One
Leannis Men Darnak
shifted uneasily on his padder. The
beast snorted, sensing the repositioning of the Principal’s weight and took a
step forward. He pulled back gently on
the reins, stilling the animal and reached down, almost automatically, to check
the spear haft slotted into its leather case at his right. Behind him, Sandon Yl Aris sat astride his
own padder. The man would take no part
in the hunt, but Men Darnak liked him around.
He never knew when his aide and advisor might pop up with something
useful. Another beast snorted and
stamped. Men Darnak gave a quick glance
toward the offending animal, eyes narrowed, then turned back to scanning the
grassland below.
The suns were beating down upon the
plain, the weather warm, and the Clear Season grasses riffled in a gentle
breeze. There was no movement apart from
the soft waves prompted by the stirring of the air. Somewhere down there lay their quarry,
hidden. The chuckah, a fleet-footed
quadruped, bristle coated, liked to root around in the grasslands, digging
through the dry earth in search of insects and other tasty morsels with its
nasty curved tusks, tusks that could rip the belly out of a padder or man just
as easily. He reached for his spear
again, tracing the shaft softly with the tips of his fingers. On foot, once they’d chased the beast down,
nothing stood between the man and those tusks than the tempered hardwood length
of his spear. There lay the challenge.
Men Darnak had brought the boys
along for this hunt. It would do them
good to see the test, to learn the ways of the chuckah; their time would come
soon enough. Roge and Tarlain, though
Tarlain was barely old enough to ride his animal, would learn from this. He glanced back to his left, checking on the
boys. Roge, as usual, was trying to
emulate his father’s seat upon the padder, his back straight, his gaze fixed
upon the grassland below. Tarlain
fiddled with his reins and fidgeted. He
made to say something to Roge, but Roge stilled him with a grimace, and the boy
settled back. Back at home, on the
estate, their sister waited. There was
no place for a girl on the hunt, but sometimes Men Darnak wished that their
characters had been reversed. If Karin
had been here, there would have been no fidgeting or complaining. He nodded to himself grimacing as he pushed
the unwelcome thought away, and turned back to watch for signs of movement.
The ground in front of them rose to
a low hill, and beyond that, forest, tall and sturdy ajura trees spaced across the rise.
If a chuckah broke, it would race for the trees and Men Darnak was
already plotting a path in his mind’s eye.
It was more dangerous chasing through the trees, the spiny branches
whipping out in front of a racing padder, hard and sharp enough to impale a man
if he didn’t take care.
There, down below,
a hint of something stirring in the grasses. Back behind them, came the noise of a
vehicle. Groundcar or groundbike, he
didn’t care. It was something to disturb
the stillness of the moment and he pressed his teeth together tightly, losing
his concentration for a moment.
There! A flash
of movement. A
brindled back cutting through the grasses. With a cry, Men Darnak spurred his padder
into action, one hand looped in the reins, the other holding his spear
aloft. The padders weren’t the fastest
of animals, and the chuckah was fleet of foot.
He had to move if he was going to cut it off before it reached the tree
line.
Men Darnak kept his eyes on the
beast, not even glancing back to check the boys were okay. He could hear their own
animals pounding down the slope behind him.
He urged his padder faster, whipping through the grasses, the smell of
freshly crushed vegetation and damp earth around him, marking the track of the
racing chuckah. The beast knew they were
after it now. For an instant, he lost
sight of the low back, but then, a flash of movement. The chuckah was breaking for the right,
heading straight for the trees. He
leaned forward, seeking more speed where there was none. And then, the chuckah was out. It tore up the slope and darted between two
massive shiny trunks and was lost from view.
Men Darnak growled, pulled at his reins and swung his padder toward the
tree line, kicking its flanks to urge it faster.
