by Myers, Karen
“She’s young, but committed. This is what she wants to do and she has the skills needed. The hounds obey her as they do me. You’ll find her quite competent if inexperienced.”
“But surely her foster-father has other uses for her?” Gwion said.
“He has granted her leave to do this. I can’t speak for it as she gets older.”
He smiled as that sank in. No one would easily displace Gwyn’s foster-daughter on the hunt staff. “The boy is Maelgwn, my foster-son. He’s not part of the hunt staff though he often rides out with us.”
“I think that’s enough for one afternoon,” he concluded. “You’ve added several hours to your day today, coming west from Britain, so I don’t expect you to start any duties until tomorrow. We hunt Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, so tomorrow we’ll only be hound walking. Please be here by dawn for that, tacked up and ready to go.”
He pushed away from the desk and stood up. “I recommend you seek out the tailor Mostyn in Greenhollow, a couple of houses north of the Horned Man inn. You’ll have seen the inn as you went by this morning from the Travelers’ Way. If you see him this afternoon, he should have livery for you in just a few days. Be sure to mention my name for the colors and basic design, and Ifor Moel’s for the bill. Officially, you’re now part of my staff, so if you find yourself with any needs—horses, housing, anything at all—please let me know. I’ll look for you at dinner and introduce you to Gwyn and his staff.”
He deliberately made himself suppress his suspicions and gave them a sincere hand clasp, one at a time. “You’re both welcome here. I’m sure we can work well together and learn a great deal from each other.” Gwion smiled and shook his hand with great affability, while Dyfnallt added a dignified nod.
He walked them out the main kennel gates. They don’t have much to say to each other, he noticed. They may have been thrown together by the timing, but they don’t seem like chums.
George wondered if his mischievous impulse to put Gwion with Benitoe was doing the lutin any favors. He turned and went back to the feed room inside the other entryway to give Ives the background he needed.
He found Tanguy and Huon just starting up the cooking for the evening’s hound feeding. “How’s married life treating you, Tanguy?” he teased, one recent husband to another.
Tanguy blushed as he replied, “It’s a fine thing, isn’t it?” Huon the bachelor rolled his eyes skeptically.
Ives came in from his back room and they returned to their work. “Well?” he said, sitting down at his worktable.
“Well, indeed,” George replied. “They’ve been sent to train here. Both are huntsmen by their own right at home.” He told Ives what he’d learned so far.
“Some huntsmen there are who can learn like this, but others are proud and unwilling,” Ives said.
“True enough, but let’s give them the benefit of the doubt at the start.” George rubbed his face. “I’ll confess I was irritated with Gwion and assigned him to Benitoe, but I should warn him about that. Do you know where he is?”
“I’ll send him to you before dinner,” Ives said. “You should tell the others, too.”
George agreed. He wanted his young hunt staff prepared for, well, he didn’t know what. He expected there was an element of danger in these trainees, though he couldn’t see what exactly they could do. Still, better to put his folks on their guard, just in case.
“What did George tell you about these huntsmen?” Eurig asked Brynach for the second time at dinner in the great hall. His great-nephew sighed patiently and repeated the news George had told him, when he found him with Rhian a couple of hours ago.
“So he’s got you keeping tabs on a fellow that’s, what, several times your age and an experienced huntsman?”
“That’s not how he put it, sir. He said I could learn a lot from him, and I’m sure that’s true. We’re to partner up for a while as whippers-in.”
Two of them from the old world, at the same time. Lludd’s hand was obvious in this, and Eurig knew Gwyn would see it, too. A blind man could see it, and Gwyn was far from blind.
What’s he plotting, he wondered. Would he let Lludd come at him first, after the rock-wights? Or would he bring the fight to him? That wouldn’t be like him—Gwyn always favored the oblique approach.
And then there’s the problem of George, the fellow who can kill the ways. Gwyn would either have to use him, lose him, or protect him, and none of that was yet apparent. The huntsman was going along as if nothing had changed since he returned from Edgewood. Why? That wasn’t sensible on Gwyn’s part. Ah, but then there’s Cernunnos, isn’t there. That’s it—Gwyn hasn’t settled with Cernunnos yet, so George is unresolved until then. I’ll bet that’s what’s happening.
