Posted in Posted by Jules Verne

Chapter 2: The Hunt and the History Lesson

Prince Sorrin rode up the hill with his shoulder length auburn hair flowing behind him and his hunting spear ready. Occasionally he would bend low to the ground to find what he was looking for. Boars run light, and this one was no exception. It seemed that though the ground was wet and soft, the hoof prints were becoming more difficult to make out.

He laughed softly to himself when he thought of the other hunters searching in vain in the woods for the animal that he was about to claim as his own. He fingered his trumpet hanging at his side and then stopped. No, he wouldn’t signal the others. He would bring it in himself.

His happy thoughts were short-lived, for when he arrived at the peak of the hill, he saw one of his father’s sows grazing contentedly at the grass. He dismounted from his horse, and picked up a small rock.

"What are you doing here?" he said, tossing it at the pig. "Go back home and stop ruining the hunt!"

He was suddenly aware of someone behind him. "Talking to animals now, are we, young Prince?" laughed a voice.

Sorrin turned and saw his manservant, Sordoin. "It’s not like that, Sordoin," he said. "I thought I was chasing a boar."

"Well then, it’s a good thing you know the difference between a boar and your father’s best sow," said Sordoin, still laughing under his breath. "You might have killed her and brought her to the dinner table all proud and victorious-like."

Sorrin said nothing, but turned and looked toward the west, where the sun was about to set behind the tall hills, casting a long shadow across the valley. Stories of this place filled his mind and he forgot all about the hunt.

"What is the name of this hill again?" he asked Sordoin.

"Mass Rin," said Sordoin gravely. "The Hill of War. Here, long ago, a great battle was fought between our ancestor, Saor, and the Rasnonim. There was ever a enmity between the Rasnonim and us Saorlings."

Sorrin nodded and looked west at a mountain, shining blue above the green hills.

"And that is the mountain where Saor is buried?" he asked.

"No one knows for certain," replied Sordoin. "Saor died right after the battle, and it is said that he was either buried there or he was set in a boat and sent down the Nar River, after the fashion of the Ancient Kings."

"And what became of his sword, the Sarilan?"

"It was given to Horanas, the Annwyn king of Linaar, for saving Saor’s son Raliminan, who is your grandfather."

Just then, a horn sounded. Sorrin slapped his forehead. "The boar!" he cried. "The others must have found it." Then, wheeling his tall bay around, he galloped off to find them.