Cracked Hooves

Join Philippot, a Noble of Marmontier, as he and two of his peers take none other than Master Elisha along on a hunt on horseback. Written in 48 AS.

 

I am no Hunter, nor am I accustomed to writing a report like this. However, Master Elisha has asked me to write down what happened, and as I owe them my life, I have decided to do as they wish.

 

I am Philippot, Noble of Marmontier, scion of the House of Moscuter. Alongside the Houses of Sanveil and Copestre, my House has maintained the safety of our land and the traditions of our god Vimout ever since the Coming of the Beasts. We watch over our people, we extol the virtues of a life lived in vimout, and we slay the Beasts that stalk the land in service to the Dark Ones.

 

Two days ago, I was saved by a Hunter of Fenblith.

 

In most regards, it began like any other routine hunt: one junior member of each of the three Houses joining forces to ensure the woods around Marmontier are clear. We gathered at the Gate of Feathers, which belongs to the House of Sanveil. Waiting for us was a crowd of onlookers surrounding the imperious Yvonnet of Sanveil, dressed in the green field of her House’s coat of arms, stitched with two silver falcons flying above a silver hound. Also arriving was the ever eager Guion of Copestre, dressed in his House’s silver field stitched with a purple goblet. I myself was wearing my House’s field of blue, stitched with a silver skeletal arm raising high a golden banner. Underneath our tabards we all wore brigandines; coats with small plates of steel stitched into them.

 

We were joined by two Hunters, namely the esteemed Master Elisha – reported to be the best swordfighter the Hunters have ever seen – and their gigantic protege, Douglas. They were both guests of the House of Moscuter, permitted by Sanveil and Copestre to join our hunt as observers.

 

It is here I should explain, for any Novice Hunter who might read this during their training, that we Nobles hunt on horseback. I realise it is a peculiar custom, not understood by most foreigners and outright rejected by some, as horses need a lot of food and are at risk of becoming Beasts when they die. But it is our way, and you may rest assured that every possible precaution is taken to keep our steeds as safe as possible.

 

Our mounts were dressed in protective cloths called caparisons, decorated with our coats of arms. My steed was white, Sanveil’s chestnut, Copestre’s black. As our guests, the Hunters had been provided mounts by the House of Moscuter. I must imagine they felt uneasy, but they managed to keep themselves visibly calm, if not comfortable. Their horses were siblings, which seemed fitting, both of them a pale grey. The caparisons were black, two uncoloured training pieces having been dyed for the occasion.

 

The Hunters made quite a spectacle as we gathered. Between the grey steeds in black caparisons and the Hunters’ own black gambesons and grey steel armour, they were a spectral sight, as if riding out of some peasant’s midnight tale. This was helped by Douglas’s appearance. Master Elisha draws little attention to themselves, surprisingly slight in build and restrained for someone of their reputation. Douglas, by contrast, is larger than anyone I’ve met, his hulking frame covered in slabs of muscle, his perpetually frowning face half-hidden in a ruddy beard. The thought that he is several years younger than I is a queer one.

 

Sanveil and Copestre reclaimed the onlookers’ attention soon, though, performing the traditional Presenting of the Blades – in which each Noble presents their Starsteel weapons – with much flair.

 

Sanveil presented a hunting sword with a broad, wavy tip, as well as a slender longsword called an estoc. Copestre presented a hunting sword with a spring-loaded crossguard near the tip, as well as a rapier paired with a parrying dagger. I presented my spear, also featuring a small crossguard near the tip, as well as my sidesword and the iron bands encasing my off-hand to the elbow.

 

With that, we were ready to proceed. After a shared prayer to Vimout that They might look upon our efforts and favour us with Their grace, the hunt could begin.

 

The Gate of Feathers being the domain of her House, Sanveil rode in the middle, Copestre to her right, I to her left. The Hunters rode behind us, having been given spears similar to my own to keep any Beasts at bay, but made of regular steel lest they steal the kill, at the insistence of Copestre. They had left their firearms behind at the demand of Sanveil, who looked down on such weapons. But they did carry their Starsteel sabres, neither Noble having been able to part the Hunters from their blades.

