The Sorcerer Hunter

The sun hanging low over the Steel Islands cast an orange glow that transformed the island chain’s jagged rock formations into haunting silhouettes as the salty ocean breeze, carrying whispers of danger and ambition, blew through the seaside town of Hollow River. Weathered fishing boats bobbed in the harbor, their hulls painted in fading hues while flickering lanterns cast dancing shadows across the cobblestone streets. Raucous laughter and the clash of mugs punctuated the night. Above it all, the silhouette of rugged cliffs loomed, a stark reminder that danger was always close. In Hollow River, trust was as fleeting as the tide, and every glance masked a hidden agenda or a broken promise.

Jarek Blackwell, sorcerer hunter, inhaled deeply, savoring the familiar scent of sand, salt, and whiskey, the essence of his home and, tonight, his hunting ground. Leaning against the rough-hewn bar of The Rusty Spike, he observed the rowdy mix of sailors, mercenaries, and the occasional sorcerer hiding in plain sight. Worn wooden planks creaked underfoot as patrons jostled for space, their voices rising and falling like the relentless waves crashing against the nearby cliffs. Glowing lanterns pulsed with warm light, illuminating the weathered faces etched with stories of countless sea voyages and treacherous deals. In this gritty underbelly, Jarek felt the thrill of the hunt coursing through his veins, aware that every shadow could hide a threat and every smile might conceal a dagger. But this was the life he chose, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Jarek was not a man of moral ambiguity. Rather, he was a pragmatist. His business required it. Each contract he accepted brought its own challenges and tribulations, but they also filled his pockets. Today’s mission, however, was different. As always, he sought the life force of another. This time, his prey was an errant sorcerer deemed an enemy by the Sorcerer’s League. Other times, similarly notorious individuals. Not always full-ranking wizards, sometimes the mark was merely someone with magical potential significant enough to attract the wrong kind of attention. Over the years, their names and faces blurred until Jarek could hardly remember the details beyond three or four past commissions. But before taking those jobs, he never knew the target, so how was he supposed to remember them?

But damn if he didn’t know this latest one. Knew him and considered him a friend once.

As Jarek drained his drink and called for another, a goblin with a sly grin sidled onto the stool beside him. “Who’s the unlucky mark this time?” Bookul asked, the goblin’s skin a drab earth color but his eyes gleaming and full of mischief.

Jarek affected a thin smile, excitement stirring in him. He might know their prey, but that wouldn’t stop him from relishing the hunt. “A high-ranking sorcerer named Vargan. He’s been stealing secrets from the League and using them to unfortunate ends.”

Bookul’s pointed ears twitched. “Isn’t that how they all get in trouble?” At four feet tall, the imp’s head barely rose above the bar. “What’s the plan?”

“Same as always,” Jarek said. “Attack him when he’s isolated and alone, then drain him dry.”

The barkeep delivered Jarek’s drink, a Steel Island whiskey that went down smooth but kicked your arse on the way out.

“I know Vargan from way back,” Jarek said, sipping his drink. “He won’t go quietly.”

“Do they ever?”

The dim light caught the amber liquid in Jarek’s glass, and for a moment, he saw Vargan’s face reflected in its depths. They once shared drinks like this, trading stories of their adventures across the Steel Islands. But that was before ambition seduced Vargan, and he decided to go against the League.

“You’re brooding,” Bookul observed, his thin fingers drumming against the bar. “Never known you to brood before a hunt.” Bookul grinned, revealing wicked, yellowed teeth. “Maybe I should do this one alone. Give you time to come to grips with your feelings.”

Jarek flashed a look of annoyance at his partner. “And leave all the profit for you, you insipid little creature?”

Bookul shrugged. “Just make sure when it comes time to pull the trigger, you don’t hesitate.”

“Pfft. When it comes to the hunt, I never hesitate.” Jarek finished his drink in one swift motion and stood. “Come on. I heard a rumor from one of the salty beggars that Vargan had been spotted near the old shipyards. When we get there, hang back and let me do the talking. In fact, Vargan doesn’t know about you, so stay out of sight and wait for your opportunity.”

The abandoned Ironhull Yards lay at the edge of Hollow River, where the town’s ramshackle buildings gave way to a graveyard of broken vessels. Jarek and Bookul walked in silence through the deepening twilight, their footsteps in the sand echoing off weathered planks and rusted metal. Half-built ships loomed above them like the ribcages of ancient beasts, their shadows stretching across the rotting docks. The old Ironhull Yards had been silent for decades, ever since the tempest of ’29 destroyed half the fleet and drove the shipwrights to more favorable ports. Now, it was a graveyard of broken vessels and rusted machinery, perfect for a sorcerer in hiding.

"You think he’s here?" Bookul murmured, his not-so-sharp eyes darting through the shadows. While his impen vision was suboptimal, his keen sense of hearing more than compensated, attuning him to the faintest sounds around them.

“No,” Jarek replied, reaching for the depleter long barrel strapped across his back. Bookul did the same. “I know he’s here. Now, let me go on alone. Hide in the shadows. You know what to do.”

