The shaggy-bulls had not been content to merely kill, however, they had obviously continued to savage their victims long after life had fled, and the results were hideous. Giliahna could only lean weakly against the high cantle of her saddle when she had retched up her stomach’s contents—nor was she the only one. The prince himself, though he was no stranger to the sight of death and mutilation, was pale of face and grim.
“Sergeant Poorahbos,” the prince called to the old spearman, who stood staring down at what the beasts had left of the man, “should these folk be buried or burned? What would they have preferred?”
Djaimos Poorahbos whirled and trotted over to snap to before the mounted noble, his stance proper and his spearbutt grounded. Tears streamed down his clean-shaven cheeks, but his voice was firm. “My lord, these folk were pawns to no priests. They should go to Wind.”
Prince Djylz’s voice softened. “Stand easy, Djaimos. You knew this man well, didn’t you? He was a friend, and an old soldier, like you?”
Poorahbos’ left foot moved forward and sidewise a precise eight inches and his two big callused hands clamped about the spearshaft, which he had allowed to cant at a thirty-degree angle from his body. “My lord prince, Imit Dyuh were senior sergeant-major of the Fourteenth Confederation Lancers, and the finest man as ever forked a horse for all the twenty-four years he served, till he took a poison arrer in his lef arm and the flesh-tailors had to lop half the arm oft. And’t’won’t be another like to him for a High Lord’s lifetime, I trow!”
After having the bodies placed within the empty cabin to protect them from further ravages of the birds and other scavengers, the prince ordered the party on, following the clear trail of the murderous monsters, but more slowly and as silently as possible. The hunters and farmers were fanned out well in advance of the mounted men. Nor did they have far to go.
Less than a mile from the scene of slaughter, one of the younger hunters came sprinting back. “We have found them, my lord.”
From a laurel thicket on the crest of a hillock, the men could look down into a grassy vale, through which tinkled the clear waters of a spring-fed brook. In addition to the shaggy-bulls, the herd had been increased by two orange-and-white milch cows—looking diminutive beside the dark, hairy, wild behemoths.
The old sergeant wormed closer to the prince. “My lord, those be poor Imit’s cows. Most likely that’s why he tried to drive off them damned critters.”
Prince Djylz just nodded, eyeing not the harmless domestic animals but their savage and deadly kidnappers. The big bull was an awesome sight—more than six feet high at the withers, his flaring horns black as crow’s wings and at least two yards from tip to bloodstained tip. An attempt had been made sometime recently to hamstring him, but the blow had been delivered too far back on the ham and without sufficient force to cleave to the tendon. Nonetheless, the massive bovine had sustained a gaping wound; his tail whisked continually at the flies buzzing about it. The pain of the injury certainly had done nothing to improve the bull’s temper, but the consequent loss of blood just might serve to slow him a bit.
The younger bull lay halfway down the slope and appeared to be either dead or very near to death. The face and head looked badly burned, and blood was still seeping from at least two places on the deep chest. Even as they watched, the stricken beast raised its head and tried to rise, then a great gush of blood spouted from gaping mouth and distended nostrils, the head fell with a thump onto the bloody grass, the legs jerked and twitched a few times, and dung and urine gushed from the relaxed sphincters.
The two wild cows and the heifers grazed contentedly on the tender grass. The calves apparently had been twins, since both were nursing from the same cow. She was two-thirds the size of the big bull, though her horns were neither as thick nor as long, even allowing for her smaller size. The barren cow might have been her twin, so close was the armament and overall resemblance. One of the heifers was much like the cows, but the other had no horns at all, only bulbous knots where they should have been.
Back again with the main party, the prince described what he had seen. Some of the younger nobles requested leave to ride down and slay the bull with lances and spearwork, but Prince Djylz curtly denied them.
“Vender’s no mere boar or stag to be stuck, gentlemen. They’ve already wiped out an entire family of decent, loyal farmers, and they’ll add none of my noblemen to their tally, if I can prevent it. No, our good hunters and my lady will slay or cripple as many as they can with arrows fired from the top of the hill. Then, and only then, will the rest of us descend to dispatch or pursue if the animals flee. Persee, I leave the capture of the calves to you; Sir Hyruhm, Sir Djahn, you and your lads assist the count.”
Giliahna’s first shaft drove into an eye of the horned heifer and pierced to the brain; the beast dropped like a leaden weight and the remainder of the herd continued to graze peacefully… but not for long. In courtesy, the trio of hunters and the two other archers had waited for the princess to loose first. Their own shots, when loose they did, were not so fortunate.
One shaft went completely through the sagging udder of the nursing cow, narrowly missing the white calf beyond— whereupon the prince, sitting his horse a bit behind the line of archers, swore sulfurously. Another went into the nose of the hornless heifer, which then commenced to run about, bawling piteously. One, apparently aimed at the throat of the grazing bull, missed entirely when the beast raised his head; two sank to the feathers into the flank of the great beast, just behind the right shoulder, and bellowing, he slowly sank to his knees and began to exhale bloody froth.
At that point, knowing that his nobles would take ill being denied at least a modicum of dangerous sport, and with the largest and deadliest of the animals down and seemingly lung-shot, Prince Djylz kneed his mount between two of the archers and started down the slope at a slow, careful walk. Not caring to risk the goring of the horse, he dismounted a few yards from the stricken bull, drew his heavy broadsword and limped over to stand beside the creature. Gripping the pommel in his left hand, the old prince brought the battle-blade whistling down with all his strength to thunk into the thick neck and sever the spine.
When he had cleansed and sheathed his steel, he remounted and rode over to watch the younger men do battle with the two shaggy-cows. Count Parkzburk and his helpers had already roped the white bullcalf and were trying to maneuver a clear chance at the darker calf, while Sergeant Poorahbos and his sons had secured the two frightened, lowing domestic cows.
His spear set for stab or cast, young Baron Kairee of Balzburk set upon the biggest shaggy-cow, then standing broadside to him, her head lowered and her wickedly pointed horns aimed at the calf-roping party. He came at a fast trot, but the cow was faster. In a blur of motion, she pivoted her long, wide, thick body with the grace and ease of a deer. Frantically, at the last possible second, the baron reined aside, nearly losing his seat as the long horn tore through the brigandine protecting his horse from breast to where it clanged against the steel greave buckled onto his jackboot. At this point, he lost his spear and so prudently withdrew.
Prince Djylz allowed his nobles their fun until the second calf had been roped, then he ordered an end. It was a long ride back, and the slain beasts must be skinned, cleaned, and butchered and the hides and horns and meat packed onto the mules brought for the purpose, and he did not really feel well. He had been suffering from a peculiar ache in his left arm for a good part of the day and he could not recall having strained or bruised it recently.
With Poorahbos and his sons to help, the skinning and butchering went far faster and more smoothly. The calves bawled incessantly and fought against the ropes; Giliahna suggested that full bellies might improve their mood and attempts were made to set them to nurse on the cows that had been stolen, but the milch cows refused to cooperate; they wanted nothing to do with the two shaggy-calves.
Tired horses and heavy-laden mules made the return slow. At Poorahbos’ farm, the prince called the old sergeant to him, saying, “I thank you for your guidance and help. Take a quarter of meat and a hide.”