To Carry the Horn

by Karen Myers

  They had taken the opportunity to bunch together and began an approach at a slow trot. Oh, well, George thought, it was too much to hope that I could do that again. He brought Mosby back to a gallop and aimed for the same angle of attack, from his own right, since he would only be more awkward from the other side.

  The outer rider split away as he got closer, to get him from behind, but George put it out of his mind and focused on the one in front of him. An explosion of sound behind him made him break off, and as he swerved, he saw that Gwyn had appeared and was taking on the second rider.

  George curved Mosby around and returned to his initial target, only to see that he had turned and was galloping swiftly away down the field.

  Gwyn’s opponent did the same. George knew Mosby couldn’t catch them, but looked at Gwyn hopefully.

  “No, we can’t stay. They’re the ones holding this way open, and eventually they’ll remember that. We must leave or be trapped here.”

  George wasn’t ready to stop. “Who are they? Can’t we learn anything from these?” gesturing at the archer still trying to free himself and the one he had wounded, now sitting dazed on the ground having fallen from his horse.

  “I’ve seen all I need to. Come with me now.”

  George subdued himself to Gwyn’s urgency. With Gwyn beside him, he passed through the way again.

  Things had changed back in the mountain meadow. The guards were drawn up in formation surrounding the way and prepared for some sort of breakthrough, and the armed guests had drawn swords and moved in front of the non-combatants.

  Idris cantered up to Gwyn in a fury. “You should’ve waited for us to join you.”

  George had cooled off enough to realize what Gwyn had risked coming after him that way. Perhaps no one else could have seen the way to follow them.

  He bowed to him in the saddle. “Thank you for saving my life,” he said.

  “And I thank you, for deflecting that arrow and pursuing the enemy. You did well, for a man in his first sword fight.”

  “I was lucky,” he said. And besides, it was exhilarating, he thought. The reaction might hit later, but it would be worth it.

  His blood pumping, he smiled fiercely at Gwyn. “I’ll take that job.”

  Gwyn returned the smile, and they trotted down the slope together.

  With the guards firmly in place before the way exit, and the way dormant to George’s senses, the remainder of the ceremony went smoothly. Iolo’s body on its pyre was consigned to the flames, and the procession returned to the manor gate. George rejoined Eurig and Tegwen on the ride back and told them what had happened in detail, buoyed by his success.

  Friends from village and manor stood about in parting conversations, those who weren’t coming up to the manor for dinner. While George waited for the crowd to clear, he looked for and located the guest’s way that Ceridwen had described. A path split off from the main road to a cul-de-sac, and the way was clearly there.

  He turned to Eurig and asked, “What happens when someone using a way is confronted by someone going in the opposite direction?”

  “It’s not a problem. Ceridwen once explained to me that a way’s like a tunnel that allows smaller tunnels to pass through. There are size limits to each way, so if one tunnel in use is as large as possible, perhaps a second tunnel can’t come into existence, but I don’t know anyone who’s done the experiment. Ask…”

  “Ask Ceridwen. Yes, I get it.”

  Eurig smiled. “Well, that’s her job, isn’t it?”

  The remnants of the procession entered the yard and began to disperse. George walked over to the carriage that held Ives and his kennel lads. “Could I speak with you a moment, Master Ives?”

  He dismounted and Ives walked off to the side with him. “You’ve decided to do it,” he said, looking at George’s face, still flushed with excitement.

  “Yes, and I’ll need all your guidance not to be an unnecessarily disruptive force. I may make changes, but they must be done deliberately, not from ignorance. Can I count on your help?”

  “Of course. Iolo would’ve wanted that.”

  “I’ve committed myself for the great hunt, not beyond, and one of the first things I must keep in mind is any transition afterward. I don’t yet know what Gwyn may want, but I’d like to start to place others as junior huntsmen and whippers-in, to ride with me and to grow into the positions, at least eventually if not right away. I haven’t seen her yet with hounds, but I believe Rhian may be one such candidate and I plan to find out. Do you see any problem with that?”

