To Carry the Horn

by Karen Myers

  “Hard to have your place invaded, is it?” George hoped to tease him out of his pique.

  “I have to admit they clean it up well, after.” Alun relented and smiled. “And it makes for a pleasant evening.”

  He regarded George for a moment, with some hesitation. “This is an informal meal, and they will be doing what serving there is.”

  He paused, and George ventured a guess, “So, I hope that means you will be joining us?”

  Alun looked relieved. “Yes, so I will. I wasn’t sure you would like that.”

  “How’s it any different from our quick breakfasts in the kitchen?”

  “This is formal entertaining, with guests.”

  “You’re a guest same as me tonight,” George said. “Which reminds me, I’ve invited Angharad for a quiet dinner Monday night, so perhaps that’s the sort of occasion you had in mind. Can you provide us with a simple meal, nothing elaborate?”

  “Indeed I can.” He cheered up visibly.

  George said, “It’ll be a late dinner, right after the pre-hunt meeting which I’ll keep short. I’ve invited her to sleep in a guest room, if she wishes to stay, so that will also need to be prepared. She’ll be hunting with us the next morning, so breakfast, too. I’ll be getting up earlier than she does, of course.”

  “I’ll see to everything,” Alun said. “It’s been such a long time since there were house guests here.”

  George looked in the mirror on the dresser as he completed dressing. He swung it on its frame to point down and then tilted it progressively up to get a piecemeal impression of his appearance.

  Alun had advised him to wear the less formal of the hunt coats, so as not to outshine the kennel-men. He was trying out his new low shoes with the breeches and hoped to break those in with a minimum of blisters.

  He transferred his pocket watch to the weskit, took one last look and headed down the stairs to join the assembly, a guest in his own house.

  He found the fire lit in the dining room and guests milling about in the kitchen getting in the way. Rhys and Rhodri were old hands at these events and harried their hosts with jokes as they prepared the finishing touches, but Benitoe was the worst, knowing best how to bedevil the kennel staff. Ives in the role of host finally roared at the intruders and chased them out to the dining room or hall, depending on which doorway they were closest to, closing the doors in their faces.

  George took charge of the guests, collecting them all in the front rooms and finding seats for them. Isolda came out of the kitchen a few moments later and brought a platter of small savory bits of meat and dough. Benitoe volunteered to help her, and they came back together with a tray of glasses and two pitchers, one each of cider and beer.

  Brynach and Rhian hung back a bit as Rhys and Rhodri crowded around the food, and George walked over to talk to them. “First time at one of these?”

  Rhian nodded. “Rhys would tell me about them, but I never hoped to see for myself.” Her eyes shone.

  “My first time, too, but I know even less than you do about what to expect.”

  “Oh, that’s right. I’m sorry, but it seems like you’ve been here forever,” she said.

  Seems like that to me, too, sometimes, he thought. Aloud, he said, “Easier to be guest than host. All we have to do is not drink too much, break anything important, or tell any stories that we would regret in the morning.”

  He could see Brynach taking this much too seriously. “Relax, both of you. It’ll be fun, I’m sure.”

  Their appetites restored, they helped empty the platter, and Alun brought it back to the kitchen. He returned with Ives.

  Ives announced, “My lords and ladies, please do us the honor of joining us in a meal.” He bowed them into the dining room, where Isolda took care of the seating.

  George found himself placed at the foot of the table, with Ives at the head. On George’s right were Isolda and Benitoe, followed by Rhodri, Huon, and Alun. To his left were Brynach, Rhian, Tanguy, a young lutine introduced to him as Armelle, and Rhys. The lutins were dressed in tidy red jackets and light breeches, except for Benitoe who wore one of his new green coats, like the rest of the hunt staff. Armelle and Isolda were in dresses that stopped mid-calf, with red bodices and light skirts, blue and gray, respectively.