 

We had no particular quarry, this hunt part of our constant rotation of hunts to keep the outskirts of Marmontier free of Beasts. As such, we sat relatively relaxed, talking amongst ourselves. We all spoke Deltastrait, neither hosts nor guests wanting to seem rude by using their own language, but the conversation was rather starkly split in two. Sanveil, Copestre, and I exchanged politely veiled barbs, as is our way. Between jabs, I could hear Master Elisha and Douglas speaking pleasantly, evidently enjoying each other’s company. I was tempted to drop back and join them, but that would have been unseemly.

 

Including the Hunters in general conversation, however, would be fine, and thus when I heard Douglas remark on the crossguard on Copestre’s blade, I quickly turned in my saddle. I explained the crossguard was intended to keep Beasts from running down the sword’s length and injuring the wielder, adding that the same went for Sanveil’s broad and wavy sword tip and our spears’ crossguards.

 

Somewhat solemnly, Master Elisha responded that they knew some Hunters who would have benefited from similar technology, as they and their pupils used a straighter version of the standard Hunter sabre, which went much deeper in the thrust. However, they added, sabres really weren’t made for such additions, as it would ruin their cutting. Sanveil tartly responded that perhaps Master Elisha should replace their sabre with an estoc, then. Douglas bristled, but remained quiet as Master Elisha, unfazed, dryly said that they would be sticking with the blade they had spent decades mastering and teaching, for now.

 

With that, the conversation split in two once more, Copestre twisting Sanveil’s attention to how his blade had taken much more skill to create than hers while Master Elisha and Douglas, untrained riders, fell slightly behind. With the Hunters out of earshot, I had no recourse but to pray to Vimout to give me a Beast to distract us.

 

My prayer was soon answered: a peculiar shape glided onto the path. It had once been a fox, though it had a bulky, almost bulbous form now. Wings sprouted from its back, but they were too small for its body, only capable of turning its leaps into short glides. A hawk’s head rose from the Beast’s back between the wings. Confoundingly, it squawked as Copestre spurred his horse with an excited whoop, setting the Beast running.

 

Sanveil and I spurred our mounts, too, rushing after Copestre. I cast a look over my shoulder to see if the Hunters were following. They were, but at no more than a trot. For a moment I worried for them, but then I settled into my duty, trusting them to take care of themselves.

 

The Beast was quick enough, but not nearly as fast as a galloping horse. With a triumphant laugh, Copestre thrust his hunting sword down at the Beast’s back. But at his roar, the Beast twisted aside, leaping up and over a small ditch and gliding beneath the trees.

 

Copestre cursed as he stopped and turned his horse, but Sanveil and I rushed into the woods well before he could follow. The Beast having gone to the right, Sanveil was slightly in front. Beyond her, I saw the red-brown-and-white shape of the Beast leaping and darting between the trees, the hawk head screeching as we kept up our pursuit.

 

The sound of hoofbeats behind me told me that Copestre was approaching. Unwilling to let him overtake me and cut off my chance at striking, I veered to the left and let my horse come alongside Sanveil’s.

 

We barrelled through the woods, dodging trees, stumps, and ditches. As I saw the Beast glide up once more, a thought struck me. I reversed my grip on my spear and hefted it, poised to throw. Copestre yelled in protest, but I felt Vimout smile as the Beast leapt between two trees and the sun caught on its back. I threw my spear…

 

And missed entirely. I grasped at it as I galloped past, but I was unable to lift it from the ground and was forced to draw my sidesword. Copestre laughed as he came up alongside me, Sanveil ignoring both of us and rushing on.

 

She peeled off slightly to the right as a clearing beckoned a short ways away, growing with every breath. Her horse deftly ducked between two trees and made a graceful turn into the open space, rushing at the Beast from its flank. Sanveil leaned sideways and thrust, the Beast’s fox and hawk heads yelping in unison as her hunting sword struck its rear, sending it sprawling.

 

Sanveil heaved at the reins, her horse skidding to a halt. The Beast tried to scamper away, but I cut off its retreat as Sanveil dismounted. It turned, but Copestre stopped before it, lowering the tip of his hunting sword threateningly as Sanveil drew her killing weapon.

 

The Beast squealed at the glint of the estoc’s tip, but Sanveil approached impassively, sank into a striking pose, and darted gracefully forwards, skewering the Beast through the heart.

 

It kicked once, then lay still.

 

The horses were slightly lathered, so we elected to give them some rest. Having made the kill, Sanveil named the Beast the Redglide as she roped its body. Copestre was joking she should have thrown her hunting sword instead of thrusting it, but I ignored the bait. Having stowed my sidesword, I contemplated retrieving my spear, but decided I could get it on the way back. Instead, I just waited for Master Elisha and Douglas to find us, letting my eyes glide around the clearing’s edge.

