He thought of Dawd, off on patrol. Things generally went better when Dawd was around, because he worked so hard. But now while Dawd was gone Marwin had some inside way to Broga, and he should use that, put himself forward, make sure he was there, ready, snappy with the salutes. Judging that he could have gone outside and back by now, he went on across the antechamber and up the stair to the chapel.
The priest was standing there wringing his hands. Broga said, “Good; that was quick.” The Archduke had brought in a sword, not a soldier’s sword but a ceremonial one with a gilded hilt and a sparkling blade. He kissed the blade and, going behind the altar, held the sword up against the wall.
The symbol of the Empire. Marwin signed himself, enjoying a warm, good feeling. Broga said, “Bring me the hammer. I shall place this with my own hands.”
Marwin brought a hammer, and Broga drove a spike into the chinks between the stones, high above the altar, and hung the sword, point down.
“Do it,” he said to the priest.
The priest with the helmet full of water sprinkled the altar, and said some words in the old tongue. He went off around the room, dampening the corners and flicking droplets from his fingers into the air.
“That’s enough,” Broga said. “It is done now. Holy.” Backing away, he folded his hands before him and lowered his head. “We shall think for a moment of the God-given mission of the Empire and the glory of the Imperial Family. We are called to purify the world. And now we have brought that mission into even this infernal place.”
Marwin bowed his head. The silence stretched on; out on the landing, even the redheaded Prince made no sound. Finally Broga signed himself and straightened.
“I shall pray now. You may all be gone. Let no one disturb me.” He nodded to Marwin. “You stand guard.” Broga’s gaze shifted; Marwin saw he was looking toward Prince Jeon, and took his meaning.
“Yes, my lord! Glory!”
“Glory,” Broga said, and turned back to his altar.
Marwin went outside onto the landing. The Prince was slumped on the step, looking bored. The priest stood there staring down at his hands, and suddenly he licked his fingers. He turned abruptly to Marwin.
“That water. That water was salt.” His voice squeaked. “That was seawater.”
“Oh, well,” Marwin said.
“You fool,” the priest said. “You complete fool.” He pattered away down the steps. On the steps, the Prince was still looking half-asleep, but he was smiling.
* * *
Luka and Oto reached Terreon two nights later, with the rain pounding down on them. As they rode up, the gate in the wall ahead of them brightened with torches; news of their coming had gone on ahead of them, obviously, because fifteen or twenty people waited and they cheered as the two men rode up. Luka pushed his hood back, riding into the midst of the light.
“I am King Luka.”
In the crowd, suddenly, a voice rose. “It is Luka. My lord, remember me—” That man pushed forward to the front, talking to the others. “I followed you back from the massacre— The King is come! It is him! We have a King again!” He turned and thrust his hands up over his head and everybody cheered and rushed forward. Oto’s horse shied back from the noise, and he let it carry him off a little, out of the turmoil.
In the midst of it, Luka was reaching down to touch people, to be touched. A single hand with a knife, Oto thought, and he is gone.
There was no knife. Oto followed the crowd with their torches and cheers, escorting Luka through the little town. Inside its wooden palisade Terreon was no more than a dozen dwellings, hardly more than huts, with walls of wood and plaster, blankets of straw for roofs. In the steady hard rain they went on to a house of some size, in the center of the town, and Luka dismounted and went in, and Oto followed him, glad to be out of the slop.
Inside, the building was a long, low barn, the floor covered with straw. The massive stone hearth in the center of the room threw out billows of smoke. The man who had recognized Luka ushered them to a table while as many of the people as could fit crowded into the room facing them.
Luka sat on the bench, his hands in front of him on the table. “Tell me what is going on here.”
Several voices all went up at once, but the first man, whose house this clearly was, turned and waved them quiet. He faced Luka again. He was a round man, with popping eyes and a gusty voice.
“My lord, it’s pigs.”
