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the golden boar.
    As the drawbridge bumped its way down, Aidan peered over the low wall into the moat below. A tangle of large alligators wallowed and writhed over one another. But none was as big as Samson. Father is right, Aidan thought. Samson will have plenty of alligators to boss. He could see that the floor of the moat was sand rather than stone. Its gentle slope created a sandy beach where the alligators could sun themselves. There were also a number of sandbars and logs, which the larger animals had reserved for themselves. Aidan tried to guess which spot Samson would stake out when he was released into the moat.
    One of the alligators in the moat snapped its jaws in Aidan’s direction; Aidan flinched involuntarily. The guard standing near him smiled and winked. “Just be glad youaren’t the one who has to clean that place out,” he whispered.
    The bridge finally dropped into place. At the far end, just inside the castle wall, waited Wendell, the royal gamekeeper. He was a red-faced, blustery man who always smelled like campfires. Aidan knew him from his many hunting trips to Longleaf.
    “Welcome, welcome,” he boomed. “Glad you’re here. I’ll take this big fellow off your hands—Samson, isn’t it?—and get him ready.”
    Now Wendell addressed Samson directly: “You’re as big as they said! Come along, now. King Darrow is going to be glad to see you. He’s got big plans for you!”
    And with that, Samson was wheeled away. Hostlers led the horses away to the stables, and the steward showed Errol and his sons to their apartments. There they rested until sundown, when the treaty feast was set to begin.



Chapter Nine
The Treaty Feast
    The bright blast of a herald’s trumpet sounded from the great hall throughout the keep of Tambluff Castle. The hour of the treaty feast had come. Across the courtyard, Aidan was admiring the new robe his father had given him for the occasion. He had never worn such finery. The bright blue cloth was thick and heavy between his thumb and finger, but soft and so smooth that it shone with a satiny sheen.
    The cloth was woven from cotton grown on Longleaf Manor and dyed with indigo grown only a few feet from the spot where the Errolsons had captured Samson. But these robes were a far cry from the rough homespun cloth that the Errolsons were used to.
    Errol straightened Percy’s robe on his shoulders, then stepped back to admire his five sons. “Look at you,” he said, half whispering. “The flower of Corenwald.”
    “I only wish your mother were here to see you, grown men all.” Errol bit his lip and turned quickly awayfrom them toward the door of the apartment. “The feast is beginning. We should go.”
    Stepping into the courtyard from the stairwell, Aidan and his brothers were astonished at the sight of what they took to be a parade of Pyrthen nobles making their way toward the great hall. They were dressed in richer clothes than the Errolsons had ever seen—richer even than the robes King Darrow wore when he visited Longleaf. The Errolsons’ robes were made of the finest cotton, but the other feast-goers were dressed in silk, satin, velvet, even fur, though it was a blistering Midsummer’s Day.
    The courtyard was a riot of color as the evening sun glinted off the shiny satin and silken robes of red, pink, yellow, blue, green, orange, and purple. The sleeves of the noblemen’s gowns were so voluminous that their richly embroidered cuffs nearly dragged the paving stones of the courtyard. Behind the great men trailed yards of extra fabric, in some cases carried by servants so it wouldn’t drag. Their heavy gold chains clinked like tinker’s wagons when they walked.
    Their extravagant dress was downright comical. But the Errolsons soon realized that these men weren’t Pyrthens at all. As they stepped into the courtyard, they began to recognize faces in the crowd: Lord Selwyn, Lord Bratumel, Lord Halbard, and his three sons. These were Corenwalders! Suddenly the