A woman shouted “shut up” out of a window to add to the cacophony. Ben banged again. A heartbeat later, the door swung open. A stout, grey-haired woman in a ragged nightdress squinted up at them.
“The fuck do you two want?” she said.
“Where’s Lukas?”
“Who in the seven hells is Lukas?”
Ben looked at Dudley. The oaf bit his lip.
“Wrong house, sorry,” Ben said, making to turn away.
“You get me out of bed for this? Six days a week I work. I get one day off, and that’s today, and you wake me up early for some prick called Lukas. Well, I hope Lukas rots with leprosy and you two get swallowed by a dragon.” She hawked and spat in their direction and slammed the door.
“Nice work, Dud,” Ben said, turning away to find Lukas peering out at them from the window of the house opposite. “Lukas, I’ve got a serious bone to pick with you,” Ben said, storming over. The face disappeared. Ben thumped on the door. He noticed it was green, not red, and glanced at Dudley. “Get out here, you coward,” he shouted through the wood. No answer. “I’ll break it down. I don’t give a damn.” A few more moments passed. Ben heard a latch open and the door creaked outwards.
A few paces back from the threshold, the slender, lanky frame of Lukas stood before them, body wrapped in a woollen sheet covering all but his ankles and feet. He had hair thick enough for a sparrow to make its nest in, and it seemed to grow up rather than out or down. He had dark eyes and a wide, blotch-shaped nose which sat above thin lips and a hairless chin. He was around the same age as Dudley.
“Are you naked under there?” Ben asked, eyeing the drooping sheet.
Lukas nodded.
“Why?”
“Got too warm while I slept.”
“It’s freezing outside,” Ben said, a cynical squint to his eyes.
“I’m hot-blooded,” he said with a shrug.
“Fair enough,” Dudley said, standing behind Ben.
“Pack it in, Dud,” Ben said, frowning. He turned back to Lukas. “What’s this I hear about you backing out?”
“Who said I was backing out? I ain’t backing out.”
“Yeah? You don’t sound so sure. Dud said you told him last night you wanted to go back to Marteus,” Ben said, hiking a thumb at Dudley.
“What you say that for, Dud?” Lukas snapped.
Dudley’s gaze was fixed on the ground.
“We agreed we’d do this together, Lukas,” Ben said. “You know the deal. We need a trapper to catch these fuckers and you’re the best we got. Back out now and this falls apart. And I’ll be honest, Lukas, I’d be pretty pissed off if you did that to us now. If this doesn’t work, I’ve got nothing. We’ve all got nothing. None of us wants to go back to Marteus. Do you? He treated you like a dumb mutt.” Ben’s stern look morphed into a smile. “Anyway, do you seriously think he’ll take you back? ‘Turncoats and traitors’ he called us. He told Bylly to spread the word that we had a bounty on our heads until I talked him round. We’re his competition now, remember.”
Lukas nodded, his face solemn under the blanket. “It is nice not getting kicked up the arse all the time,” he said.
“That’s the spirit. I don’t know why you’re getting itchy feet anyway. We’ve got our first bounty to work on. Our first shot at going it alone,” Ben said, holding up a sheet of parchment containing the terms of the job.
“Oh yeah? What is it?” Lukas said, perking up.
“A drake has been getting fat off goats up in the hills west of here. The mayor’s paying a hundred silvers for its head.”
“Damn. We could buy our own tavern for that much. Anyone else taken it on?”
“One crew run by a woman called Marisa, but they ain’t been back in weeks, so the mayor reckons they swerved it.”
“Or the drake got them,” Dudley said.
Ben gave him a scowl.
“Drake as in a duck?” Lukas asked.
“Nah, it’s not a duck, Lukas. Drakes are little dragon bastards with no wings. We took one out with Marteus years ago. Nice easy job.”
“When was that?” Dudley asked.
“Before you joined,” Ben said. “Anyway, get dressed and pack your shit. Hylda said she’d meet us by the well at dawn, and you know what she gets like if we keep her waiting. Whose house is this, anyway?” he asked, peering inside.
“My cousin’s,” Lukas said.
Ben looked at him, eyes narrowing. “Fair enough.”
*
“Where is the oaf?” Hylda asked, looking up from her whetstone and hunting knife. Her glacier-blue eyes held the sternness of a priestess, and the tightness of her blonde, plaited hair only added to the severity. The crooked scar that ran up the side of her right cheek completed the impression of someone you didn’t want to get stuck in a confined space with.
“He’s coming,” Ben said.
“He will hold us back, I tell you,” Hylda said, shaking her head. She sat on a bench beside the well, longbow resting against her travel pack. Ben had served with Hylda in Marteus’s crew for years. She’d led them to their targets more than once, and Ben had seen her slaughter a pack of goblins alone. But she’d also led their loot cart over the edge of a cliff and once took the crew on a week-long hike along a dead trail, so she remained as much of a wildcard as Dud and Lukas.
Ben sat down next to Hylda and took out an apple from his pack. He bit a hearty chunk out of it and looked at her and Dudley. It wasn’t their fault, he knew. Some people were good at things, and others beggar belief with their idiocy. Having a crew made up of the latter wasn’t ideal. Ben knew that was more of a damning reflection on him. For years, he’d schooled the newcomers to Marteus’s crew, made sure they kept their heads, treated wounds, set up camp and cooked. He might not have been at the forefront of the action, but he was an important part of the operation.
