Bowhunter – Prologue

The Mane, Fohalin, Jabtin Port City (Secondary Capital) – Typhon Resurgence, Day 7

First there had been the chief of the Flint Castle passing through the port city, then a pair of Maytoni. Either one was stress enough for Governor Bernat, for whom the unofficial capital of Fohalin was his domain.

The latter had passed through without incident, and Bernat wished so badly that the former, Orion Aldenberg, the legendary hunter, had too. Of course it was all conjecture, and perhaps nothing odder that simple bad timing, Bernat thought, whilst also becoming more convinced that all of these different incidents connected together as easily as a child’s puzzle.

A secret, older than Bernat, or anyone else in governance in Fohalin had been dragged from the sea, their deterrent in keeping it at bay lost – all whilst the greatest hunter known just happened to be in the area.

For over a century the nation of Fohalin had been keeping a titanic beast, a colossal aquatic snake known as a Typhon, buried under the weight of a deathly aura. Within the natural world, all animal life – though perhaps not a phoenix – instinctively fled upon the presence of the undead, be it vampire, reanimated corpse, or anything spectral.

Prior to utilising a feral vampire, chained within a small unnoticeable vessel set to patrol the eastern sea of Fohalin, the nation of countless islands had only been a quarter of its size. Most of the now densely inhabited islands had been under the domain of a Vainglory Typhon. Expansion into this beast’s realm had been desirable for some time, however, and was keeping the nation from prospering, was the inability to establish their own shipping lanes to the east.

The Typhon had to go – but why not challenge one of Fohalian Gods to a duel as well, whilst the nation was feeling so ambitious?

Then again, Bernat knew well, Fohalin had acquired a sort of deviousness… He didn’t want to call it cleverness, that was giving too much credit to the laziness of his predecessors. But if there was a path of least resistance, Fohalin’s previous governors could always manage to find it.

If Bernat knew the type of person who desired a governmental role – and he did, because he was no different to anyone who had come before him – nobody was willing to risk career disaster in organising a force to go up against this beast. And, naturally, no governor wanted to be the ruin of their regions economy by paying a king’s ransom to the type of hunter capable of – potentially – slaying a Typhon.

So, in keeping with the lackadaisical and tight-fisted practises of the nation, Fohalin’s leaders had managed to acquire a living vampire – and a feral one at that. The beast was chained in the cargo hold of a non-descript vessel with orders to patrol the far eastern waters of the island nation. Through this little vessel’s service – of over a century – most of those who served on it honestly thought they were just a deep-fishing trawler, glad for the work. Captains came and went, and then they went, they took the secret of the vessel’s true purpose with them.

Deathliness, an aura beyond the senses of Sentient kind, but sudden and alarming to the instinctive mind of beasts, washed over the waters in the east, and into the ocean beyond.

Troublingly, this solution came with no flags being raised upon defeated bastions, or victory parades. Nothing the governors could exploit for their re-election campaigns. Even worse, if the people knew the country’s gains, its expansion, and its riches were coming in over the den of a Typhon, there would be no expansion, no shipping lanes, no wealth, and the governors of that time would have had to have found another way to stay in their cosy positions of power.

Thus, a tale was spun that the beast had been slain, and leading by example – perhaps the only time in the country’s history – the governors took to a ship to sail around the remaining islands and into the eastern ocean to prove the titanic snake was no more.

Within a decade Fohalin had risen to become a super-power not just in the southern regions of The Mane, but across the whole eastern coast of the continent – a continent that stretched upwards into creating a land border with The Crown and reached down almost to the southern most point of the world. Nothing entered the mid-riff of The Mane without first passing through Fohalin, and with the new shipping lanes, the pirate coves in the south and further north no longer had a monopoly on the seas.

Now, like the morning after any food and wine orgy, the sourness of their overindulgences was beginning set in. The lie kept in check for over a century had been sunk, and the nation was devolving back to its poorer state. Worse, this secret, that the Typhon was in fact still alive, was at risk of being washed ashore, exposed to every citizen of Fohalin.

