To Carry the Horn

by Karen Myers

  They cheered and remounted as they saw the hunt come through at the other way. Idris rode into the group to question them, and they reported the flight of Madog and Creiddylad a few minutes ago. Some had tried to follow them out, using Madog as a guide, but he threatened them off.

  They rejoined the hunt field as quickly as possible, and George led them to the entrance way just as the other way behind him vanished.

  As George popped out of the woods into the open field, still glowing in the moonlight, he found it deserted. Any stragglers here had already found their own way out, in one direction or the other.

  He brought the pack down to the entrance way with its dim view of the bridge at the village, and held them there, off to one side.

  Gwyn sent Idris through ahead for news of Madog and stood next to George, with the hunt staff, to let the hunt field go by.

  As the last one crossed, the way behind them at the other end of the field winked out. George and Gwyn rode on together last through the way and brought the pack out, their horses’ hooves rattling on the wooden bridge surface.

  Gwyn paused at the foot of the bridge to let the pack go by, and George brought them back to the spot they started from, marveling at the size of the crowd that had returned to cheer their arrival. Isolda’s wagon was gone, and all traces of her death with it.

  A moment after Benitoe with the last hounds exited the way, it closed.

  George reached for the oliphant and sounded it, for the third and final time. The low lonesome echoing note silenced the crowd. He felt the world start to spin again into its new year, and then he could no longer hear the beat of it.

  The parties on both sides rejoined each other across the bridge. A girl ran up to George, shyly, holding his tricorn up to him. He bent over his saddle and thanked her gravely.

  Idris made his way back to Gwyn through the crowd as the hunt field broke up. Gwyn brought him to George, standing with the pack, and waved Edern over to join them.

  “Madog’s headed in the direction of the manor, with your sister,” Idris told them.

  Gwyn looked at George. “He’s going to try for the ways. We’ll need you there, kinsman.”

  George took in Rhian beside him. She was running on nerves but still alert. “Can you take the pack home? Slowly?” The hounds were tired and dragging.

  “I can do it, huntsman,” she said. Benitoe and Rhys nodded.

  Tegwen came up and said, “Brynach and I will ride with them.” George thanked her.

  An impromptu posse formed up. Gwyn, with Edern, took the lead, and Idris, Ceridwen, Eurig, Rhodri, Angharad, and George joined behind them.

  With a loud cry of “Make way” to clear their path through the celebrants, they cantered up the road in the moonlight, breaking into a gallop as they left the crowd behind.

  CHAPTER 37

  Their pursuit was in danger of being blocked for a while by clusters of riders back from the hunt making their slow way home, but they pulled off the road to let them by as they heard them come up behind them.

  George felt Mosby tired beneath him, and knew the other horses were also worn out, like their riders. But Madog and Creiddylad were no better off, and they had to try and catch them, if they could.

  Mosby wasn’t built for speed and fell to the back of the group. Angharad slowed down and waited for him, so that no one rode alone on the dark road.

  Gwyn and Edern barely hesitated at the manor gates. The guards waved them on up the road and the chase continued, a bit more cautiously now, to spare the horses.

  By the time they reached Daear Llosg, George and Angharad were a couple hundred yards behind. Madog had clearly been there for several minutes trying to open the way George had sealed. George could see that it hadn’t worked. The seal felt intact, almost glowing in response to Madog’s attempts.

  As Gwyn’s group approached, Madog gave up on it and turned his horse west, toward the ridge. Gwyn and Edern halted below them, letting their horses recover. George and Angharad caught up and made their way to the front with Gwyn.

  Creiddylad sat her horse between the parties and looked at her brothers. Then she looked up to Madog, about to send his partially recovered horse up the slope. She said nothing, but Madog, hesitating, held out his hand to her and beckoned. She turned to follow and they both rode off into the woods.

  George told Gwyn, “They’re making for the small way, behind the palisade.”

  “Can you shut it?”

  “Not from here.”

