“Our village was towards the eastern end of Lord Gerrint’s lands, surrounded by rolling hills. To go much further would take a traveller into the untamed mountains, where ogres were amongst the least of the dangers: at that time, we thought the mountains impassable. The power of the king had been shaken by the War of the Three Twins, and Lord Gerrint could pretty much govern us as he liked. We knew that there was a king somewhere, but who he was and what he did had nothing to do with our lives.

  “One summer, the call came out for hunters to come from every village in the barony. We were to meet in two weeks time at the edge of the great forest at the other end of Lord Gerrint’s holdings. We called it the Copperwood, but I’ve been told that it has been given other names in other places. It seemed like the tales of a great beast rampaging through the forest were true, that this beast was a monstrous boar, and that it was heading in the general direction of Lord Gerrint's lands.

  “The three of us sent out to the hunt journeyed to the south-west, and found Lord Gerrint’s barony growing flatter and richer as we went. I have heard it said that a man always considers his fellow better off than himself, but we were walking past fields filled with thick, golden wheat ears growing in deep and dark soil. We rested overnight in barns better constructed than most houses in our village. The very sheep and cattle seemed plumper and stronger.

  “As to the people... well, for the most part they were good to us, especially when they knew where we were headed. But often, as we would approach a village come the evening, we would be given suspicious looks. Our clothes were decent for home and perfect for a journey on foot, or so we thought. But the further we went, the more we saw finer woven cloth, dyed and expertly stitched together but worn as everyday wear. For a little while, we thought it maybe was some trick, that they were putting on their finery deliberately to show us up, or we’d arrived at the start of a feast. But soon we realised it was no trick, and our clean, serviceable, but worn and patched clothes began to seem shabby.

  “Those we met seemed to look upon us as bumpkins at best. We soon learned to watch our mouths, and not comment on the paved roads, the two-storey buildings, the dressed stone that we came across. We did not wish to give further fuel to their opinion.

  “If we hadn’t been given fresh equipment for our journey, I feel sure that we’d have been locked up for vagrancy long before our destination. Torrea and I had a refashioned boar spear apiece, thick shafts made from ash, oiled head and cross-piece protected by a removable leather casing. Gwilm had been given a dozen newly fletched arrows, which he wrapped in cloth and carried next to his bow. Each one of us had also been handed a freshly woven cloak at our leaving. As Chlora, the village elder, had remarked to us, a good cloak can cover a multitude. We spent several days wondering what she meant by that, but by the time we reached the first town and tugged the cloaks tightly around our fraying tunics we had found out.

  “I was the youngest of the three by some way. Gwilm had six years on me, a wife and several children waiting for him back home, and had spent much of the week between the summons and our departure out hunting. Thanks to him, much of the village had been eating meat that week, and in return they were to keep an eye out if his wife should need it. She was a excellent trapper in her own right. Even with three young children, she would need no help looking after herself, but Gwilm doted on them all and fretted constantly while we were away.

  “Torrea was older again, possibly nearing forty at the time, although I wouldn’t put a stake on it. She was the only one of us who had been this far from the village before, having signed up to fight for Lord Gerrint (or possibly his father) during the war. Our barony had avoided the worst of the fighting, but even so (I was told) she was the only fighter who had returned to the village. The story went that she and her man signed up together, or one followed the other. Either way, she’d left him buried in a field somewhere, and nobody else had measured up for more than a night or two since then. Frankly, before we left the village, she scared me. On the other hand, neither Gwilm or I would have made it to the assembly fields without her shepherding us, talking to the locals on our behalf, and telling us to stop acting like we’d never seen carriages before.

  “We hadn’t, of course. Wagons and carts, yes, but not ones just for people to ride in. It seemed like a waste of horses.

