The road to Everburn Castle was long, but Lord Harriot made the journey feel shorter with his stories. His voice boomed over the sound of hooves against dirt, carrying across his retinue like the bellow of a victorious warlord—at least, in his own mind.

  “…So there I was, gentlemen, bare-chested, soaked in ale, facing the biggest damn boar you’ve ever seen. I swear to you, its tusks were as long as my arm! The beast had already gored two hounds, and it was coming straight for me. Any lesser man would have turned and run, but not I, no! I stood my ground, grabbed the first thing within reach, and—"

  Lord Harriot swung a triumphant fist through the air, his voice swelling with theatrical weight.

  "—wouldn’t you know it, I had a whole roast ham in my hand! I’d grabbed my lunch of all things. The boar, the poor bastard, it hesitated! It looked at me, looked at the ham, and in that brief moment of confusion—BAM! I took my chance. Grabbed the second thing nearest me, which mercifully was my dagger. Drove it right through its skull! One strike! A perfect kill!”

  The men around him roared with ughter and cheers, though whether from genuine admiration or well-practiced sycophancy was unclear.

  “Damn fine story, my lord!” one knight bellowed.

  “One hog for lunch and another for dinner.” another chuckled.

  Lord Harriot grinned, his broad, square-jawed face beaming with self-satisfaction. His golden beard caught the sunlight, his fine furs and armor gleamed, and at that moment, he was convinced that no man in the kingdom was his equal.

  Then, beside him, a dry voice cut through the revelry like a knife through fat.

  “Truly inspiring, my lord,” said Qyngmi Glycerine, perched atop a lean mare, his jester’s bells jingling softly with the horse’s trot. “Perhaps the boar was frightened because the ham had been a close retive?”

  The men ughed again, this time with a little more honesty. Lord Harriot threw an arm around Qyngmi’s shoulders, nearly pulling the smaller fellow from his saddle.

  “You mock me, elf, but do you know what that boar’s head is doing now?” Harriot grinned. “Mounted right above my dining hall, watching over every feast I hold. A constant reminder that Harriots do not back down!”

  “Truly, a fitting punishment for one’s enemies,” Qyngmi said, adjusting his jester’s cap so it sat neatly atop his long ears. “The boar gets to witness an endless parade of ham, venison, and pheasant—none of which it can eat.”

  Another round of ughter rippled through the men. Lord Harriot ughed the loudest.

  Ahead, the castle of Everburn loomed rger with every hoofbeat, its jagged towers cutting into the sky like bckened fangs. The ughter lingered, but the air had shifted. The time for stories would soon end.

  The real hunt was about to begin.