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One of the riders, a drum strapped to his chest, issued a staccato burst of sound. Instantly the ring of horses dispersed. Those carrying riders to mill together off to the left, whilst about fifteen riderless mounts gathered off to the right, surrounding a burly grey-haired man who went about taking up their reins, patting muzzles and flanks casually. Another burst of quick drumming sounded, three riders erupting out of the portcullis at speed, causing many a gentleman to gasp in surprise again, more than a few flinching at the sight of the massive pitch black horses bearing down upon them.

Five feet from the suitors the animals came to a halt, the three riders dismounting in showy unison. Talac recognised the trio from the previous evening, given their height and the way they moved. The towering Beast with their two lieutenants. Once more dressed in all black, though their flowing hooded capes were a lightweight material this morning, and their tunics short sleeved. The shadows created by the raised hoods and scarves they had wrapped around their lower faces hiding every detail of their appearance once more. They made a chilling sight. If you didn’t know they were mortal, you would suspect them of being reapers in search of wayward souls.

The trio moving to stand shoulder to shoulder, their mounts looming behind them, heavy silence blanketing the Keep entrance courtyard. Only far off birds waking to the new day breaking the moment. The Beast lifted a heavy cloth bag from their belt, holding it aloft for a moment. The lieutenant standing on their left reaching up to yank down their scarf, exposing a dark bristled jawline and grim flat-lined lips.

“The Gods decide who hunts.”

He intoned in a loud clear voice. Waiting a beat as the Beast made a show of reaching into the cloth bag and pulling out a wood chip, handing it over.

Glancing down at the chip, the hunt lieutenant called out a name.

“Chesper Yungst.”

A harsh gasp of breath sounding from amongst a nearby group of suitors, accompanied by a hissing sound issued by a fleetingly annoyed looking lady attired in a yellow dress, before she quickly managed to turn her brief scowl into a pleasant demure smile.

“Step forward.”

This went on for twenty-nine names. Of which only twelve men appeared to be present. Some looking excited. Some looking terrified. The ladies reactions alternating between horror, frustration and delight. The missing seventeen men were either still abed, claiming illness, or had fled during the night. More fearful of the hunt than of travelling through the woods in the dark.

Eyeing the fifteen riderless mounts on offer, Talac was impressed with the hunt organisers intelligence gathering skills. Only three superfluous.

Besides Talac and Brandth, a further fourteen men remained unchosen. Some looking angry. Some relieved. One looking like he wanted to kill someone.

Watching as the Beast tucked away the still half full cloth bag, Talac had the distinct impression if he didn’t act fast, he was going to be excluded.

“I would like to join today’s hunt, as would Lord De’Luca.”

He made sure to emphasise the word, Lord. Few liked to upset the titled, and Talac was not above using Brandth’s to get his way.

The trio of hunt leaders stilled for a moment. Perhaps no one had ever made such a request before. The Beast leaning over, whispering something in the ear of the spokesperson lieutenant who nodded and intoned.

“The Gods have spoken.”

“And yet by my calculation there are fifteen available mounts for only twelve riders. We all know the Gods move in mysterious ways. Perhaps it was their intention all along for myself and his Lordship to ride today.”

“And me.”

The man who’d fleetingly looked ready to kill someone when his name was not called spoke up. Slim of build, he moved like a swordsman. Several ladies smiling and waving at him in encouragement. Given his glossy dark hair and handsome features, he was clearly a favourite.

The lieutenant leaned in once more to receive whispered instructions from the Beast before pulling away and shrugging.

“As you would have it.”

Waiting for them to join the group of nominated hunters before continuing with his instructions.

“Now choose a horse and mount up.”

The suitors eyed the brutes, their massive sizes a little daunting. Talac would have happily stepped forth but he was positioned towards the back of the group and felt like he’d already drawn enough attention to himself this morning. Finally, the man who had also been excluded from the hunt made a jeering comment, questioning the manhood of everyone at the front of the group. Resulting in a tall gangly fellow with close cut light brown hair to square his shoulders and stomp forth through the mud, heading for the nearest mount, a dappled grey. Snatching the reins away from the burly stablemaster.