  “Come the evenings, Torrea also gave me some guidance on how to use a spear. I’d used spears before on the hunting parties sent out from the village, but they’d mostly been lighter than this heavy polearm and I’d never progressed much beyond ‘stick ‘em with the pointy end.’ Maybe that would be enough for this Boar, but as Torrea said, if that were all it took, why the big fuss? What she taught me was mostly about how to fight against another person (herself), but I reckon it prepared me more for what was coming.

  “On the afternoon of the eighth day of travel, we reached the assembly fields.

  “I call them fields, but to me it looked like somebody was trying to start a village of their own. In the centre stood a handful of large, brightly coloured tents, big enough to be houses in their own rights. Around them were a selection of other shelters, ranging from cream canvas stretched between poles down to ramshackle shelters made from sticks and cloth. There were wagons trundling, horses being exercised, hunters bringing in game to contribute to the bubbling pots of stew. There was laughing, shouting, singing, the ringing of a smith’s hammer from somewhere in the chaos. The noise was like that of our own village, but more: everything just that bit louder, that bit faster, as if trying to make up in volume what this new village lacked in age.

  “A man in a mail byrnie and conical helmet stopped us before we could enter into the camp.

  “‘You ‘ere fer t’unt?’ he asked us, eyeing up our weapons and clothing. ‘Where’s youse come from?’

  “Gwilm waved his arm in the general direction of our village, which was also the same direction we'd walked up to the camp from. The guard just laughed.

  “‘Yeah, I c’n see that. Youse go to t’untmaster in’t white tent wi’t green banner outer it. Let ‘im sort you.’

  “He waved us into the camp, but I could feel his eyes watching us to make sure we did as we were told.

  “The huntmaster’s tent was in amongst the brightly coloured pavilions at the centre of the camp. Each of these tents flew pennants from poles jutting out of the fabric, bright colours and fantastical beasts that were to wander in and out of my dreams for the next couple of nights. The very largest tent was striped black and yellow, and adorned with golden bears. I already knew this as the design of Lord Gerrint. Between it and the huntmaster’s tent lay an open space in which a gathering of men, and a few women, clustered around a table. They wore an assortment of fine clothes and practical hunting gear, but all studied the map on the table with serious intent. A large man with a thick black beard covering up a slashed green doublet pointed, gestured and spoke as they nodded in thought.

  “We weren’t to get close enough to hear what was said. A man, whose face seemed to be made up of angles and scars and who wore a badge of the same green as the bearded man on his tunic, met us at the edge of the open space.

  “‘Newcomers? You just about got here in time: we start at dawn. Where you from?’ He looked down at a scroll of parchment clutched in one hand and frowned at it as if willing the letters to make more sense.

  “‘Our village is eight days journey away, before the mountains.’ Gwilm again pointed back the way we had come from.

  “‘Yes, what’s its name?’ the man asked impatiently, reaching into his belt pouch for a stick of graphite.

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  “Gwilm looked back at me and I shrugged at him. It was just the Village. Other places needed names because they were Elsewhere. It might seem strange, but it was only just occurring to us that for this man, and many others, it was our village that was Elsewhere.

  “Luckily, we had Torrea with us.

  “‘Consfoot,’ she stated. Now she said it, I had heard the name before, but I’d always thought it was the nearest fell. Nevertheless, the man nodded and peered hard at the parchment for some time before carefully marking it with three short scratches of the stick.

  “‘Find yourself someplace to sleep tonight. There’s a communal kitchen over there, and a smith if your weapons need sharpening, though I expect you’ll have to wait. In the morning, you’re in Sir Alnier’s party. I’ll tell his serjeant to expect you,’ he must have seen our blank expressions, for he added, ‘White bird on a blue field.’

  “That camp was my first experience of that sort of place. I’ve been in many army camps since and although my status would become very different, there was still a feeling of shared endeavour. However, that night we were mostly unaware of what was taking place, except in the broadest sense. We found a place to eat our food and rest for the night, chatted to a few of the groups around us, but remained ignorant of what the dawn would bring.

