The Falconer's Daughter, Book 1

Chapter 6 - Part 2

After a day of sun the fog returned, rising from the valley beneath the peaks, rolling up over the hills to blanket the morning in a thick wet cloud of gray. Cordaella was released from her work early and decided to ride. Elisabeth, overhearing Cordaella's plans, asked to join her. They rode through the edge of the woods, the forest opening onto the meadow between Buxton and Bakewell before narrowing again into a dark thicket of trees.

Elisabeth was the better rider, fearlessly flying over stumps and fallen branches, leaning forward on her horse's neck for balance and speed. Cordaella was able to keep up, but she hated traveling so fast when the fog lay low and thick, trees disappearing into the mist, shrubs shrouded in white. Cordaella pictured ghosts, and spurred her horse on, watching Elisabeth vanish into the mist, as if another spectre.

And then Elisabeth screamed, a terrible cry that pierced through Cordaella. Cordaella clenched the reins as Elisabeth's screaming continued, a high horrible peal of terror. Cordaella could only charge blindly into the mist, following the screams and the frantic nickering of Elisabeth's horse. "Oh God," Elisabeth sobbed as Cordaella heard something else, something that sounded frenzied, furious. Like a wild pig. Boar. She had seen dogs gutted by boars and horses with bellies ripped open. If Elisabeth was cornered... "Where are you?" Cordaella called, straining to see familiar shapes in the fog.

"Help me, oh Cordy, help!" Cordaella could just make out a burgundy skirt, and ducked her head to ride beneath the low bare branches. "Cordy, it is too awful," Elisabeth sobbed, "my horse—"

"Where is it?" Cordaella called.

"There, in the bush," she said, her voice quavering, "but the boar...it's staring at you, Cordy, it might charge again."

Cordaella reached up to snap off a brittle tree limb. She could make out the black bristles of the boar now, its tusks nearly as long as her forearm. "Get on," she said quietly, keeping her eyes on the wild pig, "I can't ride any closer." Elisabeth dashed towards Cordaella, her deep red skirts tangling in the undergrowth. The boar grunted and lowered its head. "Quickly," Cordaella urged, "it's going to charge again."

Elisabeth was grabbing at Cordaella's saddle, her damp hands slipping on the leather. "I can't," she sobbed. Cordaella tried to scoot forward, reaching down to give her cousin an arm. "Careful," Cordaella gritted, straining to pull Elisabeth up. "It's coming!"

She didn't know how to ride and protect them. She knew that if they rode, the boar could still charge them, destroying the horse and leaving both Elisabeth and her vulnerable. She would fight, then. She watched as the boar's black head lowered, its small red eyes focused on the horse's forelegs. Cordaella lifted the tree limb over her head, tensing, waiting. And then she swung, bringing the branch down with all of her strength. She heard the pop and the branch exploded into three pieces, flying out of her hand. She had merely grazed the boar's head, and it hesitated for a fraction of a second. Elisabeth kicked the horse hard, so hard that the mare lunged forward, sending the two girls forward.

"Hold fast," Elisabeth panted, kicking the horse again. She had taken the reins from behind Cordaella and Cordaella grabbed handfuls of mane, leaning against the mare's neck as Elisabeth whipped the horse into a hard run. They galloped through the last of the meadow and into the acre of wood before Peveril's gates. Cordaella could hear Elisabeth's muffled tears and she felt as shaken. The attack had all been so sudden, so unexpected. Cordaella had forgotten the danger in the woods.

"My horse," Elisabeth said, trying not to sniffle.

"I know," Cordaella whispered, grateful to see the guards swing open the huge iron gates for the girls. "I am so sorry."

Elisabeth pulled up on the reins, slowing the mare to a canter and then a walk. "Thank you." They rode up the sweeping drive, the brown dirt cutting between the green lawn. "Visitors," Elisabeth said, seeing the ring of eight horses at the stable door. She rubbed any trace of tears clean and unfastened her cloak's collar. Beads of water clung to tendrils of her dark blonde hair. "Their colors look foreign," she said. "Whose banner is black and yellow?"