Fallen Embers (The Alterra Histories) Read Free

father’s orders and had split off from the main group.
    To his delight, he had been the first to spot Turoc’s great, limping form, head down, pulling at the tender herbs growing near a thicket of thorn-bushes. He sounded his royal hunting-horn and charged toward the boar with his three companions, all of whom had arrows already nocked.
    Turoc raised his huge head in alarm, gave a great, startled squeal that sounded more like a bellow, and ran into the thicket, disappearing from view. Undaunted, Aruin urged his horse forward, using the trampled vegetation to guide him. His powerful bow was ready, and his companions were close behind.
    He knew how dangerous Turoc was, and he slowed to a more cautious pace, looking all around for his quarry. His heart was racing now, and not just with the thrill of the hunt. Come on, you ugly nightmare! Show yourself, he thought, just before a flurry of alarmed cries and frantic, irregular hoof-beats told him that Turoc had charged in from behind. Aruin cursed his carelessness—this tactic was well known.
    He wheeled his horse about in time to witness the disarray behind him as three panicked horses reared and plunged, screaming, while the massive bulk of Turoc rooted and lurched among them, swinging his massive head back and forth. Two of the archers were unhorsed already, though one had managed to place an arrow in the great snout before the crushing weight of one of Turoc’s massive hooves silenced him forever. Turoc gored one of the horses, who fell, thrashing, on top of the other unfortunate archer. The third was nowhere to be seen; apparently she had been borne away by her terrified mount.
    Aruin drew his powerful bow, knowing that his best chance at killing the beast was a shot to the eye, but his horse was so distressed that it jostled him, spoiling his aim. The shaft went wide, grazing the boar’s cheek to lodge in the left forearm. With an outraged squeal, Turoc slammed into Aruin’s mount, throwing both horse and rider hard onto the ground.
    Turoc turned, seeming to know that he could take his time, as Aruin’s horse struggled to its feet. Picked for beauty rather than steadfastness, it turned and trotted off after its two surviving fellows. The Prince lay dazed with his broken bow beside him, helpless, the tiny red eyes of the great boar fixed upon him. Later, Aruin would swear that the ugly, panting jaws twisted into a wicked grin just before it charged.

    “It’s not bad enough that you leave your post, but you force me to leave mine. Just wait until I find you,” Tarfion muttered, cursing his irresponsible brother yet again. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you were the son of a…of something other than our mother!”
    He had followed Tarmagil straight toward the hunting party, but pulled up short as he arrived just in time to witness the fall of Prince Aruin in the distance. To his horror, a hulking mass of enraged muscle, pawing and snorting, faced the fallen Prince—Turoc, the demon-boar, was obviously preparing to charge! He could also see Tarmagil running toward the scene, his broadsword flashing, but knew he would never make it in time.
    I’ve got one chance …thought Tarfion, frantically pulling an arrow from his quiver and nocking it. The shot was long—impossibly long—and across the wind. He had no time to wish his younger brother, Turanen, widely acclaimed as the better archer, could take the shot for him. He had no time to think at all—he simply drew back, took aim, held his breath, and released. He was already preparing his second shot when the first one struck Turoc in the left eye. The beast kept charging straight for the Prince, who had regained enough of his faculties to realize his predicament but not enough to move out of the way. The second shot buried itself immediately behind the boar’s left elbow, piercing the black heart. Turoc appeared to have had his legs cut from under him, falling like a stone, and Aruin had to scramble as