  “We awoke early the next day and quickly became swept up in organised chaos. People were grabbing a last meal, pulling down shelters, checking weapons and armour, shouting, running about, ordering. We kept an eye out for Sir Alnier’s sigil (after it was explained to Gwilm and I that there was not an actual blue field nearby), but there was no sign of it. In any case, it seemed that the gentry were taking a more leisurely approach to the morning: their tents remained unstruck, although a few serving men began to walk in and out of the flaps. For our part, the three of us tried to keep ourselves useful. Failing that, out of everyone’s way.

  “It was mid-morning, and most of the outer camp had been struck. Like us, most of the three score assorted hunters and levy were now standing about, beginning to grumble with impatience. Finally, we saw a line of men-at-arms in mail leave the central tents. The five most grizzled carried various pennants, Lord Gerrint’s foremost and Sir Alnier’s in fourth place. They marched through the camp, separating into five groups around each banner. Those of us who had been waiting gradually drifted towards our assigned party.

  “Soon enough, there were fifteen of us in Sir Alnier’s party, clustered around a scowling, tall, thin man who had a mail byrnie patched and repaired so that the rings reflected the sunlight in varied fashion. This, it turned out, was not Sir Alnier himself, but rather his serjeant. He explained that each of the five parties were to head off into the nearby Copperwood in search of the Boar’s trail, follow it, and confront the Boar. Every man in the triumphant party was to be given the equivalent of one silver coin. The man who was to strike the killing blow another five on top. He told us this, very firmly suggesting that such a blow was to be delivered by a member of Sir Alnier’s household should we be the party to find the Boar.

  “The plan seemed so simple and obvious that I assumed there must be some co-ordination we weren’t being told. Our own village put more thought into its hunts, and there were never more than seven of us in a hunting party.

  “The serjeant began to question us. He regarded the three of us doubtfully at first, but grunted in what might have been approval when he inspected our boar spears. When asked about our experience, Gwilm took that as a cue to tell him about the ogre.

  “‘...So, still little more than a boy, Ulthunc lured the ogre into a firepit and burned it alive!’ I opened my mouth to correct him, but was beaten to it by one of the other men-at-arms.

  “‘Clever! But that won’t work this time, my lad.’ I was annoyed at being dismissed so casually, but he seemed to mistake my frown for confusion. ‘You never wondered why it’s called the Incandescent Boar? The whole thing burns the woodland around it. No way you’ll be killing that with fire!’

  “By that point it was becoming obvious even to me that the increasingly irate serjeant and his two companions were killing time waiting for the arrival of Sir Alnier. One by one, the other hunting groups had set off. After Lord Gerrint had left the camp, with the large black-bearded man that I assumed was the huntmaster, the brightly coloured tents began to be taken down by the servants who remained. One faded blue pavilion remained untouched.

  “Midday passed. The serjeant had long since moved us beneath the shelter of a spreading oak tree and then given us permission to eat a meal. He sat on a rock, glowering. The rest of us grew equally quiet, following the lead of the two men-at-arms who had sat next to a pair of woodsmen they seemed to already know. When the tent flap opened, the serjeant shot to his feet. The rest of us scrambled to follow suit.

  “Sir Alnier emerged blinking into the afternoon light. He was a large man, florid in face with a drooping moustache and meticulously clean shaven chin. Unlike his men-at-arms, Sir Alnier seemed determined to hunt the Boar wearing no armour. The clothes he had instead chosen were fine but stained with wine and grease. A blue doublet strained against his protruding belly and held the remains of the knight’s own midday meal. His hose were presumably once white, but now were decorated with a brown and burgundy mottling. The shoes were well made and sturdy, but old, and I couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since they were last worn. A wide-brimmed straw hat such as a peasant might wear perched incongruously on his head.