  A grand tureen in the middle of the table was accompanied by serving dishes of root vegetables and greens on either side, and small loaves of bread on platters at each end. More pitchers of beer and cider squeezed in with everything else.

  As the last person sat down, Ives rose and raised his glass high. “To a successful hunting season.” All rose to join him, and drank. They sat down again.

  Tanguy, the senior kennel-man, rose. “To our huntsman, who provided the meat for the feast.” This time all rose to the toast but George, who nodded in acknowledgment.

  The younger kennel-man, Huon, rose for his toast. “To the hounds.” All stood up for that, and gave a cheer.

  “Let’s eat,” Ives said. “Rhodri, you’re in charge of the stew. We’ll pass the plates up and back.”

  George’s plate returned heaped with a savory rich venison stew soaking into the potatoes and carrots. He raised his glass in a private salute to that first deer from his first hunt here, and fell to with vigor after everyone had been served.

  Tanguy and Huon were kept busy with occasional forays into the kitchen to refill the serving dishes, but eventually everyone slowed down and began looking for those last morsels to tuck in before complete satiation. The kennel-men started to clear platters and plates.

  George had chatted genially with his nearest seatmates, Brynach and Isolda, but when not called upon to converse he observed with interest the couples that had been seated together and were talking to each other. Tanguy and Armelle were clearly a pair already. They laughed at each other’s jokes, and touched each other to draw attention to items of interest.

  On his right, Isolda was ten years Benitoe’s junior, yet she was an adult and the two seemed to find each other engrossing. Certainly they never lacked for conversation. From time to time, George caught Ives at the end of the table surveying that situation with a fond eye.

  On George’s left hand were a couple of young folk, not quite fully grown. Brynach was clearly fascinated by Rhian, but shy about it, while Rhian seemed oblivious. George noticed that Rhys, not well placed to supervise, yet managed to find a way to glance down the table every so often to watch his sister. On one occasion, Rhodri caught George watching Rhys watching Rhian, and winked at him. George grinned back.

  As everyone awaited the final course, George was momentarily abandoned conversationally by his seat partners. He looked down the table and felt the glow rising from the people there, not from the crackling fire. This is very like a family dinner at any holiday, warm and welcoming. But I’m not really part of it, am I? I’m temporary, a guest in this place. They’re the real participants.

  They’ve been very good to me, but what would they think if I transformed again, as I did this afternoon? How would it be then? Who befriends a monster? No, it’s better if I return. No horned man in the human world, I’ll bet.

  Isolda caught the pensive look on his face. “Anything wrong?” she asked, quietly.

  George shook it off. “No, no, my dear. Just some silly thoughts, poking at a sore place. I’m enjoying myself tremendously, and very grateful to be invited.” He smiled down at her.

  I may feel like a stranger, he thought, but I’m a part of this for the moment. I have a clear duty as huntsman and if I must be an outsider, still these people have need of someone like me.

  Huon interrupted this brooding by bringing in a large baking dish with a great clamor. The smell of apples and cinnamon rose wonderfully as he put it down. There was a big letter “O” made of dough superimposed on the crust. He laid the great pie on the center of the table and Tanguy brought out more plates.

  Ives stood and cried out, “All rise. To the destruction of Owen the Leash and all his works.” There w
as a great clatter as everyone hastened to stand and raise a glass. They turned in a body and bowed to George, who nodded back.

  “My pleasure, believe me,” he said to them.

  They sat back down and carved into the pie. Everyone wanted a piece of the “O” on the crust, to do it justice.

  George pulled out his watch to check the time while waiting for his piece. Isolda said, “This tracks the hour of the day, doesn’t it? Could you show me how?”

  He unfastened the watch from his weskit and placed it down on the table for her to see. He showed her how it opened, and explained why the outer case had an inset window in the middle so that it could be read one-handed on horseback without having to actually open it up. She held it up to her ear and giggled at the tick-tock sound. He opened up the back case to show her the delicate mechanism with its wound spring, gears, balance wheel, and the escapement that made the ticking noise.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” she said, touching the elaborate engraving on the back cover.

