The clearing allowed the lagging amateur hunters to reposition. Elliott urging his mount on with hard jabs of his heels, surging through their midst. Edging Brandth’s mount aside as the boar raced off down a new trail, leaking blood as it ran. The group continuing to ride the boar down. Though thanks to its grievous wound it was only another few minutes before the animal stumbled, spilling out into another clearing filled with more muddy puddles and a small stream off to the side.
Talac, riding in the middle of the pack, emerged just in time to watch Elliott circle the exhausted dying creature, casting his spear downwards in a quick expert throw to pierce the boar’s head, right between its eyes. The animal collapsing in the mud abruptly with a wet squelch.
Elliott raising his head, crowing loudly in victory and delight. The other amateur hunters, caught up in the moment, sending their own spears flying at the already dead creature. Two hitting it in the back, two missing it completely. The men now laughing, high on adrenalin, all trying to talk at once.
Talac sidled his mount up beside a bewildered Kinnith, whose horse had stopped at the edge of the clearing like the well trained animal it was when the boar had come to a halt. White faced and trembling, distracted by the sight of the dead boar, he didn’t even seem to be aware of Talac reaching over, easing away the spear Kinnith had tucked tightly under his armpit still.
Poulth issued a long piercing whistle that interrupted the wild celebrations. The experienced hunters flanking their lieutenant, watching on impassively, looking neither impressed or pleased. All eyes now directed Poulth’s way. “The hunt is over.”
Brandth, grinning with approval, looked in Kinnith’s direction. “Well done, congratulations and thanks go to our expert hunt leader.”
“Belay that.” Elliott sneered. “I delivered the killing blow, the purse is mine.” He looked down at the lifeless boar, grinning. “And that spear of mine will make a damn fine souvenir.” Swinging his leg over the saddle, Elliott dismounted.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Poulth advised blandly, unsurprised as Elliott cast one of his trademark sneers in her direction, making his way through the churned muck to the boar. His boot coming down to rest upon the creature’s head, grabbing the shaft of his spear he yanked, to no avail. The tripod arrow point of the spear having becoming lodged. After four more yanks the spear finally came free. Elliott holding it aloft for his cronies to see.
Suddenly there was a mad scramble as the others decided to retrieve their spears, wanting tangible proof of their adventures here at Gloomenthrall. Soon all five suitors on the ground were cheering and banging their spears together in the air, stamping their feet, their boots and trousers quickly becoming splattered with mud and blood.
On Poulth’s silent signal, five of the grunts turned their mounts around to face the woods, their gazes searching and intent. Talac had a bad feeling suddenly. Where there was one feral boar, there were others. Mates. Parents. Children. The dying squeals of the boar had been loud, and now its blood scented the air, kicked up by the celebrating idiots.
At least he had Kinnith’s spear, swivelling in his own saddle, searching for the threat. Frustratingly, when it came it did so from the far end of the clearing, beyond Elliott and his cronies and it was enormous. Easily twice the size of the dead boar, with tusks so ancient they protruded a foot from the creature’s head. It bowled through the suitors like they were skittles, tossing its head as it did so, ensuring maximum damage. Rounding on them in a tight motion to have another go at the easy targets. Two now sprawled on the ground, one injured, the other having stumbled and fallen. The other gentlemen scrambling and limping away as best they could, desperate to get out of the way, to find cover.
Given the boar’s close proximity to the suitors, it was impossible for anyone to get a clear shot, as it pelted forward, running right over the poor fool who had merely stumbled earlier. Headbutting one man slogging slowly through the mud, trying to reach his mount. Whilst another suitor threw his spear at it, missing, though the boar didn’t, as its tusks slammed into the man’s upper chest, tossing him back over its head. Elliott was only five steps from his horse now, fear etched across his face, breath coming in hard fast pants. Waving his arms around in panic, making it impossible for anyone mounted to get a clear shot.
Damnation, the savage thing was coming in for another tight turn when a pitch black horse thundered out of the woods, leaping high to avoid the boar, performing an incredibly sharp pivot. The rider, clinging on to the saddle with one hand, leaning in low, arching their back and throwing their spear straight and true. The weapon piercing the boar’s chest, puncturing its heart all in one liquid fast movement. The creature screaming its death knell with a high pitched shriek.
Talac watching on avidly as the Beast sat upright in their saddle, pulling out another spear from the quiver strapped to their back, but the boar was only able to take another three steps before its rear legs gave out. The man on the ground closest to it, who had taken initial damage in the first attack screamed out in fear. Grasping around frantically in the muck next to him he found his souvenir spear and launched it. But the angle was wrong as it sailed over the collapsing boar’s head and kissed the belly of the mount Brandth was riding instead.
