RHIDAUNA, The Shadow of the Revenaunt, Book 1

CHAPTER 1 - BOAR HUNT (Part One)

Four times the bronze voice of the tower bell rang out over the courtyard. At the first note, the three boys disappeared into the shadows and the rain-drenched square seemed deserted. Minutes passed, but no guards showed their faces.

Ghyll Denhalf shook his long, dripping wet hair and threw the other two a triumphant grin. Everything was going as planned. He'd counted on the night watch finding the weather too miserable to man the walls. They were all elderly veterans and would be huddling by the fire in the guardhouse, their boots at the door, while they passed round the mulled wine and bragged of their many feats.

Ghyll nodded at the large bronze gates. Both were locked at nightfall, but the wicket, the little door built into them, remained open. Unseen, the three slipped away into the darkness beyond.

The world outside the walls lay wrapped in rain; nothing moved but the falling water. Without a word, the boys hurried to the stable at the castle farm, where their horses stood. Their trained fingers found saddle straps and buckles by touch and soon they led the animals away. In the boathouse at the breakwater, their barge was waiting and moments later they sailed on their adventure.

'We did it!' Ghyll took a deep breath and gazed at the distant mainland, ignoring his foster brother's disapproval.

'I still think it is madness.' Olle sat in the stern of the boat, his brown skin and matching leather jerkin merging with the night. His one hand rested on the tiller, while with the other he wiped his wet face. 'Only the three of us, in pitch dark; the mountain slope will be muddy shit and none of us ever hunted boar before.'

Ghyll sniffed. 'Faint heart. They're only pigs.' He glanced at the looming mass of the Dar Traun. It felt as if the mountain waited for them. We're coming. 'You listened too much to Uncle's forester,' he said, turning back to the others. 'The old geezer's overcautious.' He was silent for a moment. 'I just have to kill one.'

'Why?' Olle slapped his knee. 'You haven't given me a good reason yet.'

Ghyll shrugged. It was true; he had no good reason. He'd be eighteen tomorrow and somehow he felt that coming of age and hunting boar belonged together, as if one would prove his fitness for the other.

'Your uncle won't be pleased,' Olle said. He glanced aside at Damion, as if seeking assent, but the younger boy didn't say anything.

Ghyll's eyes went back to the mountain. He knew very well Uncle Jadron wouldn't be pleased, but the urge was irresistible.

An hour later, they stood on the overlook above the river, in the enclosed field at the foot of the Traun. Ghyll gazed at the darkened summit. His chest constricted and fear ran cold in his veins. Am I mad? I can't do this! With pounding heart, he turned. We'll go home. Back to bed. His foster brother slammed the gate closed, and the clash made him jump. Don't be a coward! You can't go back without a boar.

He sucked the moist, pine-scented air deep into his lungs and swung his arms a few times to make his blood run faster. The tension drained from his body. Come on, chicken; the swine are waiting!

Ulanth, Uncle Jadron's warhorse, turned a lazy eye on him. With his big yellow teeth he pulled a mouthful of grass and chewed, im­perturbable as ever. Ghyll patted the animal's neck before handing his spear to Olle, his arms bearer. He inspected the small paddock where they would leave their mounts. With the gate closed, everything looked safe. 'Are we ready?'

Olle nodded, but Damion's answer sounded so hesitant that Ghyll frowned. He isn't scared, is he? Too late; I won't turn back for him, either. For love of the gods! Let's go, he thought. Before I start screaming. He turned away and faced the mountain. 'Let's go.'