To Carry the Horn
Page 48
Before entering the inn, George set Thomas’s two men to sending on one of Huw Bongam’s wagons to the other group, then coordinating the wagons of the inn’s party. They’d line those up in the road and free up some space in the stable yard to maneuver the horses. George had a private word with one of the grooms to hold his horse tacked up but under shelter to spare him as much of the cold as possible.
He walked into the inn’s main room, bringing his dogs with him, and beckoned Huw over. “Do you think we could send some hot tea and maybe something stronger down to the Travelers’ Way? There are about forty people in the snow and some of them are shivering with the cold.”
“I’ve already taken that in hand. The wagon they’re getting carries fifteen blankets, three gallons of tea, and a nice hot toddy for any who wants it. Let me go see about the rest of the preparations in the stable yard.”
“Good work.”
Many of the crowd had turned to watch him standing in the entrance. George knocked loudly on the door frame for silence and addressed them. “In one hour we’ll lead a party from here with a group from the Travelers’ Way up to Greenway Court. If you’re trying to go on to Edgewood, I strongly advise you to join us, since the snow could start again at any time. We can house you at the court until the weather allows you to continue your journey.”
“Be warned,” he continued, “The snow is deep and it’s about two miles. We’ll break trail for the vehicles as we go and there should be a place in the wagons for anyone who isn’t mounted, but I urge you to ride if you can to leave room for others. Can I see a show of hands for anyone who plans to join us?”
A rising hubbub filled the room at the news, though George didn’t doubt that Huw Bongam had already warned them this was coming. About a dozen fae raised their hands, and many more korrigans. Five lutins made their way through the crowd to the front, too, all dressed in red and a bit shorter even than the korrigans.
George called again for silence. “If you don’t have a mount and need a place in the wagons, come up to me now for a moment. I’d also like to see a leader for each group, someone who can keep track of its members before and during the ride so that we don’t leave anyone behind. Everyone else, start packing. And be quick about it.”
Two fae and a korrigan joined the lutins in front as most of the rest of the crowd dispersed to pack their belongings.
The elder fae spoke first. “I’m Meilyr. All of us are from elsewhere in Gwyn’s domains and came at his call. We have four in our party who are traveling to Edgewood as masters in their crafts. One of those is a colleague of Ceridwen. There are seven others who are seeking family long lost to them. I’m one of those.”
“Will you hold yourself responsible for their names and making sure of their whereabouts for our journey to the court?” George asked.
“I will.”
“Do any need wagons?”
“The craft masters brought equipment but we have our own wagons to haul it. All are mounted.”
“Thank you. Please assemble your wagons on the party already out front and take your instructions from the rangers there.”
The lutins came forward, led by one middle-aged lutine. She said, “I’m Rozenn. Some of us are looking for lost family, and others are seeking employment. I’ll be responsible for our names and well-being, but we’ll all need places in the wagons, with our goods.”
“Thanks, Mistress Rozenn. Please bring your people and your goods to me here. I’ll hold all the wagon loads in one place until we’re sure how many will be required.”
As she left, Huw Bongam returned. “How about it, huntsman? Do you know how many wagons you’ll need from here yet?”
“So far, it looks like there are five lutins and their gear who will need transport, but the rest are accounted for. So, just the one wagon. What’s the news from Thomas?”
“He thinks he only needs the one wagon I sent him for his group, so it’s not as bad as I feared. I’ll send out two drivers who can bring them back when the weather permits.” He sighed. “It makes me think of Isolda, your party of lutins needing a driver. I can’t get used to her being gone. She’d have loved the adventure.”
George frowned and gripped his shoulder. He turned back to the senior korrigan who was waiting patiently to speak.
“I’m Broch, and I’ll take charge of the fifteen of us from Gwyn’s domains. We, too, are craft masters and traders, hoping to re-open the route to Edgewood. We’ve brought our own wagons, and a few of us are riding as well. I’ve already sent our folks to assemble in the road with the others.”
One person was left waiting near the door, a fae who looked a bit younger than George. Unlike almost all the dark-haired fae George had met, he was redheaded and freckled.
“Not part of Meilyr’s group?” George said.
“No,” he said, smiling sardonically. “I’m just a lowly provincial musician—Cydifor. But I have hopes. No one said anything about Rhys Vachan having any musicians at Edgewood.”
“I’ve been there and I don’t remember any. But, you know, his cousin Rhodri is one, himself?”
Cydifor’s face fell, and George laughed.
“Don’t worry. Rhodri’s not there to stay for the long-term, and in the meantime he’s likely to prove a friend. I imagine he’s tired of playing by himself for his own amusement. Do you need transport?”
“I have a horse, but I’d appreciate space in a wagon for my gear, to ease the burden on her.”
“No problem,” George said. “Bring it here with the lutins’ bundles and then go mount up.”
Cydifor looked at George with unapologetic curiosity. “Did I hear Huw Bongam call you huntsman? Are you Gwyn’s new huntsman? I came through Danderi just after the great hunt and heard all about it.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t introduce myself properly. I’m George Talbot Traherne, Gwyn ap Nudd’s great-grandson and, yes, his new huntsman.”
“I heard that someone died at the start,” Cydifor said, tentatively.