In shock and pain, Brandth’s horse reared. Talac’s blood chilling as Brandth, who’d been holding his spear in readiness in one hand and the unfortunately empty second flask of mead in the other, fell backwards off his mount. Gods save him. Given their size it was a very long way to fall indeed. This was not going to end well. All Talac could do was pray that Brandth would survive so his friend would have the privilege of saying I told you so.
Chapter Five
Talac had envisioned this day going very differently. He’d frustratingly been unable to learn anything new in regards to the Beast. Whilst the hunt had turned out both wildly successful for some and wildly unlucky for others.
Brandth, along with four others, was currently ensconced in the Lair infirmary. Of the five patients, Brandth was by no means the most seriously hurt, though he was still unconscious. Probably a good thing, given the healers had had to secure and strap the broken bone in his lower left leg.
The man who had been gored in the chest would likely not make it in Talac’s opinion, his injuries deep, most probably rot would set in. Perhaps sooner than Talac thought, watching on as two healers piled a heap of different herbs and plants into a large pestle, grinding the contents together before slathering the disturbingly dark green paste all over the gored man’s chest.
The two other injured men from their hunting party had a collection of vivid bruises, one with a fractured wrist, the other with gore marks across his hips and back. More of that foul smelling paste applied to the latter, despite his vigorous objections.
And lastly was a fifth man, who’d been assigned to the second hunting party that day. He’d twisted his ankle falling over a moss covered rock when he paused to take a piss. Once his ankle was securely wrapped, he was quickly escorted back across the courtyard to the Keep.
Talac’s expectation that he would remain by Brandth’s bedside and watch over him were dashed by an ancient looking female healer with stern hazel eyes, who had more wrinkles than a twisted sheet. She was bent with age and barely came up to Talac’s waist. She’d shooed him out with impatient hand gestures. Advising he was just in the way right now and that she understood he had better things to do with his time. Which was news to Talac, as the oaks doors closed in his face with a resounding thud.
Turning, he’d been surprised to find the gangly mute lad waiting for him, fresh clean clothes and boots that belonged to Talac piled in his hands. With a follow me gesture, he’d led Talac back towards the stables, veering off at the last moment to enter a large stone hut with a blue sign posted above the doorway; men’s bathing house.
Entering the steam filled room had been a revelation for Talac. Several bathing attendants hovering, one of whom the mute lad passed his clothes to. Talac invited to step into one of the three tubs - each large enough to hold ten men - full of crystal clear water, steam curling gently from their surfaces. There were four men currently using the tubs, rubbing themselves down with wet cloths, dipping them occasionally into nearby buckets full of foamy looking liquid that smelled of the woods, but in a crisp pleasing way.
As a tactician the idea of getting into all that water without a weapon had Talac hesitating. Yes, it looked inviting but he couldn’t place himself in such a disadvantaged position willingly. Reading Talac’s assessing look, one of the attendants, a slim man, middle-aged, with a peg leg, gestured for Talac to follow him.
Through a stone archway they emerged into a cobblestoned room that had six metal protrusions positioned at various points around the room, all located above head height, a chain dangling beside each of them. The attendant walked up to one such metal rod, placing Talac’s clothes, boots and a large square of blue fabric on a stone shelf off to the side. The man then leaned over, grabbed the chain and tugged on it. To Talac’s surprise, water immediately spouted forth from the metal protrusion.
Damn, what a clever contraption. He leaned forward to test the water, finding it pleasingly warm. Hells, he wished the Pallene battalion headquarters had such a facility. Stripping fast, laying his blade on top of the pile of clothes within easy reach, he stepped under the falling water. Thanking the attendant as the man kicked a bucket full of that foam and a fresh clean rag Talac’s way before retreating, leaving him alone.
Keeping his gaze on the doorway, Talac made use of the rag and the foam, finding it helped get rid of the mud splattering his arms and face that much easier. He even used it on his hair, watching as mud, bits of leaves and twigs hit the cobblestones, only to be carried off to a nearby runnel carved into the floor. Ingeniously, the runnel sluiced all the water away from Talac. Like a small stream the water travelled to a nearby hole carved into the base of a wall and disappeared.
Talac could have stayed there all day, but the mute lad appeared in the doorway and made a hurry up gesture. Hhmmm, seems Talac was expected somewhere, or perhaps they just wanted to kick him back to the Keep so he wouldn’t uncover any more mysterious Lair secrets, with its large well-staffed healing facility and this beyond sinful and clever bathing house.
Well, Talac would just see about that. And he had the perfect excuse, Brandth. He would probably have to play that card in order to stay.
