To Carry the Horn

by Karen Myers

  He started to lean to his left and reach over with his right arm to pull out his saber, Afanc dancing under him at the sudden move. Wham! Fire exploded in his right thigh as it took a blow that staggered the horse, and Afanc bucked under him and spun.

  I’ve been shot, he thought. “Rhian, take the hounds,” he cried. He could feel the horned man pushing to emerge and fought with it while trying to stay on his horse. Not now, damn it. He reached out to quell Afanc and soothe him, then wrestled the partial manifestation back down.

  He was infuriated to sense the shooter vanishing back into the way in the few seconds all this had taken. Gwyn and Idris with several others came galloping up to the chaos, and he waved them toward the way. “He’s in there, he’s getting away.”

  Gwyn led a group to the way, at speed. Just before they charged in they were met by a late-arriving party of guests, dumbfounded to be greeted by an angry mob. By the time the confusion was sorted out, the attacker was long gone.

  Rhian had taken the hounds off the road to the left and the staff stayed with her. George could feel a pounding throb in his leg but he couldn’t bring himself to look at it yet. It was taking most of his attention to hold Afanc quiet. He must’ve been hit, too, George thought.

  Not until Angharad and Ceridwen came up to him with a look of serious purpose did he finally glance down and see the quarrel, buried up to its vanes in his thigh, pinning him to the saddle, the blood dripping down Afanc’s side and pooling in the dirt.

  It worked! Not dead yet, but maybe he’ll bleed and bleed. Let’s see him take the great hunt now.

  Too bad he moved and there was only time for the one shot, but you knew you wouldn’t get a second one. There was no way to conceal a longbow. Well, it should put him down for a while, if not for good, and then it’ll be too late.

  Won’t be long now. I’ll just creep on back through the palisade once I’ve circled through the ways. Plenty of time to get back before I’m missed.

  They’ve forgotten me, but I haven’t forgotten. I’ll never forget.

  “Let’s get him down,” Angharad said to Ceridwen, “before he makes it worse.

  Ceridwen stood by his trembling horse and looked at the volume of blood running from the wound. “It’s starting to slow down so I think he was lucky, it missed the big artery.”

  “Lucky?” he said. “I’m pinned to the damned saddle.”

  Angharad’s mouth quirked. If he was swearing it couldn’t be that bad. “Let’s take you off the horse, saddle and all.”

  “Be careful. I think it goes right through and into Afanc. You must lift the saddle away from him there, not drag it.”

  She summoned Hadyn over who unfastened the girth. Iona came up to hold Afanc steady. With the help of several men, they hauled George off his horse and laid him on the ground, still straddling the saddle. He swore the whole time under his breath, whenever the twisting saddle tore at the wound.

  “How’s my horse?” he asked.

  Iona called over. “It went in about an inch. He’ll be fine, once it heals. I’ll bring him up to the stable for you.”

  “The pack?”

  “Rhian took them back to the kennels, and the hunt staff with her,” Angharad said.

  “Good for her.” He lay back in his awkward position, exhausted.

  A painful wound and he still worries about the things in his charge, Angharad thought. A man in control. I like him in this mode, even flat on his back.

  Meanwhile, Gwyn had dismissed most of the field. She saw he’d appointed Idris with some of Hadyn’s people to mount an impromptu guard, in case of another attack. At Ceridwen’s request he’d sent a rider up for her bag with medical supplies.

  Ceridwen took charge. “The first thing is to cut the quarrel where it enters the saddle. We’re lucky it’s wood, not iron.”

  “Lucky, again, is it?” George muttered sardonically from the ground. Angharad chuckled.

  Hadyn knelt over George and shoved his left hand in between his leg and the saddle to hold the shaft still, George swearing quietly all the while but trying not to move. Hadyn used his sharp knife to cut quickly through the ash shaft and pulled the saddle away as soon as it parted.

