Silent Hall

by NS Dolkart

  The journey was extremely unpleasant. The Gallant Ones did not take well to having tagalongs. Even during the hour of rest, when they reined in their horses and found a shady spot to lie down in, still they made a show of being burdened by their new company. They sneered at the very suggestion that the islanders could be of use to them, and laughed openly when they realized that only Hunter was armed. The contempt with which they looked at Narky and the others was unmistakable. He thought they might look at him differently if he told them he had killed a man, but he stayed silent. Maybe the Gallant Ones would be impressed by that sort of thing, but the other islanders would not. And, as Bandu would have put it, the islanders were his pack now.

  Narky had never been part of a pack before, and it felt surprisingly good. The others did not always seem to like Narky, but they had dragged his near-lifeless body out of the forest and stayed with him during his recovery. They had helped him build his altar, and Phaedra was even trying to help him learn what Ravennis wanted from him. And they did not call him the Coward’s Son.

  It was funny: Narky had always assumed that Hunter would assert his dominance at some point. He had misjudged Hunter, he could see it now. Hunter was not a leader, any more than he was a boisterous drink-buyer. It was the others – the girls especially, but even Criton and Narky – who pulled Hunter along with them and decided where to go and what to do. His only purpose, apparently, was to protect them from danger. Narky was glad enough of that. Gods knew, they could use his protection.

  The islanders each rode behind a Gallant One during their journey, despite the several riderless packhorses that trailed along behind them. Apparently, the Gallant Ones did not want to risk letting their hostages ride their own horses. This suited the islanders just fine, though. Among them, only Hunter and Phaedra knew how to ride.

  Narky spent the first day riding behind Hearthman Charos, who was curt and scornful throughout. Most of these men were in their sixties, but they carried their arms with the confidence of those whose destiny was to conquer. Exiled from their homes for the last forty years, they dreamed not of reconciliation but of power. They called Tana their King Betrayed, and frequently began sentences with, “When we retake Atuna…”

  After the first few days, Narky rode with Hearthman Tachil, who was friendlier. He asked about the circumstances of Narky’s flight from Tarphae, and despite Narky’s evasions, seemed to understand all too well.

  “You’re not so different from the way I was, when I was young,” he said. “Not so different at all.”

  Narky shrugged. “I guess your skin has changed colors since then.”

  The Atunaean chuckled. “You’re funny,” he said.

  When they stopped to let their horses rest, Hearthman Tachil showed Narky how to plant a spear in the ground so that the weapon would not be wrenched out of his hands when the boar ran into it. The spear was very long.

  “If the Boar of Hagardis is as big as they say it is,” Tachil warned him, “you’ll need every inch.”

  “We don’t have enough of those to go round,” Hearthman Charos interrupted. “He’ll have to make do with a halfspear or a crossbow.”

  When the Gallant Ones raised their tents at night, they left only one for the islanders to share. Narky expected Phaedra, at least, to object to this arrangement, but she did not. Apparently she did not feel safe here without Hunter and Criton’s constant protection.

  Neither the boys nor Phaedra undressed much at night, despite the warm southern wind. Hunter took off his armor, at least, but he also cautiously unsheathed his sword and slept with his hand resting on its pommel. It was Bandu who embarrassed them all by stripping completely naked and stretching out comfortably in the night heat.

  Hunter escaped the situation by turning his head the other way and dropping off almost immediately, but Narky and Criton had a harder time of it. Even in the dark, with only the dim reddish glow of the Gallant Ones’ bonfire flickering through the tent walls, enough could be seen to keep them lying rigidly in their places, awake and miserable. What made it even more maddening was that Phaedra took it upon herself to guard Bandu’s nonexistent modesty by staring at Narky and Criton, ready to pounce if she saw them looking Bandu’s way. When it came down to it, all Narky really saw was a blurred skinny figure blending into the dark ground. But his imagination supplied the rest.

  Narky did not awaken early enough to see any more. When he woke up, drenched in sweat from sleeping in his clothes, only Criton was still inside the tent. Criton certainly looked tired, but Narky noticed enviously that he was also perfectly dry. The night’s heat probably hadn’t bothered him at all, the reptilian bastard.

