Legends of Belariath
Taurn
The Long Hunt
Taurn did not know what woke the bear from its winter rest, perhaps the smell of cooking food drifting upon the wind. Whatever the reason, the bear had found these peasants, traveling south from the looks of their campsite. They must have been asleep when the bear attacked; they had never stood a chance.
It was a massacre, their bodies torn and shredded, even the body of their pack animal was so damaged he could not tell if it had male or female. His hands span was almost equal in size to the paw print he found in the snow, the bear that had left this track would easily be eight foot tall when standing judging from the spacing of his prints.
He decided to leave his horse Shadow behind, a sudden shift of wind and the bear could smell him a mile away, not to mention the noise his hoofs would make. Bow in hand and cloak pulled close, against the snow that was steadily falling. He started off after the bear using the sliver of moonlight and his own night vision to follow the tracks.
He moved through the woods as silently as a mouse, the new fallen snow damping much of the sound. He was careful to move slowly not wishing to come up on the bear suddenly. The prints he followed were tinged pink, the blood from the bear’s victims still clinging to the paws.
The creature made no effort to hide his path, broken branches and torn snow making a trail even a blind man could follow. He thought he heard a noise up ahead, thou in this wind it was no sure thing. The trees ahead broke into a small clearing and he thought he saw movement; the arrow fitted to his bow was drawn back, as he waited for the beast to appear again. It was then the wind shifted blowing from his back and sending his scent towards the bear, a loud growl was heard.
The snow was blowing across his view now and the wet stinging flakes would strike at the exposed portions of his face. It was then the bear appeared, perhaps only twenty yards away, far closer than he had thought or wanted. The bear then saw him and growled even louder, pawing the ground before him in mock attack.
He could not run now, his only hope was to make a stand here, The shaft was drawn back and loosed flying the short distance to strike the bear’s chest, penetrating deep into the flesh, the fletching and but an inch or two of the shaft left exposed. It roared once more even louder than before and charged at him. Muscles trained by long hours of practice would reach for another arrow without conscious thought, while he stepped back trying to open the space between them. A new shaft had just touched the string when he drew back the arrow barely reaching full draw before he released it. At that moment the bear struck, his paw moving with incredible speed striking his left arm and stripping the bow from his hand. The arrow struck and the bear howled again before standing on hind legs to loom over him.
This close he could see small bubbles coming from the wound, so he had struck the lung, a wound that would doubtless prove fatal. Weather he could keep himself alive long enough for the wound to work was the question. He back peddled as fast as he could while reaching up for the sword strapped on his back.
The Kindjal slipped easily from a well-oiled sheath and he saw the feral yellow eyes of the bear as it moved towards him. The short sword had always seemed an adequate weapon for his needs but right now it seemed like nothing more than a butter knife. He felt a tree at his back and could retreat no further. The bear lumbered closer and as Taurn drew back the sword for a under hand strike it attacked. Teeth clamped down upon his shoulder and he drove the blade with all the force his muscles and the surge of rage he felt at that moment could provide.
The blade honed to a razors edge after hours with a whet stone cut through the fur, fat and muscle driving up into the chest cavity, he felt a slight shiver as it rubbed against a rib and then it struck the heart. The bear dug its teeth deep into his shoulder the light leather armor offering little resistance, his own screamed joined with the bears in a chorus of pain filled cries. He twisted the blade and felt warm blood begin to flow out of the wound coating the birds head shaped handle and his hand.
Taurn smelled the stench of the bear and felt the coarse fur rubbing against his face. He knew that the wounds he inflicted would end the bear’s life; even if he did not survive it would not take another life. The bear released his shoulder and turned, his sword slick with blood slipping from his hand as the bear moved away. It traveled only a few steps before he heard its death rattle and watched as it slumped over face first into the snow covered ground.
Taurn leaned back against the tree, his left arm numb and useless, he was bleeding heavily. He pressed his right hand upon the wound and whispered the words to a clean spell. Holding his hand to the wound he lurched to his feet and staggered back the way he’d come following the trail to the campsite and his horse.
It was getting dark and between the loss of blood and the injuries he sustained if he did not start a fire soon he would not make it through the night. He had a bottle of lamp oil in one of his saddle bags and poured some on the wood in the stone circle then with his one good arm he spent what seemed like an eternity trying to strike a spark with his flint. Finally a spark took and the flame began to grow, while the fire grew in size he removed his cloak and pressed a wadded bandage smeared with a paste used to heal wounds under his tattered tunic, he felt a slight warmth from the wound as the bandage began to work.
He ate some travel bread from his pack and pulled a blanket around him as he curled by the fire. Too tired to travel he’d wait till morning and head for town, as he slept he dreamed of the bear his teeth and claws trying to rip him apart, he awoke in a sweat the blanket strewn about him. He shivered thou not from the cold, the fire had run low and he added more sticks letting it build back up before laying down still very tired but almost afraid to sleep. He watched as the flames danced and soon his lids fell shut as he drifted off again.
The sun woke him the next day and he got up still in pain, but much better than the night before. He shared some food with his faithful horse, before climbing on to ride back to the bear. The animal lay where he left it, his shafts and sword still within the body. Using his foot he was slowly able to draw the sword out, covered in the beasts blood he was unable to clean it properly now and so slid it into his quiver. A rope was looped about the front paws, he kept staring at the jaws of the bear frozen open at its death and remembered his dream. He shook his head and cinched the rope tight then led it to the saddle to wrap about the horn.
He held out a hand and whispered the arcane words which would make a disc appear under the bear then slowly lift it from the ground. When the disc was stable he climbed back upon the horse and rode to camp, there was one last thing to do before heading home. With only one good arm he could not dig a grave, nor in this frozen ground would that have been possible anyhow. Instead he dragged the two travelers to a spot within a snow covered clearing and poured the rest of his lamp oil over them. He bent his head and murmured a prayer to the earth mother before tossing a flaming branch from the fire on them.
Soon the flames would rise and a plume of dark smoke with it, the smell was over powering and he felt he might vomit, but climbed back on Shadow and returned to his home. It was late morning when he arrived and no place had ever looked so good to him.