No sooner had Bookul slipped into the growing darkness when a haughty laugh echoed through the yard. “I spread rumors about my whereabouts, and look who shows up.” Vargan’s voice came from everywhere at once. “When I heard the League wanted me dead, I knew they’d send you, Jarek. Did you really think I wouldn’t have prepared for you, old friend? How many times did we hunt together? How many tricks did I teach you?”

Jarek raised his depleter, eyes scanning the elevated gangways above as he tiptoed forward. In his hands, his weapon hummed with a hunger for power. “Enough to know you always liked to attack from high ground.” A flash of movement caught his attention, but it was nothing more than a reflection, another trick.

Vargan materialized atop a nearby crane, his storm-gray cloak billowing in a wind that touched nothing else. Dark veins pulsed beneath his skin, a testament to the forbidden magic he’d absorbed.

Jarek took aim, but too late, as Vargan unleashed a wave of force that ripped the ground asunder where Jarek stood, splintering wood and sending debris flying. But Jarek hadn’t made it this far for nothing, so right before the sorcerer unleashed his spell, he gave up the shot to save his life, leaping and rolling to take cover behind a stack of crates.

“The League has corrupted you,” Vargan called out, sending bolts of dark lightning arcing through the shipyard. “They’ve turned you into their puppet, hunting your own kind!”

“My kind?” Jarek fired a debilitating burst from the depleter, but the shot flew wide. “You stopped being my kind when you stole from the League.”

“I took what I needed to unlock greater powers!” Vargan’s next attack shattered a nearby ship’s hull, raining metal splinters across the sandy ground. “The League keeps us weak, controlled. I could show you truths that would shatter your world!”

“The only truth that matters is the one that sparkles,” Jarek said. “You remember that saying? Silver and gold. That’s why we do this.”

“Wealth is no longer enough to feed my ambition!”

Vargan hurled a sphere of crackling energy that shattered Jarek’s refuge, forcing him to run and dive behind the coil of a rusted anchor chain.

“Your vision always lacked imagination, Jarek. Content with your simple life, your simple motivations. Silver and gold? I seek power beyond mere wealth!”

Jarek fired a burst, but Vargan knew Jarek’s tricks, so he was ready to deflect it. “You always wanted more than your share.”

The sorcerer's mad laughter rang out again. “My share? The League hoards knowledge like misers hoard coins. I simply took what they wouldn't freely give!”

Jarek fired again, but Vargan once more deflected it. Deflected it and answered with a magical bolt that sizzled along the rusted iron chain, showering Jarek with magical sparks.

Damn it, where was Bookul?

“You could join me,” Vargan offered. “Together, we could tear down the League's walls of secrecy. Imagine what we could learn, what power we could wield!”

"I prefer simpler pleasures," Jarek replied, firing again.

This time, his shot connected, striking Vargan’s shoulder. The sorcerer howled in pain, but before Jarek could follow with a full depletion stream, Vargan unleashed a massive burst of energy that shattered the chain and sent Jarek flying backward.

Jarek tumbled end over end. With magic exploding around him, he kept rolling, seeking cover behind a pile of scrap metal. With another curse meant for Bookul on his lips, Jarek was delighted when he finally spotted the goblin in position. Bookul had worked his way around to flank Vargan, finding the perfect angle from atop a stack of weathered crates. The goblin’s depleter hummed to life, its crystals glowing with hungry light. In the next instant, as Jarek saw Bookul take careful aim, he knew exactly what he needed to do.

Jarek stepped out from behind the scrap metal, pointed the barrel of his weapon at the sorcerer, and pulled the trigger.

Vargan deflected Jarek's shot with a snarl, but Bookul attacked simultaneously, the goblin's depleter beam catching Vargan in the back. The sorcerer screamed as his power—his very life force—fled from him.

Jarek added his depleter beam to his partner’s, catching Vargan full in the chest. Caught between two depletion streams, Vargan's life drained from him ever faster.

“Jarek,” Vargan gasped, his skin growing ashen and papery. “Please . . . . We hunted together once . . . ”

“Aye,” Jarek said, watching as the dark veins beneath Vargan's skin faded to gray. “And now we hunt you.”

“We were friends . . . ”

“We were,” Jarek said, feeling neither remorse nor pity. But that didn’t mean he was a monster. “That’s why I’ll make this quick.”

One final pulse from both weapons and it was over. Vargan's body crumbled like ancient parchment. Wind from the sea, whipping of a sudden, scattered his remains, leaving only empty robes and the lingering scent of ozone.

Bookul hopped down to join Jarek, lifting the pile of clothes with the tip of his barrel. “Well, that's done then. Fancy a drink before we collect the bounty?”

Jarek slung his depleter over a shoulder, its containment crystals pulsing with their share of Vargan’s stolen power. “Yes, but let’s say we make it a double. This was a good catch with an excellent bounty.”

As they walked from the shipyard, the sun’s last vestiges painted the sky in shades of blood, and the wind whispered through the old ships, carrying away the last traces of a friendship sacrificed for silver and gold. Not for the first time, Jarek wondered when he would find a line he would not cross and if, somewhere in the world, a person existed that he wouldn’t drain for profit. Such thoughts were best considered over a stiff Steel Island whiskey. Fortunately, he knew just where to find one.


This story featured the following characters from the Assassin Without a Name series:

Jarek BlackwellJarek BlackwellSorcerer hunter.
BookulBookulSorcerer hunter.

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