How will this play out, he wondered. Change is coming, and that tends to be bloody.
“See here, nephew. I’m not saying anything against this huntsman you’re shepherding around, I don’t know him. But I want you to promise me to be careful with them. One or both may not be what they seem.” Brynach listened to him attentively. “Watch what they do, especially around the rest of the hunt staff.”
“I will, sir. I’ve already spoken to Rhian and Benitoe about it.”
“Good lad. Treat the fellow honestly, but be cautious about him.”
Eurig could practically see the wheels turning in Gwyn’s head, up on the dais. This was going to be fun. He rubbed his hands together. It had been too long since he’d last seen action, not since the night they’d moved Annwn to the new world.
He dismissed Brynach’s look of puzzlement. “Never mind.” He pointed over at George who’d risen from his seat to greet two strangers at the entrance to the great hall. “Let’s watch.”
George brought the men up to the high table to introduce them to Gwyn, and then to Rhian, Ceridwen, and his own family seated there.
What’s he going to do with them now, Eurig wondered. Oh, the sly dog, here he comes with both of them in tow and a twinkle in his eye.
“Eurig,” George said, “I’ve brought our new guests over to meet you two. Brynach, this is Gwion and Dyfnallt. I’ve asked Dyfnallt to ride with you for a while.”
Brynach nodded to Dyfnallt politely.
“Gentlemen,” George continued, “Please let me introduce Eurig ap Gruffydd and his great-nephew Brynach. Eurig’s estate Taironnen is just north of here and he’s a frequent visitor. Brynach can help you find anything you need. I thought to leave you all seated together this evening to get acquainted. Don’t keep them up too late now, Eurig, hound walking comes early.”
And as neatly as that, he left them there and handed Eurig the job of finding out more about them. I’ve underestimated the man, he thought, and turned to his task.
CHAPTER 4
Rhian sat her horse behind George as they assembled the whole pack for hound walking in the early morning. The sky was dim and overcast, but it wasn’t very cold.
There was little for her to do yet, as the whippers-in moved to surround the pack before Ives opened the kennel gates for them, so she watched the two newcomers, both wearing their old liveries until new ones could be made.
Dyfnallt was dressed in a sober dark gray coat. He was lean and active, and she liked the look of his sturdy horse. Didn’t smile much, or talk much, either. She wasn’t sure what to make of him, someone his age. He made George seem young to her. Brynach, she noticed, seemed to be getting along with him, neither deferring to him nor instructing him unnecessarily. It’s a knack, she thought, the way he handles all sorts of people. She could learn, watching him.
Gwion was a puzzle to her. He was dressed in dark red, resplendent with brass buttons. He was younger than Dyfnallt, and he certainly looked fine on his beautiful horse. And that friendly smile, all the time. She’d been charmed by it whenever it appeared. But he seemed stiff in the saddle, and his conversation with Benitoe was sparse. Well, it would take a while for all of them to work into a team, she knew that.
She spared a glance for M
aelgwn. As usual, the boy was off to one side, watching everyone. Rhian didn’t think he’d choose to become part of the hunt staff as he got older, he seemed to find it interesting but not central to his life. She didn’t know what he would decide, but for now he seemed pleased to come with them much of the time.
Right now he had his eye on the newcomers, and his glance kept returning to George. Not for reassurance, she realized, but to keep track of where he was. It reminded her a bit of Hadyn and Idris when they rode with the hunt. They always knew where everyone was. That’s it, she thought. He’s watching George’s movements as if he were a guard.
For a moment she didn’t see him as her twelve-year-old foster-brother. I wonder what he thinks he’s doing? Is this a game for him, or is he serious?
The next afternoon, Maelgwn strolled through the guarded postern gate in the western palisade, a small backpack over one shoulder of his coat. He’d told Alun at home roughly where he was headed and now he had most of the afternoon free to explore the miles of wooded slope behind the manor that ascended the Blue Ridge. His foster-father was supervising the hound breeding in the kennels.