  To Phaedra’s consternation – but to nobody’s surprise – the process repeated itself every night for the rest of the week. Even during the daylight hours, it was hard not to think of Bandu’s casual nakedness every time Narky looked at her. It was as if she was imbued with some new, special power, and she wouldn’t even acknowledge it. Hunter politely didn’t acknowledge it either, but at least Criton felt it, to judge from the enlightened and respectful look on his face. Narky didn’t feel the same way about it at all. It felt like Bandu had something over him now, and he hated her for it. Between the lack of sleep, the miserable climate, and the depressing feeling that he was somehow missing an enormous opportunity, he thought it was only a matter of time before he went insane.

  After a week of quiet resentment, the Boar of Hagardis finally gave him something else to think about. They came upon a ransacked hamlet, its few houses destroyed and the residents lying gored and feasted upon, partially by the boar and partially by the crows and vultures that had come by later. There were many of these still about, and the sight of them filled Narky with dread. They were watching him as they fed on their ghoulish meal. Not just looking, watching.

  The Gallant Ones shooed the birds off – heavens forgive them – and went about trying to make sense of the tracks. Bandu studied the bodies instead.

  “Four days maybe,” Narky heard her say to Hunter. “Not safe.”

  Not safe for what? he wondered moodily. Cannibalism?

  The boar’s tracks were hardly fresh, but they were still easy enough to spot. Deep cloven hoofmarks the size of Hunter’s boots could be seen everywhere, from the ground on either side of a broken wall to the stomped-in ribcages of the dead villagers. Prince Tana and the Gallant Ones looked at each other warily, and even Hunter seemed unsure of himself after seeing those marks. Criton, however, looked furious.

  “This boar is sacred to Magor,” he spat, speaking to no one in particular. His voice carried his condemnation.

  “We can’t do this,” Narky whispered to Phaedra. “Even if we killed the thing – which we can’t, by the way – Magor would carve us to pieces. A God who holds this monster sacred is not as merciful as Ravennis.”

  Phaedra shook her head. “We were never on Magor’s good side,” she said. “He might even hate us personally. The robbers on the way to the Crossroads were worshippers of His. You’re right that killing the Boar of Hagardis is going to get His attention, but I don’t see what choice we have. The Gallant Ones won’t let us go until the boar is dead, and besides, Criton wouldn’t turn back even if he could. Magor’s high priest killed his family.”

  “But you saw what happened to me!” Narky pointed to his chest, where the burn mark lay concealed beneath his clothing. “I insulted Ravennis – not on purpose, mind you – and I got this, even after he spared me! And I didn’t go killing any sacred animals!”

  Phaedra looked worried, yes, but not nearly worried enough. She could not understand; nobody could understand without feeling that divine anger pointed at them, focused and deadly.

  “The Boar of Hagardis is one of Magor’s fingers,” she said, definitely less sure of herself than she pretended to be. “Yes, it has Magor’s attention, but if we cut off the finger, He should also be weakened for a time. Another God could take advantage of that weakness, and a God who was in conflict with Mago
r might protect us just to spite Him. They must be able fend each other off, because some Gods have been in conflict for generations without ever smiting each other’s followers personally.”

  Narky wanted to object again, but before he could, Tana made a gesture and the Gallant Ones closed around them all. “We ride on from here,” the princeling said. “If you hunt the boar with us, you take weapons and stand alongside us. Then if the boar kills you, you do not die as cowards and children.”

  Despite the ‘ifs,’ there was no ‘if’ in his tone of voice. Tana expected them to die, and Narky couldn’t really disagree. But at least the Gallant Ones respected them enough to give them weapons.

  Bandu moved first, holding her hand palm up. Tana nodded, and one of his hearthmen placed a long knife there. Criton accepted a bow, though Narky doubted he would ever use it. Would he be able to keep up the pretense of normality if and when the boar came at him? His savage claws seemed like a much more likely weapon, considering the look on his face. Hearthman Tachil offered a bow to Narky too, but Narky shook his head.

