The horse looked like it was contemplating trying for a second bite before the stablemaster made a soft clicking sound, retrieving the reins from the fallen man.
As the suitor regained his feet, attempting to dislodge the mud now clinging to his rear, the lieutenant cleared his throat before gruffly announcing. “Time is wasting. Choose a mount.”
The timid man, with the greying hair and glasses, who’d Talac heard praying last evening in the hall for the Gods guidance, surprisingly stepped forward. But instead of heading to any one horse, he approached the stablemaster.
“Do you recommend a mount I might ride for the duration of the hunt?”
The stablemaster took the smaller man’s measure for a silent moment before handing over the reins to a placid looking bay. The man approaching it cautiously, lifting his hand slowly for the animal to sniff him. Clearly ready to snatch his arm away if there seemed any chance of getting bitten. But the creature did nothing more than sniff the man’s arm and toss its head ever so slightly.
The dam was broken, all the suitors heading for the stablemaster, who distributed reins like he’d already pre-matched horses and riders. Talac wouldn’t be at all surprised to learn that was indeed the case. He was beginning to get the feeling that very little was left to chance by the hunt organisers.
Patting the dark chestnut horse he’d been assigned, Talac marvelled at its sleek well maintained coat and heavily muscular frame. Whilst many suitors struggled to mount without assistance, Talac swung himself up and onto the saddle with practised ease. Brandth requiring two attempts, eventually settling onto the saddle with a deep sigh of relief, giving his light tan mount an absent thankful pat of appreciation.
Finally, everyone was mounted. Talac wasn’t sure what he expected next but it wasn’t for a middle-aged grizzled priest to step out of the fortified battlement, dressed in long black robes, his skull shaved clean, holding his twelve sided star aloft, the metal pitted and scratched. Clearly this priest had led an interesting life.
“I’m not running hither and yon through these overgrown woods all day to perform last-rites.” He proceeded to intone several sentences in the archaic language of their forefathers before waving the dodecagram in the intricate twelve swish blessing. “There. Consider yourselves covered for the duration. May the Gods keep you safe, or accept your souls in welcome if they can’t.”
“And on that happy note.” Brandth chuckled under his breath. “Let the hunt begin.”
* * *
“I should have had Raschion pack that third flask.” Brandth announced some two hours later. “This one is already getting dangerously low, and we haven’t seen so much as a bunny rabbit.”
“Perhaps if your Lordship shut his gob for more than a five minute stretch, then we might have a change of luck.” Lord Elliot Heathscote, the man who’d likewise insisted upon joining the hunt, snarled. Having appointed himself in charge of their group when the suitors were split into two factions. Informing everyone in a patronising tone that he was the nephew of Baron Heathscote, and his heir. A fact he had mentioned at least five more times since they had ridden away from the Keep.
Brandth informing Talac under his breath that the current Baron Heathscote was a healthy man in his late thirties, and recently wed. So how much longer Lord Elliot would retain his heir status and title was questionable. And explained why the man was here at Gloomenthrall looking for a bride and the dowry that accompanied her.
Their hunting group of eight also included the timid grey haired man, along with four others who appeared to be cronies of Elliot’s, or at the very least intimidated enough by the man to agree with every arrogant word he uttered.
Overseeing their group were nine experienced riders and one of the Beast’s lieutenants. A woman. Rather shocking, but there was no mistake, her voice muffled due to the scarf wrapped around the lower part of face, but yes, a woman. A no nonsense one, who’d introduced herself as Poulth. Who didn’t appear to care one way or the other whether their group was successful. As she had explained tersely before they set out, she was here to observe and report, rather than participate. Nor could they expect any of the nine experienced hunt riders that accompanied their group to do the hunting and killing for them. They were only there to help if… when, Poulth had said, things go wrong.
Clarifying even further with the information that she disliked touching dead bodies and that’s why the grunts were along. The grunts had laughed softly amongst themselves at her gruff declaration, appearing content with Poulth’s brand of leadership.
A woman who hunts. Brandth naturally found her endlessly fascinating. But Poulth very early in the peace let him know she would not be answering any personal questions. Remaining stoically silent, except for pointing out the presence of a dangerous bottomless bog that Elliott was directing his horse and the group towards at one point.
As the morning wore on and they meandered through the towering oaks, Talac used that time to observe all the experienced riders. Watching the way they rode. How they communicated. With hand signals it seemed. Discovering quickly that three of them were also women. One with short tight curls, face dirty, expression solemn. Whilst two wore obscuring scarves covering their nose and mouths and much of their heads, protecting their probably longer locks from getting snagged by low branches or straggly vines. They acted no differently than their male compatriots and were treated no differently.
It didn’t appear Elliot had caught on, as he directed all his contempt regarding their failure to rustle up any game whatsoever this morning Poulth’s way. Despite the fact every decision concerning which direction to head, and what trail to follow, had been done so under Elliott’s orders. All turning out to be useless.
Talac moved his massive mount up so he was next to Poulth. Holding out the throwing spear that each of them had been assigned. He noted she tensed ever so slightly, despite her seemingly relaxed posture. “A query, if I may?”
Poulth nodded for him to ask his question.
“I was wondering where you sourced these finely made weapons?”
“We have a talented blacksmith back at the Lair.”
Lair? That must be the name given to the fortification from whence the group had emerged that morning. “They feel a little… lightweight for our purposes.” Talac weighed the weapon absently.
“Lighter is better. Flies quicker. The shaft sinks deeper into the target, causing more damage.”
“Ah.” Yes, that made sense.
“Flicking with your wrist rather than your whole arm is the key.”
Good advice? Perhaps if one wasn’t being a condescending prat or asking prying personal questions, then Poulth was willing to converse after all. “I have caught glimpses of the Beast trailing us at certain times.” Poulth’s head swivelled sharply at his words. “They won’t be joining us?”
“The Beast is one with the shadows of the woods. Everywhere and nowhere at once.”
