Two weeks after the summons arrived, Torren came looking for Alaric.
He found him behind the chapel, trading stick blows with Kellan. Dust puffed around their boots with every step.
"Enough," Torren said. "Put the sticks down."
"We did nothing wrong," Rin called from the fence, just in case.
"Not yet," Torren said. "I need extra hands today. Alaric, Kellan, come with me."
Elaina appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands. "For what?"
"Boars," Torren said. "A big sounder is tearing up fields south of town. If we leave them, they will find people next. We finish them and take the meat."
Elaina's gaze moved from him to the boys. "You bring them back in one piece."
"That is the plan," Torren replied. He looked at the boys. "You watch and carry. You do not get clever unless someone is about to die. Understood?"
"Yes," Kellan said at once.
Alaric nodded. "Understood."
They set out not long after, Torren and two other hunters in front with bows and spears. Alaric and Kellan walked behind, carrying small packs with bandages and spare arrows.
The fields gave way to trees. Light filtered down in broken shafts. Patches of old snow lingered in shadowed hollows.
Torren raised a hand. Everyone stopped.
Ahead, the ground was ripped into furrows, tree roots exposed and muddy. The bark on some trunks was gouged deep.
A heavy grunt sounded from further in.
Torren motioned them forward. "You two, behind that log," he told Alaric and Kellan quietly. "If anything gets through us, you pull people back and run. No heroics unless there is no other choice."
They crouched behind a fallen trunk. Through the gaps, Alaric saw them: four boars, each the size of a small cart, shoulders bristling with thorn‑like spines, tusks long and curved.
"Ugly," Kellan muttered.
Torren stepped out from behind a tree and clapped his spear shaft against the trunk, shouting. The boars snorted and charged.
The first met his spear head‑on. Torren twisted, letting the beast carry itself past while the spear bit deep into its flank. The second slammed into a tree where another hunter had been standing moments before. The man rolled away and came up with his own spear ready.
Arrows hissed in. One boar took a shaft in the shoulder and staggered. Another squealed as a spine snapped under a heavy blow.
It should have been enough.
Then the brush behind them exploded.
A much larger boar crashed out, bristles black and twisted, tusks as long as scythes. Its eyes glowed with a dull, mean light. It was almost twice the size of the others.
"A bristleback," Torren swore. "Perfect."
The massive beast charged straight at him.
Torren braced, but the impact still knocked him off his feet, spear torquing sideways. He hit the ground hard, weapon wrenched from his grip.
The other hunters tried to move in, but the wounded smaller boars blocked them with wild rams and snapping tusks.
The bristleback snorted, churned up earth with its hooves, and turned for another run at the fallen man.
If that hits him, he is finished.
Alaric did not plan and simply acted.
He stood from behind the log, pulled mana fast from the reservoir he had spent two years stretching, and shaped it the way he had behind the shed.
"Creo Ignis."
Fire gathered into a tight sphere above his palm, white‑hot at the center. He wrapped it in a thin aura shell to keep it from spilling, then hurled it with all the strength he had.
The fireball streaked across the clearing and struck the bristleback just above one eye.
Flame burst across the beast's face. It screamed and stumbled, its charge veering off to the side as it shook its head violently, trying to clear its sight.
"Now!" Alaric shouted.
Kellan was already moving. Confirma burned along his legs, he sprinted out from behind the log, grabbed Torren under the arms, and dragged him clear of the boar's original line.
The bristleback tore past the spot where the hunter had been, tusks carving a fresh trench, then slid to a halt, half‑blinded, enraged.
It fixed on a new target.
Alaric.
Great, he thought. That worked too well.
He checked his mana. The big fireball had eaten a chunk, but not even half of his reserve depleted. His training had paid off,there was still plenty left.
The bristleback bellowed and came for him.
Alaric dropped to one knee, slapped his palm to the dirt in front of him, and called, "Creo Aqua."
Water surged across the ground in a thin sheet.
The boar thundered forward. Its front hooves hit the slick patch and skidded. The huge body pitched, momentum carrying it forward. For a breath it was caught between upright and down.
Alaric whispered, "Confirma," and sent aura roaring through his legs, flinging himself sideways out of the path. The bristleback crashed down where he had stood, tusks gouging the soil.
It scrambled, trying to find footing.
Hot breath blasted out of its snout, turning some of the surface water to mist. Steam curled upward around its head.
That gave him one more idea.
He jumped behind a broad, flat stone half‑buried in the dirt. Slapping his palm to its surface, he poured mana into it.
"Creo Ignis."
The rock grew hot under his hand, heat spreading across it like a fever. He pulled away quickly before he burned himself, then pushed his uninjured hand down again.
"Creo Aqua."
A sheet of water spilled over the heated stone.
Steam erupted in a thick, hissing cloud. It rolled out over the bristleback's head and shoulders, wreathed its eyes, and burst into the air in a wide white curtain.
The beast squealed, thrashing, totally blind for the moment.
From inside the fog, Torren's voice barked, "Hit it now!"
He was back on his feet, spear in hand.
The other hunters moved without hesitation. They surged past Alaric, using the steam for cover. Spears stabbed between bristles. One found the gap behind the foreleg. Another bit deep into the neck.
When the fog cleared, the bristleback lay on its side, legs twitching weakly, Torren's spear buried to the haft in its chest.
The remaining smaller boars, already wounded and confused, turned and fled into the deeper forest, crashing through brush in their haste.
Silence fell over the clearing, broken only by heavy breathing.
Alaric let his reinforcement fade. His limbs felt heavy, but he was far from empty. A good two third of his mana still sloshed in the reservoir, buzzing faintly.
Kellan trudged back to his side, cheeks flushed. "You are insane."
Torren yanked his spear free and wiped the blade on the dead boar's hide. Then he walked over to the boys.
"You disobeyed my order to stay behind the log," he said.
Alaric met his eyes. "I did."
Torren's mouth tightened for a moment, then eased. "Next time, shout before you throw fire past my head," he said. "Aside from that…" He let out a short breath. "Aside from that, good work. Both of you."
He turned to the other hunters. "Take what meat you can. Mark one tenth the carcass for the Church. We are not staying in these trees any longer."
Alaric stepped aside as they began the work of butchering.
The smell of blood and hot stone filled the air. Birds started calling again now that the noise was gone.
Torren pointed his spear toward the faint line of the town roofs in the distance. "You see?" he said without looking back. "This is what you are training to protect, boy. Not stumps."
Alaric did not answer. He just picked up a rope to help drag the carcass, feet already turning toward home and toward the next thing the Church would ask of him.