Nadia was the first in the Duchy of Morrovale. No other woman was issued a permit for hunting in the duchy. She had worked most of her life for this right and honor. As the sheriff presented her with her badge of station, she grinned like a fool, as did her only relative, her little brother, Rechan. She was now only twenty three and had carved her place among the huntsmen of the village, earning their grudging respect and friendship.
The path to her current position had not been an easy one, it had taken her months to find a mentor. Her first was Ervan. Her face soured as she remembered what her first mentor had forced her to do to remain in his service, and the memory brought back old feelings of resentment and betrayal. She had been too young for that man's depraved wishes, and had balked one time too many and he had sent her from his camp. Deep in the woods, she had been forced to find her way back to Morrovale alone, sore from the acts she had allowed him to commit and crying for fear of having disappointed her parents' spirits.
Then she had found Relkan. Rather, Tammer had found Relkan. She managed to make it back and as she sat in Tammer's tavern, the Pierced Boar, she had poured out her whole sad tale, figuring she would be drummed out of the hunter's clique anyway, so she let Ervan have it with her whole quiver. She found out weeks later that when he had returned to Morrovale, he had been set upon by a half-dozen huntsmen and beaten almost to death and forced to leave the duchy.
As Relkan introduced himself he had told her that she would be totally safe with him.
"Why will I be safer with you than Ervan?" she had asked.
He leaned toward her slyly and whispered, "Just you and I know this, else I will have to leave the duchy as well, but I like other men as bedmates." The look of shock upon her young face had made him laugh uproarously.
"I've never thought any huntsman could be that way," she said.
He laughed as they walked out of town. "Why not?" he asked. "You did know that some men did so, right?"
She nodded slowly. As a general concept, she knew of homosexual men, but as a practical application, she had never met one, at least, until now.
True to his word, Relkan never touched her inappropriately, even to the point of them bathing together in the pool on his allotted lands. As she grew older, she actually started to resent his lack of interest as her own in men increased. He was a handsome man, and well-built, and well-equipped, she found out after she started dallying with village boys when they were in town. Only a few of the bravest boys would dare approach her, though, for her manner of dress was not very lady-like and her demeanor was even less so. She wore arms most times, unless in church, and she kept her hair cropped sensibly short.
Rumors among the youths of Morrovale were that she preferred girls to boys and that she took the role of a boy when she took a girl as a lover. These persisted even when there could not be found among the village's girls anyone who was her lover. They diminished, finally, when she allowed one rather bold and loudmouthed lad to bed her, and he acted as her own personal emissary to carry forth the word of her preference for males. After a weekend in his company, she wondered herself if she would not prefer a girl as a lover.
Relkan laughed at that idea. "Nadia, you look at my prick too much to be a woman-lover," he said. "Were I desirous of girls I would have allowed you to do what I know you think about when you look at it."
She nodded sadly. "Indeed, Relkan, I find boys to my liking, but I don't like any of the boys I know." She shrugged. "Perhaps I should move when I become a journeyman."
He shrugged. "That may well be your fate," he said, grinning. "You are nearly there, you know, young woman."
He smiled as she hugged him and kissed his cheek. "And I do wish you were attracted to women now, Relkan," she said as she stood up. "I'd bed you yesterday."
He chuckled again and tossed her a slab of meat from their kill that day. "Eat, shut up, and go to bed and dream of boys you can have," he said.
She grinned and chewed on the chunk of cooked deer.
---
Now she had her own allotment and she was doing well as a hunter, enough so that she managed to get enough money to send her brother to faraway Ghant to university, to learn a skill of the educated men. He was a frail creature, and performed the labors of farming and hunting poorly. She hoped he would find cerebral pursuits more to his suiting.
However, as much as she liked, the village of Morrovale had yet to yield up a lover. She had slept with several youths from there, and even a few more from surrounding villages, but none had that something she sought. Most were too possessive, and let it be know early that her profession would have to be sidelined if they were to wed. This disqualified those close-minded youths right off.
A couple of the others were all for her having her occupation. They wanted to laze about and let her do the work. She discovered their love-making was likewise lazy and quickly discarded them.
So, she was doomed to a life of solitude, except the occasional flings with younger huntsmen who still had the male superiority attitude, but at least tempered it by keeping their mouths shut long enough for her to enjoy a night or two with them.
---
She was patrolling her territory and had nearly completed her trek outward, and was already anticipating the comforts of home when she returned, having already netted more than her required number of deer and elk to meet her self-imposed quota. The weather had been very cooperative this trip out, raining only at night, and in moderation. However, today looked like it could be a change to that kind pattern. The clouds glowered over her head and seemed pregnant with rain. Even flashes of lightning could be seen among them, lighting the dark clouds from within.
