Bastian Vass
An hour later, Bastian was already in the middle of processing the deer. He had a long knife he used for such jobs which was razor sharp. On a table near by were his two axes and his bow, though he’d already unstrung it. The skin from his kill was hanging up off on one side, and he’d see to cleaning it later. For now, he was focused on butchering the various cuts of meat. His father was big on using everything from snout to tail, though Bastian just didn’t have a stomach for the organs. He’d set them aside and trade them with a farmer for some vegetables later in the day.
Just as Bastian was about to see about the tenderloin, he heard voices coming from behind him. . .near the cabin. He stopped what he was doing to listen, and didn’t like what he heard.
“Someone owns it. . .see the smoke?”
“No one’s home,” said another voice.
“Well. . .what if they never come home? This place is close enough to the road that we can hit caravans from time to time, but far enough away that we have a place to hide,” said a third voice.
“Not a bad thought,” said a forth. “What do you think, Winton?”
There were a few moments of silence before a fifth voice spoke, “I think it’s a fine plan. If there’s smoke, whoever owns the place will be near by. Find ‘em and kill ‘em.”
After sheathing his knife, Bastian grabbed his two axes off of the table. Whoever the men were, they were not there to see about bartering goods or services. The clearing where the deer was wasn’t all that far from the cabin, and Bastian intended to be out of site as long as possible. Five against one. . .the odds were not in his favor, but he wasn’t going to run away. His father taught him how to defend himself, and how to fight. The cabin was his family home, and he would defend it to his last breath.
As large as he was, Bastian could move quickly and silently through the woods, something else his father taught him when teaching him how to hunt. He was always mindful of where his feet went, mindful of what he brushed against, and careful not to step on anything that would give him away.
“Winton! Whoever it is, he’s close! Got a dead deer that’s half butchered here!” a voice called from behind him.
“Fan out! He can’t have gone far!”
Frowning, Bastian moved purposefully, still hoping for the element of surprise. The cabin was off to his right somewhere, and he intended to come up behind his would be attackers. As he came around to the front of the cabin, he saw one nervous looking man pacing in the clearing out front. He could hear the others off in the direction of the clearing he used to clean game.
Three quick strides saw Bastian clear the distance between him and the lone man ‘watching’ his cabin. He was quiet, but not quite quiet enough as the man turned just as Batian reached him, his right axe raised and ready to swing. The man blocked the initial swing, but the larger huntsman brought his left axe to bear, slashing into the man’s forearm. He cried out, which would give away Bastian’s position, but there was nothing to be done of it.
The man dropped his block as the first axe sliced into his arm. Bastian brought his right axe around, and landed a killing blow. He pulled back and looked towards the clearing. He heard someone shouting a name, but he also heard someone crashing through bushes, not bothering to be stealthy.
Bastian didn’t hesitate as he turned and went around to the backside of the cabin and slipped into the woods. He knew what direction the others would come from, and he wasn’t going to make things easy on them. Unfortunately, two of the group didn’t head straight from the clearing, and the huntsman came face to face with two of them.
“Well now, what do we have here,” said one who sounded like the one they were calling Winton. He stood not quite as tall as Bastian, but he was solidly built. A scar down the right side of his face, and another across one of his forearms spoke to a hard life. He currently held a sword and was pointing it at the hunter.
“Looks like we found the owner, boss,” said a man who was at least a foot shorter than Bastian, but likely weighed just as much judging from the man’s girth. He also held a sword, but while it looked like an extension of the one called Winton, it looked out of place in this man’s hands.