Their simple deterrent was gone. An easy little thing, so often overlooked, had now become a national disaster, and to Bernat something far worse – potentially the end of his political career.

What in the name of the Abyss, the Azure, and the many, many Gods had happened regarding Orion Aldenberg, to the vessel holding their ancient and undead deterrent, and even the presence of the vaunted and feared pirate ship, the Daemon Flamingo?

The greatest scandal in the long history of Fohalin had breached the surface of the sea and was threatening Bernat’s position and reputation. Bernat knew he was too old for this. His chest heaved as if he had been running laps around the palace, muggy sweat smeared over his wrinkled face, every joint in his aged body cracking and popping with each hurried step.

The corridors were mere shadows, dark pillars framing the obscured frescos with shades of indigo and casting an unsettling darkness across the numerous statues. Even the shrubberies lining the wide corridors were draped in a deathly, foreboding shade like a sign of things to come.

It was hard to tell which echoed with a greater tumult, Bernat’s laboured pants, or his sandals clopping against the marble floor. This was not the clandestine prelude he had hoped, when a servant had awoken him to say that the other governors had decided to schedule an emergency meeting. A scroll had been handed to Bernat, and under candlelight he read the ominous words – words that brought forth the wickedness of his and his predecessor’s transgressions, making it clear that he, and his peers, were now drowning with the rest of their country.

Emergency meeting was the official term, misdirection for the serfs and anyone else lurking nearby. But this gathering was for one reason only, and to take place in the one hovel within the palace that only Bernat and his bodyguards knew about.

Hastily looking over his shoulder to make sure no one else was about, the governor came to a halt before an ornate fountain. It had never functioned, not once in its hundred or so years since its installation. Set into the tall lip at the front of the fountain was the Fohalin crest, crafted from steel and rockbark – riches looted from the Typhon’s domain. The shield depicted concentric circles of islands crafted from emeralds and topaz, all connected by bridges, built from rockbark, to one and other, and all connected therefore to the single island in the middle sculpted from diamond. A needlessly complicated image, Bernat had always thought.

He pressed his signet ring against the hollow atop the crest, and the magical aspects hidden within the fountain went to work. The empty basin sunk away, slinking downward into a spiral staircase. Sparks sputtered from the wall sconces beneath to remove the gloom.

Cursing, Bernat lifted one frail leg over the rim of the fountain, trembling from the effort. There needed to be a sodding rail installed – though the notion of slipping over the edge of the staircase and receiving a quick break of the neck wasn’t wholly dreadful at this moment. And it would save him the effort of having to clamber back up all these frigging steps.

The meeting chamber was arched, and well lit, with a round table at its centre. Nothing graced the walls, but sconces, and there was no other way to enter or leave other than the spiral staircase connecting directly to the room.

Everyone else was already present, sitting nervously in robes woven for comfort rather than regalness.

“Finally, Bernat,” hissed Tawfiq, rubbing an eye irritably. Here was a man not to be seen in after dark, as scones only accentuated the sharpness of his hard face to wicked proportions. “You live in his palace of bastardised architecture, you should know your way by know.”

“You could always go back to your own palace, among your own constituents, and perhaps lead by example for a change,” Bernat snaped back, eagerly dropping down onto the remaining empty stool.

Since the first sighting of the Vainglory Typhon all the governors had gathered in the city of Jabtin, Bernat’s domain. Not simply because it was as far from the rumours of the great beast as they could get without fleeing the country, but because protocol demanded they only ever discuss nation’s most hideous secret in this very – austere – chamber.

Jabtin was also conveniently the only city in Fohalin that was not situated on an island, but rather a thin strip of coastline along The Mane mainland, controlling the import and export of just about everything.

It also meant that Bernat was footing the bill for the stay of his peers, which was likely to become permanent given the current state of affairs.

