The Hunter’s Guide to Monsters - Chapter 109

In the southern borderlands, no caravan traveled before dawn. Being so close to the Grandshield Forest meant more shadow beasts active after moonset.

Krow remembered several caravans in Gremut packing up and leaving before sunrise. Further away from the Forest, travelers had fewer worries.

The trip back to Cerkanst was unsuccessful.

That was what Krow would like to say. The world, as ever, didn’t cooperate.

There was a fallen tree on the road.

Wind was always a consideration in the high mountains of the draculkar. But wind that deposited old mossy trees perfectly perpendicular across the road?

That wind came with grasping hands.

The herbalists immediately armed themselves. Krow watched, slightly fascinated, as knives and daggers appeared visibly on hips. Three people dug out bows from the depths of the cargo, and they bunched the carts closer together.

They waited.

Nothing happened.

The air filled with unease.

“I’ll check the trees.” Krow offered.

Two of the stealthier herbalists, Qemelai included, joined him.

The mountain was quiet. A warning in itself.

Krow bounded into the tree-line, leaving the nearer sections to the others. They wouldn’t be able to keep up with his Forester skills and his DEX.

“Equip-one.”

He probably shouldn’t have left them, but at the least, he could thin out the numbers from the back.

It was a simple matter to send out his ghost scouts.

Finding the bandit camp wasn’t a problem.

The problem was that the bandits were children.

Krow crouched on a branch, frowning.

Six people in the clearing.

The only one above the age of twelve or thirteen was a mafmet lying in the shade.

Injured, old blood and new staining the mess of cloth around his torso.

The faded marks on his skin spoke of old age. Mafmet hair didn’t really discolor with advancing age, but their birthmarks paled in intensity and their claws toughened to rival steel.

Even downed, the old mafmet was still armed.

Krow circled the camp, noting that at least three other people had been here. From how the two lookouts were sending glances toward the road, this was indeed the bandit camp.

He dropped in front of the two lookouts, close enough to see their shock and wide eyes.

They screamed. Loud. High-pitched.

Ow.

He flipped away, started running toward the road.

Hopefully, the screams would draw their compatriots to break cover. If they were armed adults, it would only help his companions. If they were children as well, then the others would know to stay their hand.

He was ignoring this quest prompt, though.

A flash of movement against the green trees in the distance caught his attention.

Something pinged on the Map.

Krow glanced at it. There was a scout-mark moving on the road, traversing the same route the carts had just taken.

Oh, that was possible now?

Ghost-stones were really useful.

Another group of farmers?

The scout-mark was moving too fast, though.

Krow climbed up on an overhang to see the road.

It was a group of riders.

Any other time, Krow might have discounted it, but they did just cut their stay in Rakaens short because of the commotion with Tamvost, who failed their scheming and lost two contracts to Cerkanst.

He slid closer to the road, keeping low.

The intentions of the approaching eight riders could not be ascertained. He was still designated weapons bearer. The visible one, anyway.

He could just confront them on the road and ask them what they were doing in these here parts, hombres, like the old wild west revival movies of the last generation.

He had the needed gun-twirling down already.

He just needed to practice the moustache-twirling more.

Krow mentally snorted at his thoughts.

They weren’t helpful.

He took a survey of his surroundings, then an idea caught hold as he noticed one thing.

Well, this mountain was just full of fallen mossy trees, wasn’t it?

It wasn’t quite fallen, still connected by the barest roots to the earth, it tipped precariously.

Krow pushed it into position, just above a perfect launching spot.

Shkav, the riders were close.

He hacked at the roots keeping the tree in position. It slid easily downward.

They were close enough for Krow to see the ears of the lead horse perk up. The leader reined in his horse, looking upward.

In the noise of the tree falling, Krow tied some Paralyzing Mist Vials to grapple-hooks and connected them to several bushes and trees.

The tree crashed down on the road, slid over the stones, and tipped half-way into the gully beside the path.

The cut roots were right in the group’s faces.

The leader’s eyes roamed the mountainside again. “Come out!”

“You’re surrounded!” yelled Krow, internally groaning at himself for this. He tugged a little on the ropes, bushes and trees rustling. “Leave the horses, the valuables, and the boots!”

The five people looked at each other incredulously. Then they guffawed loudly.

“Are you a bandit, then?” one giggled.

“You don’t believe me? This road is mine! This mountain is mine!” He made his voice more theatrical. “Leave the toll, and I’ll let you keep your lives!”

He had experience with weird childhood cartoons, alright?!

The leader chuckled.

Krow pulled a couple of his ropes again. The man’s eyes pinpointed the rustling with scary accuracy.

The leader smiled upward. “Since you’re a bandit, I should tell you I’m a bandit too. Let’s talk, eh, brother?”

Whoa.

What now?

The ruse would be up the moment he showed his armor.

“What sort of bandit looks as ragged as your bunch, eh? Tell me that! And those horses, what bandit rides horses like those, hm?”

Krow didn’t actually know what kind of horses they were. But could bandits with clothes like those afford the horses?

The leader sighed. “This isn’t funny anymore. Rog, Hattrek. Kill them.”

Two of the riders jumped up the mountainside, as easy as gazelles. Heading for the

“You traitor to the brotherhood!” Krow bellowed, in his farewell to the role of bandit. He twisted and pulled on the ropes.

The Mist vials broke.

He jumped to a mass of boulders, quickly drank a Low Revitalit, drew his gun and fired a half a cylinder of bullets toward the bandit leader.