Chapter One
He called himself Arex after the ancient war god of his people. Or, at least that was what he said. Nobody was really sure what name if any other he had been born with or exactly who his people were or where they dwelt.
In truth, nobody ever had the nerve to ask him. He was a big man. He towered over all of the emperors elite guard, who were the hand chosen biggest and strongest men in the capital. He always went about heavily cloaked with a mask covering the lower part of his face. All one could see were those cold ice blue eyes glittering from the mountain of a warrior's face. It was rumored that only the emperor himself had seen the mans whole face, which wasn't exactly true. But that's how rumors go.
The man had appeared in the capital city eight years before, unannounced and unbidden. On the steps of the emperors palace he had upended a large sack containing the heads of seven vampires which had been plaguing the southern marshes for years. Another sack, which remained on his horse, had contained all of the loot he had discovered in their nest which they had taken from the hundreds of victims the vampires had claimed. It was his by right.
For a year he came and went, traveling the countryside and living in the wilds. Whenever a beast threatened a town or village and the regular hunting parties were unable to subdue it, there was Arex.
After the first year he had claimed enough bounties to purchase a large estate on the outskirts with many many acres of wooded forest adjoining it.
Now he was Arex the Hunter and all who heard the name knew of him. He was the mightiest hunter of them all and, despite only being somewhere in his middle of his life, already his name was the stuff of legend in the halls and hearths of Dunis, the capital city of all of Kahedron and the glittering jewel in the eye of the emperors realm.
Never was there a beast that Arex could not slay and bring back it's head as a trophy. The emperor himself was said to have dozens of his trophies adorning his halls. The greatest of them being the giant head of a dragon which was, in life, as long as a hundred ships. Just preserving that trophy took over a dozen of the very best skinners a year to complete. The very head of that very dragon now hung in a place of honor above the emperors throne. And the scaled hide from that dragon now made up the glittering breastplates and shields of the emperors own personal guard.
The bounty from that kill had made Arex a very wealthy man indeed. He could have retired to a life of luxury behind the walls of his estate and never ventured forth again for the remainder of his days.
But Arex was not such a man.
His whole life was the stalk and the hunt and the battle and the kill. Pitting himself against the most dangerous and cunning beasts was the ultimate meaning of life for him and he could not imagine living any other way.
In the back of his mind, Arex knew that one day he would perish from the jaws or claws or hooves or talons or spikes or venomous stings of one of the creatures he hunted. It was his fate and he shrugged it off. His only fervent wish was that whatever beast brought him his last breath did so while dying by his hand.
There had been many close calls throughout the years. If you were to see him, as very few ever had, not wearing his body armor and hunting gear, you would see that his body was criss-crossed with scars, both old and new.
Even now, as he walked into the marketplace, Arex walked with a slight limp, favoring his right leg a bit. That wound would have killed lesser men and left even the healthier of them laid up in bed for many months. Seeing the aftermath of that wound had made Deril, his personal slave and sole attendant, feel weak and slightly ill to his stomach. His master shrugged it off as nothing, but Deril noted that Arex now slept less comfortably at night and never on his right side as he used to. He fretted for, as hunting was life to Arex, his masters happiness and comfort was life to Deril.
Serving such a man had not always been easy. In the seven years since Arex had bought Deril from the slave pens there had been many lessons to be learned. Some had been learned behind a sharp word or the back of his masters hand across his face or even, once, bound naked to a pole and taken to with a thin flat strap which had left Deril sobbing and covered with welts for days.
But such an event had not taken place in quite a few years. Deril had learned that his new master was not at heart an evil or cruel man. He preferred to instruct calmly and quietly if it were possible. He never struck out in anger or frustration, always with the intent of getting his point across as quickly and efficiently as possible. The slave admitted to himself that he had been willful and rebellious and quite foolish in his younger years.
And now, even though he was still a slave, Deril walked with a bit of pride. Those who knew him in the marketplace and beyond knew that when he spoke, he spoke with the authority of his master behind him. Even the fat merchants and burghers who would normally look on any slave with disdain, gave Deril the same preference due his master. He was, in all sense of the word, his masters right hand.
But only while Arex was in town in his residence. While on a hunt, Arex worked alone and only hired local help after the deed was done to cart back the beasts broken carcass. It was his way.
The months while his master was away were always long and lonely for Deril. To be sure, he had his duties to keep him busy. Arex's manse was always spotlessly clean and well stocked, awaiting the masters return.
And each night he kept a spot warm in his masters bed, whether Arex was in residence or not. Deril actually had a room to himself, just a small cell, more like a closet, just off his masters bedroom. But he could count the times he had slept in there in the last seven years on the fingers of one hand. Even on the nights when Arex was ill from some poisonous sting or an infection from some nasty claw or fang and did not want him in his bed, Deril always catnapped on the thick rug on the floor at the foot of his masters bed, ready in an instant to bring him whatever relief he might need.
But the nights when Arex was home and in good spirits mentally and physically, Deril slid between his masters sheets each night with joy and a wondrous expectation in his heart. For, despite being such a physically imposing man who approached every problem with a flashing sword and guns blazing, Arex could also be a tender and sensitive (albeit a bit vigorous) lover who was acutely aware of his partners needs in bed as well as his own.
That had been one of the hardest lessons that Deril ever learned. As a matter of fact, that very subject had been the reason for the only time he had even been bound to the pole as the focal point of his masters irritation. Deril had never been touched by a man before up to that point in his life. Taken as a slave in his early teens, he had been a field hand for an owner with a large farm and never once even saw the inside of his masters house. Living in somewhat cramped conditions in the slave quarters, Deril knew that there were men who preferred the company of other men, but he shunned them. And once or twice he even managed to secure an entrance to the females quarters for a few minutes of hurried bliss. But such things were publicly frowned upon and if any were caught they were severely beaten for such transgressions.
When Deril was twenty summers old, the master had been killed in a border skirmish with a rival lord and his beautiful mansion burned to the ground. He, along with the surviving slaves, were sold back to the slavers and returned to the pens. In abject misery and fear of who he might be sold to next, Deril awaited his fate.
Standing naked on the auction block once again, the young slave quailed as he looked down at the huge man who was bidding on him. The man seemed to tower over the others in the crowd, all of whom gave him plenty of space to stand in. He was heavily cloaked and wore a mask that covered the lower part of his face. All Deril could see of his potential new owner was a pair of cold looking ice blue eyes. The quavering slave was quickly sold, for once his intentions became clear, nobody dared bid against the large dangerous looking man in their midst.