“Can we get on with this?” Came the grating voice of Isaev, who Bernat noted had managed to bring down a tray of pastries and goblet of wine with her. It slightly galled Bernat that even with her far greater girth, she made it her before him and seemed to be physically fitter than him.

“Indeed. I’ve pulled us all here because I’ve been sent a message from my chief secretary,” growled Feldt, her arms folded and her sullenness seeming to suck in the amber light around them.

She tossed a piece of parchment across the table. Nobody rushed to look at but continued staring at Feldt.

“Our fleet has been decimated by the beast – all that is left are the ships guarding the southern waters and it’s not like we can move them,” she explained wearily, rolling her eyes.

“So, we’re looking at mere damage control? Tawfiq sneered. “I told you the fleet would accomplish nothing. Now we’ve got nothing but a disorganised army between us and this beast – and its revenge has been a long time coming.”

“Whose idea was it anyway to send them?” Bernat added, knowing full well that Feldt had been conspiring with her secret lover, Marshel Anetta Gunnerson to expand the fleet in the past for their own advantages.

“I’m sure they had some effect in slowing the beast’s advance, and perhaps even saved lives,” Feldt returned, firmly, confidently and with a thespian’s arrogance.

“We may as well have scuttled the ships ourselves for all the good they’ve done in the long term – our whole eastern and northern waters are without naval protection!” Tawfiq bellowed, throwing his arms out.

“For goodness’ sake, everyone just shut the Abyss up,” Isaev shouted, before stuffing a powdered bun into her gob. Bernat sighed and made a note to have a serf take stock of their food stocks.

“Look, we’re here because Gods only know why, the people elected us to govern them,” Feldt said, taking the opportunity to attempt something akin to leadership. It didn’t bother Bernat, who was happy for anyone else to become the figure head for this disaster.

“I’m happy to blame the people, you’re correct, they elected us, they bare the true responsibility, but I doubt they’ll see it our way,” Tawfiq added, more calmly.

“Let’s get something close to structure here. We need a timeline of events, and to give the people answers as to how this happened.”

“Without telling them the truth of course,” Bernat added through a sharp smirk, saying what did not really need to be said.

Feldt inclined her head. “Naturally. Look, Orian Aldenberg was in the vicinity, or the outer most reaches, of the Typhon,” Feldt held up a single finger. “There was a sighting of the Daemon Flamingo there as well,” she raised another finger. “They may have been engaged with Orion’s flagship.”

“May have?” Bernat cut in. “Reports state that Orion fell to a pirate attack, defending merchant vessels.”

“Do we want that to be the narrative?” Isaev said looking out from beyond a wide rimmed goblet, chins quivering. “How will we look if it was a foreign vessel from The Sigel defending incoming or outgoing trade in our waters, rather than our navy?”

“Who cares about that, Isaev? Look, was our shadow vessel caught in the middle of the fight? Was that it?” Bernat jumped back in, hoping to ramble over, and put down, Isaev’s blunderings which so often swatted them off topic.

“What I can’t get past, is that a great hunter like Orion just happened to be within the Typhon’s territory,” Feldt added, incredulous.

“Our territory,” Tawfiq corrected, no hold on the contempt in his voice. “That beast was subdued long ago. It was under out control.”

“Subdued,” Bernat sneered, rolling his eyes. “Look. I don’t think Orion knew of our deterrent. I honestly believe what we have here is a serious of random events that give the illusion of being a part of something significant.” Even he couldn’t believe what he was saying, but goodness did Bernat want to. Yet, a thought creeped into his mind to reinforce this hope. “Orion’s business was in Bravenasil, and his flagship was leaving our territory when the attack happened. The main shipping route back to The Sigel goes over the Typhon, and whilst pirate attacks are rare that far north, they do still occur. I mean, if Orion was going after the Typhon, why didn’t he meet with us first to offer an outrageous price, or at the very least, try to blackmail us? Those Castle members are all criminals at the end of the day. As much criminals as they are hunters, and they’re bloody good hunters. Then, we’ve got the Flamingo. Why was it even there? Obvious answer is that its captain caught wind on Orion’s flagship and couldn’t pass up the opportunity – imagine the wealth aboard, and the prestige.”