  “Sir Alnier ambled up to us cheerily and addressed his serjeant:

  “‘Aha, Tomlines!’ This was not the serjeant’s name. Unfortunately, although I did know the serjeant’s name, all I now remember was that Sir Alnier called him ‘Tomlines’ without fail and that, whenever he did so, the serjeant’s face would twitch.

  “‘Tomlines!’ Sir Alnier began again. ‘Good to see you all ready and raring to go! We must be off: don’t want the others to get a head start on us, eh? We want some of that glory for ourselves, don’t we, my lads?’

  “We gave a half-hearted cheer. Despite our waiting for so long, Sir Alnier had a jovial, friendly manner, and it seemed rude not to. The serjeant didn’t join in.

  “Sir Alnier now having arrived, we assumed we’d be on our way, hot on the heels of the other four groups that had set off a mere three hours earlier. But Sir Alnier stood in front of us, merely raising his arms slightly while a small page buckled his sword belt around his waist. I wasn’t certain, but I thought I could hear him humming to himself. Only when three servants, one exceptionally well groomed and the others carrying heavy packs, emerged from the blue tent did we set off. The tent itself, it appeared, was to remain standing in the otherwise abandoned assembly field.

  “Finally, we entered into the Copperwood. Not-Tomlines sent the couple of the woodsmen in the party ahead of us. I think it was more in the hope that they could encourage a fast pace than through necessity. We were still only in the outskirts of the wood and the trees were small and widely scattered. The undergrowth had already been trampled by one of the other parties. Nevertheless, the two woodsmen were forced to frequently pause and wait for the rest of us.

  “Next came Sir Alnier, at a very unhurried stroll. From behind, I could see his serjeant’s shoulders tensing up at the lack of progress. The two other men-at-arms followed, then Sir Alnier’s page, steward (who looked very unsuited to take part in a hunt, and picked his way extremely carefully through the trees) and the two servants weighed down with baggage.

  “Last of all came the remaining ten of us hunters and other levied villagers who had been attached to Sir Alnier’s group. We hadn’t been given particular instructions by the serjeant or Sir Alnier and trailed along in groups of three or four. Gwilm looked at the group of four, who were bringing up the rear laughing and chatting amongst themselves at a safe distance from serjeant not-Tomlines, and glowered in disgust.

  “‘We’re better’n this!’ he complained to me and Torrea. I must have looked puzzled, because he continued, talking to me directly: ‘That lot look like they’re out for a jolly, same as His Knightship. The other three,’ he pointed with his thumb ‘are taking it seriously, but they don’t know woods!’ Now he’d mentioned it, I could see them looking around themselves, tripping, making more noise than they should. ‘That man of the huntmaster put us in the fools’ group!’

  “Torrea rolled her shoulders, and shifted the weight of her boar spear. I was reassured to see that she seemed unbothered by this.

  “‘I wouldn’t worry about it. The others will find the Boar long before we get anywhere near it, so we’ll just tramp our way through the Copperwood for a few days before heading back home.’ Gwilm opened his mouth to protest, but she continued. ‘Trust me, it’s safer this way. No glory, but there never would be for the likes of us. If that little huntfollower wants to underestimate us, more fool him, I say. At least this way, we’re out of the danger. You’ll be back home to your wife safe and sound.’

  “Ahead of us, Sir Alnier stopped, and looked around him. Those of us behind him concertinaed up into a huddle behind the steward. The woodsmen up ahead noticed, and looked back quizzically. The knight removed his straw hat, revealing patchy white hair, and fanned his perspiring face with it.

  “‘Yes, Tomlines,’ he nodded, as if the two of them had been chatting. I heard the serjeant’s mail clink slightly as his name was forgotten again. ‘I think this would be an excellent spot for our evening meal!’

  “We’d barely travelled for two hours. Sir Alnier’s servants hurried past the quivering serjeant and began to set up a cooking fire. The two men-at-arms shared a look. Torrea smiled broadly.

  “‘Yes, we’re well out of any danger!’”