The first week passed quickly in the forge. The work was hard but Tristan liked making things with his hands and he enjoyed company. One afternoon Gabbro and Tristan were sitting at a wonky table in Gabbro’s lodge drinking a pale of something Gabbro called Mothers Milk. The drink smelt like a combination of pig sweat, sour milk and burnt hair.

“Do you want your payment in steel or coins?" Gabbro asked as he took a sip of his drink and sighed in pleasure.

“How about enough steel to forge a weapon and the rest in coins,” Tristan suggested. “I need a seapass and I could use a new outfit. I'm sick of the old women leering at me in my bathrobes whenever I walk down the streets.”

“Fair enough,” Gabbro grunted. “What weapon do you want to forge?”

“It has to be a sword,” said Tristan. “I can't see myself as an axe wielding moron.”

Gabbro shrugged as if an axe wielding moron didn't sound too far off the mark.

“And I don't want to be one of those guys who uses a flail,” Tristan continued. “Seriously, who actually uses a flail? A chain with a stick on one side and a spikey ball on the other end. The weapon was made for injuring yourself.”

“All fair points,” said Gabbro as he took another swig of his drink and wiped the foam from his mouth. “You don't drink, lad?”

Tristan looked into his goblet, at the curdled drink and forced a weak smile. He lifted the goblet to his mouth.

Gabbro nodded approvingly. “It puts hairs on your chest,” he said.

Tristan touched his tongue to the liquid and immediately his tongue recoiled from the taste. His mouth felt numb like it was covered in wax.

Tana entered the forge at that moment carrying a pile of wood.

“It smells like wet sheep in here,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

She dropped the wood in the corner of the room beside the fireplace.

“Don't tell me you’ve been drinking that pig piss drink of dads. I've told him a hundred times that stuff’s not meant for humans.”

“It does the job,” growled the blacksmith. “Besides, it's free.”

“What?” Tristan moaned and stuck his tongue out and began rubbing it against his sleeve.

“The butcher leaves a pale of it outside his shop each morning,” said Gabbro. “It would be rude not to take it.”

Tristan gagged and looked around for a glass of water.

“Tristan here’s forging himself a sword,” said Gabbro. “Can you ask that pretty hunter friend of yours if she can take the boy hunting?”

“Hunting,” Tristan said with his tongue still sticking out.

“You need a sturdy pommel for the sword,” said Gabbro. “And the finest ones come from creatures you’ve killed yourself. Something like a deadly cat’s claw or even a murder boar’s tusk, that would do the job nicely.”

“Who comes up with these names?” Tristan groaned. “Isn't there a fluffy horned pig or a fanged rabbit we could hunt instead?”

Tana snorted.

“You’ll be fine,” said Gabbro. “But if you don't come back alive, I’ll be sure to say something nice at your funeral.”

The late afternoon sun had begun to turn the world a golden hue when the hunter arrived at the lodge. Her name was Scarlet. Red haired and dressed in a green outfit that displayed her assets like every other weapon she had. Her gown had been purposely cut as low as it could go without failing its most basic function and when she moved she moved as if the wind gently pushed her along, her thin garments billowing seductively around her.

Tristan could barely keep his eyes off of her. Scarlet shoved a bow and a quiver of arrow into Tristan's hands and shook her hair as he stammered thanks.

“You don't feel the cold?” Tristan asked when he was finally able to speak properly.

“Do you have a problem with my clothing?” she asked coolly.

“It's just you know…” Tristan said. “Not really protecting much.”

“Says the guy who’s been wearing the same child's robe since the day he arrived in town.”

“It's not a child's robe,” Tristan said. “It's actually a—”

“I'm sure you’re going to say something really interesting,” Scarlet replied, interrupting Tristan. “But why don't you make a mental note of all the interesting things you want to say. Then later when you’re all alone. You can tell them to someone who gives a damn.”

“Wow,” Tristan said. “Now I feel silly about being nervous about this hunting trip, this is going to be fun.”

She glared at him. He thought she wanted to say something but she turned around and stalked off towards the forest.

“So, I just follow you I guess, is that how this is meant to work?”

Tristan realized he was talking to himself. He picked up his bow and ran after the girl.

Tristan followed her in silence as she led them deeper into the forest to an area he’d never seen before. The trees became darker and larger the deeper they moved into the forest. Even the smells of pine needles and blooming flowers changed to rich odors of damp moss, wet tree trunks and decaying leaves.

“Up front baby robes,” Scarlet said as she stopped beside a gnarled wattle tree.

“Sure, but no staring at my butt,” Tristan said jokingly, even though that’s exactly what he’d been doing the whole time he’d followed her.