  “I will not take a coward’s weapon.”

  They gave him a spear instead.

  Just as Hearthman Charos had suggested, Narky did not get a spear the same length as the others. He was given a halfspear. A boar the size of a bull would find it no impediment, but what could he do? Maybe there would be an opportunity to flee from the Gallant Ones when they met the boar. If they chased him down afterwards, a halfspear might come in handy.

  He hoped an opportunity for escape would arise. If they all faced the boar, only two things could happen: either they would die, or the Gallant Ones would bring them back to Psander. And once they were in Psander’s power again, Narky suspected that he would never be free.

  Gods damn that Psander! Narky had been on a course of redemption, ready to leave his old life behind and become a real, worthwhile person. He was planning to stay out of trouble, at long last. Then Psander had read his past, and she had seen everything. He wished they didn’t have to go back to her. He wished she would die. There was nothing like blackmail to turn you ugly again.

  It was not just this boar; that was what worried Narky most. If it had just been that, Psander would have focused her attention on the combatants. The Tarphaean boys might at least be useful during the hunt, besides making for good hostages. But if that were all she needed, then why bribe Phaedra? The Gallant Ones certainly wouldn’t have cared if they had been given only three or four hostages instead of five. Narky suspected that the real reason Psander had sent them all together was that she wanted to get all five of the islanders accustomed to serving her.

  They followed the boar’s trail for three more days on horseback, bringing them to the foothills of the mountains that had seemed so distant when they left Silent Hall. On the third day, Narky awoke to find himself alone in the tent. As he was preparing to leave, a dark brown patch on the ground made him look twice. Those were definitely blood stains, on the ground where the girls had slept! Panic struck him as he imagined what must have befallen Phaedra and Bandu while he lay blissfully unconscious. How could he have slept through a fight?

  Criton ducked his head inside the tent, and Narky looked to him in alarm. “What happened last night? Are they still alive?”

  “Huh?” Criton scratched his head. “Yes, everybody’s fine. Why, what’s the matter?”

  Narky pointed to the patch of blood, and Criton shrugged. Shrugged! “It must be one of the girls,” he said. “They bleed sometimes, you know.”

  “What do you mean, they bleed sometimes?”

  Criton rubbed his elbows and looked uncomfortable. “Well, Ma used to bleed sometimes, and the first time I noticed blood on her sheets, she told me that all women did that. She said it was normal.”

  Narky eyed him skeptically. Could this really be true? From what he had told them at the Crossroads, Criton’s mother had been a freak like him. How could she know what normal women were like? It sounded decidedly monstrous, and not at all normal.

  “Really,” Criton said, sensing his skepticism. “It just happens now and then.”

  “You’re sure they’re all right?” Narky asked doubtfully. It was certainly hard to imagine someone getting injured without the sound waking him up. Criton’s theory did explain that mystery pretty well.

  He shuddered a little, and got up. Did Eramia bleed like this? It annoyed him that Criton might know something about women that he didn’t. For Karassa’s sake, the man hadn’t even been out of his house until the day Narky met him!

  The girls were indeed both healthy. Narky couldn’t even tell where they had bled from. But he couldn’t stay quiet forever – he had to ask Phaedra.

  “Is it true that you bleed sometimes?” he demanded.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Criton says that women bleed now and then. Is that true?”

  Phaedra glanced at Criton, a little angrily. “Yes,” she said, “not that it’s any of your business. You didn’t know that already? I thought Bandu was the one raised by wolves.”

  “Are you bleeding now?”

  “No!”

  “Is Bandu?”

  Phaedra stuck her finger in his face. “You stay away from her, Narky. Don’t humiliate her with your stupid questions.”

  How can I humiliate someone who has no shame? Narky thought, moodily. But he didn’t say anything to Bandu. Instead, he asked Hunter if he had known anything about this whole bleeding thing. Hunter just stared at him, silently, until Narky became uncomfortable and walked away.