  An old girlfriend of George’s had found the antique watch and given it to him several years ago for his birthday. She told him she couldn’t resist the St. George and the Dragon engraved on the back, with St. George on his horse pinning the head of the writhing beast to the ground with his lance.

  “We have stories of heroes from long ago, and one of them is named Saint George. He was famous for killing dragons. This watch was a gift, and the picture’s a reference to my name.”

  Then he showed her the compass, at the other end of the watch chain where a fob would normally be. This was as much a wonder to her as the watch. He tried to explain magnetism and the spinning planet to her, but made little headway and gave up, contenting himself with showing her what it could do.

  His end of the table had fallen silent as he talked with Isolda, Benitoe looking on as well, and George glanced up and realized he had a larger fascinated audience. “Pass them around,” he told her. “Just be careful of the watch—it’s easy to damage when the case is opened up.”

  The commemorative pie was well and truly consumed while the watch and compass made their round and came back to George.

  The cheerful conversation continued around the table until the fire burned low and Ives called a halt. “We have hunting in the morning, and work still to do this evening to clean up. Time to let these good folk retire and send them on their way.”

  With some laughter, he conducted Rhys, Rhian, Brynach, and Rhodri to the front door and bade them goodnight, waving them off to find their way back to the manor house. Alun and George were forbidden to help with the cleaning, while all the lutins stayed behind to pitch in, singing boisterously and laughing in the kitchen behind closed doors.

  George looked at Alun standing in the hall listening to every noise from the kitchen with a look of distress on his face. “Never mind, time for bed,” he told him. “You can hear them from your room just as well as you can from here. Besides, you’ve had just as much to drink as they have. Let them bear the blame for any dropped plates.”

  Alun smiled slightly at the tease, and together they walked a bit unsteadily up the stairs.

  CHAPTER 26

  Someone’s laughing at us, George thought. This last private hunt Saturday morning wasn’t going well, and here they were, soaked to the skin and chilled, in their brand new livery. He was grateful for one thing, however—the water running off his tricorn behind him ran in two channels instead of right down his back. The lack of any observers for this fiasco was also a blessing.

  The skies had been dark and threatening when they set out, but Rhys’s counsel that this would normally be considered hunting weather made him persist anyway. By the time they reached Eagle’s Nest, the fixture just a couple of miles southwest of the manor, a steady drizzle had obscured the view up the heavily wooded slope.

  The stag they had been following was moving slowly across the slope, the hounds behind him having a hard time holding the line. While they were stopped for a moment to puzzle it out, Rhys rode back to George and Rhian.

  “If he reaches the top and crosses over, he’s lost to us.”

  “I don’t understand. Why can’t we just follow him over?” George asked.

  “Do you know what’s over there?” Rhys said.

  “I do. The lovely Shenandoah Valley, the Valley of Virginia.”

  “This isn’t Virginia. The west country is closed to us. People who go there come back damaged or not at all. Hounds, too. All hunting stops at the ridge line.”

  “It’s a big country out there,” George protested.

  “I’ve been told that the ridge marks the boundary all the way. Ceridwen can tell you more about it.”

  But the Appalachian mountains don’t form a continuous barrier, he thought. It’s not all one mountain seam, and there are plenty of gaps. He looked at Rhys’s sincere and worried expression and decided now wasn’t the time to discuss it.

  “Alright, I’ll take your advice. See if you can get to the front, then, because that buck’s headed for the top.” He pointed in the direction of the stag.

  “Rhian, go with him. If the hounds don’t break off, he may need you. No matter what, you two stick together. I’ll stay with the main pack.”

  They rode off to his right, their horses making heavy going of the steep wet ground.

  He blew his horn to halt the hounds and reached out to monitor their response. After several recalls, most of the pack had returned. Benitoe and Brynach arrived a few minutes later and sent in two more couple that had been slow to obey. A quick count showed they were still three hounds short.

