My fellow Wolf hunters and I were housed in a freshly built barracks, designed and constructed specifically for us. It was four stories high; the lower floor was solid gray stone and reinforced glass windows, the upper floors were constructed of thick, sturdy wood. Just a few short hours after I signed up, I was introduced to the commander of the Hunt, a grizzled old man with a scar for each piece of exposed skin on him. His long brown hair, tinged with gray, was held back in a ponytail and he sported a close cropped, salt-and-pepper beard. He was old but he was still a large man, solidly built and thick as an old growth Oak. Three long, thin scars trailed from below his left eye down to his chin.

“Got them from my first she-wolf,” he winked. “They’re the fiercer of the bunch. You must be Drake, I’m Commander John Kearse.”

I took his offered hand, his grip was firm as iron and I could see his muscles ripple under his scarred skin as he pumped my arm up and down. He beckoned me to follow him on a tour of the new facilities, placing a guiding hand on my shoulder.

The bottom floor was dedicated to the tools of our trade, a central forge for smithing silver, and any other ore, into whatever shape was required. The building was constructed in such a way that the heat the forge put out would keep the rest of the building quite warm in any weather. Across the hall from the smithy was the ammunition manufactory. This room was full of all the tools one would need for the crafting of all types of ammunition; bullets, arrows, bolts, javelins, whatever you preferred, you could make it here. A young man looked up from sharpening a brace of silver throwing knives and came to attention upon seeing the Commander. Kearse shooed him back to work with a wave of his hand and we continued on.

In the back of the building, through a wide set of double doors, was the training room/armory. Lining the walls were versions of every weapon I had ever seen, and a few I had only heard of. On the west wall, hanging and placed on racks, were padded or blunted weapons for training new recruits; the rest of the walls held combat ready weapons for the veterans to keep themselves sharp with. There were wooden training dummies shaped like Wolves in several different attack poses lined up near the southern wall, the best points to strike were highlighted with red paint.

Leading me into the room, the commander stopped near one of the dummies.

“I hear you helped defeat a lycanthrope attack on your way to the city.”

His finger jabbed into the red paint over the dummy’s heart, “Stared right into the eyes of one of the beasts, cool as ice and put a bullet right there, they say.”

“Only after my first shot struck low,” I said, looking down at the wooden abdomen.

“Still, with that weapon,” he motioned at the well-worn rifle strapped to my pack, “Quite the achievement.”

“Thank you sir,”

“I think you’ll find our rifles a bit more accurate,” he said, turning toward another set of doors.

“I noticed some odd behavior in the Wolves as well,” I added.

“You can give me a full report later,” he said, “We can talk in my office after the tour.”

The doors opened into a covered walk that traveled the perimeter of a walled in outdoor training field. The courtyard was dominated by a large obstacle course, empty of trainees at the moment but no less intimidating for that. The course boasted towering walls to scale; water-filled trenches to cross hand over hand on high ropes; a gauntlet of rotating logs stacked on end to dodge through, made more difficult by the carved Wolf hands tipped with claws that jutted out from the logs; fields of mud with thin planks suspended above them to improve our balance.

The east side of the yard was sectioned off as a shooting range with wolf shaped targets at the end. A figure crouched in one of the booths at the near end, aiming a long barreled rifle down range. There were already several neat holes in the paper target, two in the head and one in the chest. As we watched the rifle barked and another hole appeared a couple inches to the left of the one in the chest.

The figure rose from its crouch to reveal a whip-thin young woman with dark brown hair cut to shoulder length and pale skin peeking out from concealing clothing. Her grin stretched from ear to ear as she called out to the commander.

“These rifles are amazing!”

“I told you lass, the Regent provides the best for his troops. Now come meet our newest recruit.”

She returned the rifle to the rack and moseyed over to us. As she walked out from under the shadows and into the light of day I got a better look at her; she was pretty enough, warm brown eyes to match her hair and soft, full lips. She wore a long sleeved jacket and pair of trousers, mostly green with darker splotches all over. I realized that the pattern would be great for blending in within a forest. Add a similarly colored cloak and she’d be tough for even a trained eye to pick out; as long as she kept still.

I gave an appreciative whistle.

“Just what a girl likes to hear,” her left eyebrow raised.

“Just admiring the uniform ma’am.”

“This the hotshot who can kill a charging wolf with one shot without breaking a sweat?” she asked.

“Two shots ma’am.”

“You should stop offering that information son,” Kearse said, “Let the legend build.”

“And stop calling me ma’am,” added the woman “makes me feel old. Name’s Karan Harker, Ren to my friends, you can call me Karan for now.”

“Fair enough, Karan” I replied, “Charmed to make your acquaintance.”

“Ms. Harker here is another small town recruit and our best markswoman. You two should get on well. Should we continue our tour?” Kearse suggested.

“May as well,” I replied, “Karan,” I nodded to her in a farewell gesture.

“See you around newbie,” she said, returning to the gun range.

Next Chapter: Chapter 7