Born a Monster

522 Those Who Hunt Humans

“So,” asked the father, “what do you think of our hunting camp?”

“The walls there and there could use a pole or two to brace them, and I haven’t seen enough ditches or other traps. Also, it’s... it’s just not hidden very well.” I said.

“And from what would we be hiding?” the son asked. “The slavefolk have sent the bulk of their forces south. The duskskins gathered, and are even now moving south to cut off their supply lines and, they bragged, to cut the head from their khan. That makes us the most potent fighting force of the southern scrublands.” <1 >

“Still,” I said. “This camp can hold at most thirty, unless there is an underground layer. You have good arrow coverage, but a unit of a hundred or so footsoldiers can still wipe this camp out.”

“A hundred might manage that.” Father agreed. “But definitely not less than sixty.”

I blinked. “I was under the impression there were more soldiers than that at the Armpit.”

Son chuckled. “Is that what they call their affront to the Earth elementals?” he asked.

Father shrugged. “Better than the cookpot.”

“More accurate, perhaps.” the son replied.

.....

“But no,” Father said. “Were they to take even half their guards from that place, they’d have a nice little slave rebellion on their hands. And WHY are you looking at every plant we pass?”

“Assessing nutrition.” I said. “Each day, I need...”

The Hyenadae broke out laughing.

“Oh, oh,” Father managed. “No, you don’t understand. This is a hunting camp. Once we get the food, we mean to hunt you.”

“After a decent head start.” the son said.

“Yes.” Father said. “If you behave, we’ll give you until dusk to flee. In fact, we do need our sleep.”

“Oh, but if it disbehaves... er... misbehaves, then we just kill it.” said one of the archers.

And the reader may wonder why I didn’t slam the cart down and start killing them then. Well, mostly because they were sentient. People, folk, awakened animals... you just ought not to eat them. And, as strangers went, they weren’t being unreasonable. Not by the standards of other people whom I’d had to spend time with.

And, although they’d been savage about it, they HAD freed me from the Armpit, in a manner of speaking.

But mostly, because they were being open and honest about their plans.

As someone who HAD to tell the truth, I appreciate it when those unbound by my oath chose to.

For these reasons and others, I hauled the cart all the way up that switchback. Left, then sharp right, and repeat that four times. It wasn’t a long path, but it was steep and in clear view of the walls. In the manner of skirmishing preferred by most gnolls, each section of wall had a gap, sometimes large enough for two or three gnolls to emerge side by side.

They were close enough, though, that any of them could take cover at any time.

Any class bearing Archer would use those walls against them, but as walls went...

No.

I finally saw behind the skin covered walls. They weren’t solid wood, but rather lashed frames over which beast pelts had been sewn and stretched. To the exterior eye, they were walls of solid logs. The truth, once I saw it, made me sad.

I understand, in retrospect, that this was a mobile camp. It simply had to come down quickly and be easy to carry. At the time, I wasn’t so understanding. “Your people have an interesting take on fortifications.”

“Fortifications?” Son asked. “No. This is a hunting camp. It is for the hunting, skinning, and butchery of food. We have only four hands <2 > of warriors here, and we supply … more who are coming behind us.”

“Coming behind...?” I asked. And to the father, “Please tell me you do not mean to try to lay claim to this area.”

“Claim, no. Raid, absolutely.” Father said. “Look at those columns of smoke!”

He waved to the southwest, where columns of smoke did, in fact, give away the location of the Armpit. “Three hundred, four hundred slave folk.” he explained. “Food, labor, sport. All in the one location! And enough salt to cure the meat of those we have to carry back home to the clan-hold. Now, that has a bit fancier defenses that might meet your approval.”

I parked the cart near one of the larger gaps. There, I leaned against the cart and plucked those needle-balls from between the scaled I walked upon. A very few of these had found their way to my flesh, there to draw blood, or worse, crack off into the skin like wood splinters.

“When might I go?” I asked, “Did you want a hand unloading the cart?”

“If it’s not too much of an imposition.” Father said. “Wouldn’t want you complaining about division of labor in the Hell of Sloth.”

I stretched my shoulders out, but the truth was that I had scrounged quite a bit on the way to their camp. Perhaps half of what I’d need for the rest of the day. Between that and the relatively slow pace, I was hardly winded. “Where are these dead bodies going?” I asked.

It turns out that I never learned that, nor the details of their camp. I would pull a body off the cart, and hand it to a gnoll, who would manhandle the corpse to the next in line, and so on. It took hardly any time at all.

“And now,” the son said, “you should run.”

I grunted, shifted my feet on the uneven ground.

“My son means,” Father said, “That agreements with us are not with the rest of Skull tribe. We have food, yes, but don’t think we mean to turn down your meat, if we can get it.”

I closed my eyes to turn my face fully toward the sun, and yawned, enjoying the play of warmth along the interior of my mouth. And then I clenched a rock in my foot, hefted it up to my waist, and moved it to my left hand.

“Let who comes,” I said, “come at the time they wish. I have a rock.”

“So you do.” Son said, chuckling under his words.

I paused long enough to pull up a dead plant and devoured it by mouthfuls, barely chewing. The road winded and twisted, back and forth in a sleepy way...

I yawned.

I then told my System to set aside six each of Sanity and Serenity, as I had no intention of resting. I also had no intention of running; not that close to those who might think it a sign of weakness.

Oh, I made good time; pausing only once outside of bow range to soak up some Sun mana.

Using Fleet of Foot back to back, I could go for two and a half hours at great speed. Or, I could use it as I did, darting between wasteland to wasteland, ending at a piece of brush or thick grasses. It took me most of the day into the time of the falling sun, but I made it back to a raised ledge from which I could observe the Armpit.

I had almost made up my mind to just break in at night and steal as much water as I could hold when the crack of a whip sounded from behind me.

“Aha!” the woman said, through a thick smirk and a leather mask meant to protect her face. “You thought this ledge unknown to us. A mistake many slaves make.”

I sighed. “I, also, have made this mistake.” I admitted.

Only then did I turn my head. There were four of them, and I struggled to find any reason why that would make a difference. In the end, I just didn’t have a comfortable margin of Health.

I raised my hands. “Return me to your camp.” I said. “I am a Speaker of Truth, and cannot lie to you. I will not resist the walk back to the Armpit.”

And I didn’t, not even when she chose to be... liberal with her use of the whip.

“What madness made you kill your guard?” she asked.

“I did no such thing.” I said. “He died fighting against gnolls.”

“How many gnolls?” she asked.

“Six that took me captive, and twenty four that they claimed in their hunting camp.” I said. Much as I had mocked the walls, I could only testify to having seen a total of eleven gnolls.

“Corporal Danit.” she ordered. “Get the slave to the holding pens.

“Yes, Sergeant.” he said.

“Oh wait,” she said. “How many lashes is it for attempting to escape camp? Twenty?”

I sighed. “Well, let’s get that over with, then.”

The flesh of my back, my buttocks, and my legs was savaged, and they ended up leaving me in the care of Taranda and Masaad.

<1 > Duskskins were brown-skinned hobgoblins, native to that region. Military historians among you have already identified these as the “feral” hobgoblins that appeared in the Battle of the Weak Jaw. And you know very well what happened to the bulk of those forces. For the rest of you, I’ll cover those details at the time I learned them.

<2 > Twenty four. Remember, gnolls have those second thumbs, for a total of six fingers on each hand.

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