by Deerskin
Pur crept forward and lapped tentatively at a trickle of blood; but Kestrel was on him immediately, seizing him gently but inexorably by the back of the neck. He yelped, and she let him go, and he trotted away, trying to look as small as possible.
Ossin's hunting dogs were well-trained; and the dogs knew they ate nothing but what the lord of the hunt gave them. Lissar sighed. That was she, and no escape; there was a little wry humor in the thought that she owed it to Ossin not to put his dogs in the position of being tempted to break training. She took a deep breath, shook herself, looked at the creature and then, mournfully, at her little knife.
A long, hot, sticky, dreadful interval later, she'd let the dogs loose on the offal, and was experimenting with looping the leashes she had almost forgotten she had with her around the thing's legs. She thought perhaps she could hoist it into a tree far enough that it would still be there in the morning. As she dragged it, it hung itself up on every hummock and root-knob, but she found she was too tired not to go on; that she wanted something to show for the mess and the danger and the exhaustion.
She had been irritated by Hela's insistence that she take the leashes, although Hela was quite right that if in their wanderings they inadvertently came too near a hunting party, Lissar could not depend on her authority to keep Kestrel and Blue and Bunt with her. If she had thought of it since, she would have dropped the leashes somewhere she could find them again as soon as she left Aric's mother; but she would not annoy Hela unnecessarily by losing them deliberately. And now ... the leashes were excellent leather (from the king's workshop), and bore the abuse they were receiving with no sign of fraying.
Ash left her dinner to inquire if she could help. "You're not built to be a draught animal," Lissar said, panting; "but then neither am I," she added thoughtfully, and looped a leash around Ash's shoulders, threw herself at the end of her two remaining leashes, and called her dog. Ash took a few moments to comprehend that she had been attached to this great jagged lump of flesh for a purpose. She wondered, briefly, if she should be offended; but Lissar herself was doing the same odd thing, and Ash scorned nothing her person accepted. So she pulled.
Lissar didn't know if it was Ash's strength or the moral support of company, but they got it to the edge of the trees, and then Lissar used Ash as part of a snub to hold the carcass in place as she slowly hauled it off the ground. This was easier to explain, for Ash knew the command Stand!, and when the weight began dragging her forward, No, stand! made her dig her feet in, hump her back, and try to act heavy. It was not done well, but it was done at last.
Then Lissar started a fire, rescued a bit of the heart and the liver, stuck them on the ends of two peeled sticks, and fell asleep before they finished cooking.
She woke up to the smell of meat burning, rescued it, and stood waving it back and forth till it was cool enough to eat. The dogs were asleep as well, sprawled anyhow from where the creature had died, and she'd performed the messy and disgusting business of gutting it, to where she stood by the fire she had started, a little distance from where the monster now hung dripping from its tree. She nibbled tentatively at the heart, thinking, if the story is true, then let me welcome this creature's strength and courage while I reject its hate and rage. The meat burned her tongue.
She was as tired as her dogs, but this was not the place to linger; there would be other meat-eaters coming to investigate, and to try how far from the ground the prize hung. Besides, she wanted water, both to drink and to wash the sticky reek away.
She chewed and swallowed, bit off another chunk; found that she was waking up against all probability; perhaps this was the fierceness of the creature's heart.
Ash, she said softly, and Ash was immediately and silently at her side (and cross that she had slept through an opportunity to beg for cooked meat). Ob, she said.
Meadowsweet, Harefoot, Fen. She whispered the puppies' names, wakened them with a touch on neck or flank; a few murmured a protest, but they rolled to their feet, stretched front and rear, shook their heads till their ears rattled against their skulls with a curiously metallic sound; then they came quietly. Dark eyes glinted in the Moonlight; black nostrils flared and tails lifted. Lissar had the sudden, eerie sense that they all knew where they were going-and that she knew best of all. Blue, she said. Kestrel. Bunt. But they were awake already, their training strong in them: go on till you drop.
She set out at an easy trot, for they had some distance to travel, and the puppies would tire soon again; but it was as if there were a scent in her own nostrils or a glittering trail laid out before her, the path of the Moon. It was like the directionless direction, the windless wind on her cheek, when she and Ash had come down from the mountains, only a few months before.
Fleethounds hunt silently; the only sound was the soft pad of many feet. Lissar kilted her dress up around her hips that she might run the more easily, and so they flowed across meadowland and poured through one of the slender outflung arms of the yellow city, almost a town of its own; and while it was late, it was not so late that there were no people drinking and eating and changing horses, mounting and dismounting, loading and unloading, at the crossroads inn, the Happy Man, that was the reason the city bulged out so in this direction. And so a number of people saw the tall, white-legged woman in her white dress surrounded by tall silver hounds run soundlessly past, and disappear again in the shadows beyond the road. Speech and motion stopped for a long moment; and then, as if at a sign, several low voices: Moonwoman, they muttered. It is the White Lady and her shadow hounds.