  “She works with the hounds all the time. If Gwyn will permit it, that would be a good idea, for when she’s older.”

  “I’ll ask Gwyn’s permission, and speak to Rhian.”

  He continued, “What time tomorrow would you like to see me at kennels, to begin my instruction about Iolo’s routines?”

  “The kennel lads start at dawn, and Iolo would come before breakfast to ensure all was well, then return to start his work after breakfast. He was usually free in the afternoons.”

  “I’ll need to do something about clothing, and I have plans for weapons training in the afternoon, but otherwise that should work well. I’ll see you after breakfast in the morning.”

  George walked to the council room door off the great hall. Dinner was being set up, but not yet ready.

  He stuck his head in the open doorway, saw Gwyn alone, and knocked on the door. “May I speak with you for a moment, sir?”

  Gwyn nodded him in.

  “Some procedural matters… How do I acquire things like work and hunt clothes or other small items that I need?”

  “Ifor Moel, whom you met at Iolo’s death, is our steward. I’ll ask him to meet with you to find out your immediate requirements.”

  “Once I get pen and paper, I’ll need to send another note to my grandfather, without urgency this time. Is that something I should ask Idris about?”

  “Yes, he’ll arrange connections with the human world for you.”

  George paused while he considered how to ask without seeming rude, and just spit it out. “Please forgive me, but why isn’t there any huntsman in waiting for Iolo, no backup?”

  Gwyn looked pained. “We simply didn’t envision the need. It sounds foolish now, but Iolo had been hunting the hounds for so long, we couldn’t imagine training someone for a role they’d never get to play.”

  “I’d like to start changing that. I’d like to begin training novice huntsmen and perhaps other staff, for when I leave.”

  Gwyn nodded.

  George said, “I think Rhian’s interested. If so, may I begin with her?”

  “Certainly,” Gwyn said. “But you hesitate. What is it?”

  “It seems to me that Iolo was killed to injure you, to prevent the great hunt. If so, then by taking the job I’ve painted a target on my own back. If they think I can do the great hunt, then they’ll also want to eliminate me.”

  He continued. “I’m alright with that. In fact, if I can get them to aim at me, we may be able to expose them better. I think I can hold their attention on me, but there’s a chance that any trainees may also be at risk, as potential threats.”

  Gwyn said, deliberately, “Rhian’s very dear to me, but she’s almost a woman and must make her own choices. If she wishes to do this, after your warning, then please coordinate with Ceridwen and Ifor Moel who between them govern much of her education.”

  “One last question for now, sir. How long do I have to train, that is, when do we next hunt?”

  “Say, for deer, a week hence on Tuesday, and thereafter following the usual schedule.”

  “Alright, then,” George said. One week to find out how to hunt this pack, in front of guests who didn’t all wish them well. What have I taken on?

  Gwyn returned to his speculations about the way at Daear Llosg after George left. The way had no sense about it of distance, as many of them did, and he couldn’t tell just from that where it had led to. The sun’s position wa
s unchanged while he was there—by habit, that was the first thing he checked. So it must be here, in this new world. He recognized the trees and other vegetation, so it mustn’t be too far away, south or north, but there was little else he could use to pin down the location. Certainly he didn’t recognize it, and he had traveled everywhere in his own domain.

  He considered returning there tomorrow through the way, if it was still there and still open to him, but that would be horribly imprudent. If the way closed and no other one was found, he might find himself hundreds of miles from home just two weeks before the great hunt, and that couldn’t be risked.

  Who was this enemy who used the ways as a fundamental tool for his attack? Way-finders were always more common in his bloodline than in others, and he knew them all. Maybe not, he thought.

  George was a new player. How did George sense this way? When Ceridwen had rushed in to tell him about his discoveries earlier, he was disinclined to believe her. After all, he couldn’t sense it, from here, and George’s blood could only be a diluted reflection of his own. But he knew now that couldn’t really be so—the way was there, and George had located it.

