Chapter 2 The Ghost Of The Woods

The bald giant roared and swung his massive wooden club straight at Kaelen’s skull.

He ducked under it just as the club rushed over him.

Kaelen stepped inside his reach and drove a hard punch into his ribs.

Before the giant could recover his breath to scream, Kaelen grabbed him by the throat and slammed his face down into the oak table.

The table broke apart beneath the impact.

The giant collapsed into the wreckage without moving.

The other two men shouted and rushed him at once.

One raised a meat cleaver over his head. Kaelen twisted aside, caught the man’s wrist, and snapped it with a jerk. The man's scream filled the tavern as the cleaver slipped from his fingers and hit the floor.

The third thug charged straight at Kaelen, hoping to catch him off guard.

Kaelen drove his boot into the man's stomach.

The brute staggered backward and crashed into a row of beer barrels.

The barrels burst open.

Cheap ale spilled across the floor, soaking boots, broken chairs, and the unconscious brute.

The man with the broken wrist tried to crawl away.

Kaelen grabbed a wooden stool lying nearby.

"You should've stayed down."

The stool came down across the man's back with a loud crack.

The wood shattered.

The man collapsed face-first into the puddle of ale with a groan.

The last brute pushed himself out of the broken barrels, blood running from his nose.

He barely had time to stand before Kaelen reached him.

One kick to the jaw.

The man's head snapped sideways.

Several teeth skipped across the tavern floor.

He dropped beside his friends.

The whole fight had lasted less than two minutes.

Broken tables covered the floor.

Beer mixed with blood beneath people's boots.

The three hired thugs lay scattered across the tavern, groaning quietly.

Nobody else moved.

The customers stayed where they were.

Some hid beneath tables.

Others stood frozen with mugs still in their hands.

No one wanted to be next.

Kaelen looked around once before wiping the blood from his knuckles onto his cloak.

His breathing hadn't even changed.

He walked toward the bar.

Behind it, Helga crouched on the floor.

She looked up as he approached.

"Please..." she whispered.

Her hands shook so badly she struggled to hold them together.

"I'm sorry. Take whatever you want. Just... don't kill me."

Kaelen rested an elbow on the counter.

"If you're really sorry," he said, "pour me your best northern whiskey."

Helga quickly reached for a bottle.

Her hands trembled so much she almost dropped it before sliding it across the counter.

Kaelen pulled the cork free with his teeth.

He took a long drink.

The whiskey burned all the way down.

"Better."

Bottle in hand, he walked over to the least broken table in the room and sat down.

Around him, people slowly began moving again.

One man helped his friend to his feet.

Another quietly dragged one of the unconscious thugs away from the doorway.

Nobody spoke above a whisper.

Everyone kept one eye on Kaelen.

The tavern door creaked open.

Cold air drifted inside.

A young man stepped through the entrance and stopped.

His eyes swept across the broken tables, the shattered stools, and the three men lying on the floor.

"...I knew the stories weren't exaggerated."

Kaelen didn't bother looking up.

He kept drinking.

The young man swallowed before slowly walking over.

He couldn't have been much older than twenty.

His brown hair was a mess from the snow outside, and his leather vest looked worn from too many years on the road.

He stopped beside Kaelen's table.

"Master Hound."

Kaelen finally looked at him.

The young man immediately raised both hands. "I swear by the old gods, I'm not looking for trouble."

Kaelen snorted and took another swig. “Get lost, boy. Before I break your legs too.”

The kid didn’t move.

Kaelen studied him for a second. "Why are you standing over my table, kid?"

The young man took a careful breath before speaking.

"My name's Peter."

"I didn't ask."

Peter gave an awkward smile. "I've... heard a lot about you."

"I've been following your work for almost a year."

Kaelen looked unimpressed.

"I've tracked down every bounty notice with your name on it."

"And I wanted to find you so I could learn. I want to hunt like you. Merciless. Unstoppable. Feared.” His voice dropped.

“I don’t take apprentices,” Kaelen growled. “And I don’t want company. Leave.”

Peter reached into his coat and pulled out a heavy coin pouch. He placed it on the table with a loud clink.. “I’ll pay for all your drinks. Today, tomorrow, the whole damn week. Whatever it takes. Just let me sit.”

Kaelen looked at the pouch and at the boy's stupid eager face.

Truth was...

He didn't have much money left.

The last bounty had barely covered supplies.

He picked up the pouch and weighed it in one hand.

With a grunt, he jerked his chin at the empty chair. “Sit. Keep your mouth shut and keep the liquor coming.”

Peter pulled out the chair and sat down, trying very hard not to smile too much.

For a while, the only sound was Kaelen's drinking.

Then the front doors banged open. A loud pack of mercenaries and trackers stomped in, too full of themselves to notice the blood and broken chairs.

One of them waved a thick sheet of parchment around.

“It’s real!” one of them bellowed, slamming his fist on a table. “Straight from High Lord Malakar himself. A fortune in solid gold! Enough to change your life!”

“Aye, but she’s a witch,” another argued, fear in his voice. “They say she can curdle your blood with a single glance. No gold’s worth a curse like that.”

“She’s just a scared girl on the run,” the first man shot back. “We catch her, drag her south, and we’re set for life.”

Kaelen’s ears sharpened at the word gold. He leaned forward slightly.

“Boy,” he muttered. “What are those idiots on about?”

Peter glanced over, then leaned in. “You haven’t heard? Big witch hunt. High Lord of the South put out a massive bounty on a very powerful witch. They say the reward could buy a kingdom. She’s the most wanted person in Eldervale right now.”

Kaelen’s grip tightened on the bottle. “If the bounty’s that big, why are these fools still drinking in this shithole instead of hunting her?”

“Because she vanished into the Boreas Wilds,” Peter whispered. “The deep, cursed parts. Dozens of tracking parties have gone in after her. None came back. Locals call her the Ghost of the Woods.”

A slow, dangerous smile spread across Kaelen’s scarred face. He took a long drag from his pipe and blew the smoke straight into Peter’s face.

“I don’t care if she’s a ghost, a demon, or the devil himself,” he said quietly. “If the price on her head is that heavy… she belongs to me.”

He set the bottle down with a heavy thunk, stood up, and tested the edge of his dagger with his thumb.

“Where was she last seen?” he asked.

Peter stared up at him, equal parts terrified and thrilled. “The Enchanted Woods, Master Hound. The deepest part, where the old trees whisper. You’re really going after her?”

Kaelen threw his cloak over his shoulder and headed for the door without answering.

“Please!” Peter called, scrambling after him. “Let me come with you. This has been my dream since I was a kid. You might need help in there...”

“I work alone,” Kaelen said, not turning around.

“But no one survives those woods alone!”

Kaelen gave him a warning growl and a look cold enough to freeze, then pushed through the door.

Outside, fresh snow crunched under his boots. The wind had died to an unnatural silence. Then, soft as silk and cold as death, a voice brushed directly against his mind.

«Come. Seek me out, Hunter… if you dare.»

Kaelen stopped dead. He blinked, unsure if he’d really heard it. The wind suddenly howled back to life, whipping snow across his face and dragging him back into the ordinary cold.

He stood there a moment longer, then kept walking.

He wasn’t afraid of ghosts.

The ghosts should be afraid of him.