It did not surprise the young woman when they opened up and let the sky fall. The rain was merciless, soaking through her clothes in seconds, then drenching her completely within a minute. She tossed her oilskin cloak overall, but it would only protect so much with the winds that kicked up at the same time, sending the rain in sheets that were almost horizontal at times. Her sandy blonde hair plastered itself to her head and soon began to drip down her skull into her eyes and down the back of her neck.
By noon, the ground had absorbed its fill of the rain and was becoming muddy and hard to walk over. She sought shelter for the night. Finally, she found a small copse of dense young trees with broad, fuzzy leaves, she was not sure of the name for them, but they provided decent shelter from the rain, their leaves shedding it in a circle around them almost like a roof. Only the most determined droplets managed to find their way through the boughs of these young trees.
She grew concerned when lightning began to arc from the low clouds into the forest, worrying about fires, but what could she do about it if one started? Other than, perhaps stay the hell out of its way. A particularly bright and lingering bolt struck nearby, just east of her shelter. She braced herself for the thunder that followed. It rolled over her like a wave of something solid, so powerful was the thunderclap. She grinned at it, the thunder had always impressed her with its fury and power. The lightning that caused the thunder roll was always of secondary import to her, it was the booming and cracking noises of supernatural intensity that drew her attention.
Her bower shook with the intensity of the crackle of energy and her hair stood on end. "That was a good one," she murmured appreciatively, and unslung her pack to begin preparing for the night.
Suddenly, she heard a sound behind her, from the east. Looking that direction, she saw a horse plodding through the mud, it was stumbling, seemingly injured. As she watched the poor beast trying to move through mud almost to its knees, she noted that something was dragging behind it. It was no wild horse, but a mount, and there was a saddle. Hanging from that saddle's right stirrup was a person, or what she thought was a person. The caked on mud and chunks of vegitation stuck to the lump made it rather an unsure judgement.
As it drew nearer her, the horse stumbled again, and collapsed into the mud. It fell away from the lump it was pulling on its stirrup and she heard the distinctive sound of clanking metal as the lump was pulled over and halfway atop the falling horse.
Breaking into a run, she approached the fallen steed. Run is probably too generous a word, but she moved with all possible haste, anyway. She got to the horse, and saw immediately, now that she was closer, that it was dead. The smell of cooked meat emanated from it. She felt bad for the poor beast, but her attention then focused upon the humanoid lump of mud, leaves, and twigs that laid partially atop the animal. She grabbed a double-handful of mud from where she thought the face should be, it was caked on the face completely. As her hands met something solid she pulled them away and threw the mud to her sides.
The shock of the sight of a skull almost caused her to fall into the mud as she tried to backtrack, but then the seam of rivets became more visible as rain knocked more of the mud from the leering countenance of death. It was a helmet's visor, shaped to resemble a skull. She tried to pry it open, and it seemed locked down. It moved a fraction of an inch, lifting away and up from the face, but then it stopped and would not budge. She jammed her fingers under it and yanked with all her might. There was a loud pop and the visor came off in her hand. She looked down into the helmet below her.
It was a young man, possibly in his twentys, she thought as she looked at his beautiful face. She could think of no other way to describe him. He had generous, full lips, that turned slightly up, in the suggestion of a smile, and high cheekbones, that gave him a look almost elven. Had he been a woman, he would have been quite lovely, as a man, he was handsome in a very peculiar way to her. He wore a carefully trimmed goatee on his upper lip and chin. His dark brown hair set off his light-colored skin in quite attractive contrast.
She pressed her fingers to his neck and felt a thready, but present pulse. She decided he had been horse-dragged for a ways and a little farther of her dragging him by his armpits would not likely do more harm. Grabbing him under his armor-plated arms, she dragged him across the intervening space to the small knot of trees and their relative shelter. She then took a good look at the situation. He was bleeding from somewhere on his head, so she tried to get the helmet off. She was not familiar with heavy armor helmets like this one and soon found out it would not come off easily even if she were. The armor was welded to itself.
"One hell of a powerful bolt of lightning," she murmured as she rummaged in her small pack and came out with a small, thick-bladed knife. After about five minutes of prying and grunting, the helmet popped loose, taking part of the ring it locked into with it. She carefully removed it and cradled the man's head as she laid him down gently to the ground. He was a handsome devil, she thought. He had a thick head of dark brown hair, flowing almost to his shoulders as the helmet came loose. Blood ran from one ear. She figured that he had fallen off the horse when the lightning struck and hit his head. She examined the bleeding orifice and realized his ear had a slight, but very obvious point. The lad was a half-elven youth, she realized as she looked at his other ear and then examined the face with a forwarned eye.
The rest of his armor bore similar welded joints and sections. She worked for the better part of two hours to free him of the constricting, damaged metal plates. When she was done, she laid a blanket over him and let him warm in the relative shelter of the copse of trees while she went back to the horse to collect his belongings from the dead steed.