  Shortly after noon, Bandu cried, “Stop!” and the company came to a halt. She dismounted and the others followed suit, taking their spears with them. “Pig is close,” Narky heard her say.

  They dismounted, and the Gallant Ones took some minutes to don their armor and prepare themselves. When they were done, Tana turned to Phaedra. “Stay with the horses,” he commanded. “If they all run off while we’re hunting the boar, it will be a long walk back.”

  Phaedra nodded and looked relieved. At least her presence was of some use. The others continued on foot, following the boar’s trail. “How do you know it’s close?” Narky asked Bandu, but she put her finger on her lips and clutched that long knife as if she was afraid it would try to fly away. That was when he realized that the low thundering he heard was not coming from the horses behind them.

  The Gallant Ones spread out, their spears at the ready. The horses had been left at a low point between hills, and, as the hunting party neared the top of one of these, a huge boar appeared over the crest.

  ‘Large as a bull’ did not do the Boar of Hagardis justice. It was tall as a bull, but twice as massive, its long body supported by thick, stocky legs. The boar’s tusks jutted upwards from its jaw like curved swords, several feet in length. And its eyes – Narky did not even want to think about those eyes. The whole eyeball was like one giant pupil, pitch black and filled with malice.

  With a cry, the Gallant Ones knelt and planted their spears in the ground against the boar’s charge. It mowed through them like they were scattered mice. There was the snapping of spear ends and of bones as the boar broke through the assembled hunters and turned to rush down their whole line, trampling everyone in its path. The Gallant Ones leapt every which way to avoid the onrushing animal, and when it reached the end of their line, it wheeled about and began coming the other way, toward Narky. Narky forgot about his spear and ran farther up the hill, trying to get out of its path. When he turned, Criton was standing alone facing the boar.

  He had abandoned his bow and was in his natural form, his golden scales shining against his dark skin. The boar charged him and he breathed fire at it, a long burst of flame like Narky had never seen before. The boar ignored the flames even as its bristles singed and burnt away, filling the air with foul smoke. Criton just stood there, unwilling to admit defeat. The monster bore down on him. At the last second, Hunter appeared out of seemingly nowhere and tackled Criton, and the two of them went rolling ou
t of the boar’s path.

  The animal swerved to chase them, but Bandu shouted, “Here!” and it turned to face her instead. How it heard her amid all the clamor, and why it responded to her voice among all the others, Narky did not know. Its manner registered confusion for a moment, or so it seemed to him. Bandu was not far from Narky, but now she ran at the boar while it came uphill toward her. Narky watched in horrified fascination as the two of them neared each other, girl and monster. There could be no question of what would happen when they collided.

  But they did not collide. The boar must have misjudged her trajectory just as Narky had, because Bandu leapt straight past it, her knife flashing out even while its singed bristles grazed her skin. There was a horrible ear-splitting screech, and the boar spun about wildly, one of its eyes slashed.

  Prince Tana blew his horn, and the Gallant Ones re-formed their line. At the sound, the monster wheeled back toward them, its one good eye bleeding hate just as surely as the bad one bled fluid. The Gallant Ones were better prepared for its charge this time, though it did them little good. The boar crashed through their wall of spears once more, fearless despite the many spearheads that impaled its flesh and snapped off when it spun round.

  It was getting bogged down, though. One of the hearthmen’s spears was lodged in its knee joint, and the boar stumbled this way and that, unable to find its footing. Tana drew his sword and approached to deliver the death blow, only to be flung broken into the air when the animal suddenly bowed its head and then jerked it up again. Only when the Atunaean prince’s body came crashing down to earth did Narky finally realize that the Gallant Ones would not be able to do this all on their own. They were old and they were strong, but Magor was stronger.

  He never knew what possessed him, but suddenly Narky was running toward the boar – toward danger! He changed his course often, trying always to keep on the animal’s blind side as it struggled and flailed. Then he was upon it, and he lifted his spear and thrust it with all his weight and all his might into the boar’s bad eye. The shaft went halfway in before the monster shuddered and went still.