Leaning low on the animal’s back,
Men Darnak followed into the trees, swerving and leaning out of the way of
threatening spines. There, up
ahead. The sound of
something moving through the dim light off to the left. He slowed his wild charge. Pulling the beast back to a
gentle walk. Behind him, came the
sound of other animals, the boys, a couple of the
men. There was nothing for it now. They would have to stalk the chuckah. Dotted through the damp gloom lay clearings,
broad grassed spaces. Men Darnak only
hoped he would have the fortune to come across the beast in such a space. By the Twins, he was not going to return
empty handed. He slowed his animal even
more, then drew it to complete halt, listening. A slight breeze stirred through the trees,
bringing with it the scent of old earth and the tang of ajura. Flexing his fingers around the haft of his
spear, he waited.
A shout off to the
left, somewhere through the trees, then a cry. It was one of the boys. The shiny trunks reflected sound, distorted
it deep in the forest, and it was hard to tell which of his sons had cried
out. His teeth bared, he kicked his
padder, and wheeled it toward where he thought the sound had come from.
“Back!” yelled someone. It was clear enough—Sandon’s voice.
He urged his animal forward, faster,
heedless of the sharp spines threatening to knock him from the animal’s back.
“No, Roge, stay where you are!” Sandon’s voice again.
The light grew as he reached the
source of the sound, and then he was out, into a clearing to be confronted
with…
Tarlain, his youngest, sat pressed
back against a tree trunk, his knees drawn up in front of him, a look of wild
panic on his face. In front of him stood
Sandon Yl Aris, his hands stretched wide.
Yl Aris had no weapon. He was
merely along as advisor and aide, not expected to take any part in the
hunt. Off to one side stood Roge,
watching on, without even a spear in his hands.
His weapon sat sheathed, still up on his animal and across the other
side from him. And in the center stood
the chuckah, its flat, bony head swiveling from one to the other. At Men Darnak's emergence, it turned, pawing
at the ground, seemingly confused by the array of targets.
Men Darnak was off his padder’s back
in an instant, his spear held high. The
chuckah turned its dark gaze on him for a moment, then thinking better of it,
swiveled its attention back to the immobile Roge.
“No, Principal, stay back!” said
Sandon.
The chuckah took a step toward Roge,
stopped, clawed at the ground. Men Darnak knew if he moved too quickly, the
beast would charge, and Roge was exposed, naked, completely unprotected. He hefted his spear, thoughts racing. It was too far from where he was. Besides, the animal’s bony hide left few
places for and accurate strike.
The chuckah took another step.
“Here!” yelled Sandon. “Here!”
He waved his arms.
The beast turned.
“Arghhhh!” shouted Sandon through
bared teeth.
And the chuckah charged.
Sandon Yl Aris kept his arms wide,
shielding the boy behind him looking on in terror. The chuckah pounded across the intervening
space and launched itself straight at the man.
Knocking him from his feet, clawing at him and
whipping its tusks back and forth.
Tarlain scrambled around the tree, away, out of sight. Yl Aris held the animal as a task tore into
his shoulder and he cried out.
Men Darnak needed no further
prompt. He charged across the clearing
as Sandon wrestled on the ground.
Lifting his spear high, he saw the spot, plunged it down and deep,
slipping between the armored plates. The
beast screamed, high, piercing and Men Darnak
twisted. It screamed again and fell beck
off the man beneath it, raking one clawed paw across Yl Aris’s chest. Men Darnak pushed his full weight against the
spear, driving it down and deeper, pushing the chuckah, writhing back onto the
ground. It groaned, deep, shuddered,
twitched once, and was still.
Men Darnak stood slowly, glancing
over at Roge. The boy hadn’t even
moved. He just stood there, a blank
expression on his face.
Quickly, he turned to Yl Aris who
lay on the ground, an arm pressed against his wounded chest, a grimace of pain
on his face.
“Thank you, Yl Aris,” said the
Principal. He stooped, looking at the
man who had just saved his boys. The shoulder
wound was deep and nasty. “Thank you,”
he said again.
“There was nothing else to do,” said
Yl Aris through gritted teeth.
Men Darnak shot a glance at his
eldest son as he helped Yl Aris to his feet.
“Oh, there was much else that could
have been done,” he said quietly. “Let
us get those injuries seen to.”