He felt the urgent need to become woods-wise to the local area, to learn every path, the habits of its creatures, its shelters and streams. He’d been exploring already, without his foster-father’s knowledge (he hoped), but recently he’d received permission which granted him the freedom he’d sought to put his plans into action.
Let’s hope this rock ledge Benitoe described is the right spot, he thought. He wanted to establish a base outside the manor, a place he could keep supplies of food, tools, weapons, clothing—anything he might need in an emergency. He remembered what his real father had told him, to always have a stash somewhere, just in case. The sense of independence would be comforting.
Maelgwn took the path from the gate directly west up the slope into the woods, veering right at the first juncture that led back to the palisade further down and left at the second as Benitoe had said. That route, he’d been told, continued on the right to the western edge of Daear Llosg, the burning ground clearing north of the manor. The path he stuck to led directly west-southwest upward. It was faint and little used but rather too obvious to fully satisfy him. Oh, well, he thought, let’s see this rock ledge. Where there’s one cave there may be others, and those less well known.
After a while the woods opened up a bit ahead of him and he emerged onto a bare spot, well-sheltered to the east by the higher part of the trees immediately downslope and backed by a rock overhang. This must be the place Benitoe mentioned, Maelgwn thought. He’s right—there’s a good view down into the manor grounds from here.
Not hidden enough, he decided. Anyone could find this. He knew the path continued on and exited the woods well south of the manor. He looked for deer trails upslope and began to explore above the ledge for other openings. About fifty yards up, and a bit south, he found another overhang, this one much less exposed, with an opening more to the south than the east. Underneath, the overhang was almost a cave, tall enough for him to stand in, with a floor rising to meet the roof about fifteen feet in. He dug with his heel in the dirt and felt stone, sloping outward. Good for drainage, he thought.
With a bare hand he felt the side walls for dampness. They were relatively dry, drier than the soil outside. The roof was rock ledge. He suspected the place would leak when it rained hard enough, but if he scraped the floor clear of dirt he might be able to channel the seepage along the walls. If he brought in some wood or rocks as platforms, he might well be able to store things and keep them dry in here.
There was no view, but it would be difficult for anyone to approach without being heard, and he was close enough to use the more public overhang as a viewing spot, as long as he was careful not to wear any obvious paths between the two places.
This’ll do, he thought. I’ll bring a shovel for next time, for the floor, and a bigger ax, a two-handed one. I can use half-logs to line the dirt walls. Shouldn’t use the ax Benitoe gave me, that’s better as a weapon or for smaller stuff than log-splitting.
He’d been practicing his ax throwing, under Benitoe’s tutelage, but the small hatchet wasn’t as deadly as the two-handed ax he’d seen his father throw, when he was teaching him woodcraft as a child. Maelgwn had thought about it, nights. You couldn’t carry a large ax around unless you were committed to it as a primary weapon, and larger, too, of course. And they were awkward to wear, compared to a knife or sword. The smaller hatchet was very handy and a good tool to have around, but he didn’t have the muscle yet to make it an effective thrown weapon, not compared to a knife with its greater ease of penetration.
He’d gotten Rhian to teach him the basics of knife throwing, out back of the kennels. Every so often they’d head there of an afternoon after the hound walking, and sometimes Brynach would join them. They made a game of it. Rhian and Maelgwn were better than Brynach, more accurate, but then he’d been concentrating on sword work lately with Hadyn, and they couldn’t begin to compete with him there. At eighteen, Brynach was far from full grown, but he was putting on muscle from the constant exercise. Maelgwn liked to try to stand up to him, knife and ax against sword, though Brynach insisted on dulled practice weapons for sparring. He figured Brynach wasn’t much smaller than most grown men, and if he could defend himself from Brynach, he stood a chance in any real fight, too.
Rhian smuggled him knives out of her family’s personal armory inside the manor and gave him suggestions about where to hide them on his body or in his gear. She made him guess where all of hers were. He approved of her intention to never be completely unarmed, and he didn’t think she’d shown him all her secrets yet. It was only fair—she didn’t know where all of his were hidden either.
