Chapter One
The Hunt
The horses thundered through the trees. Like their riders they were richly decorated with feathered plumes and embroidered coats. The coats and feathered plumes were blue, like the royal crest on the riders’ chests and on their shields. A rampant blue lion below a blue chevron against a white background.
A rampant lion.
Prince Carl L’Hage led his Knights at the gallop. Their quarry was in sight. But it was no enemy with his army, no dangerous foe who must be vanquished.
She ran in panic now, bounding through the trees, her long red hair trailing behind her. She held a long sword in her right hand. She was tired, exhausted. Her own horse had been shot from beneath her, and now the Hunt was nearly over. The horses soon over took her, and she turned to fight. The riders jumped from the saddle. She struck at the first Knight, running him through the body even before he had let go of the reins of his horse.
She wasn’t to be taken easily.
The Prince and his men surrounded her, and swords clashed in the early evening darkness of the forest. But two of the men had held back. One watched, holding the reins of the horses as they stamped and snorted, while the other fitted an arrow to his long bow and watched and waited for the right moment.
The man who held the horses watched in wonder. The woman was holding them off. One woman against five men. She fought bravely, valiantly. She was the hero; she was the one who should have the songs written about her deeds in battle. She was wonderful, she was glorious, and she was beautiful.
The arrow hit her in the chest above her right breast and she staggered back. Almost instantly one of the Knights stabbed her in the same side with his sword. She collapsed down on one knee and the men rushed her. Her sword was torn from her grasp and tossed away among the trees. She was thrown on to her back, the men tearing at her tunic and leggings.
She made no sound. No screams, no shouts for mercy. Instead she still fought, kicking, scratching, and biting. In reply the noblemen from the court of King Edmund L’Hage beat her viciously. They punched her in the head and body, again and again. And when her resistance ebbed, they tore off her tattered and bloodstained clothes. Then they held her down, pinning her wrists against the grass while their Prince took the first turn...
Rolf L’Epine was horrified. He stood by the horses and watched as if in a trance. He knew all the men who were here, knew them all to be good and honourable. And yet, what they were doing was barbaric.
How could this be?
Rolf had always known about the Hunts. They had gone on for years, for generations in fact. Ever since the Destroyers had been finally defeated at the Battle of the Black Cross, the hunting down of the survivors had become a tradition. But this was the first time he had taken part. This was his first Hunt. And as a novice he would have to watch and hold the horses. Not for him would come the taste of Destroyer flesh. Not this time. But he still had a task to perform.
When the last of them had finished, and they all stood laughing and talking, Rolf knew his moment had come.
The Prince wiped the blood from his breastplate with a silken handkerchief as he and his men came forward.
“How is Sir Edwin?” he asked.
“Slain, sire,” the man with the long bow replied. “She ran him through even before his foot had left the stirrup!”
“‘Tis a fitting end for a man on his thirteenth Hunt!” the Prince replied. Then he turned to the other Knights and said in a raised voice, “Well, my fine friends! The chase is over, and the spoils have been equally divided!”
One of the other Knights shouted, “Aye, my Liege! But some were more energetically received than others!”
The rest of the Knights all laughed.
Prince Carl smiled and quickly gestured to them all to be silent. “Quiet, you heathens! There is still work to be done! Young Rolf here has yet to be bloodied! Sir Anthony! Give him the knife!”
There was a cheer, and the reins were snatched from Rolf’s hands and he was pushed forward. Sir Anthony held out the long dagger in its jewel-encrusted scabbard. Rolf stared at it. He hesitated and glanced at Prince Carl.
“Take it, man!” the Prince said. “Pay the price! And next time you will take a share in the spoils!”
Rolf slowly drew the curved blade from the scabbard and walked slowly towards the woman. The Prince and his Knights watched him, shouting encouragement from afar.
“If you feel charitable, do it swiftly!” one of them shouted.
“No! Do it slow and make her cry out!” another called.
Then the Prince said, “Destroyers never cry out. They just die.”
All became silent as Rolf stood over the woman. He could hear her rasping breath. She was practically naked, and the sight of her exposed skin should have stirred him. But instead all he could see was the broken arrow still in her chest, and the blood from this wound and from the one in her side that was smeared over her body, mixing in with the dirt and the sweat. He knelt down next to her.
Her beautiful face was all battered and bruised and her red hair was all tangled with the grass and the dead leaves from the forest floor. He leaned over her with the knife. Her eyes were open. They were green and wondrous. She could see him, but she made no effort to fight him off. She just lay there on her back, her arms flung out at her sides.
Rolf moved closer and closer. He held the knife at her throat, but at the last moment he hesitated. He called over his shoulder, “My Liege! May I steal a kiss before her life?”
“Aye! I think we can grant you that!” the Prince called back. “Kill her with love, L’Epine! Then maybe her soul will forgive you and grant you luck!”
As the Knights laughed once more, Rolf moved his head closer to the woman. His lips brushed her face, but instead of kissing her, he quickly whispered into her ear, “When the knife bites into the grass, relax and don’t move. Be very quiet and still. I will return and help you later. If you fail me in this, they will kill us both.”
He could see the look in her eyes. She had heard him and had understood his meaning, but she hadn’t understood why. She looked up at him in confusion even as he thrust the dagger into the grass by her throat in an exaggerated motion. For a moment, Rolf thought she wasn’t going to react, but then she closed her eyes and lay still, and her rasping breath ceased.
Rolf quickly smeared the blade in blood from the wound at her side before standing up and returning to the Prince. He held out the knife. Everyone cheered when they saw the blood.
Prince Carl L’Hage smiled as he looked at Rolf’s bloodstained tunic and the bloody knife. “Was she not a worthy quarry, Rolf?”
“Aye, my Prince. She was magnificent.”
“And you took her life! Now you are truly a Huntsman!” The Prince slapped Rolf on the back and quickly turned and shouted to his men. “Pick up Sir Edwin! Throw him over his horse! Tonight we drink to his memory and celebrate young Rolf’s first Hunt!”
In the Shadow of Mountains: The Lost Girls Page 2