Marteus didn’t see it like that. “More of a woman than the women in the crew”, he’d say, and that lack of respect set the tone for all that followed. It’d become a rite of passage to get your first group laugh mocking Ben. He hated every moment of it, and if he reacted, it made things much worse. He’d hoped they’d grow bored and instead begin to see his worth. That was a fool’s hope. Cuts of the bounties were given to those who killed and slaughtered, while people like Ben took a meagre wage and bed and board. Ben got his sword bloody, of course, but he wasn’t one of the maniacs charging headfirst into the den of a wyvern. Life under Marteus’s rule didn’t reward the cautious man. When Ben had asked for a percentage of the takings as a fair reflection of his contribution, Marteus had laughed so hard that those sleeping at the inn complained to the landlord about being woken up. Seeing Marteus’s round face convulsing with laughter was the fuel Ben had needed to start his own crew and break away. And what a crew it was: Dudley, who’d follow him unwittingly into a basilisk’s cave; Hylda, who despised Marteus and most of the crew and couldn’t wait to jump, and Lukas, a trapper famous for letting more out of his traps than keeping in. And even he wasn’t entirely onboard. Ben spat out an apple pip.
“I need an ale,” he said.
“No ale till the job’s done,” Hylda said.
Ben spat out another pip. A horse whickered off to their right, and he glanced over. A frown formed on his face.
“What?” Hylda asked, turning to look. “Fuck.”
A booming laugh filled the square. “Well, looky here, fellas. It’s Ben The Boot and his band of traitors.” Marteus sat astride his black stallion, his chest plate glinting in the spring sun, that famous double-bladed axe swinging from the saddle. Like the hero the world regarded him as, the wind blew his hair, though it wasn’t as thick and dark as when Ben first met him. Already, a few onlookers had recognised him and were gathering. They saw people like Marteus as heroes, noble warriors keeping the beasts from the door of humanity.
Ben spat another pip and stood. Hylda joined him. Dudley trailed behind.
“Remember what I said the last time I saw you, Benzan?” Marteus said.
“We’re on neutral ground, Marteus. Nobody’s stepping on toes.”
“Depends on the reason why you’re here,” Marteus said, moving his horse closer. Ben was smaller than the average man, and the stallion loomed a good head or two above him.
“We’re just passing through. Restocking.”
“Is that so?” Marteus turned to his crew. Ominous laughter rippled among them. A joke that Ben, Dud and Hylda weren’t in on.
“Funny, a little birdie told me that you’ve been sniffing around for bounties. Something about a drake, I hear,” Marteus said.
Ben had no more pips to spit, but if he did, he’d aim one at Marteus’s gloating face. The bastard had informants everywhere. Mayoral and sheriff’s offices were the sources of bounties, so it was smart to have someone on the inside sharing information about what was available and who was chasing it. Records were always kept. Any monster hunter had to register their intent with the vendor before they set off on a hunt.
“Holding your tongue makes you look guilty, Benzan. Another quality to add to your list. Useless, traitorous and guilty,” Marteus said, a poor joke but his crew were a band of serious arse lickers and offered a chorus of laughter which their leader lapped up.
“You know what it means if you go after that drake’s head. You’d be stepping those tiny feet of yours onto my big boots. I’ve gutted men for less, Ben, and you’ve witnessed it.” He moved the stallion closer, so close Ben could feel the heat of its breath, smell its unwashed body. Marteus hadn’t replaced him then—Ben was the one who had looked after his horse. Marteus leaned forward in his saddle, hanging over him like a bird of prey about to strike. “But since it’s such a nice day, how about we play a game instead?”
“Game?” Hylda asked.
“Yes, my sour-faced lady, a game. A wager, in fact. I let you go for this bounty, but I’ll be going for it too. If you slay the drake and claim the bounty first, then I promise not to ‘interfere’ with your crew, if you can call it that, for a whole year. You can hunt as you please, and if we come across each other, we pretend we don’t exist.”
“And if you win?”
“Then all of you rejoin my crew. But you work for free for a year.” Marteus gave him his broadest grin.
“I’m good,” Ben said. As much as he wanted the freedom to pursue bounties without the threat of death hanging over them, another year with Marteus would kill his soul, and after everything that had happened with the breakaway, Ben was pretty sure Marteus would see him dead before that year was out.
“No? You don’t want to earn a proper living for yourself? For your crew? I thought you wanted to prove yourself. Here’s your opportunity. Where are your balls, Benzan? Or is it true that you don’t have any?” The laughter erupted.
Ben looked at Hylda, her jaw locked in anger and determination. She’d agree to something as absurd as this out of spite alone. He looked at Dud, his eyes wide with concern. The fool didn’t like conflict much; how he ended up in this line of work, Ben did not know.
“I’m sure. We’re all good. If you go for the drake, good luck with it.” At that, Ben turned away, picking up as many bags as he could and hoping that the others followed suit. To his relief, they did.
“You’re a fool, Benzan. A dead fool,” Marteus shouted after them.
Ben didn’t look back. “Let’s find Lukas and get moving,” he muttered, hoping the others didn’t hear the wind escape his arse.