Lissar knew none of this; she was barely aware of the crossroads, the inn; what she saw and heard was in her mind, but it led her as strongly as any leash. And so it was that when midnight was long past and dawn not so far away, she and her dogs entered a little glade in a forest on a hill behind a village, and there, curled up asleep in a nest of old leaves, was the lost boy.
The glamour fell from her as soon as her worldly eyes touched him; the glittering Moon trail, the mind's inexplicable knowledge, evaporated as if it had never been.
The dogs crowded round her as she knelt by the boy, knowing still this much, that it was he whom she sought. He slept the sleep of exhaustion and despair, not knowing that he was near his own village, that his long miserable wandering had brought him back so near to home. She did not know if she should wake him, or curl up beside him and wait for dawn.
He shivered where he lay, a long shudder which shook the thin leaves, and then a quietness, followed by another fit of shivering. At least she and the dogs could keep him warm. She slipped her arms under him, and recognized her own exhaustion; the decision was no longer a choice, for the muscles of her arms and back, having carried half-grown puppies and wrestled a monster, would do no more that night. He nestled himself against her belly not unlike a larger, less leggy puppy, making little noises also not unlike a puppy's, and sighed, relaxing without ever waking up.
She slid down farther, not minding the knobbly roots of the tree, and felt the dogs bedding down around her, spinning in little circles and tucking their legs into their surprisingly small bundles, thrusting noses under paws and tails. Some large warm thing-or a series of smaller warm things-pressed up against her back; and then Ash bent over her and breathed on her face, and settled down, tucking her face between Lissar's head and shoulder, her long hair shadowing the boy's face, and one curl touching his ear.
Lissar never felt her leave; but it was one sharp, crisp bark from Ash, standing watch at dawn, that brought the prince and his company to the glade.
TWENTY-SIX
LISSAR HEARD THE PAUSE, AFTER THAT, WHEN ANYONE CALLED
HER by the name she had given first to Lilac, Deerskin; and she could no longer refuse to recognize the whispers: Moonwoman. It was Ossin she asked, finally, wanting to know the story that others had given her, but not liking to ask anyone she suspected of calling her so. Even Lilac, straightforward as ever in all other ways, had a new secret in her eyes when she looked at her
friend. Lissar wished she did not have to ask him; but he was the only one who still named her Deerskin without an echo, who still met her eyes easily-as, it occurred to her, she met his. Even his kennel folk, who had learned not to call him "your greatness," never quite forgot that he was their prince. Lissar wondered at herself, for she was ... only an herbalist's apprentice.
"You don't have stories of the Moonwoman where you're from?" Ossin said in surprise. "She's one of our favorite legends. I was in love with her"-he was grooming Aster as he spoke; Aster was standing rigidly still in the ecstasy of the attention-"when I was a boy, her and her coursing hounds.
"The story goes that she was the daughter of the strongest king in the world, and that all the other kings sought her hand in marriage." The most beautiful woman in seven kingdoms drifted across Lissar's mind, but she could not remember where it came from, and she did not like the taste of it on her tongue.
"All the other kings sought her hand in marriage because the man who married her would become the strongest king in the world himself by inheriting her father's kingdom. Not a country," he added, rubbing Aster's hindquarters with a soft brush,
"who believed in strong queens. My mother liked to point this out," he said, smiling reminiscently, "which annoyed me no end when I was still young, why did she have to go spoiling the story with irrelevancies? Anyway, this princess did not like any of the kings and princes and dukes who presented themselves to her, all of them looking through her to her father's throne, and she declared she would have none of them.
"She further declared that she would give up her position as royal daughter, and that her father could choose his heir without her help, without her body as intermediary; and she and her fteethound set off to find-the story doesn't say what she wanted to find, the meaning of life, one supposes, something of that sort.
"But one of the suitors followed her, and forced himself on her, thinking-who knows what a man like that thinks-thinking that perhaps what the girl needed was to understand that she could be taken by a strong man, or that rape would break her spirit, make her do what she was told.... She was beautiful, you see, so her attraction was not only through what her father would give her husband. And thinking also, perhaps, that her father would admire the strong commanding action of another strong man, like a general outflanking an opposing army by one daring stroke; or even that his daughter's intransigence was a kind of challenge to her suitors.
"But it did not turn out quite as he had hoped, for the princess herself hated and reviled him for his action, and returned to her father's court to denounce him. But in that then she was disappointed, and her father and his court's reaction was not all that she wishedsome versions of the story say that her attacker did in fact follow her father on the throne; even that her father told her that she deserved no better for rejecting her suitors and running away from her responsibilities.
"Whatever the confrontation was, it ended by her saying that she did not wish to live in this world any more, this world ruled by her father and the other kings who saw it as he did.
"And so she fled to the Moon, and lived there, alone with her dog, who soon gave birth to puppies. And because of what happened to her-and because of her delight in her bitch's puppies-she watches out for young creatures, particularly those who are alone, who are hurt or betrayed, or who wish to make a choice for themselves instead of for those around them. And sometimes she flies down from the Moon with her dogs, and rescues a child or a nestling. Or a litter of puppies. The story goes that she has, over the years, become much like the Moon herself: either all-seeing or blind, sometimes radiant, sometimes invisible."