“That was Isolda of whom we were speaking. She had just started working as a driver. She was only eighteen and newly-betrothed, and she gave her life to save Gwyn’s foster-daughter from death at the hands of Cyledr Wyllt.”
“Who became the quarry of the great hunt.”
“Yes. He’s gone now.” There was satisfaction in George’s voice.
“Excuse me, but someone said you were human.”
“It’s true, more or less. I was brought here when the old huntsman was murdered. It’s a long story, for another time.”
Cydifor persisted. “They also said you hunted as the horned man.”
“As I said, a long story. We can speak at the manor house later.”
Cydifor took the dismissal in good humor and went off to gather his possessions.
George took a look around as he hurried off. He waved a hand at the locals who were left in the inn’s main room and went off to check on the assembly in the road.
George and his men finished loading the borrowed wagon and helping the smaller lutins scramble in. Their driver hastened out to join them, still munching the end of his meal and fastening his coat.
As he mounted up to ride the length of the group standing in front of the inn, George considered how long it would take to get the two groups together and then up two miles of snowy road before dark or the next storm. Probably about two hours, if nothing breaks down. He pulled out his pocket watch on its chain and confirmed that he had about that much daylight left. It was going to be close.
He spoke to Meilyr and Broch as he passed and got their assurance that everyone in their groups was accounted for, waved at Cydifor, and checked with Mistress Rozenn that all the lutins were set, with blankets piled around them, Cydifor’s instruments, and George’s dogs at their feet, to keep them out of the way.
“Alright,” he called to Thomas’s men. “Let’s move ’em out.”
The horses at the front of the line, including his own heavy Mosby, started out first, p
acking the snow down more tightly for the wagons that followed them. The korrigans, on their smaller horses and ponies, followed behind the heavier horses. The squeak of the dry snow combined with the rumble of the wagons and the creak of the horses’ saddles and harnesses to make it a noisy departure. Some of the drinkers at the inn waved from the doorway as they pulled out, the light behind them shining out onto the road under the darkened sky.
They didn’t have far to go. George held them short of the bridge and saw Thomas leading his group out of the gloom from the left. All the riders were as well-bundled as possible, and the people on the wagons had made good use of Huw Bongam’s blankets.
George walked Mosby over to confer with Thomas. “How do you want to do this?”
Thomas said, “Two of my men at the back, two along the sides moving up and down to keep them moving, and the two of us in front. I’ll have one of them do a count as they go by, so we know how many wagons and riders. Let me start out ahead to make sure there’s no special problem with the road. You come along on your horse at the head of the line to reassure them as we go.” He gave some last instructions to one of his men, then wheeled his horse around and crossed the bridge.
George turned back to the foot of the bridge, a grin tugging at one side of his mouth. He was going to be the master of a wagon train, if only for a couple of hours. Too bad he didn’t have a cattle herd to go with it and a good Stetson hat.
He faced the two lines of riders and wagons and raised his hand for attention. The groups quieted.
“Listen up. We have about two hours of daylight and it should be enough. We’re going to cross this bridge and go up the road on the far side of the stream, to the right. It’s a gentle slope, but uphill all the way. At the end is the lower gate of the manor house and one more brief climb up to where we’ll unload and get under shelter.
“Keep track of your neighbors. Don’t leave the line under any circumstances. If anything happens, a child falls overboard, anything, call for help from one of Thomas Kethin’s riders. Make sure your group leaders know where you are and, leaders, keep track of your people. It’s not that cold, but you don’t want to be outside overnight, wandering in the dark.
“We’re going to line up in sections. All riders on larger horses first, beginning with the group from the inn, then those from the way. Stick together with your group. The riders on shorter animals next, both groups. Then the wagons, starting with the lutins from the inn and then the rest of the inn party, and last the other wagons,” gesturing at the group from the Travelers’ Way. “Try to spread out on the road several abreast with your horses so the wagons behind you have better traction for their wheels. We’ll swap the leaders as we go so your horses can get a break.”
He paused. “Any questions?” No one replied.
Thomas trotted back over the bridge and joined him. “There are footprints, someone small, headed up the road since we came through earlier. Keep an eye out for him.”
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Karen Myers is the author of the best-selling novel To Carry the Horn, the first entry in the series The Hounds of Annwn, a contemporary Wild Hunt fantasy set in a fae otherworld version of the Virginia Piedmont. She is currently working on a new fantasy series, The Affinities of Magic, following a young wizard who launches an industrial revolution of magic. More information is available at Perkunas Press.
A graduate of Yale University from Kansas City, Karen has lived with her husband, David Zincavage, in Connecticut, New York, Chicago, California, and more recently in the lovely foxhunting country of Virginia where they followed the activities of the Blue Ridge Hunt, the Old Dominion Hounds, the Ashland Bassets, and the Wolver Beagles.
Karen writes, photographs, and fiddles from her log cabin in the Allegheny mountains of central Pennsylvania. She can be reached at KarenMyers@HollowLands.com.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
ALSO BY KAREN MYERS
SHORT TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
GUIDE TO NAMES AND PRONUNCIATIONS
IF YOU LIKE THIS BOOK…
ALSO BY KAREN MYERS
EXCERPT FROM THE WAYS OF WINTER
ABOUT THE AUTHOR