Lately he’d offered to repay the favor by showing Rhian and Brynach how to make and use a sling. They stood at various distances from the wooden knife-throwing targets and tried to coordinate the throw. Rhian was almost hopeless at it. Maelgwn grinned to himself thinking of her exasperated frustration. He’d earned her respect with that, he thought. She’d complimented him on using a weapon that he could make any time. Brynach was coming along with a sling, not too bad for a first-timer.
Maybe he’d show them how to knap a flint knife sometime, if he could find any suitable material.
He walked partway back to the original path and found a dry rock to sit on that had a view into the bare woods. He made himself go still and waited for the animals to forget his presence, the sling dangling from his hand loaded with a pebble from his belt pouch.
His mind wandered, on the surface, while he waited. He’d spent many hours with his real father this way, marveling at how well his father could relax and hold himself quiet when he himself still felt every itch and had to struggle constantly not to move. The last two years with Cloudie over in Dyffryn Camarch he’d finally learned stillness. The stakes were higher, he thought. Madog would’ve killed me if he’d found me.
A faint scratching sound reached him and a subdued cackling, a conversation in clucks and gurgles. He smiled and waited quietly. The turkeys gradually came into view, a mixed flock of hens and toms, still short of the mating season. They moved very quietly for their size, but the constant chatter and commentary they indulged in when they felt safe gave them away.
He let them come as close as possible, about twenty feet away, without betraying his presence, and thought about the throw, picking his target. In one fluid movement he rose and hurled the rock with the sling. The flock erupted into flight, but one hen stayed down, and he ran to her and wrung her neck.
This was the first game he’d taken since he’d come here with George a few weeks ago, since he hadn’t wanted to get himself into trouble hunting where he wasn’t allowed. Thank you, lord Cernunnos, he intoned to himself, then stopped.
It wasn’t just empty words to the master of the beasts any more, was it? Cernunnos was there, in George. He’d seen him. He’d almost let George die, a few weeks ago, and Maelgwn wasn�
�t quick to forgive that. He didn’t trust him.
What was that like, he wondered, carrying a god inside? He didn’t have the nerve to ask his foster-father.
He took off his backpack and carefully laid the turkey in it. There was still plenty of room. Maybe he could add a squirrel or two, before he headed back.
He’d rather a rabbit, but those were best with snares, and his schedule wasn’t predictable enough yet to tend a snare-line. Predators would rob him of anything he caught.
It must be handy hearing the beasts like Rhian and George do, he thought. Rhian had explained it to him. He’d have to bring her here sometime and show her what he knew. Maybe she could hear where they are, but he could tell her where they were. Here, a raccoon had left a print in the mud, and over there was owl scat at the foot of the tree, telling of a great horned owl roost. He had grouse and turkey feathers in his bedroom, and he’d seen the marks of a bobcat on the bark of a tulip tree.
The turkey in his pack was comforting. He hadn’t lost all his skills. He remembered, at ten, before his family was killed, looking forward to his coming of age at thirteen. He had much to learn about fighting, and Hadyn was helping him make up the lost time, but at least he can still hunt. And his riding was getting better. Both Hadyn and Thomas Kethin had offered to start his archery training, though it would be a while before he was large enough for a serious bow.
As he walked back to the original path at the rock ledge, he reminded himself to ask Thomas about concealed fires. It was good to be able to learn again, and Thomas was teaching him ranger skills that recalled his father’s work. Maybe that’s what he should become, he thought, a ranger. Outdoors all of the time. On the other hand, Rhodri had explained to him that finding and working on the ways was outdoor work, too. Could he do both?
He knew Thomas was fully half-human, and yet he seemed so much more of a fae than his new foster-father. It had to be because George had spent his life as a human until a few months ago, Maelgwn thought. I’d like to see his world—it must be very different. He doesn’t think like a fae, or act like one either. So trusting, like a child. Does he do it deliberately? He’s not wary enough of the new hunt staff, for example, when anyone can see they’re not to be trusted. How can someone that powerful be so careless of danger?