  Oh, he didn’t doubt George was his descendant, but what was his father? This tale of Corniad Traherne sounded like the kind of game Cernunnos might design, but he didn’t think George was a conscious agent, more like a piece Cernunnos had created and put into play to do what he could. That he blended both his own and Cernunnos’s blood was just the sort of twist he would enjoy.

  Could he be huntsman for the great hunt? If he can handle the hounds, he’ll still have to handle the great hunt itself, with its ways and its quarry, and he’s never even seen it before. Iolo wasn’t a way-finder, and Cernunnos didn’t move through him. So why has Cernunnos presented me with this new player, so very different, and why now?

  He hasn’t taken an active hand since the downfall of Arawn and the resettlement of Annwn here in this new world, away from the political strife of the old. Arawn lost his place because he proved himself unworthy, and Cernunnos himself brought him down. At least, that’s how I see it, Gwyn thought. My father would disagree.

  My own conscience is hardly clean, he thought, shying away from exploring the great void where his wrath and frustration caused him to so betray himself when he held his enemies in captivity. He thought he was bearing his own righteous punishment, with the struggles on Nos Galan Mai, but maybe Cernunnos felt differently, maybe he had proven himself unworthy, too, and it was just taking a while for the hammer to fall.

  Was George here as a help in his time of trouble, or as a replacement?

  CHAPTER 12

  George emerged from the council room to discover the pre-dinner crowd beginning to assemble in the front rooms. He headed directly across the great hall to a large library and music room which was the counterpart of the council room on the other side of the house. On the right, the doorway led to the hunting room with its weapons at the back of the manor, but here it was all wooden shelves, hanging instruments, and carpets on the floor. The shared wall with the great hall was lined with simple upright chairs for musicians, and the rest of the room sported comfortable armchairs and tables for talking or listening.

  Not many people were in the room yet. He spotted Rhian with Rhys and walked over to them.

  Rhian gripped his arm, “Everyone says you’re going to stay for the great hunt. Did you really save my foster-father and then charge through the way and kill several soldiers?”

  Startled, he said. “Not exactly. I just got carried away and had a brief encounter, after which Gwyn arrived and rescued me. Where did you hear all this?”

  Rhys said, “Eurig’s been telling your tale, and it grows with each retelling.”

  “Oh, no.” He shook his head ruefully. “Well, nothing I can do about it now. Rhian, could I speak with you for a moment?”

  “Shall I leave?” Rhys asked.

  “Maybe you should hear this, too. I’ve spoken with Gwyn, and he’s given me permission to begin training novice huntsmen for when I have to leave again. I’ll put the question to you first, Rhys. I understand you’ve been whipping-in for Iolo. Are you interested in learning to be huntsman?”

  “I will if I must, but I’d rather learn to govern, like my foster-father. My heart wouldn’t be in it.”

  “I thought that might be so. Rhian,” he said, smiling down at her eager face, “last night you mentioned a wish. Is that still true?”

  “Oh, yes!”

  “It would mean long hours and hard work, and will take some time away from your other studies.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Pay attention. Those who killed Iolo may try for me, and for any trainees. There’s real danger here. Gwyn said you could make your own choice, though I have misgivings about it.”

  Rhys looked down at his little sister. “Rhian, I fear for your safety. It’s your choice, but if you do this I insist you learn more serious fighting skills.”

  “Yes, I will,” she said earnestly. “And yes, I want to do this, very much.”

  “Alright, then. I’ll see you at kennels, mounted, immediately after breakfast.”

  “There you are.” A voice hailed them from across the room as a tall man with light brown hair strode briskly over. He looked to be about George’s age. “I know those robes, don’t I?” he said, with a smile.

  “George, this is our cousin Rhodri who was gracious enough to lend you clothing last night. Without his knowledge.” Rhys turned to Rhodri. “Sorry, cousin, there was nothing else to fit him. This is our newly found kinsman, George Talbot Traherne.”

  George extended the right half of the robe as he had in the meadow to show the arrow hole. “And just see what a mess I’ve made. Very sorry.”

