‘Who is he?’
‘He does everything for her.’
‘Does he have a name?’
‘He’s the steward. We just call him “sir”.’
Stanislav sighed. ‘I expect you do, you worthless pig-faced coward. Go. Go and do what you have to do.’
Pigface shuffled away, and they watched him go to the end of the corridor, turn right towards the guard room.
‘Why does she want you scared?’ asked Stanislav.
‘Because I stood up to her. Now she wants to break me.’ Dalip squared his shoulders. ‘I…’
‘All men break, eventually. There is no shame in that. All men: there is no one who ever lived who could not be taken beyond what they could endure. Now, this boar. It will try to knock you down and gore you. Stay on your feet and away from its head. The front end is very dangerous. When you get the chance you must stab it in the arse.’
Dalip blinked. ‘I have to do what?’
‘Stab it in the arse. It will bleed to death quickly. It may even take just one blow.’ He shrugged. ‘It is what wolves do. Attack from behind, rip out its arse.’
‘You have got to be joking.’
‘No,’ said Stanislav. ‘This is no joke. Wild boar can kill people. If you do not wish to be one of them, then you must—’
‘Stab it in the arse. I get it.’
‘Do not hesitate.’ He put a hand on Dalip’s back and began to guide him down towards the pit. ‘Show no fear. Now we know that is what she wants, the less she gets of it, the more you will hurt her.’
‘Right.’ Dalip’s mouth had gone dry, and his palms sweaty. He waved them down by his sides to dry them. He could hear a commotion from the guard room: raised voices, something banging against heavy wood, and a most awful, high-pitched shrieking that cut straight through his resolve and left it in tatters.
‘Remember: it is nothing but a brute animal. It will act on instinct, while you can out-think it.’
Dalip wasn’t so sure. The dog had been one thing, sprung on him almost before he’d had time to work out what he was going to do. This was different◦– this was deliberate, planned, and he was a willing participant, no matter how much his situation had forced him into it. He was growing almost light-headed.
‘Breathe, boy. Breathe slow and deep.’
That was it. He was hyperventilating. He caught himself and put his hand to his chest so he could count the space between inhaling and exhaling.
He was in the drum-shaped pit, and the geomancer and her steward were looking keenly at him, trying to gauge just how close he was to begging. He wasn’t going to do that. Not today. He breathed in, counted to five, breathed out. Stanislav was with him, staring belligerently up through narrowed eyes at the woman.
She leaned over to confer with the steward, their voices too quiet to hear. He nodded and scratched at his chin thoughtfully. Dalip wondered what was more important than his fight, and possible death.
Pigface came into the pit and threw his knife down on the ground at Dalip’s feet. He was sweating as much as Dalip was.
‘This one’s a bit lively, if you take my meaning. We’ll be having pork one way or another tonight.’ He was more confident now, with others behind him, backing him up.
Dalip scooped up the knife, even though he could barely hold on to the haft. He clenched his fist over and over.
‘If the boy kills it,’ said Stanislav, ‘it should be his to give to whoever he wants. His risk, his reward.’
‘His reward is that he lives, Slav.’
‘And what is your reward, Pigface? The chance to be a bully?’ Stanislav spat at him, the gobbet of saliva arcing through the air and landing squarely on Pigface’s boots.
‘I should—’
‘Make me lick it off? Yes. You should. But you are powerless.’ He jerked his head at the geomancer. ‘She is the only reason we are still here.’
‘Stanislav?’ said Dalip.
He ended his confrontation with the guard with a dismissive gesture, and turned to Dalip.
‘You will be fine.’ He slapped his big hands on Dalip’s shoulders, nearly causing him to drop the knife. ‘Remember to move, to strike, to finish it quickly. It will charge you: when it is past, then it is vulnerable.’
‘I can’t do this.’
‘You can and you will.’ Stanislav grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him close so that their foreheads were touching. ‘This will be over in less than a minute. Then we can continue to plan our escape.’
Dalip nodded, and watched the man’s broad back disappear through the door. Pigface was directing two other men, shoving a rickety crate towards the pit. The crate was shuddering and jerking side to side with each lunge of the dark shape within: the shrieks of the boar and the taunts and slaps of the men combined to create an unholy cacophony.
The crate was pushed through the door. One of the men took a crowbar to the planks, while his mate stood outside the door, hand poised on the latch.
Dalip took one last opportunity to wipe his hands, and resumed his grip on the knife. He bent his knees slightly, readying himself for the onslaught.
The geomancer raised her hand, glanced at the door, and it slammed shut, just as the crate began to disintegrate. A black snout jammed through the slats, forcing them apart. When it pulled back, the wood cracked and splintered.
The guard turned for the door, and if he hadn’t realised it was now barred to him before, he did in that moment. He threw himself at it, scrabbling for purchase that just wasn’t there and wailing to be let out.
The geomancer leaned forward, as if it was the most interesting thing she’d seen all day, and the boar, with a frenzied energy, reduced the rest of the crate to shards. It stood there for a second, quivering with rage, while it took in its new surroundings, and charged the nearest enemy.
Which wasn’t Dalip.
He shouted a warning, but the man wasn’t even looking in his direction. The crowbar, the only weapon the man might have feasibly used, lay forgotten on the ground, while the man banged uselessly against the thick door. He was trapped in a short tunnel with a beast that filled it widthways.
It took him down by slashing its tusks through his calves, then just kept on going, shaking its head left and right, cutting and cutting him into bloody ruin.
Dalip ran forward, over the broken remains of the crate, and just like he’d been told, rammed the knife blade up to the hilt under the boar’s squirming tail. Just like he’d been told, he twisted the blade, and just like he’d been told, dragged it out sideways with as much force as he could muster.
From rooting around in the still-screaming guard’s body, to turning on Dalip, was almost instantaneous. Its sheer bulk belied a speed and agility of an animal half its size. Its head went down and it rushed him. Dalip jumped clear, springing back and sideways. It was dripping blood from its snout, but it was pumping it from the other end.
They were in the pit proper now, Dalip balanced on the balls of his feet, hand and knifeblade shining wetly red, the boar, bristles caked in gore, its deep-set eyes murderous. But nothing could disguise the thick trail of spatters and splashes that marked the stone floor.
It came at him again, slower, misstepping, uneven, and Dalip spun away again, leaping aside and letting the beast ram the wall with its thick skull.
He could have stabbed it again, in the time it took it to recover, but he backed away, carefully avoiding the sticky ribbons of blood on the ground.
The boar limped around, breathing heavily, trembling with effort now, not with anger. It staggered, its forelegs slipping underneath it. It rose and made a drunkard’s walk towards Dalip, who circled away, forcing it to follow.
Halfway around, it sagged to the floor, shivered all over, and didn’t move again, save for the slight rise and fall of its ribs. Once. Twice. Then nothing.