Oto almost laughed; he put his hand over his mouth. They had come all this way to save the place from swine. There was a fable, he thought, but he could not bring it right to mind.
Luka was not smiling. The fat man was rushing on. “They started showing up in the fall. From the beginning there were lots of them, more than most sounders. They ruined one of the orchards, first, and when we went out to drive them off—”
In the crowd a woman cried out, “They killed her!” The other people called out.
“There is a great boar leading them,” the balding man said. “As big as a cow. It’s not an ordinary pig, sir; it’s a demon. It did kill old Mamy when she tried to drive it off, brave thing she was; everybody else ran.”
A woman called, “They ate her!”
In the crowd, a man’s voice rose. “It’s a wer-boar, out of the mountains! It’s a ghost!”
At that, Oto noticed, Luka gave a start. He said, “It came from the mountains?”
“Where else?” the fat man said. “We had gotten in the harvest, for which at the time, too soon, I thanked God. The boar means us ill. It led them to break into the storage barn and ruin half the barley. They went through the midden and scattered the refuse, and they attack anybody who goes outside. They are beginning to come through the fence.” The balding man squeezed his hands together. “Help us. We thought you would bring soldiers.”
Luka said, “You have able-bodied men here; we don’t need soldiers.” His voice rang, steely. “Where is this boar now?”
The fat man said, “Not in the rain, they won’t come. But when the rain stops.”
Luka nodded. “Very well. My companion and I have ridden far. I want something to eat, and something really good to drink. Tomorrow the day should be fine, and we’ll get ready for your pigs.”
* * *
Luka made three spears out of farm tools, long, stout staffs tipped with iron, each one fitted with a stout crossbar a foot above the point. He knew the people here would do nothing until he showed the way.
He and Oto rode out in the afternoon to find the pigs and the whole village followed, but those people stayed well behind Luka. Oto rode at his stirrup, saying nothing.
Beyond the town fence, the fields spread out in broad skirts under a thin crust of snow, the furrows like pleats, the stubble of the cropped barley poking through. Up ahead, where the forest came down to the plowed ground, he could see something moving, and drawing closer he saw the pigs, ranging out of the trees onto the fringe of an old field, rooting at the snowy ground. Big black and brown sows with flopping ears, and little piglets, and scrawny half-grown shoats, they snorted and tore at the ground with their hooves, all the while the whole sounder moving steadily toward the little town behind its fence. Luka stuck two of the spears under his stirrup leather, and held the other in his left hand. As he rode toward them, the pigs all clustered together, their heads toward him.
Behind him, someone screamed, “There it is!”
The hackles rose on the back of his neck. Around the edge of the pig herd came the boar.
It was twice as big as any of the sows, black as a hole in the ground, covered with bristles like spines. Its head was like a plowshare, its tusks as long as Luka’s forearm. When it saw him, it charged.
The horse jumped and twisted, but Luka forced it straight to meet the boar, hefted the spear in his hand, and as the beast rushed to him, he leaned out from the saddle, let the horse wheel out of the way, and drove the spear down at the boar as it turned to follow.
He felt the spear strike the boar,
right down into its withers, and then the boar wrenched around and struck at the horse. Halfway out of the saddle, Luka leaned down on the spear, trying to drive it deeper. His horse screamed and reared and went over backward.
He leapt off, losing hold of the spear. The horse thrashed on the ground, and the boar drove its curved tusk into the upturned belly and tore it open with a single jerk of its head. Blood splattered across the dirt, the stench of spilled guts. As it did this the boar for an instant was broadside to Luka, the spear still jutting from its back, and Luka flung himself on it, hands on the haft, all his weight driving the spear deep.
The boar ramped up before him, lunging for him, its hind legs slipping in the uncoiling wreckage of the horse’s guts. He could see the wiry hairs on its snout, the tiny eyes like an afterthought in the gross map of its face. He braced himself and drove the spear with the weight of his body, and with a grunting squeal the boar lunged and twisted back and away from him and the spear broke off in his hands and he tripped and sprawled on the bloody, slimy ground.
