Locmire's Quest: Book One A Tales from Calencia Novel

by Brian Hutchinson

  Chapter 13

  The Boar

  Rasmere Elmidas sternly whispered, "I said to be still!"

  It was just moments before dawn, and a thick blanket of fog had begun to set in the valley. A crisp wind blew through the woods. The hunting party was perched on an embankment with their bows ready. For the most part, they were like stones, silent and still. They had gathered in the forest this morning in search of a killer, a killer who had evaded judgment many times and taken many lives with him in the process. The Sestian, Azonis Ferrini, decided that something must be done to stop this savage that terrorized the forest. The severity of this situation became clearly evident with the involvement of Rasmere Elmidas, the Sword of the Sestian. Rasmere was too important to be burdened with matters of little importance.

  Rasmere was a slender Forest Engenium who wore chocolate brown fur clothing. The arms of his top had been removed to allow for faster drawing of his bow. His fur boots were fastened securely around his matching fur pants. Rasmere was one of the last Forest Engeniums who clung to the old ways. Since the end of the Engenium War, the Forest Engeniums were accepted as equals, well, a little more equally than before, amongst the High Engeniums. Rasmere held tightly to the old ways, proudly sporting his clean shaven head and numerous bright green facial tattoos. Most of the High Engeniums despised him for this outward display of disrespect toward them. As much as they despised him, they equally respected him, for he had accomplished many great tasks as the Sword of the Sestian.

  Rasmere carried a golden sword of High Engenium make, which was given to him by Azonis when he was promoted. He had also been offered a set of matching golden armor, which he refused. The golden sword was exquisite, and its razor sharp edge had been quite useful in getting him out of many life or death situations. It was a fine tool of war, but his most prized possession was the Bow of Elmidas. The Bow of Elmidas had been handed down throughout the existence of his family. Now that he was the last living member of the Elmidas bloodline, it belonged to him. The particular trait that set this bow apart from others was the fact that it did not require arrows. Once the bow was drawn to full length, an opas wood arrow would appear, ready to soar. The bow had and infinite supply of magical arrows, erasing the need to carry a bulky quiver.

  As Sword of the Sestian, Rasmere had many duties. He had accepted the position with high hopes that he would be able to become a voice for his people. So far, that goal had not been accomplished. He was, as his title stated, the Sword of Azonis Ferrini. When the Sestian willed something done, Rasmere would see it through. Azonis did not like to get his hands dirty, except in battle, which consequently kept Rasmere very busy. Azonis liked to rule from his throne. He detested the hands-on approach of ruling that he sometimes could not avoid. Although Azonis did not favor performing the meaningless duties of a ruler, he was a proven warrior of many battles.

  “It is just a boar. We have killed many boars. You act as if we are hunting a Gargantuan,” said a snotty High Engenium.

  “We?” Rasmere questioned snidely. “Just how many boars have you killed?”

  “You know what I mean,” responded the High Engenium angrily.

  “You do not see this boar as a threat? Tell that to the forty-three Engeniums that are dead due to this beasts attacks. Twelve of them were the best hunters in our kingdom,” Rasmere said with a threatening eye.

  “All I am saying is that I do-.” A loud noise silenced his words. Below them, a loud rustling sound came from within a laurel thicket. The disturbance was drawing nearer and nearer.

  “Ready yourselves,” Rasmere said in a low voice as he drew his bow. An opas arrow magically appeared attached to the string and rested upon his finger, ready to fire.

  The hunters drew their bows and nervously waited. A loud squeal came from within the laurel thicket, followed by a large boar with 38 inch long tusks. It came stampeding out of the wooded cover, running full speed toward the slope that led directly up to where the hunters laid in wait. Before anyone could fling a single arrow, the beast fell face first into the forest floor, flipping and squealing at the top of its lungs. It became silent; a single opas arrow waved in the air from out of the beast's eye socket.

  “Wow! You killed it. You shot it before anyone else was even able to take aim!” said a delighted High Engenium.

  “So, this is the dangerous killer that we have been hunting?” asked the arrogant High Engenium as he slid down the bank to take a closer look. He boasted again, “This beast does not look so dangerous to me,” prodding it with his sword.

  A deeper, louder, squeal materialized from within the laurel thicket. The ground shook from its cry.

  “That is because the beast before you is only a baby,” Rasmere said as he drew back his bow once more.