  Setting themselves to one more effort, the posse followed as hard as their horses would allow.

  Madog swore in frustration as he heard the hooves approaching. That damned human’s seal held the way closed against him and he couldn’t break through. It was outrageous—he created this way in the first place. It belonged to him.

  Well, too bad for Creiddylad, that was her way home. He’d planned to ride though with her and close it behind them.

  Damn that Cyledr. Wrong girl at the bridge. If he’d just acted quickly instead of taunting them at the end it might still all have worked. The transported way-loop ambush did its job, just as planned. He’d got that part right.

  He’d been surprised when Cyledr’s way-token successfully closed the way at the bridge, he hadn’t expected that to work, a token-based claim-and-close on a new way. Didn’t work long, though, once Cernunnos got involved. Didn’t expect to see him. That vision still dried his mouth. Glad he wasn’t after me.

  Must be his fault that none of the ways closed for me on the way back. I wonder how he did it? Maybe he’s the nominal owner, so he has the prior claim. That killed my backup plan, to trap the rest of the hunt behind one of the temporary ways on the return. Now they’re breathing down my neck instead of being lost somewhere coming back overland

  Time to regroup and get back home, through the hidden way. I bet they don’t know about that one, and my horse has had a few minutes to breathe.

  He turned to climb the slope, and saw Creiddylad poised below him. She held onto her dignity, but her eyes held a mute appeal. Abandon her to her brothers or take her with him? She could never go back. Well, he’d seen worse. She’d held up her end of the deal, after all.

  He reached out his hand and beckoned to her, oddly pleased to see the gratitude in her face. Together they cantered up the hill.

  Before they could reach the wide place in the trail, pushing through the dark paths in the woods, George felt the two they pursued take the way and vanish. When they arrived a few minutes later, the spot was empty, and they started to crowd into it, until George at the rear called them to stop.

  “You can’t see it and might blunder through.” They made a space for him to bring Mosby to the front.

  The open way remained invisible to everyone except George. He dismounted, handing his reins to Angharad to hold, and walked over to it, marking its line by dragging his boot along the ground in the moonlight as he had done before. The rest of the riders filed in and took their places around it.

  Gwyn and Edern sat their horses directly in front, silent and grim.

  “What would you have me do, kinsmen?” George asked, looking up at both of them. “We could follow them.”

  Idris behind them said, “Never, into an enemy way, prepared for ambush.”

  Gwyn and Edern looked at each other for a few long moments, coming to a silent agreement. Gwyn said, “Close it, kinsman, destroy it utterly.”

  George looked to Rhodri for guidance. He seemed uncertain but nodded. So, a way could be eliminated, not just sealed. But how? He studied it until he thought he understood. A way through space was something like the parting of the Red Sea by Moses. The waters, held back precariously, wanted to rush back in and so here did space press on all sides to crush the tunnel into oblivion.

  So he let it do so.

  He felt a gentle breeze on his face as some of the trapped air puffed out, stirring the leaves at their feet. The way was gone, as if it had never been. Rhodri stared at George, his fac
e pale.

  Gwyn and Edern joined hands on horseback, facing where the way had been. “We, Gwyn ap Nudd and Edern ap Nudd,” speaking alternately, “had once a sister, Creiddylad ferch Nudd. We renounce her, now and forever.”

  Gwyn intoned. “I, for her part in the murder of Iolo ap Huw and Isolda, daughter of Ives, and Maonirn, servant at our inn, and for the attempted murder of my foster-daughter Rhian ferch Rhys, and my kinsman George Talbot Traherne, and Brynach, kinsman of my vassal and friend Eurig ap Gruffyd.”

  Behind him, Eurig nodded.

  Edern responded solemnly. “I, for her part in the murder of my son Rhys ab Edern and his wife and retainers, and the attempted murder of my grand-daughter Rhian ferch Rhys.”

  The words fell into the night’s darkness and resonated there with a feeling of breaking bonds. George felt something stir within him, as if Cernunnos had heard and noted it.