  “Well, you’ll just have to keep them, then. I never did like such a somber color anyway.” And indeed he was dressed in vivid robes himself, purple with swirls of gold and scarlet.

  Rhodri continued, “I heard about the excitement at the burning ground. Welcome, kinsman. You seem to have arrived just in time to be useful. Always the best way. And speaking of ways, I understand you’ve learned some interesting things. There’s to be a meeting after dinner this evening to explore the topic, Gwyn tells me.”

  As they stood around chatting, waiting for dinner, George was taken with the easy family ways of his companions. It struck him that he was part of the same family, that they really were kinsmen. With Rhodri, someone his own age, he felt less like a visiting uncle and more like a brother. As an only child raised by grandparents, it was a very odd sensation to be adopted like this. Mustn’t get too used to it, he thought. They have their own lives to lead, and so will I, when I return.

  Rhian could scarcely focus on Rhodri’s banter with her brother and George for all the excitement buzzing in her head. It was finally going to happen. Her cousin had persuaded Gwyn to let her understudy as huntsman. And Gwyn let her join the council, too. He could hardly resume throwing her out again now.

  Don’t get too carried away, she told herself sternly. They may be treating you like a grown-up, but you’re a very junior one. Now you can find yourself in a whole different kind of trouble, maybe get yourself killed. You’ll be responsible for hounds, and they can be hurt or killed, too.

  This sobered her.

  The huntsman has the welfare of the pack, the staff, and the field following as his responsibility, she thought. People do get killed, hunting. You’re asking to take that on, too. It’s not just about fun with the hounds.

  She looked up at George. What sort of leader will he be? I wish I’d seen him bringing the hounds back, and him not knowing how to speak to them. You know, I’m glad I’ll have a mentor to show me what to do. It seems so easy and wonderful when you dream about it, but that’s a child’s dream. She stood straighter. I’m not a child any more.

  What’ll happen after the great hunt? Will I be expected to carry on as huntsman after George? There was a thought to made her stomach clench. Better do my
best to learn while I can.

  What will self-defense training be like? I’ll have to talk to Hadyn.

  Wait till Isolda hears about this.

  Tonight, more people were at dinner, and Rhodri joined the family group on the dais, seating himself between George and Rhian. He kept up a running commentary on the notables in the hall.

  “Have you met my lady’s guests?” he asked, sotto voce, nodding his head at Creiddylad in reply to her nod of recognition. “That bodyguard of hers, the famous Mederei, is a stunner, but rumor has it that they are mutually otherwise engaged.” Rhys, on George’s other side, choked on his wine and Rhian’s eyes widened.

  “I’ve never liked the look of that Madog fellow,” he continued. “Some permanent guest of hers. He doesn’t say much but he’s always around, watching. I’ve heard he lives over here somewhere, but not as part of Gwyn’s court. Why is that, do you suppose? Where does he go when she leaves? Ceridwen sits down there probing him but I don’t think she learns much.”

  “If Gwyn thinks he’s a threat, why does he invite him?”

  “He’s Creiddylad’s guest, and Gwyn forbids her little. Besides, if he’s an enemy, better to keep him close.”

  George encouraged him. “What else can you tell me? Who are the other players and what are the factions?”

  “Oh, except for Creiddylad it’s pretty friendly right now. Those are almost all locals, out there, and they’re mostly a good sort, more worried about marriage schemes and farming than treason. Wait until the big players arrive in the next few days.”

  “What will that be like? I have to, well, debut in a week as huntsman.”

  “They won’t approve, for starters. They don’t like change, and they don’t much care for humans, however willingly Gwyn may acknowledge your descent. Most think it wrong to dilute the blood; they think it’s a weakness on his part that they can exploit.

  “It’ll be interesting to see whether their concern for the continuation of the hunt outweighs their distaste for the proposed huntsman. After all, what choice will they have? Many would like to see Gwyn embarrassed, as a setback to the growth of his power, but that doesn’t mean they want to see this realm lost to him and all their holdings put at risk. They’re not prepared for that.”