Whether he yanked on the reins, or the fact that his short cloak flared upwards as he whirled to face the horse, something upset the creature. Perhaps it just didn’t like strangers. Either way, the grey lunged for the suitor, his massive teeth making a loud snapping sound as they caught nothing but the edge of his cloak. The suitor crying out, stumbling back a step before collapsing unceremoniously, landing with a loud squelch in the mud.

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.”

“A simple, the Beast moves in mysterious ways, would have sufficed.”

He advised, finding himself grinning.

“But I suppose for the audience you have here.”

His gaze travelled over the sweaty suitors.

“The legend must remain suitably enigmatic and mystical.”

Given the scarf it was hard to tell Poulth’s expression, but there was a twinkle in her surprising deep blue eyes that she could not hide.

“And romantic… or are you forgetting why our suitors hunt today?”

A little sarcasm edging her tone.

“Which brings us to the question, Captain Talac, why do you hunt today? Did one of the Keep ladies catch your eye? Or are you in need of money to pay off some gambling debts or fund your future retirement years?”

The woman had deftly steered the conversation away from the Beast, but Talac wasn’t that easily deterred.

“The chance to ride with a legend was promised. Except for the occasional far off glimpse, I’m thinking perhaps Baron Gloomenthrall misspoke.”

“Be assured, when it comes time for the blooding, the Beast will be at our backs.”

So that’s what it took to bring the Beast out of the shadows. Raising his voice, Talac addressed the group.

“Perhaps it’s time we trialled a new hunt leader?”

“Hah.”

Elliott spun in his saddle, glaring back at Talac.

“You think you can do a better job of it than me? Have at it, Sergeant.”

“Thank heavens.”

Brandth fanned himself, the humidity of the woods had brought a flush to everyone’s cheeks.

“I’m about to break the seal on my second flask and things were beginning to look a little dire. Which direction do you suggest we head, Talac?”

“I don’t believe it would be appropriate for me to lead the hunt, as I seek no prize here today other than a little entertainment. Perhaps there’s a volunteer?”

Other than a bird call everyone was silent. The five potential leaders suddenly finding the muddy ground, the treetops, and nearby bushes fascinating. All of them refraining from making eye contact with Talac.

“Ah, Kinnith.”

The slight bespeckled older man flinched as Talac spoke his name.

“It appears your sharp eyes have noted a trail, yes? Now that you’ve drawn my attention to it, I can see the freshly broken vegetation.”

Talac moved his mount to flank Kinnith’s docile bay.

“Well done, Kinnith.”

Brandth moved his horse so he was on the other side.

“Lead on man. Let’s get this hunt underway… finally.”

Kinnith might have wanted to protest but both Talac and Brandth kneed their mounts forward, forcing Kinnith’s bay to likewise start forward down the track Talac had spied.

Elliot looked like he was going to baulk at this mutiny and clear manipulation of events, but suddenly found two of the experienced hunters massive horses crowding him. His own mount dancing to the side, skittish, requiring all of his concentration to soothe and gentle it. By the time he was done the last of the hunting party was disappearing down the trail and Elliott had no choice but to take up the rear position.

Kinnith, his faced beyond pale, found his voice finally, glancing first at Talac, then at Brandth, who were riding so closely their knees were almost bumping against his.

“I… I really don’t know anything about… hunting, or trails.”

“What was that you say?”

Brandth raised his voice so it travelled back to the group directly behind them.

“Tracks in the mud? Possibly a boar or a fanged-stag? I say Kinnith, wish we’d had you at the helm from the start.”

“I… I…”

Kinnith looked like he might faint.

“I’m just an accountant. I really don’t know anything about boars or fanged-stag.”