  The rider returned with Ceridwen’s bag and Angharad helped her prepare for the next step. “We’ll need to pull this bolt out straight, and there’s not a lot of it here to grip.” Once again, Hadyn stepped up. “Not yet, though. First we have to cut away the cloth.” She took a very sharp knife from her bag, and sliced away the breeches above and around the wound, pulling the lower material down to the top of his boot.

  George rolled his eyes rhetorically. “Leave me some modesty, ladies.”

  “Don’t worry,” Angharad told him. “Nothing we haven’t seen before.” That got a smile from him under his cold sweat.

  Angharad stood ready with materials while Ceridwen nodded to Hadyn to pull out the bolt. His fingers tightened on the shaft and vanes and he drew it out with steady force. Blood followed on both sides, but without the spurting that she had feared, just a flesh wound.

  Ceridwen cleaned it, placed absorbent padding on each side, and bound it tight. George closed his eyes and slumped back a moment in relief.

  Recovering, he propped himself up on his elbows. “Let me see the saddle.”

  Hadyn brought it over. The head had gone completely through an inch and a half of padded leather, and a good inch of it was visible on the inside, where it had cut Afanc. Hadyn tried to pull it out and couldn’t get a good enough grip. “You’ll need pliers for that,” he said.

  Gwyn had watched them work on George, his face and body rigid in the way that Angharad recognized as controlled fury. His voice showed no sign of it, however, as he asked lightly, “How shall we get you home, kinsman?”

  “I’ll walk,” he said, from the ground.

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Ceridwen said.

  “Well, I won’t be carried. It’s not that bad.”

  Privately, Angharad doubted that. He was pale and still sweating. That was a good bit of blood to lose, and it had to be very painful.

  “Let me suggest riding,” she said. They looked at her skeptically. “It’s his right leg, but he only needs his left to mount. We have enough folk here to boost him into a saddle for the short trip.”

  “Let’s give it a try,” George said.

  Eurig came up with his heavy horse and volunteered it. With a certain amount of shoving George managed to swing his wounded leg over and settle gingerly in the saddle, letting the leg dangle loosely on that side while he used the stirrup on the left for balance. Eurig led his horse on foot, Tegwen riding alongside him.

  Ceridwen rode on ahead to prepare the infirmary for more serious treatment, and Angharad rode beside him, to try and balance him if he started to come off on her side. He swayed in the saddle but hung on grimly, silent now.

  Rhian picked herself up from the ground behind the kennels and faced Brynach again, reluctance apparent in his every move. “Again. Show me that again.” They circled around and she feinted to the left, then tried to hook his leg and topple him before he could close with her. It failed again, the leg out of her reach.

  He’s too tall for that to work, she decided as she disengaged. I’ll bet he puts on a few more inches before he’s done. It’s just not fair, I’m almost done growing and I’m younger than he is.

  Brynach stopped her. “I know Hadyn’s been starting you with unarmed combat, and that’s probably fine to lay the basics, but if you want my opinion, I think you should go straight to weapons work. You need a knife as an equalizer for your size.”

  He avoids looking directly at me when he mentions my size. Boys, she grinned. At least he’s trying to help instead of just brushing me aside.

  “I won’t always have a knife,” she said.

  “Why not, if you make it a policy that you always carry at least one? You can always find somewhere to carry a knife.”

  She considered that. Knives were easy to concea
l, even in girl clothes. The pocket slashes cut right through skirt and petticoat to the pockets tied beneath, and she could easily reach a knife strapped around her thigh that would never show. Or even two.

  “There’s no reach to a knife, though. That’s a good idea for defense, but how can I attack with my smaller size?”

  He lectured her in tones she could tell came from Hadyn. “A knife is for defense—it’s all about cunning and determination. Arrows are for stand-off offense, staying out of reach. Sword, clubs, lances—that’s man-to-man, where skill and strength are of equal benefit.”

  He broke off and looked at her. “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have a hard time with heavy hand-held weapons against much larger, if slower, opponents. Even if you’re quick, they can still take much more damage before it disables them.”

  “Benitoe has a sword, and he’s smaller than I am. Throwing axes, too.” She’d been surprised to see him turn up with them, strapped on his saddle, but glad, too. They were all in this together.

