Arka often went out to the hills when she needed the space to think. She preferred the open spaces to the hustle and bustle of the city streets. Today, she thought she might try her luck with the Trepors. She carefully lifted her axes from the wall above the fireplace and hung them from her belt. Slinging her backpack over her shoulder, she headed out across the Plaza toward the North Gate.
An hour later she was on the Ojaveda road. It was still early and swirls of mist rolled down the steep banks on either side. She liked the mornings; it was quieter now, before the daily exodus from the city. She started to climb up the grassy bank, being careful not to slip on the early dew.
Arriving at the top of the bank, she paused to watch a herd of Tefusang. They were ferocious when fighting but now they seemed really peaceful. One was scratching his back against a tree, Seen like this, they seemed friendly and playful, but Arka knew their other side. She instinctively touched the scar on the side of her head, many years old now, but a constant reminder never to turn your back on a Tefusang.
Taking care to stay downwind of the herd, she skirted the ridge and dropped down the bank into the valley below. Here, there were plenty of Trepors, grazing. She would just take one or two; the hearts made a good meal and the egg sacs had strong medicinal properties. Keeping well down, she circled the field. She had one in her sights. A large female, it had separated from the rest of the group and stood, head down, with its back to Arka. In this position she could creep up behind unseen; the Trepors had poor peripheral vision.
As she neared the beast, she squeezed the handles of her axes. One swift blow to the back should be enough. The Trepor grazed on, oblivious to the danger behind her.
But as Arka raised her axes, she found herself propelled forwards. She rolled into a ball to avoid being spiked on the Trepor’s lethal barbs, before taking the full weight of the aggressive male that had attacked her from behind. The wind was knocked out of her and Arka’s hands were pinned under her. She struggled to reach the dagger in her belt but the weight on her suddenly increased. With a shock she felt warm liquid run down her face and seep into her shirt. Blood. But whose? She hadn’t felt the bite.
Then the weight was lifted and she rolled over, blinking in the light. Beside her lay the dead Trepor, its back peeled open like a ripe orange. And standing behind was the tall elegant figure of a Fenki. She was dressed in finest Tefusang skin, and from a broad leather belt hung an assortment of finely crafted daggers. She bowed.
“You really shouldn’t use axes to hunt Trepor,” she said.
Arka was grateful and indignant in equal measure.
The Fenki looked at Arka’s knife and snorted.
“Here,” she said, offering Arka an elegantly fashioned black dagger. The single jewel set into the hilt sparkled with a green fire.
Arka paused for a while, wondering if it was wise to accept a gift from this haughty stranger, but her dignity gave way to gratitude and she took the blade.
“Zorbels,” said the Fenki, bowing again, “at your service.”
Arka struggled to her feet and wiped the Trepor blood from her eyes with the back of her sleeve. She felt decidedly inelegant.
“Arka Garam”
She bowed a deep bow, wobbling slightly.
Zorbels laughed. It was strangely musical and Arka immediately warmed to her.
“You saved my life,” she began.
“Indeed I did,” said Zorbels, “You weren’t paying attention.”
Arka realised she had not seen her when she was stalking the Trepor but realised she must have been there all along.
Zorbels seemed to have read her mind. “I was in the long grass. You came stomping by and for a moment I thought you were going to chase off the entire herd. You should really try to walk more quietly. It’s a good job this one was deaf.”
She pointed at the fat Trepor Arka had tried to hunt.
Arka laughed. “I don’t have Fenki feet,” she replied.
Zorbels smiled.
The two spent the rest of the morning hunting together. For Arka, who was used to working alone, this was a new experience. She had only hunted with other dwarfs before and this was so different. She learned how to stalk like a cat, how to move so quietly, even the insects in the grass were not disturbed. But she could not match Zorbel’s knife work. Her hands moved so fast you didn’t see the blow. And every time the dagger found its mark, dispatching the beast quickly and almost painlessly. Arka made a secret vow to learn this art. Axes had their place, but for hunting, she could now see their limitations.
By lunchtime they had bagged no less than ten Trepors between them and they carried their spoils back to Hydlaa. An odd couple they made; the tall elegant Fenki and the stout Stonebreaker, her face and shirt stained brown with dried blood. But by the time they walked through the city gates they were firm friends.