  Idris led them all out, in silence, down the paths to the back palisade gate. The guards were surprised to see them there, so late at night, but cheerfully wished them joy of the new year.

  It will be good to get home, George thought as they made their way together to the stables in what was left of the moonlight.

  At the stables they found people waiting for them.

  George dismounted stiffly and walked over to Benitoe, standing alone on the edge of the group. His face was desolate, and George grasped his shoulders and bowed his head in sorrow. There was nothing they could say to each other that would do any good.

  Eventually, Benitoe said. “I must go now, to Ives, but I wanted to report. All the hounds are back safe, and Rhys and Rhian have gone to bed.”

  “Please tell Ives how deeply I grieve with you two,” George said, as they parted.

  Tegwen had waited for Eurig, but there was no sign of Brynach. Eurig was telling her about the renunciation of Creiddylad as George approached.

  “How’s Brynach?” he asked.

  “He’ll be fine,” Tegwen said. “He rode with Benitoe all the way back.”

  Eurig bowed to George formally. “We are very grateful for his preservation.”

  “Tell Rhian. She did most of it, when Madog threatened, and against Scilti before that.”

  “Indeed I will do so.” He looked at his wife and smiled. “I hope we’ll be seeing ever more of her, in time.”

  He put his arm around Tegwen and they walked quietly off toward the manor.

  That left Angharad, next to him. “I’ll see you back at your house,” she said, touching his shoulder, and turned up the lane.

  He looked in on Mosby, and found him already drowsing, brushed down and comfortable in his box. When he came back out, he found he was the only one left.

  He walked slowly, still limping, over to the kennels and was stopped in his tracks by the sight of Isolda’s wagon, standing abandoned outside the kennels on the far side of the gates, its decorations torn and drooping. He felt the blow in the pit of his stomach. His head bowed, he opened the gates to the kennel yard.

  Quietly, he entered each of the pens from the corridor side, looking at the drowsy hounds on their benches and telling each of them how good they were, how proud he was of them. The occasional resonant thump of a tail was the only noise he heard.

  No one else was in the kennels.

  He stepped inside the huntsman’s office and put the oliphant away, locking the cupboard. He couldn’t think of anything else that needed to be done. He walked out down the huntsman’s alley. All was quiet in the lane, no one was about and no lights were visible until he opened his own gate to see lights on in his house.

  He walked heavily up the porch stairs, and there was Alun to greet him at the door.

  “You shouldn’t have stayed up,” George said.

  Alun waved that aside. “Angharad returned a little while ago. She may be asleep by now.”

  George took a chair in the hall and Alun helped him off with his boots and provided slippers. “Can I get anything for you?”

  “No, go to bed.”

  Alun showed no intention of leaving until George went upstairs, so he reluctantly stood up again and climbed one last flight, leaning on the banister.

  It was too much work.

  George, dead on his feet, fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. His bed looked soft but somehow he’d gotten himself tangled up after he got his coat and vest off. He remembered putting his gun on the chest of drawers and emptying all his pockets, but he kept reaching into pockets, expecting to find more, until he made himself stop, holding onto the furniture.

  Something was missing. What was it? What had he forgotten to do?

  He turned around, and things went blank for a moment.

  He found himself in front of the door to Angharad’s room, down the hall. He raised a heavy hand—odd, was that his hand?—and knocked softly.

  She came and opened it. He looked past her into the room and could see that she’d been reading.

  “I wanted to make sure you got back alright,” he said, his tongue clumsy. She waited for more, but he swayed, and she reached out to him.

  “Let’s put you to bed, my dear,” she said. She led him by the hand over to the far side of her wide bed, and made him sit.

  He focused on her, confused.

  She bent over and unfastened his breeches, removing them with his delayed assistance and then addressed him, sitting there, her hand on his shoulder.

  “Lie down,” she said, and pushed sideways.

  He collapsed bonelessly on top of the covers and kept falling, into a dreamless sleep.