He paused, and his brushing hand paused too. Aster stood motionless, hoping that he would forget how much brushing she'd had already, and begin again. But he laughed, picking her up gently from the grooming table and setting her on the ground. She looked up at him sadly and then wandered off. "There's another bit to the story that occasionally is repeated: that our Moonwoman is still seeking a man to love her, that she would bear children as her dog, her best friend, did."
He looked at Lissar and smiled. "I liked that very much when I was younger and tenderer: I thought perhaps she'd marry me-after all, we both love dogs, and the Moonwoman's hounds are fleethounds, or something very much like them. Then I got a little older and recognized that I'm only the stodgy prince of a rather small, second-class country, that produces grain and goods enough to feed and clothe itself, and not much else, and that neither I nor my country is much to look at besides. We're both rather dullish and brownish. I don't suppose my choices are any more limited than the handsome prince of a bigger, more powerful country's are; but I fancy that the princesses of first-rate countries are more interesting. Perhaps the duchesses and princesses of small second-class countries say the same about me....
I lost my hope for Moonwoman about the same time as I recognized the other. I was lucky, I suppose; if there had been any overlap it would have been a hard burden to bear.... I was tender for a rather longer time than most, l think.
"I'm sorry," he said, after a pause, while he watched her brushing Ash. He had groomed three dogs, while she went on working at Ash. Ash had her own special comb for tangles and mats, specially procured by Ossin, and hung on the grooming-wall with all the soft brushes; its teeth looked quite fierce in such company. "I'm sorry to go on so. I've been thinking . . . about myself, I suppose, because there's to be another ball, ten days from now, and I am to meet the princess Trivelda. Again. We met five years ago and didn't like each other then; I don't imagine anything will have changed." He sighed. "Trivelda' s father runs what might charitably be called a rather large farm, south and west of us, and most of his revenues, I believe, go for yard goods for Trivelda's dresses. She would not stoop to me if she had any better chances; she thinks hunting hounds are dirty and smell bad."
"Probably many ladies from the grandest courts think the same," said Lissar, with a strong inner conviction of the truth of her words.
"Probably ... I find myself determined to think the worst of my ... likely fate. It's a weakness of character, I dare say. If I were a livelier specimen I would go out and find a Great Dragon to slay, and win a really desirable princess; I believe that's the way to do it. But there haven't been any Great Dragons since Maur, I think, and Aerin, who was certainly a highly desirable princess, didn't need any help, and the truth is I'm very glad that all happened a long time. ago and very far away. You're smiling."
"Must you marry a princess? Can't you marry some great strapping country girl who rides mighty chargers bareback and can whistle so loudly she calls the whole country's dogs at once?"
Ossin laughed. "I don't know. If I met her perhaps I could rouse myself for argument. I think my mother would understand, and my father would listen to her.
But I haven't met her. And so they keep presenting me with princesses. Hopefully."
"It is only one evening, this ball."
Ossin looked at her. "You have attended few balls if you can describe it as ònly one evening.' " He brightened. "I have a splendid idea-you come. You can come and see what you think of ònly one evening.' "
Lissar's heart skipped a beat or two, and there was a feeling in the pit of her stomach, a knot at the back of her skull; she was an herbalist's apprentice, what did she know of balls? Where were these sight-fragments coming from, of chandeliers, spinning around her, no, she was spinning, through the figures of a dance, blue velvet, she remembered blue velvet, and the pressure of a man's hand against her back, his hot grasp of her hand, her jewel-studded skirts sweeping the floor-jewel-studded?
"Are you all right?" Ossin's hands were under her elbows; she started back.
"Yes-yes, of course I am. It's only-the fever hurt my memory, you see, and sometimes when memories come back they make me dizzy. I saw a princess once; she was wearing a dress with jewels sewn all over it, and she was dancing with a man she did not like."
Ossin was looking at her; she could see him hesitating
over what he thought of saying, and hoped he would decide to remain silent. She concentrated on the fine fawn hairs of Ash's back. She put out a hand, fumbled with the comb, picked up the brushing mitt instead. Ossin moved away from her.
But that was not the end of the matter. The next day she was soaping and waxing leashes with the puppies spilled at her feet when Ossin appeared and said he had something he wished her opinion on. She assumed it had something to do with dogs, and went with him without question or much thought; Ash at her heels, the puppies shut up protestingly in their pen. Nob and Tolly, who had come with Ossin, were left with Hela.
Lissar was puzzled when he led her back into the main portion of the Gold House, the big central building from which nearly a city's worth of smaller buildings grew, like mushrooms growing at the feet of a vast stony tree. It was still easy for Lissar to get lost in the maze of courtyards and alleys and dead-ends into wings and corners and abutments. She knew her way from the kennels to the open fields and back, and to the stables, where she visited Lilac-but that was nearly all. It was going to be embarrassing when Ossin dismissed her and she didn't know where to go. But the house servants were almost without exception kind, she could ask one of them; perhaps she would even see one that she knew, Tappa or Smallfoot or Longsword the doorkeeper.
