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Shenbarrus and I went in the spikerod thickets, armed with spears and
brass bucklers. We got separated and the next thing I knew, I was alone in
the marsh, with ominous rustlings in the bushes around me. I called out:
'Shenbarrus! Is that you?' There was no answer. I called again; still no
answer. By then I was certain the noise I'd heard was a boar. I raised my
spear high and thrust it through the thick brush. There was a scream such
as mortal elf never heard, and Shenbarrus came pounding through the
spikerod into the open. I'd jabbed him in, hmm, the seat of his robe."
Kith-Kanan laughed. Sithas laughed and asked, "So you never got
your marsh boar?"
"Oh, I did!" Sithel said. "Shenbarrus's yells flushed a monster of a pig
out of the brush. He ran right at us. Despite his painful wound Shenbarrus
stabbed first. The pig thrashed and tore up the clearing . I got my spear
back and finished the beast off."
"Who got the head?" asked Sithas.
"Shenbarrus. He drew first blood, so it was only right," said his father
warmly.
Kith-Kanan had been in Hermathya's father's house many times and
had seen the fierce boar's head in the dining hall over the fireplace. He
thought of old Shenbarrus getting poked in the "seat of his robe" and he
burst out laughing all over again.
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The sky had lightened to pink by the time they reached the dark wall
of trees. The party spread out, far enough apart for easy movement, but
near enough to stay in sight of one another. All idle talk ceased.
The sun rose behind them, throwing long shadows through the trees.
Kith-Kanan sweated in his cotton tunic and mopped his face with his
sleeve. His father was ahead to his left, Parnigar slightly behind to his
right.
Being in the forest again brought Anaya irresistibly to mind.
Kith-Kanan saw her again, lithe and lively, flitting through the trees as
silent as a ghost. He remembered her brusque manners, her gentle repose,
and the way she felt in his arms. That he remembered best of all.
The heavy rains of summer had washed the sandy soil of the forest
away, leaving chuckholes and protruding roots. Kith-Kanan let his horse
pick its way along, but the animal misjudged its footing and hit a hole. The
horse stumbled and recovered, but Kith-Kanan lost his seat and tumbled to
the ground. The stump of a broken sapling gouged him in the back, and he
lay there for a moment, stunned.
His vision cleared and he saw Parnigar leaning over him. "Are you all
right, sir?" the old sergeant asked concernedly.
"Yes, just dazed. How's my horse?"
The animal stood a few yards away, cropping moss. His right foreleg
was held painfully off the ground.
Parnigar helped Kith-Kanan stand as the last of the hunting party
passed by. Kencathedrus, in the rear, asked if they needed any help.
'No," Kith-Kanan said quickly. "Go on. I'll see to my horse."
The horse's lower leg was bruised but, with care, it wouldn't be a
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crippling injury. Parnigar offered Kith-Kanan his horse, so he could catch
up to the rest.
"No, thank you, Sergeant. They're too far ahead. If I go galloping after
them, I'll scare off any game in the area " He put a hand to his aching
back.
Parnigar asked, "Shall I stay with you, sir?"
"I think you'd better. I may have to walk back to Sithelbec from here."
His back stabbed at him again, and he winced.
The news that Kith-Kanan had dropped out was passed ahead. The
speaker expressed regret that his son would miss the hunt. But this was a
rare day, and the expedition should continue. Sithel's course through the
trees meandered here and there, taking the path best suited to his horse. At
more than one place he paused to examine tracks in the moss or mud.
Wild pig, definitely.
It was hot, but the elves welcomed such heat for it was a good change
from the ever-present coolness of the Quinari Palace and the Tower of the
Stars. While Silvanost was constantly bathed in fresh breezes, the heat of
the plains made the speaker's limbs feel looser and more supple, his head
clearer. He reveled in the sense of freedom he felt out here and urged his
horse on.
In the far distance, Sithel heard the call of a hunting horn. Such horns
meant humans, and that meant dogs. Sure enough, the sound of barking
came very faintly to his ears. Elves never used dogs, but humans rarely
went into the woods without them. Human eyesight and hearing being so
poor, Sithel reckoned they needed the animals to find any game at all.
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The horns and dogs would likely frighten off any boar in the area. In
fact, the dogs would flush everything boar, deer, rabbits, foxes out of
hiding. Sithel shifted his lance back to his stirrup cup and sniffed. Humans
were so unsporting.
There was a noise in the sumac behind and to his right. Sithel turned
his horse around, lowered the tip of his lance, and poked through the
bushes. A wild pheasant erupted from the green leaves, bleating shrilly.
Laughing, the speaker calmed his prancing horse.
Sithas and a courtier named Timonas were close enough to see each
other when the hunting horn sounded. The prince also realized that it
meant humans in the woods. The idea filled him with alarm. He tightened
his reins and spurred his horse in a tight circle, looking for other members
of the party. The only one he could spot was Timonas.
"Can you see anyone?" Sithas called. The courtier shouted back that
he could not.
Sithas's alarm increased. It was inexplicable, but he felt a dangerous
presentiment. In the heat of the summer morning, the prince shivered.
"Father!" he called. "Speaker, where are you?"
Ahead, the speaker had decided to turn back. Any boar worth bagging
had long since left these woods, driven off by the humans. He retraced his
path and heard Sithas's call from not too far away.
"Oh, don't shout," he muttered irritably. "I'm coming."
Catching up to him, Sithas pushed through a tangle of vines and elm
saplings. As the prince spurred his mount toward the speaker, the feeling
of danger was still with him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the glint
of metal in a stand of cedar.
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Then he saw the arrow in flight.
Before Sithas could utter the cry that rose to his lips, the arrow had
struck Sithel in the left side, below his ribs. The Speaker of the Stars
dropped his lance and pitched forward, but he did not fall from the saddle.
A scarlet stain spread out from the arrow, running down the leg of Sithel's
trousers.
Timonas rode up on Sithas's left. "See to the speaker!" Sithas cried.
He slapped his horse's flank with the reins and bore down on the cedar
trees. Lance lowered, he burst through the dark green curtain. A quick
glimpse of a white face, and he brought the handguard of his lance down
on the archer's head. The archer pitched forward on his face.
The royal guardsman accompanying the party appeared. "Come here!
Watch this fellow!" Sithas shouted at him and then rode hard to where
Timonas supported Sithel on his horse. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]