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.

Dalip kept a wary distance, and closed on it from the rear. There wasn’t much blood left to pool, but what there was shone thickly around its hindquarters. He prodded it with the outstretched knife, pushing the point into its hairy back, through the skin and into the fat below.

The boar didn’t move, and he thought it safe to assume it was dead.