Boar are High level Enemies.
The placid gelding that needed a walk this morning was not the nimble mare I rode now. The destrier stallions were not kept in this castle but at that little arena pitch over the valley. Out of windage…
The Pontifex rode a gelding, I a mare. The mare had blinding white splashes on her hooves and belly to tell any observer that she was not pure white, but rather cream or champagne colored. Perhaps to make the rider (me) appear the more brilliant by contrast. The Gelding appeared white at distance but had nearly imperceptible Grey spots and flecks that made him look more like a foggy shadow up close. I wondered if the effect was to be the same.
Both horses healthy and tall coursers. Eagerly they responded to the Pontifex and I as we began to trot along at the horses’s natural cantering trot instead of a human’s dismal trudge.
And the Pontifex began to accelerate a little bit, I suppose he had a schedule to keep. I knew horses could get burned out, so to speak, but had only heard about it with respect to the odd historical battle.
I wondered if he would swap horses or take a break in a bit.
I traveled down the valley and by a few desolate farms in the mountain air, following down the little mountain streams until they pooled together into something resembling a river.
I could almost feel the air getting thick and humid as I descended to the little curls of smoke I had spotted for many days implying a village or town.
Through a stand of birch trees that annoyed my horse, over a little hill with a tamped gravel path, and I had thought I had finally gotten lost when I stumbled upon a cobblestone road that turned into a town.
Population…
Well it couldn’t be very many, it was practically a neighborhood. A neat grid of little homes along one main road that curved around a hill that bore a tower much like the pontifex’s back at my castle.
A neigboring hill sported a wooden sign in disrepair that said “Stoneleven Mine” next to a hole carved into the hill. Wood and stone and gravel lay about a tamped and trampled meadow nearby.
My horse started at a gangly piglet, not yet fat that sported a cloth ribbon tied in it’s ear that hurried in front of it’s feet.
Two dreary wooden taverns or longhouses flanked me, and I turned round the tower to find myself at a three way crossroads.
The rest of the town was better put together, mainly stone and dried clean wood, the first buildings had given me a poor impression. But this really wasn’t a poor town.
Stone roads, nice religious structure, straight organized homes and shops along a wide open road that split three ways.
Who’s pig was that and what was it doing out here?
I rode to the center of the road and took a look around,
Horseties, good, empty food stands, odd, no people…
Strange.
What was going on?
The piglet scampered under a food stand. Then I saw it.
A wild boar, hooves on a barrel gorging itself on fresh and marketable looking sweet potatoes. It’s orange snout oblivious to me.
Ohhh…
Perhaps the people had fled…
Really? Not a single person to frighten the pig away?
A trail of destruction followed the boar, streamers, tablecloths, a conspicuously clean pie tin or three.
The boar had spoiled todays craft fair?
And what a boar… I had no clue how big boar got, 200 lbs? 400 lbs?
I don’t know but those tusks were healthy and sharp.
As big as my thumb? Two of my thumbs?
Hairy, I wondered how coarse.
Smoke curled out of a few chimneys, so the town was not deserted.
I looked at windows, and found them all covered behind drapes or shuttered.
The horse clopped nervously to a horse tie, I wondered why it associated them with safety, a horsetie would not save it from a boar, and the boar, well it was still below the weight class of a horse. Not that my horse should tangle with it any more than a cell tower should tangle with the bulldozer.
Or the key bridge with a foreign vessel…
The little piglet ventured into the wake of the big pig and licked at scraps.
I hopped off the horse and tied it to the horsetie.
Then with a cocky assurance that the boar would run, I whistled at it few times.
At first it ignored me but I saw that ear flick.
I whistled again and approached it.
Wait a minute what was I doing?
I wasn’t wearing chain-mail, it could gore me.
It probably weighed more than me.
The little piglet squealed and ran away from me, it’s little ribbon ear fluttering.
Fear is the mind killer and any creature recognizes confidence. So I didn’t stop myself and continued to approach the boar, drawing my sword and raising it over my head.
It looked directly at me, as best it’s wide prey eyes could.
I whistled and took another step forward, stopping about twenty feet away.
That must have been the wrong move, it sensed fear as I stopped and through an orange nose filled with sweet potato stuffing it squealed, charging me.
I sidestepped with an easy shuffle and caught it in the thigh with my sword.
That was a big pig. Almost pulled me over but my stance was good, the Lion sturdy, my sword sharp it parted deep into the pig’s leg as a knife through… meat…
Was hunting boar this easy? I suppose the risk was that I didn’t step in time. Didn’t land my blow. The boar was supposed to be a mean creature that would spitefully strike you again and again until you lay dead carrion for it if you showed weakness.
Much like a man.
But now it hobbled away, it’s squeals of rage turning to squeals of pain. Did it know it’s life was over? Over in an instant? Even if it escaped the flies and their maggots and the bugs and the fungus and the forest would have their way with the crippled beast.
How sad, I hoped the piglet wasn’t watching.
Pardon me, maybe I’m wrong, I hope that piglet is watching, and is wise enough to know what it just saw. Maybe that ribbon is embarrassing among the wild hoglets but in my opinion a life of humiliation beats becoming dinner.
Suppose that’s why I’m still alive.
I was on top of the beast, it had given up running, it’s inertia carried it and it had flopped to the ground in anguish it’s eyes wide with a silent rage, or was that peace and understanding? Rage and understanding? Judgment?
I stepped out of it’s view and holding my sword I lined up a neat piercing stab into the back of it’s skull.
A cheer rose up and I realized that a few people were standing in doorways.
“What noble warrior is this!?” A women’s voice asked.
“Get him a drink!” Yelled a man,
“How much for your beast!” Said the butcher.
That was clearly a butcher.
I was thirsty, but they probably didn’t have spring water here.
Beer was water wasn’t it?
My horse awkwardly looked at me wondering how I had summoned all the noisy people. Villagers, The people who ignored the gruesome bloody scene of a stupid boar charging into the machinery of civilization.
Had it learned to charge people?
They were supposed to only do that when cornered I had thought.
I guess If charging people got me candy I would have learned to do so as a child.
People crowded around and a butcher pushed his way to the front.
“Butcher prepare this beast, I want the people of this town to enjoy it if possible!”
A cheer rose up.
I became aware that for every man in this town there were at least five women, unless you counted children or old men.
Then I suppose it would be one to four?
But then I was not sorting the women by age as I was the men.
One to three?
“O Swordsman?.”
A familiar voice. My wife… what was she doing here.
I turned to look for the voice, and there she was, practically next to me, in a frumpy robe and a plain dress. She bore the white staff, in the open. I wondered if the people around me even knew what it was.
“What are you doing here?” I asked over the din of people asking who I was and which noble house had saved them the trouble of boar.
“I suppose we are both here on business?” She asked. The town grew silent as the two of us spoke. Our noble words were just more important, it would not do to miss out on this drama unfolding.
Now what was a proper story for the small folk to believe of their queen and king, and my queen was not dressed as a queen. Though I may be dressed as someone noble. How awkward.
“Show me your business woman!”
The town laughed.
The Dove Incognito chuckled. “Of course O lion you had sent your loyal maid to go investigate our noble late quartermaster’s estate!” I had not, but that was a pretty great yarn. It sounded important.
“Well have you?” I asked.
“You make it sound urgent!” She protested.
“Well?!” I asked the people. “Has any waylayer delayed my agent?”
That was better, now they were nervous and muttered among themselves instead of staring at the Dove and I. For a moment I feared they would follow us all the way back to the bed chamber. It really is so inconvenient to speak only in public, but I suppose I had learned a bit of that skill in the past life.