The Worlds of the Sheaf

Essca - Part 5

     The other hunters drew their breek lances and Tak drew his own; a slender weapon about six feet long designed for stabbing at the ground. It was clearly an elderly weapon. The leather grip was worn and faded and the blade had specks of rust along its length, but its point was sharp and sound. Even so, though, he found himself eying the King's lance enviously. It gleamed with regular devoted polishing and had silver lettering in the flat of the blade that shone in the light of the yellow sun. You didn't need any more evidence that the King was a keen hunter. A hobby he'd practised since his earliest childhood.

     His attention was jerked back to the breek as he heard one of the other hunters give a cry of delight and saw that the reptile had emerged about fifty yards from him. The King blew another note on the hunting horn and the rider, Viscount Nonymar, a middle aged man with the biggest, bushiest moustache Tak had ever seen, turned his horse to chase after it, the lance raised so as not to accidentally injure his mount. The breek was fast, he was surprised to see. Amazingly fast for an animal of its proportions, and as horse and rider set off in pursuit, followed by the rest of the hunt, he found himself wondering whether he could acquire a couple of live specimens for his experiments. If he could grow them bigger, they might make fine mounts for the city's cavalry.

     The King blew the hunting horn with enthusiasm as they chased the breek, the lizard tearing back and forth between them, darting between the legs of the horses, lances jabbing at the ground all around. For a moment it looked as though the Count of Halk, the grey haired monocled man, had it cornered between himself and a fat, bald man whose name Tak had forgotten for the moment and both lances came jabbing down at the same time, but the fat man's lance knocked Halk's aside and the breek was granted a temporary reprieve, darting away towards the marshes where the hounds had formed a line to bar its escape.

     The lizard skidded to a halt, staring at the madly barking dogs, then turned and sped along the edge of the swamp, searching for an opening. The hounds followed it, determined to thwart its escape, and Tak found himself impressed by their training. The master of the hounds had issued no commands that he was aware of, and yet the dogs knew exactly what to do and had enough self control not to come chasing after the lizard themselves. It was the best display of control and obedience the wizard had ever seen.

     "Come on Halbon!" cried Barl eagerly, and it took Tak a moment to recognise his assumed name. "Don't just sit there!"

     Tak realised he was the only one not joining in the chase, being too engrossed in watching the spectacle, and with a grin he tugged on the reins and took his horse into the hunt. He stayed on the edge of the melee, though, not confident enough in his control of the horse to take it into the middle of the action, but despite this he did get one go at the breek when it broke out of the circle of hunters and raced in his direction.

     He jabbed with his lance, spearing the ground just to the side of its scaly flank, and then it was gone, speeding back towards the marsh where the dogs again turned it back. The other hunters thundered past him, someone shouting a commiseration on his near miss, and then they were away and he was on his own again. He turned his horse to chase after them, marveling at the tireless energy of the breek which seemed capable of going on forever.

     In the end it was the Duke of Arl who got it. A lucky jab with the lance that speared it right through the middle of its back. He jumped from his horse with a cry of triumph, unslung his breek hammer from its horn on his saddle, and dispatched the wildly thrashing lizard with a single blow to the head.

     "Well done, old man," cried the Count of Halk in delight. "First kill to Arl! Whose'll be next? Yours, Tayla?"

     The fat, bald man glowered back at him and pointedly walked his horse away, watched with interest by several of the other huntsmen. It made Tak aware that there was politics going on even now, right in the middle of the sport. He glanced at Barl to see what he was making of it, but his fellow Gem Lord was watching the Duke of Arl as he slung the breek across his saddle and carried it back to the master of the hounds, who lifted it off and placed it carefully on the ground at his feet. The corpse would be taken back to the castle at the end of the day, Tak knew, where the meat would be cooked and served up for supper and the head stuffed and mounted as a trophy.