“Ransoming someone like Orion Aldenberg would… Gods, you could strip the Flint Castle clean of all its wealth – enough to rival a Dytrentian prince,” Feldt thought aloud.

“Right, thank you. In the ensuing battle, instigated by the Daemon Flamingo, our little trawler was lost,” Bernat continued. “Forget this story about defending merchant vessels. The Flamingo saw a worthy prize and went for it.”

“If you want to come here, or leave here for, The Sigel, you are sailing over the den of the Typhon. I can see how coincidence may have played a part here,” Tawfiq said, rubbing his chin, eyes deep in thought. “At least we can claim that the Flamingo brought about the resurgence of the beast, claim it destroyed the trawler anyhow… Should the truth leak.”

Naturally Bernat knew the feeble husk was not actually paying him a compliment or backing up anything he said. He was simply evaluating all the facets of this dug heap before deciding which handful would be the least repugnant.

“Bravenasil?” Feldt inquired, curious. “You had the greatest hunter of our time, the master of the legendary Flint Castle pass through our sliver of land on the mainland, and didn’t think to tell any of us?”

“Why? His ship docked here, in Jabtin,” Bernat became, rather defensively, before it dawned on him. “Oh, for goodness’ sake. I told you his business was in Bravenasil. If he was in anyway interested in hunting the Typhon, he’d have not sailed so far west, and then buggered off across the border… I’m not debating Orion’s presence anymore. We have finished with it. And yes, Tawfiq, he did pay the full amount of tariffs, and dock taxes. I can show you the ledgers.”

Tawfiq feigned innocence, merely dropping his rummy eyes away as if the thought of making sure Bernat wasn’t skimming anything from the incoming tariffs had never occurred to him.

“And he’s dead anyway,” Isaev stated, knocking back another mouthful of wine.

“And his flagship was destroyed by the beast,” Feldt added clearly in hopes of making sure the control of the conversation did not get away from her. “So, the secret is dead with him… Assuming he knew.”

“If he did know, who told him? Where did he find out this knowledge?” Isaev continued in a quavering tone.

“Gods and the Abyss, no one knew! No one but us, and a few others knew about the Typhon being kept at bay!” Bernat snapped, rising from his stool. These fools were feckless as they were decrepit. “You are creating a narrative out of stupid coincidences and feeding your own fears!” He resisted the temptation to add ‘no pun intended.’

“Could we maybe blame Orion? Use this then,” Feldt put in, leaning forward. “Put out another story, that he was hunting a Typon and in brought it into our waters by accident – you said it yourself, Bernat, they are as much criminals as they are hunters, and the Castle has a dirty history of collateral damages. I say the bigger the legend, the greater the collateral damage to go with it.” A smug, superior grin ruled her face, one which made Bernat want to vomit.

“Then we have the Flamingo’s intervention in Orion’s hunt, and its part in his death. He was unable to slay the beast, blindsided by the Daemon Flamingo – we could hawk a good amount of blame on them too,” Tawfiq added.

“Orion is… A complicated figure. Anyone else in the Castle we could easily scapegoat. But not him, not after everything he’s done for causes like equality. He’s worshiped far more that he is refiled. It wouldn’t be as vindicating a story for us as you think. Most wouldn’t believe it, others would lie to themselves that it couldn’t be true, you know, the way we do when we pretend to ourselves that we’re not greedy and corrupt,” Bernat replied, believing himself superior to Tawfiq for actually having thought what Feldt said though. “If anything, we risk making him look as if he was trying to save Fohalin from the beast, or, let me rephrase it, liberate our waters of it. People will be unlikely to believe that he carelessly brought the beast within our sea boarders, in which case the question of where the beast came from still remains.”

