The Slave Hunters
Rewind the clock a little — to just before Max, the elf-hunting party's green recruit, went off to check on the elves.
Inside the largest and finest tent in the camp, a man woke.
"Mmm—"
Morning already?
Sunlight needling through the gaps in the canvas stabbed straight through his eyelids. He pushed himself up with a yawn. Must have gone at it hard last night; his lower back was stiff. It was, however, an entirely satisfying stiffness. For the first time in a long while, he had worked off everything that had been piling up inside him.
The man's name was Ander.
To anyone who knew him, he was Cowardly Ander, captain of the elf-hunting party. He liked the nickname. When some brainless fool snarled and spat you cowardly bastard at him, that was the highest compliment he could receive.
"Heh heh—"
Ander let a filthy little laugh slip out as he looked at the naked elf curled asleep along one side of his bedding. Skin gone white and gleaming in the sunlight, hair like beaten gold, a body strung tight with muscle — and the pleasure that body had given him — all of it came rushing back, vivid as if it were still happening. The rush of conquest when he had pinned that insolent elf bitch and ground the fight out of her was something no man who hadn't done it could ever understand. Just remembering the thrill made his lower half ache all over again.
Another round? The thought flickered through him, and he set it aside. First he wanted to rinse the foul taste out of his mouth. There was time to spare, and the elves weren't going anywhere. The city, and the sale, were still a long way off.
"Not bad— kh—"
So thinking, he rummaged up the liquor cask he'd left in a corner of the tent and tipped it back. High-proof spirits ran over his tongue and down his throat, and the fog of just waking seemed to burn clean off in a flash.
"Kha—"
This expedition had been lucky. Ander savored the alcohol scorching his gullet and turned the thought over. Ten years in the trade, and he had never once laid eyes on stock of this grade — and there were two of them. Weighing what those two were worth, he could almost convince himself it would be fine to keep one ordinary elf and enjoy her himself this time around. It had been an easy run, easy enough to call up the elf hunts of a decade ago, back when nobody died and nobody even got hurt. Stack the payoff against those days, and you could fairly say this one came out ahead.
Lately, if he was honest, elf hunting hadn't been much of a living. It didn't even bear comparison with the days when the trade was just getting started, ten years back. The stupid elves of that time hadn't even known they could be taken as slaves, and catching them was no different from stooping to pick gold up off the roadside. Raid a village that didn't even have a proper palisade, and the elves would come to you of their own accord, offering goods and food if you would only spare innocent lives. You seized the ones who came to negotiate, then used them as bait to drag the rest in after.
"It really was easy…"
Even when things went a little sideways and a fight broke out, it was never all that dangerous. Being a mage did not, by itself, mean you were any good at fighting. Combat was a trade where the gap between those who had learned it and done it and those who hadn't yawned wide as a canyon. What good was a famous blade in your hand if you didn't know how to swing it? Worse than a wooden practice sword in the grip of someone who did.
"Tsk— but it's about time I folded this up."
He clicked his tongue as he said it. A shame. A bitter shame. He still hadn't forgotten the day he first gathered a crew and pulled off an elf hunt — the village chief, a woman, stupid enough to follow him meekly into his own tent just because he said he wanted to talk. Nearly ten years on, her wailing and her screams were as fresh as yesterday. After that, ordinary human women had never been enough for him again.
But a full ten years had passed. These days the outskirts of every elf village were ringed with palisades, and it had become a matter of course for elf mages to stand watch along the top of them. If you valued your life, the time had come to wash your hands of it. The returns were the same as ever; the risk had climbed clean out of sight. Most of the idiots — the ones whose brains had already melted — would keep hunting elves until it killed them. He was different. He was giving retirement serious thought. Not merely thinking, either; he had already laid some of the groundwork. He was still running expeditions only because he judged that what he had wasn't quite enough yet.
And then, of all times, this expedition had hit the jackpot in the most literal sense. Handle the haul properly, and he really could walk away from the work with enough coin for a fat, easy old age.
"…! #%@!!!"
A racket from outside shattered Ander's pleasant daydream.
"Ha— fucking bastards. What shit are they pulling now?"
No need to look. It would be last night's elf bitch, the one he'd thrown them, and the usual fight over who got her first. He ignored the uproar and headed for the bed. Petty squabbles, breaking camp — that was the underlings' work. He still had time left to enjoy himself.
His peaceful morning lasted about as long as it took the next shout to hit the canvas.
"Boss!!!!! Boss Ander!!!!! B-big… big trouble…!"