 

I noticed an overgrown structure where the forest crowded against the grass. Although a small building, only a few paces across, I was still left wondering how it had gone unnoticed for so long. I pointed it out to Sanveil and Copestre.

 

It was a tiny chapel of Vimout, utterly dilapidated. Ivy vines choked the masonry, clawing across the leaded windows and into the mortar holding up the overgrown stones. The lintel was cracked and stained with moss, the roof sagging and ruptured. The once burnished bronze goblet atop the chapel was dull and filthy, failing to shine through the verdigris. Light cast through the holes in the roof to brighten the interior, falling across the altar and the cracked wine barrel behind it in dappled shades. It fell across something else as well.

 

Starsteel rang as we each drew our killing weapons. The figure remained still. Sanveil called out to it, but there came no response. We approached together, our weapons’ tips aimed down the chapel’s entrance at the shape slumped against its altar.

 

It was a corpse. And as we neared it, we realised it wasn’t just any corpse, either. It was the body of a Noble of the House of Sanveil.

 

It had been there for a while, largely decayed and covered in filth, but the green tabard was unmistakable, its silver falcons and hound still daring to shine through the pall of death.

 

Sanveil was horrified, stowing her blade and stepping into the chapel to kneel next to the body, checking it for something that might reveal its identity. I asked if any of her House had recently set out without returning, but she didn’t respond as she went over the entire body and came up short. She rose, then turned and said she didn’t understand, her face full of worry.

 

Then worry turned to shock as her eyes caught something behind Copestre and I, sending us spinning around.

 

It must have been the dead Noble’s mount, once, but it was a horse no more. Its head reared at us with a mouth full of teeth like tombstones. The muscles in its neck had stretched and bulged, partially swallowing the head to form a serpentine whole. Its body was massive and bulbous, barely covered by the caparison, the green field stained in different shades of brown, the saddle missing. The legs had splayed and bulged beyond belief, making the Beast’s body stand lower to the ground on trunklike limbs. Its hooves were cracked into thick and jagged claws, no sign of the horseshoes left.

 

Copestre and I leapt aside as the Beast’s maw snapped at us, a distorted whinny rumbling in its throat. Sanveil drew her sword again and dashed forwards to throw a thrust at the horselike head, but the Beast dodged the attack with a twist of its snaking neck and snapped its jaws shut on the centre of the blade. It wrenched it from Sanveil’s hand and sent it tumbling aside.

 

Copestre and I regained our footing and attacked, thrusting into the Beast’s flanks. But as we struck, it spun so that it faced me, the tips of our swords scraping away along the caparison. It shifted its weight and kicked Copestre in the chest with one cracked hoof, the leg angling like no horse leg ever should. As it did so, its maw rushed at my face. I managed to get my iron-banded forearm between the Beast’s jaws, but as I tried to chop at its neck it spun away, wrenching me off my feet and into Sanveil as she tried to pick up her weapon.

 

We rolled across the forest floor, the chapel to our side. Copestre was gulping for air, the kick clearly having done serious damage despite his brigandine. Sanveil pushed me off of her and crawled towards her sword, but the Beast set one of its forelegs on her back. I was still holding my sword and stuck it out in front of me, but the second foreleg struck it from my grip, Sanveil groaning as the Beast’s weight shifted. It bit at me again, viper-quick, and again I only just managed to get my iron-banded arm between myself and death.

 

The Beast held me, this time, leaving me trapped. I desperately struck at its head as I felt the steel around my arm buckle, but it didn’t so much as flinch. Sanveil was stuck, struggling to breathe. Copestre fared no better, clutching at his chest.

 

Then suddenly the Beast let go and turned around. Sanveil sucked in air as my arm began to throb. A spear stuck from the Beast’s rear.

 

Master Elisha and Douglas rushed across the clearing, their mounts left behind. Douglas had hurled his spear with impressive skill and strength. Master Elisha now tossed him their spear and told him to protect us. Douglas caught the weapon and veered off to go around the chapel, using the ruin to avoid the Beast as Master Elisha drew their sabre.