The boar charged him again, its jaws trailing rags of spittle. Luka rolled away, taking his belt knife in his hand, and when the great snorting filthy head thrust toward him he slashed a red stripe across its muzzle. The blood leapt across its face. The boar backed up a step, and charged, swinging its head, hooking at Luca with its tusks. Luca jumped across the hurtling body. The other spears were still stuck under the saddle leather on the dead horse and he ran for them, the boar grunting and slavering after him. He tripped in the stinking mess on the ground and went flat, and the boar lunged full into him and a searing pain went through his side.
He rolled over onto his back and struck up with the knife, straight up over him into the gross dripping belly, and the blade bit deep. The boar recoiled. Luka bounded to his feet, his breath sawing in his throat, blood streaming down his left side. The dead horse was a yard away. He snatched a spear from the saddle. They faced each other, Luka and the boar, and the great beast bellowed and pawed at the ground. It shook its head, splattering blood around. Luka took the spear in both hands and ran straight at the boar, and it gave one last roar, turned, and ran away.
Behind Luka now he could hear the screams and howls of the people watching. He shouted, “Bring me a horse! Bring me a horse!” With one hand he pressed the long flap of skin back against his side.
All the pigs were running, squealing, a great bouncing noisy carpet of their bodies flowing back over the field toward the forest. Luka was breathless; he stumbled. It was hard to do anything with his side torn open. A horse came up beside him, and he turned to it, reaching for the reins. Oto was in the saddle. His mouth was open and he was bellowing, but Luka could not hear the words. He turned, to see the people of Terreon, suddenly brave, rushing out after the pigs, killing the laggards, dancing over the bodies. He felt the hot, sticky blood rushing down his side. His body trembled, very heavy. He leaned on Oto’s horse, sobbing for breath.
* * *
The boar had slashed Luka’s skin open from the armpit to the hip but had hit nothing vital. A woman from the village made him lie down on a table, plastered something all over the wound, and wrapped him up in yards of bandages. Oto said, “My lord, surely—” And Luka went by him, putting on his shirt, and out to the street, where a fresh horse was waiting.
Oto said, “You think you can ride?”
“Come with me.” Luka put his hands on the saddle and gathered himself; it took all his strength to lift his foot and put it into the stirrup. He crawled up onto the horse’s back. The blood was leaking down his side again.
They rode out after the pigs, the townspeople following after in a mob, armed with sticks and knives. All the rest of the day they chased the pigs east, out of the fields and back through the forest, killing many. Luka questioned everybody as they came on them, but nobody had seen the black boar. With the sun going down and more rain coming, Luka called off the hunt and they rode back to the town.
Oto said, “I think you killed it.” His voice quivered. “I have never seen such a fight. You must have killed it.”
Luka knew the boar was not dead. He sat on his horse at the gate into Terreon as the people paraded through, carrying great bloody chunks of pig on their spears. Lifting his gaze, he looked back toward the forest.
Behind the forest, the mountains.
He remembered the tiny pig eyes, the bristles, the foul stench of the beast. It was not dead. He knew what this was. But his side hurt. He was hungry. He turned toward Oto, waiting there beside him, and nodded.
“Let’s eat. Sleep. And then tomorrow go back to Castle Ocean.” He would heal in Castle Ocean. Then he would hunt down the boar.
10
“You cheat!” Broga cried, and hammered his fist on the table.
“I didn’t,” Jeon said. He had.
“And you still lost.” Broga swept his Queen across the board. “Checkmate.”
Jeon was locked in his fury; his ears burnt. He thought he might kill Broga then and there and be done with it. Cram a chess piece down his throat. Broga was glaring at him, as usual. Jeon reached for the pieces, to set them up again.
Boots sounded in the doorway, and the corporal Marwin came in, who commanded the gate; he had been acting as the herald since the real herald died on the beach.