  CHAPTER 38

  George rolled over, comfortable in his bed, but the smell of bacon was proving hard to ignore.

  Something was wrong with the light, though. Too bright for early morning. He opened his eyes. It’s late, I’ve overslept, he thought in alarm.

  Wait, where am I? This is Angharad’s room. He looked down. He was on top of the covers, mostly dressed, but someone had thrown a blanket over him. He had only the vaguest recollection of last night, tapping on her door. A flush crept up his face. What must she think of me?

  Well, can’t have been too bad. At least she gave me a blanket, he chuckled.

  He stretched, wincing at the wound in his right leg, and took stock. He felt much better, not exactly well-rested, that would need much more sleep, but cheerful and ready for action.

  Better clean up and get downstairs before they eat all that bacon.

  After a late breakfast, George shy in front of a placid Angharad, he walked to the stable to check on Mosby again. Finding him well, he went on to the kennels and stopped, frozen in place.

  Rhian was there, alone, trying to take down the decorations on Isolda’s wagon. She went at it wildly, tearing the garlands into heaps at her feet.

  She heard George’s involuntary protest and turned to him defensively. “I want to clear it all away. I don’t want Ives and Benitoe to have to look at it.”

  George opened his arms in pity and she fled into them, weeping against his shoulder. He wrapped her up against his broad chest and rocked her, crooning, “Hey, now, hey,” and other soothing noises. He concentrated on being a warm comfort, a shelter from the world of sorrow she was growing up into. He thought of the oak tree standing solid on its hill.

  Eventually the sobs broke down into coherent words and he released her enough to let her speak, muffled, into his coat. “It’s my fault she died. She did it to save me. Now I have to be worth it, and how can I be?” She started wailing again, and he tucked her back in against his chest thinking about what to say.

  He looked down at the top of her head. “You know, it’s one of the finest things anyone can do, to give their life for their friends. It’s the death of a hero.”

  No reaction. “She saw the threat, faster than anyone else, and she decided, I can save my best friend. And she did.”

  Still no response. “When my time comes, I hope I can be as brave and as selfless. What she did was glorious and you’ll always remember h
er for it. It’s for those she left behind to honor her and not grieve, as best we can.”

  Hiccups, now, against his chest. “All of us must die, but how we face it is up to us,” he said. “And how we handle the death of our comrades.”

  Over her head he saw Rhys approaching, concerned about his sister. George released Rhian and tilted her face up, one finger under her chin. “This will hurt for a long time, but eventually you’ll carry her here, I promise you,” laying his hand on his heart over his dampened coat, “and she’ll be a comfort, always.”

  Rhys glanced at the wagon and his sister’s face with understanding. “Let me help, Rhian. We’ll get it all taken care of, and I’ll have the wagon put away so no one needs to look at it.”

  They turned back to the wagon, Rhian’s breath still catching as she calmed down. As they worked, Rhys kept up a steady conversation about how brave she was fighting for Brynach and resisting Cyledr. As she visibly took hold of her emotions again, she started to ask about Cyledr, what his story was. George and Rhys filled in what they knew.

  When the wagon was finally stripped, and all the trimmings piled back into it for disposal, Rhys went off to arrange for horses and a wagoner to take it away. Rhian looked at it and choked up again.

  “What is it, my dear?” George said.

  “Isolda wanted you to see all of us together decorating it yesterday. We had such a good time.”

  He hugged her from the side with one arm, while she stood tall, tears running down her face.

  George and Angharad were enjoying a more substantial mid-day meal with Alun, when they heard a knock at the back door.

  Alun brought back Tanguy, the kennel-man, his face saddened.

  He bowed formally to George and Angharad, and they rose from the table to return the gesture.

  “Master Ives has invited you, all three, to attend our farewell to Isolda at Daear Llosg, at sunset.”

  George glanced at Angharad for agreement, then said, “We’ll be there, to stand in sorrow with her friends and family.”