Bounty Hunting

Word count - 578



Bounty Hunting


Blasphemy was the last thing on Errol’s mind as he thrust his sword into the creature and watched it collapse to the church floor. Blood seeped across the holy stones, creeping slowly towards the horrified priest. Errol felt no remorse. This was a vile creature, one that well deserved its end. More to the point, this was his job and he was being paid for his actions. Two birds with one stone, he thought, as he cleaned his sword on his tunic.

Errol was a bounty hunter. Twelve long years he’d been in the trade, rescuing towns and villages across the land from terrible plights. Monsters, murderers, madmen, all fell to his blade if there was a price to be won. As adept as he was at being emotionally detached from his work, he couldn’t stifle feelings of pride and relief as his most recent foe fell before him.

A month previously the creature had appeared from the Wilds and had begun plaguing the small village. It slaughtered livestock and tore apart villagers, yet evaded every trap and sentry the village put out. Villagers caught glimpses of shaggy fur, and heard growls as it rampaged, but no-one had been able enough to catch it. A bounty notice was eventually put up and Errol had arrived, a tall imposing man with a gruff voice and battered sword. The townspeople prayed he would be the one to rid them of their horror.

The day had started with an air of tension as Errol had set out to track down the creature. Hours passed and nothing had been seen or heard. As the evening drew in the villagers had retreated into their homes. Sudden yells from outside had them pressing their faces to the windows but no-one dared exit in case Errol was the chased, not the chaser. A flash of brown fur rushed through the town and into the church, closely followed by Errol wielding his sword. All went quiet.

As Errol appeared hauling the corpse down the church steps the villagers burst into cheers and flocked from their houses. Errol weaved his way through the adoring people, the mass of blood-soaked fur dragging heavily behind him. He made his way to the fountain, deposited the beast and filled a bucket. He went back to the church and washed away the spilled blood, nodding an apology to the priest. The priest gave a weak smile and watched Errol as he collected his fee from the grateful mayor and returned to the corpse.

Villagers surrounded the hairy body and Errol shouted a caution.
“Be wary! The beast needs a silver blade in the moonlight to be properly finished!” The crowd surged back, suddenly terrified that the creature would spring at them, alive and deadly. “I shall take him back into the wilds and complete the deed tonight. Go back to your homes. Sleep in peace knowing your beast has been stopped.” The crowd cheered again as Errol bowed, grabbed a handful of fur and set off in the dwindling evening light, a smear of blood marking his steps.



Errol burned the body at the side of the road, watching the fur and rags burn away to reveal the unfortunate man Errol had used in his charade. A slight smile lifted the corners of his mouth as he felt the weight of the coin pouch. Monsters or humans, as long as they came with a reward, he was there, sword in hand.