Tristan stepped past her and she reached out, catching him by the arm. Before he could think about what she was doing, she pushed him against the tree, drew out her knife and put the blade to his throat.

“Who are you and what do you want here?” she asked.

“I'm Tristan,” he said quickly. “I'm just here to do some hunting.”

“No you idiot. What are you doing in Westwind?”

“I'm just a traveler,” he said.

Tristan stopped breathing as she pressed the knife harder against his throat.

“You’re lying,” she said. “Are you an Aressean noble?”

Tristan grinned. “What if I was?”

“Then I'd kill you where you stand,” she said.

Tristan’s smile faltered. “It's a good thing then that I'm not. I'm just a guy in a bathrobe that was unlucky enough to be born with white hair.”

“Why should I believe you?” she asked.

“I don't care what you believe.”

She pressed the dagger tighter against his skin and blood trickled down his neck.

“I could kill you in a heartbeat,” she said.

“I'm sure you could but could you do me a favor before you do that?” Tristan asked.

“What?”

“Um, could you not stand so close?”

“What?”

“It's just, you know.” Tristan glanced down. “You're pressing up against me and I don't want to die with a… you know.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“It's kinda making it ‘hard’ to take what you’re saying seriously if you know what I mean.”

She looked down and realized her breasts were pressed up against his chest.

“You disgusting pervert,” she shouted.

She stabbed the knife into the tree a hair's breadth from his face.

Tristan didn't flinch.

“You’re not afraid of death?” she asked.

“For all I know I could already be dead,” he said.

Her eyes hardened and a purple light shimmered across them.

“I'm not my clothes or my hair color,” Tristan said. “I'm just a guy trying to figure this life out. Maybe you can give me a chance to show you who I really am.”

“I already know who you are,” she said.

“Who?”

She looked down at his hand which was resting on her thigh.

“You’re a stinking pervert and if you lay a hand on me again I'll cut it off, hear me.”

“Yes, mame.”

“Good.”

She pulled the dagger out of the tree trunk. “Now let's go hunting, I feel like killing something.”

“Funny enough you're not the first beautiful lady to point a knife at my throat this week,” said Tristan after they had been walking in silence for some time. “It's really making me question my life choices.”

“You know I get paid whether we shoot something or not?” she said.

“Are Aresseans really that terrible?” he asked.

Scarlet inspected the area then walked back to him and slung the bow over her shoulder.

“I hate Aresseans,” she said as if it was some revelation he hadn't known about.

“Yeah, I figured that mystery out already.”

She wrinkled her nose and looked away from him.

“An Aressean nobleman called Cassaden Townsend, came through Westwind a few years ago,” she said. “He was recruiting people for their war on Shalegos. He convinced my little brother to join the war effort.”

“Military training can be good for a kid,” said Tristan.

“He was thirteen years old. He couldn't even hold a sword.”

“Oh.”

“Our parents were already gone by that time. So I had to make the decision.”

Scarlet wiped her nose and shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“They said that he’d be in no danger. He would need years of training before they’d even think about sending him into the field.”

She sighed heavily and turned to Tristan.

“A month later I received a letter and a gold coin from the military.” Her eyes hardened. “My brother died on the front lines.”

Tristan shook his head not knowing what to say.

“I'm sorry.”

“Yeah that's what they said as well,” said Scarlet. “That's what everyone said. The sorry’s never brought my brother back, they didn't even take the pain away.”

Tristan shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't skilled at comforting people. He usually tried to make them laugh and if that didn't work then he’d make up a lame excuse to leave.

“Do you actually know how to hunt?” Scarlet asked.

“I should probably tell you,” Tristan said. “I have never killed a living thing larger than a mosquito. I might have ridden my bicycle over a toad once but I don't think that counts.”

Scarlet smiled but it didn't reach her eyes.

“You’re a strange one, pervert, you know that.”

“You can call me Tristan.”

“I’ll stick with Pervert.”

“Great,” he said. “And I thought we were bonding so well.”

She laughed. “I think I’d rather bond with a toad.”

A small bird the size of a silver coin buzzed around Tristan’s head. He reached out a hand to touch it but the bird darted out of sight.

“A butterfinch,” said Scarlet. “They are curious, made bold by their speed. Even the fastest animals could never hope to catch one.”

“There’s so many strange animals in here,” Tristan said. As they’d walked through long grass and passed through bushes he’d caught glimpses of six legged rabbits with ears as large as wings. He’d also seen a blue fawn which had evaporated into thin air as soon as Tristan laid his eyes on the misty creature.

“We would have killed something by now if it wasn't for your lumbering steps,” said Scarlet.

