Stag Hunt

by Laura DeLuca

  * * *

  Eartha was not alone in her aggravation in the weeks that followed. Her parents had no time for Balen’s romantic fancies, and Eartha found herself covering for him in the field while he spent his time training. His love-lust kept him from both sleeping and eating properly, and Eartha worried what her lovelorn brother would do if he failed to emerge victorious from the hunt. How would he fare against the other men when all the fool could think of were his silly romantic fancies? He didn’t seem to take the danger seriously. Even before the contest began, there was something sinister afoot. Already more than one of the tribesmen vying for the hand of the queen had died under mysterious circumstances. Others had simply vanished without a trace. Eartha wasn’t the only one who noticed the odd accidents and disappearances. Accusations were flying. The tribe leaders were furious, and the country was on the brink of war.

  Shaking her head at her dark thoughts, Eartha lifted her bow and arrow. A brown ball of fuzz stepped unbeknownst into her line of vision. Eartha watched as its little nose twittered up and down, as though it were sniffing the early-blooming flowers nearby. Her arm muscles were pulled as taunt as the string as she took aim. There was a soft whoosh when she released her arrow. The shaft soared through the air and struck its mark perfectly, impaling the rabbit through its heart. The little fellow never saw it coming.

  Eartha felt a brief moment of regret for having to take the little animal’s life, but it would make a good enough meal for the night. Of course, Eartha would have to give Balen credit for the kill to appease their father. He didn’t like his daughter hunting like one of the men any more than he liked his son mooning over an unattainable bride.

  Eartha lifted the carcass by its ears, preparing to set home before skinning the animal, when the clash of metal against metal made her raise her head to listen more closely. At first she wasn’t concerned. Balen had been pestering some of the farmhands to assist him in his daily swordplay, so the sound was not uncommon on their land. But when she heard angry voices mingled with the dueling weapons, she was afraid her dark premonitions of doom were about to come true. Pulling her cloak up over her long hair, Eartha ran toward the sound. She arrived just in time to see two men battling along the edge of the forest where she had been hunting.

  “You have no right to vie against me for the crown,” she heard a man’s voice declare. “I will kill you before I let you enter the stag hunt!”

  Still clutching her dead rabbit by the ears, Eartha ducked behind one of the trees so she would remain unseen. It appeared her brother was holding his own against a bulky stranger, and she did not wish to wound his pride by interfering when it wasn’t necessary. Eartha watched them battle, prepared to intercede when and if she must. So far Balen matched the intruder’s thrusts blow for blow while a forgotten horse bucked and whinnied behind them. Animal furs covered the man’s tunic to disguise whatever family crest he bore, but it didn’t take much imagination for Eartha to figure out who he was. Something in his angry voice and the mane of greasy blond hair was familiar. Eartha thought back to the day on the Tor when Arn had cheated and pushed his way to the top of the hill. Though she hadn’t seen him since he had reached adulthood, it appeared not much had changed with her brother’s rival. It only made sense that he would be the one picking off the challengers before the stag hunt had even begun.

  “Arn, you damned scoundrel!” Balen shouted, confirming Eartha’s suspicions. “Were you too much of a coward to face me in fair combat? Instead, you sneak up on me like a thief in the night and strike me from behind! Do you truly think yourself worthy of Galiene?”

  Arn threw his head back and guffawed as he swung his long sword, missing his target by only an inch. “That shrew means nothing to me. It’s the crown I covet, and no lovesick worm who is barely a step above a commoner will stand in my way. The stag’s crown and all of Britannia will be mine!”

  “The stag will never succumb to you!” Balen challenged.

  “You fools and your superstitions!” Arn scoffed. “There are no gods! And no man has the strength or the will to defeat me in battle!”

  It almost seemed as though his words would be proven true at that very moment. Eartha watched in stunned silence as Balen finally succumbed to exhaustion and stumbled backward. He raised his sword to block the attack, but his legs gave out under his weight until he fell to the ground, clutching his side.

  Instantly alert, Eartha dropped her dead rabbit and stepped from her hiding place in the underbrush, all thoughts of dinner forgotten. Arn loomed above her brother, the point of his blade barely inches from Balen’s chest. Behind them, the steed gave another nervous whinny.

  “And now you shall die,” Arn promised in a harsh whisper.

  “I think not.” Eartha stepped into the open with her bow at the ready. Within seconds, she had her arrow strung and the deadly point aimed at Balen’s attacker. “Kill my brother, and you die next.”

  Arn stopped mid-thrust, but didn’t lower his sword. He turned to glare at Eartha and her weapon. If he felt any fear, he covered it well with his cocky smirk. “Still need your sister to fight your battles, do you, Balen?”

  “I may be his sister and a woman, but know this, Arn—just as no boy ever bested me in a foot race, so no man is my equal with a bow. I have the sharpest eye and the quickest hand. I have never missed my mark. If I were you, I would step away from Balen and leave our land before you find yourself with an arrow through your heart.”

  Arn seemed to weigh her threat for a moment, as though considering calling her bluff. Perhaps it was because he saw the slight tremble of the bowstring. It was true Eartha had never killed a man, but the tip of his blade was dangerously close to a heart she valued more than her own. She was not afraid to strike if it meant saving Balen’s life. Arn seemed to read that determination in her eyes. He lowered his sword, climbed onto his still neighing horse, and spat on the ground by Balen’s feet.

  “This weakling is no challenge anyway. The stag’s life will be mine and then the crown of Britannia.”

  With that declaration, Arn grabbed his reigns and galloped into the security of the forest. Under the cover of the trees, Eartha could not be as certain of her aim, but she still held her stance for several long minutes before finally lowering her tired arm. Only when the sounds of galloping hooves had faded into the distance and she was certain Arn was long gone did Eartha finally drop her weapon and run to Balen’s side. Her brother was struggling to his feet, but he seemed to be having more trouble than he ought to.

  “That bastard will not…he will not have my Galiene,” Balen muttered, breathless. “He will…he will not steal her throne!”

  It was only then that Eartha noticed the long, jagged gash across his side. The dark brown tunic had hidden the blood, but her fingers were quickly stained red. Eartha realized she had been foolish to wait as long as she had to assist her brother. He must have been wounded before she arrived. Eartha only barely managed to catch Balen around the waist before the last of the color drained from his face and her twin collapsed, unconscious, into her arms.