“Then you’re a natural.”

Brandth assured.

“Just keep doing what you’re doing.”

He and Talac continuing to drive Kinnith’s horse onwards down the trail.

“But I don’t know what I’m doing. I was just travelling through on my way to take up a job with Merchant Yussop in High Cliffs, when I stopped here for the night and met… Gretani.”

“Gretani? Lovely name for no doubt a lovely lady.”

“Oh, yes, she is.”

Kinnith forgot to be afraid as he detailed the lady Gretani’s many favourable attributes for Brandth.

“And she deserves so much more than I could give her on my salary so I thought I could join the hunt and perhaps… hang at the back, and maybe be rewarded with a small but still much appreciated sum to contribute towards providing Gretani with a comfortable home and life.”

Kinnith failed to duck as his horse passed under a low hanging branch, which scratched at his face and tugged painfully on his hair. Recalling where he was once more, he paled yet again, looking like he might throw up. Abruptly bending low, hanging over the side of his mount, managing to hold on to his breakfast… just.

“Good man.”

Brandth encouraged.

“Spotting that fresh dung. A very good sign.”

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

Kinnith whispered, straightening, but looking queasy still.

“Here.”

Brandth handed over his second flask of mead, surprised when Kinnith grabbed it and chugged down the entire contents in one go.

“Careful there, though your colour does look much improved.”

“Shhhsss.”

Talac accompanied the sound with a hand signal to let the party following on their heels know that they were getting closer to their target. Unfortunately, the trail had grown much narrower and he and Brandth had no choice but to drop back a ways. Lucky for them Kinnith’s docile bay appeared to understand where it was going more than its rider.

The hairs on the back of Talac’s neck lifting as out the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a black clad rider and matching horse pacing them. The Beast. Yes, finally. Poulth had called it. When it was time for blood the Beast would be present. Skill, or an uncanny sense of timing? Talac was presuming both.

Kinnith kept trying to twist in his saddle, his expression silently pleading for help. Brandth made a show of lifting his hunting spear provided by the organisers, hefting it higher. Kinnith swallowed hard and fumbled for his, almost dropping it before tucking it closely to his body, where it would do him no good what so ever unless the animal they were hunting leapt up and impaled itself upon the weapon.

Despite the sunny day, little actual sunlight made it past the dense overhead canopies of leaves and vines. In the woods everything took on a shadowy cast. And thanks to all the recent rain the air was steamy and oppressive, scented by the abundant greenery, mud, and the animals who dwelt there.

In silence the hunting party travelled deeper still, the narrow trail twisting and turning. Except for the occasional snapping of a branch or creaking of a saddle as one of the amateur hunters shifted in boredom, or impatience, there were few noises to detract from the rustling of leaves, and the cooing and tweeting of various birds.

As with all hunting expeditions the moment switched from absolute silence and control to chaos in a split second. Brandth heard the snort of the wild boar not far up ahead. Talac catching a glimpse of its hind quarters. He did the only thing he could, reaching over to smack the mount Kinnith was riding hard on its rear flank. Suddenly the entire party was charging down the trail, no longer silent, as some of the hunters whooped in excitement whilst Kinnith wailed in fear, desperately trying to retain his seat. His horse surging forward. An old hand at hunting, the bay pounded down the narrow trail. The outraged squeal of the wild boar as it ran away almost lost amongst the sound of pounding hooves.

Talac saw a small break off to his left, steering his steed towards it, flanking Kinnith now, helping drive the boar forward. The front riders breaking out into a clearing full of ferns and water filled muddy puddles. It was now or never, Talac lifting himself high in the saddle, casting his spear hard at the running boar. It really was all in the flick of the wrist, as the lightweight weapon flew swiftly through the air, sinking deeply into the side of the animal, who released a pain filled scream but kept on running. Hampered though now by the shaft protruding from its guts, dragging it across the ground and battering it against rocks and trees.

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.