“Glory to the Empire.” Marwin saluted. “The King and my lord Archduke Oto are here, my lord.” His gaze veered to Jeon. “My lord.”
“Well, then,” Broga said, and pushed himself back from the table. “It will be good to have the company of men again.” His lip curled.
Jeon said nothing. His temper had cooled; he thought now of painting Broga’s Queen with venom, so he died slowly.
In a burst of laughter Mervaly and Casea came into the hall, their arms linked. Several of the old people were appearing, as they would, now that Luka was back, and the servants began pouring wine. Luka strode through the door and everybody shouted and cheered for him. He came up to the high seat and greeted his sisters with kisses and gave Jeon his hand.
“Well met,” he said. He glanced around toward the door, where Oto was standing on the threshold waiting to be recognized. “What happened while I wasn’t here?” Only Broga was walking up to meet his brother.
Jeon said, “I hate him.” He shook his head. “Nothing much. He sent some men down to the new fort.” That reminded him, and he fixed Luka with a sharp look. “I overheard— They think some fleet is coming from the Empire, messengers, an army, something. It’s supposed to have been here by now.”
Luka grunted, and his face settled. “Did you find out anything else?”
“How to castle,” Jeon said.
Luka glanced toward the end of the table, where the Imperial brothers were sitting down, and back to Jeon. “Did you beat him?”
“No.”
“Ah, well,” Luka said, and slapped his arm. “Someday.”
Jeon set his teeth together. He said, “You’re hurt. What happened with you?”
Luka shrugged. “There is a boar from the mountains, who has gathered up every pig in the country. They’re tearing up the orchards and fields.” He put his fingers to his side. “I’ll mend, now that I’m here.”
Down the table, Oto said, “Your mighty brother dealt them a fatal blow, I feel. Such a fight as he made against the boar should be sung in ballads, or figured in a great tapestry.”
Jeon said, “Did you kill it?”
“No.”
Down the table, Oto was talking low voiced to his brother but now lifted his head again. “My lord, we should make a great hunt for it. We need some dogs.”
“It’s out in broad daylight, and it’s afraid of nothing.” Luka rubbed his hands together. Jeon saw he was troubled, finding something deep in this. “It came out of the mountains.”
Jeon lowered his eyes, understanding now what this was to Luka. The servants were bringing around the food. Trollo with his mouth harp had come up from Undercastle, bringing another boy to play the
flute, and they were making music. Mervaly laughed.
Oto said, “My lord, you keep no dogs.”
“No dog can tolerate the castle,” Luka said. “Likely we can find dogs in the town. Some of my friends there hunt.”
Jeon said, “Aken has a ratter.”
Luka gave a laugh. Sprawled on the high seat, his feet up on the table, he was gnawing on a bone.
“We need more than a ratter,” Oto said.
Broga said, “What does anyone hunt in this backwater?”
“Maybe a couple of ratters,” Jeon said, talking to his hands. “What more do you need to catch pigs?” Luka gave him a hard look. Jeon said, “For instance, we could use a few ratters around here.”
Broga said, “Watch your mouth, you stupid boy.”
Jeon leapt to his feet, reaching for the knife on the table, and Luka caught him by the arm. “Sit.”
Broga was on his feet. “I cannot bear anyone who cheats at chess.” His voice quivered with fury.
“What are you all, but thieves and cheats?” Jeon cried.
Luka flung his bone across the room and leapt up. He thrust Jeon hard down onto his chair. “Sit.” Facing the end of the table, Luka said, “My lord Broga, my brother is young. I don’t think you have such an excuse.”
Oto was hauling on Broga’s sleeve. Broga and Jeon stared at each other; Jeon felt his ears heat. He still had the knife in his hand and he slicked it against his thigh. But Broga was sitting down again, under Oto’s control. Jeon’s sisters watched all this, rapt.
“My lord,” Oto said, “let this go by. We must be friends. My brother will apologize.”
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