“And if people start asking what Orion was doing, hunting a Typhon in our waters…” Feldt began putting it together, sour disappointment sliding down her features. “It comes back to us however we try to portray it.”

“It just keeps coming back, like a searing rash in one’s loins,” Tawfiq sighed.

“Then we have the inevitability of a politician’s funeral. The people will want an inquiry, in to how this happened. Or to phrase it in the plebian vernacular, how we let this happen,” said Feldt, letting the statement settle the ire in the chamber. Something to remind them of the consequences effecting them all and thus unifying them once more. “An inquiry, which we will not be able to have any leverage with, will very likely bring the truth out, if it is not already out there, hanging over us now.”

“It’s always been hanging over us,” Bernat mused, sullenly.

“Oh, don’t start with the melodramatics, Bernat. Look, if we can’t pass this to Orion, then either way it’s going become our fault. If it’s not the truth that we knew of a Typhon, then it will be that we should have known one was in the region and warned people. It comes back to us regardless,” Tawfiq ranted. He scratched at his white stubble. “Well, I’ve got plenty stored away in Wetsven and other fortress banks…”

“I’m sorry was that a poorly hidden hint that we should flee?” Bernat retorted.

“You can try to weather this incoming disaster, Bernat, though I doubt your ancient heart would be up to it. I’ve done my civic duty and won’t let this mess rob me of a rich retirement.”

“You’ve never been the least bit interested in retiring. At least you have never mentioned it before…”

“Come on, Bernat. What can we do here? This disaster was inherited by us. It’s those who came before us who are responsible. The people won’t see that, of course. They want someone to blame when their lives are upended. That’s why they elect us. That’s why none of them bother to stand for governance.”

Of course, Bernat had plenty of riches to keep him going stored away too. And he knew full well that Feldt and Isaev had as well.

“Can we really flee?” Fedlt mused, looking thoughtful, even hopeful.

“Are you asking in terms of practicality, or speaking in moral terms?” Bernat jabbed, though he was beginning to make up his own mind on the matter. Besides, Bernat was not content to let Tawfiq run and leave the rest of them to take the blame in his absence.

“Practicality, of course,” Feldt snapped. “Could we be tracked. I don’t want to spend the rest of my retirement years waiting for a knock at the door.”

“A question for your plaything in Oversight Command, surely?” Tawfiq said, clearly unable to resist the opportunity at prodding this exposed nerve.

The glare returned was about the most venomous glare Bernat had ever seen, underlining the threat and solidifying the fact that for whatever they had on Feldt, she had greater on them.

“Surely you’d have servants to answer it?” Isaev interrupted, diffusing the moment.

“Look. You’ve all made up your minds on this. None of this is our fault. It’s the fault of our predecessors. And it’s a Typhon. Half the navy has been destroyed already, and the rest are trying to defend the shipping lanes further south, not even our own lanes either, from pirates – who are making a killing in this crisis.”

“Poor choice of words,” Bernat added.

“Whatever. It’s a Typhon. And where are we going to find another vampire? If your predecessors were serious about keeping the beast at bay, then they would have established some contingency.”

“What? Like a chamber filled with the undead, from which we can pull one when needed?” Tawfiq mocked.

“They were happy to fob this off to whoever came next, and then they were happy to fob it off to who came next, and so on… Well, I’m not taking the fall for this, however it comes out. I’ve worked too hard and put up with too much petulance and ingratitude from our people to let this bring me down. I don’t deserve to be thrown into a cell for the rest of my days, or worse,” Feldt snapped, close to shouting.

As the silence fell, the tension in the chamber eased considerably.

The leadership of Fohalin had collectively made up its minds, and for the first time in their long governorship together, the four them had finally agreed on something.

They were gone before dawn.