 

The Beast shook itself, dislodging the spear. Then it reared, its head snaking forwards, and let out a mighty roar. There were traces of the horse that it once was, but more than that it was a bursting, echoing cacophony, rooting me to the ground. Master Elisha was unfazed, though, and rushed forwards.

 

It was then, in that lingering moment between the Beast’s roar and its attack, that I truly saw the Master Hunter. Gone was the muted, grey, slight person I had brought with me on the hunt. Across the clearing ran the spirit of the Hunt itself.

 

The Beast’s head snapped forwards, but Master Elisha stepped sideways and struck as they did so, forcing the Beast to stay its attack. The Master Hunter then stepped back, goading the Beast to come forwards to attack them. It obliged, snapping and striking with serpentine ferocity as the Master stepped deftly backwards and sideways, leading the threat away from us.

 

Douglas appeared from the trees crowding the chapel. He knelt next to Sanveil, telling her not to move in case something was broken. He then moved on, handing me the spear and telling me to cover him. Somewhere in the back of my mind I registered surprise at being given an order, but I obeyed nonetheless, clambering to my feet and couching the spear underneath my arm, its butt resting on the ground, the tip tracing the snapping Beast as Master Elisha risked their life to give their protege a chance to save us.

 

Douglas dropped to his knees next to the still gasping Copestre. He drew his dagger and sliced through Copestre’s tabard and his brigandine’s straps, pulling both aside and cutting open the shirt underneath. With one hand on Copestre’s chest, Douglas forced him to lie still. With the other, he placed the dagger’s tip between Copestre’s ribs and, ever so gently, pierced the skin. He then stowed his dagger and retrieved a thin metal tube from his pouch, which he carefully pushed into the wound he’d made. There was a hissing sound as Copestre’s gasps grew less desperate. Douglas kept his hand on him, keeping him still as he turned his attention back to Master Elisha.

 

They had managed to lure the Beast into the centre of the clearing. Now, they began to attack as well. Stepping deftly to the side, they struck away another attack of the maw. The Beast turned to give a kick, but the Master leapt back, the Beast’s cracked hoof producing no more than a sharp scrape as it nicked the Hunter’s cuirass. Then they jumped forwards as the Beast spun back, managing to step next to its flank before the head could snake out at them.

 

With a graceless, brutal efficiency, Master Elisha stuck their sabre up into the Beast’s uncovered belly and sawed it free while stepping back again. The Beast howled in agony as ichor poured from it like a blackened waterfall, a foreleg snatching out at the Master Hunter.

 

Master Elisha sprang back, but was betrayed by the ground, causing them to stumble slightly. Even with the wound in its belly, the Beast noticed and attacked, hoping to capitalise on the Hunter’s moment of weakness. But as its maw snatched out, Master Elisha regained their footing and, recovering with astonishing speed, countered with a savage cut.

 

The Beast nickered in frustration. It braced itself, and reared on its legs. Its massive body heaved up from the ground, as if simply ignoring its injury. Its neck arced in the air, its head aiming at Master Elisha. As it lashed the air with its cracked hooves, the Beast let out a thundering, whinnying roar. It felt as if my body locked, every muscle clenching. I can only imagine what Master Elisha must have felt standing so close to the Beast.

 

Which is why I am still shocked they attacked.

 

With a fearlessness bordering on the insane, Master Elisha rushed forwards, thrusting their sword up into the Beast, just underneath the ribcage. The sabre’s curve plunged around the bones and into the heart and lungs, spraying yet more ichor.

 

This time, the injury was more than the Beast could handle. Its roar died in its throat and its body began to sag.

 

Before I realised what was happening, Douglas had snatched the spear from my grip and was rushing towards his Master. With unmatched strength, he rammed the spear into the side of the Beast’s chest, sinking the tip in until the crossguard caught flesh, and forced the dying Beast to drop alongside Master Elisha instead of atop them.

 

Douglas let the spear go as the Beast fell, the pole whipping up as the colossal shape dropped onto its side with a dull and final thud. Quietly, Master Elisha took Douglas’s arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. Then they turned towards me, their eyes stark and ghostly in the black stain the ichor had made of their face.

 

They approached, a spectral figure from a midnight tale, and said they claimed the right to name the Beast they slew, this horse come back to haunt us. They dubbed it the Folly of Marmontier.

 

I felt censured. Embarrassed. But as I looked at still panting Copestre and tensely motionless Sanveil, more than anything, I felt grateful.

 

The Beast was dead.