“Well if you could move slower maybe I wouldn't have to run to keep up,” Tristan said.

A faint scraping sound came from a bush a short distance from them. Scarlet raised a finger to her lips and tilted her head as she listened.

She mouthed the word, direboar.

Scarlet carefully unslug her bow and notched an arrow to the string.

The boar snorted and the scraping sound was closer that time.

Scarlet waited and listened. Tristan followed her example but almost fumbled the arrow in the process. He’d never shot a bow before but he’d played enough video games to know how to shoot.

A faint purple aura that glistened like ink appeared around Scarlet.

A boar the size of a cow burst out of the long grass. Its nostrils flared and its red eyes glared at us. Massive hoof stamped on the ground in warning.

“Aim for the neck just behind its left ear,” whispered Scarlet.

Tristan nodded and clenched his bow tighter.

“On three,” she said, “One, two…”

Tristan drew the bow back until the string touched his cheek. He closed one eye and stared down the arrow shaft at the beast.

The boar lifted its head as if it was alerted to danger.

Too late Mr. Piggy, Tristan thought.

“Three.”

As Tristan’s hand released the arrow the boar twisted its neck to look back. The grass parted like water being split by a speed boat and a giant serpent appeared behind the boar. Its twin fangs pierced through the boar’s back and out of its chest in a bloody mess. One arrow hit its target and protruded from the boar’s neck; the other arrow flew left of its target and struck the serpent squarely in its mouth. The arrow looked like a toothpick in the mouth of the deadly creature.

“Blessed mother,” Scarlet breathed. “A serpent king.”

“What do we do?” Tristan asked.

“Run,” she shouted.

Scarlet sprinted past a motionless Tristan. She screamed something but he was too stunned to move. The serpent dropped the boar and the beast hit the ground with a resounding thud.

The serpent eyed Tristan. It knew he was the one who’d fired the arrow that still protruded out of its mouth.

Tristan slowly and deliberately lifted another arrow out of the quiver and strung it to the bow. He took aim.

The serpent hissed at him in warning and rose up higher as if it was about to strike. Tristan had seen its speed and knew that it could strike him from that distance before he could fully draw the arrow back.

His hands were steady and his mind was clear as he watched the serpent wave from side to side rhythmically. Its tongue flicked in and out measuring the threat that it was facing.

Tristan felt strangely calm. He thought that maybe once you’d been swallowed by a dragon, a giant serpent just wasn't that scary anymore. Or and more likely, he thought. His mind had shut down from fear and his body was acting on instinct alone.

The serpent continued to wave backwards and forwards in its slow rhythmic dance. It tilted backwards and then in its forward motion it struck at Tristan catching him off guard. Tristan attempted to raise his bow as a shield. A sound like the sky being torn ripped through the air and pierced the serpent’s side. Scarlet notched and released two arrows in the space of a heartbeat. The final arrow she fired transformed mid air; the shaft split down the middle and became a steel shackle that wrapped around the serpent and flung it back, binding it to a tree. Black tendrils of smoke rose from the steel shackle and the serpent hissed in frustration as it strained against its constraints.

Tristan used the time to draw back an arrow and aim it at the serpent's weaving head. He loosed the arrow and it struck the serpent it pierced its scales but as Tristan watched the arrow popped out and fell to the ground and the serpent's wound closed up.

“Why are you still standing there?” shouted Scarlet. “Get out of here now.”

“But, we have it,” Tristan shouted back. “Kill it.”

The serpent king hissed and flexed its powerful body against its bonds. The shackles snapped and fizzled into smoke. Before Tristan could respond the serpent had covered the distance and coiled itself around him. Arrow after arrow struck its body and with each arrow the creature squeezed Tristan tighter.

His right arm was pinned to his side and he punched the snake repeatedly with his left fist. Tristan’s ribs snapped and pierced his lungs. He coughed up blood. His vision blurred and he watched bleary eyed as the serpent’s mouth opened up and dull light reflected off of its massive fangs. As its mouth began to snap shut over Tristan’s head he felt it loosen its grip. With what strength Tristan had remaining he wriggled his right arm free and caught the serpent’s jaws with both hands. He held them open as its mouth pressed down over his head.

Tristan shouted as pure rage pulsed through his body like a flood gate being thrown open. He felt something ancient stir inside of him. The serpent tried to release Tristan but it was too late. Tristan’s hand had transformed into draconian scales and blue light flooded out all around him. He roared and threw all his strength into tearing the serpent’s mouth apart. The serpent’s blood boiled and the smell of burnt flesh filled Tristan’s nostrils. His vision blurred. His consciousness faded and all turned black.