The Vampire & Her Witch-Chapter 1387: A Clash of Steel and Bone (Part Two)

Erling nocked the broadhead and drew to half tension, tracking the elk’s movement as it turned on the trail, and then he picked his target. The elk was stubborn, but it was also searching, swinging its rack of antlers back and forth as it tried to find a way to escape.

"Wes, be ready with the horn," Erling said without taking his eyes off of his target to see if his fellow baron understood what he intended or not. Sometimes, you just had to put your faith in someone else’s competence, and Erling had never once doubted Wes.

The elk already intended to flee, it just didn’t know where, so Erling gave him a little... encouragement.

The arrow leapt from his fingers as though it had been pulled on a string, slicing through the air with speed and power far greater than the slow-moving signalling arrow he’d used just moments ago.

Before the Elk knew what was happening, pain flared in its left ear less than an eyeblink before Erling’s arrow embedded itself into a nearby cedar with a loud -THUNK!-

Wes came charging in right behind the arrow, blowing his horn with all his might even as he raised his sword up high in one hand, threatening the elk with an overhand blow from a weapon sharp enough to cleave through flesh and bone.

The elk had been driven north and blocked. Driven east and beaten back. Pressured from the flank by a horn and a mounted swordsman. And now, something had hurt it, spilling a trickle of crimson blood before thunking into a tree in the one remaining direction that wasn’t south.

The bull made its decision.

It broke south, surging down the trail that followed Coldwater Creek with the same explosive power that had carried it upstream through the rapids. Its hooves tore at the damp earth and its antlers crashed through the low-hanging branches of hemlock and cedar as it thundered down the trail, putting distance between itself and the five humans who had hemmed it in with nothing more than courage, noise, and a few well-placed arrows.

Erling let out a long, slow breath, but he couldn’t let the tension melt from his shoulders just yet. His hand drifted back to his quiver, moving on its own as it selected another broadhead arrow, just in case...

Wes followed after the elk, blowing on the horn once again, but this time, he let loose with one long blast followed by two short ones and finally a note that he held for as long as he could. The hunt was on again, and the elk had been driven south!

From downstream, carried on the cold air, came the sound of answering horns. The knights and squires had crossed the creek below the rapids, exactly as Erling had directed, and they were driving south along the far bank, their horns adding to the wall of sound that funneled the elk toward the hollow where Owain waited.

Reynold pulled his horse alongside Erling’s, breathing hard, as he rested his spear across his shoulder. The shaft had a fresh crack running along its length from where it had met the elk’s antlers, but there was a brightness in his gray eyes that looked suspiciously like joy.

"Well done, Baron Fayle," Reynold said, and there was no condescension in it, no qualifier, no trace of the skepticism that had colored his earlier comments about Erling’s peaceful border. For the first time in all the years he’d known the youthful-looking baron, he felt like he’d met the real Erling Fayle, and he was impressed.

"We should follow," Erling said, already turning his horse south. "If it breaks the line again..."

"It won’t," Reynold said with more certainty than Erling could manage. "You’ve taken the fight out of it with your second arrow. It’s bleeding now. It’ll run south until the hounds and the hunters corner it, and then Lord Owain will have his kill."

"Reynold’s right," Wes said with a wide smile on his face as his horse clopped along the trail leading back to the rest of the small group of lords. "If you listen, you can hear the hounds. Now that they have it again, it won’t be so easy for it to get away, and there’s nothing as convenient as the rapids between here and the hollow where Owain will face the elk."

"You won your battle, Baron Fayle," Wes concluded. "Relax for a moment and enjoy your victory."

"I would," Erling said, finally lowering his bow and letting the tension flow out of his arms, back, and shoulders. "But look there," he said, pointing at a wineskin bobbing against a boulder where it had become caught in an eddy. "How can we celebrate our victory when someone’s gone and lost the wine?"

"Maybe we’ll be lucky," Reynold laughed. "Maybe Lord Owain brought some to share when he claims his prize. He should at least offer you a toast for what you’ve done here."

"I don’t care for that," Erling said, shaking his head as he wrapped humility around himself like a huntsman’s camouflage cloak. "So long as the hunt isn’t spoiled and Lord Owain isn’t upset with me for bloodying his prey, I’m content."

From the creek bank behind them, a sodden and miserable Serge Otker sputtered as he hauled himself out of the water. His fine clothes were ruined, his horse long gone, and his dignity floated downstream alongside his empty wineskin.

"A little help?" Serge called after them, his voice cracking as he shivered in the cold.

"Tulori," Reynold said, frowning at the scholarly young lord. "Why are you still sitting on your horse while Serge is struggling in the mud? Help him up! The two of you can share a horse to ride to the hollow; it isn’t that far."

"You want me to..." Tulori started to protest until he saw dark clouds gathering in Reynold’s stormy gaze.

The rugged lord from Aleese was a true knight of the frontier. He wouldn’t care about being muddy or wet, and if Tulori protested that having Serge Otker ride behind him would ruin his clothes, he was certain that the older man would only laugh at him. The result, however, wouldn’t be any less miserable... maybe it would be even moreso.

"Give me your hand, Serge," Tulori said as he slipped off his horse and strode over to the mud where the Otker heir was struggling. "And hurry up. If we take too long, we’ll miss it when Owain fights the beast that did this to you," he said.

"What? No!" the portly young lord exclaimed as he found a sudden burst of strength. "I need to be there when it dies! I want to see it suffer for this... this... this insult," he sputtered as he gestured to his mud-stained finery.

"I need to see Lord Owain take revenge for me!"