  “You’ll have to ask him, then.”

  She couldn’t do that. He was twice her age, and she couldn’t imagine how she would phrase it. It was a good idea, though. She glanced at Brynach. He hadn’t said it out of pique, as some boys might; he made the recommendation straight, like a friend.

  She nodded at him seriously. “I’ll think about it.”

  I can’t wait for Hadyn on this, she thought. “Where can I get some knives to use?”

  “Take them from the house armory. You live there, don’t you? Try some different styles—length, shape, weight—and see what works for you and what’s easy to conceal. I’ve heard that real knife users handle three types, long-blades for defense against longer weapons, short knives for serious concealment, and throwing knives. Go for those last, they take a while to master.”

  “Thanks, I’ll do that. What can we use for now?”

  He clearly thought he had deflected her for the moment, but if he knew her better, he’d have realized that wouldn’t work. She kept her face straight and let his good nature and his willingness to oblige her lead him her way. And it worked.

  “You need dulled blades to learn on, but here’s one of mine for starters. With sheaths on for both of us, or I won’t do it.” His face acquired a stubborn expression.

  I guess I can only push him so far. She nodded.

  They circled around each other and tested for openings. She liked the way the knife extended her reach. It lengthened his arm, too, but put the rest of his limbs at risk to her point.

  She tried her feint again, but this time when she attacked she slashed at the other arm instead of trying to brush it aside for a hold. That worked much better.

  They kept up the sparring for a few minutes, and when Brynach stopped one attack with the sheathed point at her throat, they were startled by applause.

  Several people were standing about, with smiles on their faces. “What’s the matter, boy? Won’t she have you?”

  Rhian straightened up, her cheeks flaming. Where had this audience come from, back behind the kennels? Worse, she saw Hadyn approaching with determined strides and a black look on his face. She put herself in front of Brynach and faced him.

  “This was my idea. I made him do it,” she said.

  “Did you now, lass?” he said, with visible restraint.

  “No, Master Hadyn,” Brynach said, coming around her to stand directly before him. “I was helping a friend practice.” His face showed no willingness to apologize or explain, and only then did Rhian realize the difficulty she had put him in.

  “You two are coming with me,” Hadyn said. Squaring their shoulders and trying to make the best of it, they followed him, and the bystanders moved aside, laughing, to let them pass.

  George squirmed in his armchair, trying to find a less uncomfortable position for his throbbing leg. He was grateful to be back in his study after the morning’s disaster. Ceridwen had stitched the wounds shut and sealed the skin but she’d warned him the deep muscle injury would ache while it healed. Ache, is it, he thought. Doctors everywhere make the same understatements.

  He planned to take it easy the rest of today, but he was determined to ride on Thursday, the day after tomorrow. Alun was off searching for a cane he could use. Iolo had a few, but he’d been a shorter man and they wouldn’t work for him.

  A loud knock on his back door drew his attention, and someone bellowed without waiting for a response. “You there?”

  “Come on in,” George called, recognizing Hadyn’s voice.

  He heard a clatter of more than two feet, and watched Hadyn enter with Brynach and Rhian, a hangdog look on the one, and defiance on the other. Behind them, Hadyn gave him a suspicion of a wink, and George settled himself with a dead-pan expression, expecting some theatrics.

  “What can I do for you, Master Hadyn?” he said, feeding him a straight line to get him started.

  “Are these yours, huntsman?” he growled, placing a hand on each of them at the shoulder, as if they were prisoners.

  “They are. What seems to be the problem, master?”

  “I’ll thank you to tell them not to spar, with weapons, unsupervised,” Hadyn said.

  Ah. This was a bit more serious than he’d supposed. “Can you explain, Brynach? You’re the elder here.” Interesting. That made Rhian blush.

  “Nothing to report, sir,” Brynach said.

  Rhian shrugged off Hadyn’s hand. “Don’t be silly,” she told Brynach.