  “Who’s missing?” he asked. “I don’t see Cythraul.”

  “Aeronwy and Rhymi, too,” Benitoe said.

  George reached out. He felt the deer hesitate at the top, then move forward. Behind the buck, he could feel the three hounds, with horses coming up behind them. The hounds crossed over, and the horses stopped. There was a sort of flare that he suspected was Rhian trying to stop the hounds directly, but he couldn’t tell if it succeeded.

  George turned to Benitoe and Brynach. “We have a situation now. The deer has crossed to the other side, and all three hounds after him. Rhys and Rhian are near the top trying to get them back. If we’re to get them any help with that, we’re going to have to bring the rest of the pack back and return.”

  The two whippers-in waited for their orders, serious and attentive.

  “We’re going to bring the pack in quickly. Brynach, you’ll stay on my left. Benitoe, take Rhys’s usual spot. If you have any problems, sing out.”

  “Pack up,” he called and pushed them out ahead of him. He let Afanc find his own footing and concentrated on making sure the pack stayed together down through the thick woods.

  When they reached the road, he pushed the speed, bringing them back through the manor gate and up to the kennels at a trot. They poured into the kennels, the hounds milling about excitedly.

  “Brynach, you stay here, sort out the hounds, and tell Ives what’s happened. I’m headed right back. Benitoe?”

  “I’m going with you.”

  “How’s your mount holding up?”

  “We haven’t gone far today, she’ll be fine.”

  George nodded, and the two of them clattered out of the kennel and cantered back down through the manor gates and down the road.

  He could still feel Rhian, somewhat distantly. She was moving downslope, and he left the road with Benitoe short of the original opening into the woods to try and meet her partway. Benitoe pointed out the entrance to another path and they both headed that way. Before they reached it, Rhian and Rhys emerged, with two of the hounds, Cythraul and Rhymi.

  Rhian was distressed. “We can hear Aeronwy but can’t find her, and these two kept wanting to go back over whenever we took our attention away from them.”

  “You did the right thing to stick to the hounds you had.” Looking at Rhys, he asked, “What happened?”

  “All three went over the ridg
e after the buck. We could hear them baying on the other side but couldn’t see them. She called and I blew. These two,” pointing at the hounds, “finally returned but Aeronwy didn’t follow them. I thought we better return these and go back.”

  George reached out. The buck was gone but he could dimly sense one hound. “I feel her. You two go back with these and get cleaned up. Shouldn’t take long to pick her up.”

  Rhys nodded and moved off with Rhian, pushing the hounds along.

  George sent out a call to Aeronwy and thought he felt a response.

  He told Benitoe, “She’s on our side but I don’t think she’s moving around. She may be injured.”

  They walked up the steep slope on the wet path cautiously, George in the lead. The ground was churned with hoof prints from Rhys and Rhian’s descent, but Benitoe, closer to the ground, leaned down with interest. “I think I see prints leading up, and they don’t match ours. They’re just a bit earlier. Someone else came up here a little while ago.”

  “In the rain?”

  “Or just before it.”

  The path opened to a shallow gap created by a fallen tree, and George paused. Benitoe waited behind him. George sensed ahead for the hound, and was surprised to find a horse, closer and approaching. He couldn’t hear it yet. Remembering how near they were to the manor, he decided he wanted to see this person without being seen, if possible.

  “Back up into this gap by the tree and don’t make a sound. Don’t move. I’m going to try and identify this guy and I don’t want him to see us.”

  They backed both horses up, George calming them into stillness with one part of his mind. The trees and the rain, along with their green clothing, partially hid them, but George wanted better camouflage. He looked across the path to a tree draped with fox grape vines, and used that as a model to build a similar glamoured wall in front of them that he could dimly see through. It wavered badly under his uncertain control, but he hoped it would be adequate in the bad visibility. He ignored the sound of Benitoe stiffening beside him in surprise.