RHIDAUNA, The Shadow of the Revenaunt, Book 1

CHAPTER 1 - BOAR HUNT (Part One)

The hunter's trail leading them upwards through the pinewoods began muddy but passable. Soon, the forest grew closer, the ground more slippery, and the visibility worse. Without talking, they went through the near dark, until a rustling in the undergrowth brought them to an abrupt halt. Ghyll's hand went to his hunting knife, but he relaxed as a rabbit fled across the path. Behind him, Olle snorted.

Ghyll bristled. Does he think I'm afraid? For a moment, he stood still, listening to the sounds of the forest. Somewhere in front of them came a sound of snapping twigs. Farther away among the trees a hunting owl called, ominous in the gloom of the woods. Ghyll felt a shiver run down his spine at the sound.

They hurried on again, trying to stay on the path in the dark. At his side, Damion muttered something under his breath and the set of his shoulders betrayed his dislike of the forest. Ghyll smiled grimly. Their new friend would rather be elsewhere. Back home in bed, probably. He couldn't blame him; he didn't enjoy the watching pines and the rain-filled silence either. Without thought, he whistled a few bars of a battle song, but stopped abruptly. Nonsense, they're just trees on a mountain!

Behind his back, Olle cleared his throat. 'Why the hurry?'

Ghyll slowed down. 'All right, all right. If you can't keep up...'

Olle sang in an undertone. 'Sa, Ballady with mighty sword, hit out at all and sundry,' the same air Ghyll had whistled. 'You're right; it is a bit creepy here.'

Ghyll laughed. Even my tough brother feels uneasy. His mood lightened at the thought.

Then the trail came to a dead end.

'Landslide,' Olle said, keeping his voice neutral. 'All this rain has made the topsoil soft as warm cow dung.'

'Yes.' Ghyll stared at the mass of mud and stones barring their way. 'Come.' He turned left, stepping carefully over the sopping underground, until they reached a mountain stream, now swollen with water. Here they went uphill, slipping on the loose gravel in the bed.

Damion stumbled in the fast-flowing stream.

'Easy,' Ghyll said, steadying him. He didn't know the boy well yet, but his clumsiness surprised him. Ghyll grinned. Uncle Jadron expected his nephew to keep an eye on him. That's why Damion was out here with them, in the rain, trudging up a mountain.

'Your father was sergeant of the Guard at Halwyrd?' he said nonchalantly.

Damion's face turned desperate as he nodded.

Ghyll glanced sideways. 'I heard you trained with Halwyrd's sol­diers?'

The boy's face twisted, but he didn't say anything. He just stared straight ahead, splashing through the ankle-deep water.

'This mustn't be difficult for you, then. With a father like yours...'

Damion stopped and faced Ghyll. 'Enough about my father. I hate him!'

Ghyll was surprised by the boy's distress. He knew Sergeant Luyon's reputation. Ironbiter, they called him, and the soldiers feared him as a rigid disciplinarian. Still, he wouldn't be the same to his own son, would he?

'Why?' he said.

Damion shook his head, and plodded on in silence.

When the gray dawn broke, they had reached a field full of dead trees. Barkless trunks grew like withered limbs out of the haze that breathed from the rocky surface. The three boys looked at each other.

'Eerie,' Olle said in a whisper.

Seeing the worried look on his foster brother's face, Ghyll felt his own courage waver. Beyond the sulphurized tree trunks, he spied the contours of an ancient temple. The sight made him gasp, and his heart grew cold with horror. Stone arms in a circle rose against the night sky. Each was more than five manlengths tall, with hands clawing at the heavens, as if they wanted to tear the universe asunder. Those hands! Tilia! Why do you bring us here?

Olle stared at the ruins, arms crossed, the rain running down his face into the collar of his jerkin. 'A Dead Ages temple?'

Ghyll nodded. 'Of all the damned luck...' He studied the surroundings. 'No way getting around it.' He squared his shoulders. 'We'll walk right through them. They're just dead ruins.'

Reluctantly, they went on. With every step, Ghyll's feeling grew of something watching them, following their every movement.

At the circle of hands he paused. In the center squatted a large four-armed statue on a pedestal at a stained altar. Wind and weather had worn away the idol's features, but its crude female form radiated so much evil that Ghyll felt sick in his stomach.

His foot hit a stone and the resulting rattle woke something between the reaching arms. A mass of black creatures fled overhead, winging towards the sky.

Damion yelled, jumping back.

'They're just bats, man,' Olle said, breathing hard.

'Damn!' Damion wrung his hands. 'Where are we?'

'Where we shouldn't be.' Ghyll's voice sounded calmer than he felt. 'This is the Annan-ad-Aghraim.' He avoided Olle's eyes. 'I've never been here; never wanted to. The stories the soldiers told us were nasty enough. About murder and grisly rituals done by those cursed priests of the Revenaunt Emperor.'

He shuddered, as if he still could feel the power coming from the faceless idol.

The boy is use­less, a voice whispered in his ear. He stiffened, suppressing a cry. Offer him to me. Wildly, Ghyll looked over his shoulder, but there was nobody. The voice laughed, mocking his fear, and the tension between the grasping columns became almost palpable.

'Hey!' Damion's voice coming from the dark sounded excited. 'Look at all those animal pictures.'

Ghyll wheeled around. 'Don't touch anything!'

Damion snatched his hand away from the relief in the pillar. 'Why not?'

Ghyll opened his mouth, but Olle was faster. His foster brother grabbed Damion by the shoulders and shook him, his dark face flushed with anger. 'We're in a temple of the Revenaunt, idiot! Touching anything here gives bad luck. Didn't they ever teach you that?'

Damion hung his head. 'Yes, I'm sorry; it just happened.'

'Mainal aid me.' Olle pushed the boy away. 'Fool!'

Ghyll stared at the image Damion had touched, an ancient carving in the crude but unmistakable shape of a boar. Of all the bad luck! Let's get away from here.'

Without another word, they fled through the rain up the mountain slope.

Hurry, the taunting thought of the idol called after Ghyll. Your prey is waiting for you!