The hunt was on.
The elk, still three hundred yards distant, turned and lunged away, building up speed until it was in full flight. It was extraordinarily powerful, but not as swift as the hounds who pursued it. Before long, they were upon the mighty beast which swung its head this way and that on the run, trying to catch a hound with its colossal bone branches. The hounds were equal to that and danced out of its range, shepherding it towards the trees. “I’ve got the finest dogs in the country,” called Tekoa over his shoulder. They certainly impressed Roper.
Dogs and elk disappeared into the trees, still sufficiently broadly spaced for the beast to slip its antlers through the gap. Tekoa tore after it, followed closely by the rest of the party, lances at the ready.
And suddenly, the moment was upon them.
There was a mighty crack from up ahead and Roper saw that the elk had misjudged a gap between two trees and stopped dead, antlers quivering. Snow showered from the shaken trees before it. The elk shook its head and swung round, antlers sweeping too fast for one of the hounds which was caught in the chest and hurled backwards with a yelp. It crashed against a tree and dropped to the ground where it stirred weakly. Tekoa roared his fury and spurred faster. The other two hounds had been driven back by the swinging antlers and the elk was trying to break away, dodging past Tekoa’s horse and charging, head lowered, straight for Roper behind. “It’s yours, Roper!”
Roper had a fleeting impression of an antlered head hurtling towards him, of the rippling of the elk’s muscles as it charged. He stood in his stirrups, lance swaying before him, and lunged.
He had no idea what happened. One moment he was on his stirrups, aiming for the base of the neck that thundered with raging blood, the next he was crashing to the floor, his horse collapsing on top of him. Head ringing, face half-buried in the snow, Roper could see the hounds streak past him again and then the hooves of Tekoa’s horse.
He stirred groggily, laying his hands on the horse and trying to push it off him. It was not moving. He looked at it. “My god.” It was dead, neck evidently broken by one of the elk’s antlers. Tekoa was roaring somewhere behind him, the hounds were barking and the elk was bellowing in rage. Roper extracted himself from beneath the horse. Bits of him felt jarred and it took several stunned moments to judge that he was unharmed.
Just then, Tekoa came trotting back. “All right, my lord?” he asked, beaming. “That was brave of you.”
“Was it?”
“Sort of. Very unwise really, but you got it.”
“I did?”
“You did. It’s down, come see.” Tekoa glanced at Roper’s broken courser. “Ah.”
They followed the sounds of celebrating hounds, Roper on foot and Tekoa mounted, back almost to the clearing again. There, just before the end of the treeline, the beast lay fallen on its side, head twisted extravagantly to accommodate the huge antlers. The rest of the party was gathered around it, still mounted and chattering raucously. At the sight of Roper, there came hearty laughter and an ironic cheer. “Impressive commitment, lord!”
“I’ll wager that was a surprise.”
The elk was truly enormous. At the shoulder it had stood taller than Roper and its antlers must have spanned fourteen feet from tip to tip. The hounds were lapping greedily at the puddle of blood accumulating beneath its neck.
“That’s where you hit it,” said Tekoa, swinging himself out of the saddle and pointing at the base of the neck. “Not quite deep enough, but you slowed it. I had to lance the heart from behind. Tricky manoeuvre,” he said modestly.
“Masterful strike, sir.”
“Be quiet, Harald.”
They left the elk to the attentions of Harald and the other legionary. They would prepare the carcass for transportation and then drag it behind the horses to a cart waiting on the road to the forest. It could then be taken back to the Hindrunn.
The rest of them would ride back ahead, with Roper borrowing a horse and the other two officers riding together. One was the Councillor for Trade, the other was the Treasurer. Both were Vidarr and appeared to be old friends of Tekoa. They were middle-aged. Only after one hundred years’ service in a legion were subjects of the Black Kingdom permitted to apply for an administrative or councillor’s position. There they would specialise in their chosen field and then be able to advise the Black Lord, or oversee the enacting of his will across the country. It was an option seldom exercised by regular legionaries, who preferred the status of the battlefield, but they were desirable posts for members of the auxiliary legions.
Roper fell to talking with them on the road back. The snow fell more and more thickly, though fortunately there was no wind. He hunched into his wolfskin cloak as they followed a line of withies that marked the way back to the Hindrunn. The paving of the road had long since been assimilated into the whiteness around it.
He realised almost at once that these were the men who would be able to tell him what he could do for the eastern refugees. However, broaching the topic with them, they seemed surprised that he was bothering himself with it.
“The eastern subjects are tough, my lord. This is not the first time their
