048 - The Great Hunt

"Mr. Stint! Mr Stint!"

From the ruined hunters camp a man came running towards the hunters by the campfire. His feet flopped clumsily on the dirt, crying out "Mr. Stint!" as he ran.

Pete groaned. From bad to worse . . thoughts of cutting out, just running into the woods to avoid the Bishop's son floated through his mind.

"They're here Mr. Stint! Look!" Carl Lang cried out, pointing down the mountain slope.

Up from the lowlands came a procession of carriages and horsemen snaking their way up the mountain path. Pete looked on astonished, it looked a small army had come to the horn.

"Who's come?"

The hunters leapt to their feet staring down the slope in astonishment.

"Heroes Mr. Stint!" Carl slapped Pete on the shoulder. "That's why I'm here, didn't I say so?"

"Heroes?" Pete's jaw slackened. "Heroes. What the devil do you mean, heroes?"

"From all Jute! My father, Bishop Lang put out the word, you know, stories of the three astonishing beasts have been told in every tavern and city in all the land by now!"

"Heroes . ."

The hunters buzzed, peering down at the distant figures.

"They've heard of the fantastic beasts that you've been hunting up here by the Horn and come in from all over!"

The scholarly man babbled excitedly as the wagons came up the long slope towards the camp.

"Isabella of Ettersberg, you've heard of her Mr. Stint? From the Iron Coast, I'm sure you've heard of her, a real beauty! Such tremendous skill with a bow! Why, the other day in Bonnet she put on an incredible display for my father and, oh, behind her!"

Riding in front of the procession were a dozen snow white steeds, on their backs rode knights in polished armour, sparks glinting off the metal dazzled the hunters. At the lead of the knights was a slim figure on a fine pure white horse, entirely unarmoured and with an enormous bow on her back.

Carl continued breathlessly. "There, you see the mighty fellow on the warhorse? That's Gunner! You've heard of him, right? He can lift fifteen men above his head! You should have been there to see it . . he must be a gold core!"

Further down the slope was a black horse that dwarfed all the other horses, on its back rode an equally massive man clad in black platemail.

"Oh! You see that silver carriage? That belongs to Sir Waldemar, son of General Sten. Son of the hero of Jute, you believe that?"

"I see them . . I see them Mr. Lang." Pete groaned, "but what I want to know is what are they doing on my Horn?"

"I said - come to hunt the beasts! That's why I'm here Mr. Stint, my fath- Bishop Lang has set a new decree." Carl Lang produced a sheet of vellum parchment, presenting it to Pete with a theatrical flourish. "You see, the bounty has gone up! It's now fifty gold sovereigns as bounty for the fearsome Griffon of the Horn. Fifty gold, Mr. Stint, for the mysterious 'Shadow Bull', and seventy-five gold sovereigns for the devilish "booze hound", the giant white wolf!"

The hunter's eyes bulged at the incredible amounts of gold being offered, Pete stared at the young scholar.

"But thats not all! Bishop Lang has further decreed that whomsoever aquits himself in the most heroic fashion will receive a Writ of Honour, on behalf of the city of Bonnet! Fantastic, no?"

A Writ of Honour! The hunters gasped, Pete felt his hand trembling, his mouth run dry.

"Writ of Honour? What's that?"

Pete turned to look at the young hunter beside him. "You don't know?"

Carl beamed and said grandly, "A Writ of Honour, it's true. I saw my father sign it myself. The highest of accolades, any man bearing a Writ of Honour is certain to be a hero for the ages!"

The many hunters in the process of clearing the ruins of the camp or otherwise engaged all stopped to stare, stupefied by the glittering procession coming up the slopes of the Horn. Pete stared mutely, the young scholar's voice like a fly buzzing endlessly in his ear.

As the heroes approached the camp their majestic bearing became even more apparent, every animal and man clothed in the finest polished metals and leathers. Their weapons gleamed like divine artifacts, on the armoured knights helms were tall white goose feather plumes. The carriage painted silver, even the horses pulling them had silver chomps and silver frilled coats.

Oh gods . . . the noble heroes have come . .

"Pete!"

"PETE!"

"PETE! They've found it!"

Down from the upper slopes of the horn a hunter came roaring, falling and tumbling on the slopes, kept running towards them.

"They've found it, Pete!"

"Found what?" Pete roared back.

"IT!" The hunter yelled. "The Griffon's nest!"