  The High Engenium froze; the squealing caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand. He looked behind him as loud, earth shattering hoof beats bore down upon him. A boar, larger than any other animal in the forest, came barreling toward him. He could not move. His feet had become as heavy as boulders. The gigantic beast lowered its head to the ground and with one erratic jerk of its neck, the High Engenium was impaled through his stomach by a tree-like tusk. The boar swung his head back and forth, ferociously trying to dislodge the limp body from its tusk. Finally, the High Engenium went flying through the air and crashed to the ground with a sickening thud. He became number forty-four. Quickly the boar turned toward the slope leading up to Rasmere and the hunters. It let out a chilling squeal and charged fearlessly at them, like a warrior heading into battle or a parent who had just witnessed the murder of their child. The hunters scattered, fearing for their lives. The large hog tore after them, trampling and goring all in its path.

  Rasmere did not move from his position. He followed the rampaging beast back and forth with the Bow of Elmidas drawn at full length, waiting for an opening to take the beast down. Rasmere patiently waited for a shot while the boar battered its way through the hunters. At one particular moment the mighty beast had three Engeniums impaled, like treats on a kabob, from its tusk.

  The inevitable moment arrived. The killer hog turned its attention to Rasmere. Bobbing and weaving its way through cover, the boar scrambled up the slope. Rasmere continued to hold his ground with the Bow of Elmidas still drawn. The ravenous beast was only feet away from Rasmere; he could see directly into the eyes of the killer. Rasmere squinted one eye and released the string that was held by the tips of his fingers. The boar let out a glass shattering shriek, shaking its head violently. Blood spew from the hog’s large head. Its coarse black hair dripped with a sanguineous fluid, but the injured creature kept charging toward its attacker. Rasmere drew the string of his bow once again and readied another shot. He let another arrow fly, striking the beast in the front of the neck. He followed this shot with three more, in unbelievably quick succession. The boar’s front legs spread apart and it sprawled to the ground. It fell only inches away from the feet of Rasmere Elmidas. The beast would never take the life of another Engenium.

  Cheers erupted from the remaining survivors. A few hunters were uninjured, a few trampled or maimed, but most were dead. The hunters surrounded the fallen swine pumping their bows in the air. Rasmere was receiving congratulations and pats on the back. The boar was massive. It weighed well over three thousand pounds. Bits of flesh hung from its tusks, each over fifteen feet long. The hunters were loading the boar up on a makeshift stretcher and trying to decide how they were to bring the heavy beast back to Lasticall. Rasmere was looking over the bloody battlefield when an eerie feeling came over him; something was not right.

  “Engeniums,” Rasmere said in a whisper. No one seemed to hear him. He made himself louder, “Engeniums!” They all turned to him.

  “Ready yourselves,” he said.

  “For what?” a Forest Engenium asked.

  Before he could answer, a hole opened in the forest floor. A thick, black mist came leaking out. Two hands came out of the hole, and a decayed corpse bega
n to ascend from the dark pit. As soon as the corrupt head poked up from the ground an opas arrow sent it falling back into the depths. Creatures began to pour out from the dark abyss in unbelievable numbers, but none were able to make it entirely to the surface. The Engeniums were bombarding them with well-placed shots from their bows. The quicker the abominations tried to climb out, the faster the Engeniums shot.

  “Look!” cried a Forest Engenium, as three more holes opened up.

  A loud roar echoed from within the first hole. An arm, the size of a tree trunk, came erupting from the ground, followed by its other arm. Then two large spiraled horns on top of a horrendous head rose from the pit.

  “It. . . It is some sort of Woggen, but none like I have ever seen before!” cried another Engenium.

  The Woggen's large triangular head was lined with razor sharp teeth and two big red eyes sat in the middle. Long, black, stringy hair covered its enormous body. The beast stood a good thirty feet tall, twice the size of a normal Woggen. Five, three foot long claws were attached to the end of each of its fingers. The smell of rotten flesh was overwhelming. This was a beast unlike any other Rasmere had ever seen; by the looks of it, it seemed to have long been dead. An unsettling feeling overtook him, one that he had never felt before . . . fear.

  “Retreat back to Lasticall!” Rasmere cried.

  The party fled back toward the kingdom with the dark creatures trailing closely behind them. The Engeniums, being very familiar with the forest, put distance between them and their pursuers in the thick woods. Occasionally a brave Engenium would stop, for a moment, to fling an arrow at their attackers. Within moments of stopping they would be overtaken and smashed into a bloody, jelly-like substance by the Woggen.

  Rasmere knew that he must survive. He had to reach the city of Lasticall and warn them. If he could just get there in time they could raise the bridges, lower the gates, and possibly hold off this attack.