"Oh, for fuck's—"
The curse came out of him on reflex. Not the pleasant sound of an elf screaming — the shitty, pathetic voice of a subordinate. Did these bastards truly not know how to do a single thing without him? What dogshit was it this time?
"B-boss— ghk!"
Thud!
Ander hurled the liquor cask at the piece of shit who had dared set a filthy foot inside the boss's tent without permission. The heavy cask caught the idiot square in the face, and he went rolling across the dirt. Ander ignored him and snatched up a weapon.
"What the hell are you idiots screwing up now? I told you I'd kill you if you called me over nothing. Did I or didn't I? Huh?!"
"N-no, it's not that, this is really big, big trouble—!"
The raw desperation in the man's voice put an ache behind Ander's eyes. They hadn't touched the two he'd ordered them to leave alone, had they? If they had, he would kill the bastard responsible. Not a clean death, either. As much pain as he could wring out of it. He stepped out of the tent, ready to roar—
Bang! Crack! Crunch! Thud! A shriek, a squeal, a choking gurgle!
"Oh—"
It came out as a gasp.
He stepped quietly back inside the tent. This was absolutely not fear. No. Absolutely not fear…
"What the hell — what kind of elf is that?"
Whatever was tearing through the camp outside sat somewhere beyond the reach of Ander's understanding. It looked like an elf, no question. But as far as he knew, no elf alive could move like that. That was not the movement of a mage. Elf mages were nothing like their scrawny human counterparts; their bodies were superior from the start. Even so, that thing out there had blown straight past the line, damn it. Was that some kind of elf magic too?
He remembered the old stories — elves with black hair and golden eyes, singled out from the rest and described as warriors. Extinct now, or so people said. What were they called again? He clawed at the thought for a moment, then waved it off and let it go. The identity of that elf was not what mattered. What mattered was a way to put the rampaging thing down — or, failing that, a way to grab whatever he could and leave this place with his body in one piece.
"B-boss? What are you doing, not coming ou—"
"Will you shut the fuck up? I'm thinking. Or do you want to jump into that mess yourself?"
"N-no, sir!"
The dog of a bastard was interrupting him when his head already hurt. That was the trouble with these men. Whatever they'd been given to sit on their necks, it might as well have been hung there so they could shovel food, for all the thinking they did with it.
"Nngh—"
And then, into the ear of Ander where he sat sunk in his calculations, a lovely voice seeped — a voice of an entirely different make from those shitty bastards. The elf who had kept him entertained all night…
"Yes. That's it."
He seized her by the golden hair at once. The sudden violence tore a scream out of her, and he paid it no mind. He didn't spare a thought for covering her naked body. He simply set her in front of himself like a shield and shoved her ahead. He hadn't managed to get his armor on, but he did not forget the hidden ace he usually kept in reserve. And last of all—
"What are you standing there for, you bastard? Get a blade up."
"Uh… what?"
One side of the idiot's face had swollen up like a blown bladder. Years of seniority in the crew, and still a vacant fool. A proper boss, though, found a use even for fools.
"Quit shaking, and keep that edge right on this bitch's throat. Match my step. Mess it up and we both die — you hear me? Huh?"
He had the man raise the blade where the elf raging outside could see it plain as day, while his own hand, the one holding a small knife, stayed hidden in the elf's shadow. Set up like this, if the one outside trusted her strength and tried to take the hostage back, she would cut the idiot down first. And Ander would be that much safer for it.
Crunch— bang! A long, rattling gurgle!
The fight outside was nearly finished. Into what was left of it, Ander shouted with all the force he had.
"You there, elf! Stop right now!"
She stopped short.
The elf's eyes tangled with Ander's.
Ah—
A beauty that pulled a sigh of wonder out of him no matter how many times he looked. He had seen that terrifying strength only moments ago, and still the fire of want lit itself. A glance around told him that, fortunately, only this one elf had gotten free. Recapture that bitch, and aside from a few underlings getting hurt, there was no problem at all.
Try it? Or leave it?
High risk, high return…
Behind his eyes a life unrolled like a painting: a fine house, broad farmland, an easy old age. His fingers fidgeted, for no good reason, over the things tucked in the pouch at his waist. Earn all the coin in the world and it meant nothing if your life went with it. That was why he had steeled himself and prepared insurance.
With these… maybe.
He could feel the scale in his chest tipping, wavering.
Ha—
Ander laughed, inwardly. Unlike the others, he was a hunter of uncommon brains — sharp enough to read the future of the business and give retirement real thought.
But.
At the root of him, he was an elf hunter all the same.