  She turned to George. “This was all my idea. I was… worried about you.” She glanced surreptitiously at his leg. “It looked very bad, this morning, and it’s not right that we couldn’t stay there and fight for you.”

  George was touched, but couldn’t afford to let it show. “You had the pack to take care of, all of you, and I was proud of you for taking it in charge on your own responsibility. That was more important.”

  She looked surprised at that. “I’ve started work with Master Hadyn, and I understand why he sets the tasks in a certain order, I do, but I need to be better right now. There isn’t enough time to do it his way.” She glanced back at him in apology.

  She paused a moment. “All those people in the field, they don’t like you. They don’t like Benitoe. Some of them may just be grumbling, but we have real enemies, they killed Iolo. We need to be able to defend ourselves.”

  Well, she wasn’t wrong, of course. It still didn’t sit right with him that a fourteen-year-old girl was worried about attacking deadly foes.

  He glanced at Brynach and could see him drinking it in, admiration on his face. He’s got it bad, he thought, but it’s going to be a while before she’s old enough to see it. He seems to have the sense to understand that though. Good for him.

  He looked at Hadyn, and thought carefully about his official response.

  “I commend you for your loyalty to your comrades and your zeal to make yourself a better warrior in their defense.” She looked up, her face lightening.

  “However,” he said sternly, watching her face fall again, “my willingness to let you make your own choices about a dangerous line of work doesn’t include unnecessary danger incurred deliberately in training.” Looking at Brynach, he said, “You’re the elder. I’m sure she was very insistent but you shouldn’t have given way.”

  Brynach said, “It was just going to be unarmed combat, initially.”

  “I believe you, but you’re much bigger, and not experienced enough to keep from injuring her by accident. You’re used to being the smaller person in training, not the larger.”

  “You’re right, sir,” he said, abashed.

  “That’s not fair,” Rhian said. “I made him do it. And he made us keep the knives sheathed.”

  “No, Rhian,” Brynach said. “He’s right. It’s my responsibility not to give in.”

  He gave them a moment to repent, glancing at Hadyn to see his nod.

  “That said, here’s what we’ll do, going forward. Weapons-master Hadyn will concentr
ate on some emergency coaching for both of you, for the next five days, after which he will return to his usual course of instruction.” He glanced over at Hadyn to see how the proposal would be taken. “You won’t do any sparring with uncovered weapons or unbated blades. None. Am I clear on this?”

  They nodded, relieved that the dressing down was over.

  “Despite what I said about the size difference, Brynach, Rhian will have to learn to cope, and so should you. If you must spar together, then Rhian must wear at least a padded vest until both of you are more expert. We all get knocked around in training, but I want no deadly accidents. Are we agreed?”

  They nodded again.

  “Now, about the hunt.” They stood a little easier. “I will hunt the hounds on Thursday, I must. But would you do me the favor, Rhian, of taking the hound walk for tomorrow, if you will?”

  “Yes, huntsman.” She looked suitably solemn at the responsibility.

  “That will be all.” He regarded them sternly. “Don’t make me regret letting you both off with a warning.”

  They left as quickly as they could.

  Hadyn stayed behind and looked down at George as he fell back in his chair, an involuntary grimace seizing his face as he relaxed and reacted to the painful throbbing for a moment.

  “Feeling it, are you?”

  “What am I going to do about this sort of thing?” he said, waving his hand in the direction of the absent youngsters. “I can’t protect them like this,” looking at his elevated leg.

  “You can’t protect anyone, in the end,” Hadyn said soberly. “Death comes for us all.”

  “Not on my watch, if I can help it.”

  “Ah, but you can’t help it. They’re independent people, and you’re not all-powerful.” George shrugged in reluctant acknowledgment.

  “You need to learn this,” Hadyn persisted. “I train people to fight. Some of them die by violence, but many don’t, and I hope that those that don’t lived longer because of what I taught them. It’s the best I can hope to achieve.”

  “Yes, but I’m training them to hunt. Death should only come by accident, not deadly intent. The image of war without its guilt.”