The Hound at the Gate (18 page)

“Technical Knock Out?”

“No, Tent Knock Out.”

“Lame, MacCullen, really lame.” Lochlan fought a grin, then gave up.

An answering smile spread across Finn's face. Scooting along on his elbows and belly, he began wiggling out from under the mess. With a grunt, he freed his head. Still half-buried, he looked over at the two Knights seated on either side of a crackling fire. A moment later, Lochlan popped out next to him. Before the apprentices could explain, Gideon turned to Mac Roth. “I believe,” he said, holding out his hand, “you just lost the wager.”

“No, tie the guy line on first this time—you won't be able to reach it once the pole is all the way up.”

“Got it.” Finn nodded, following Lochlan's directions as they struggled to reassemble the tent. Placing the pole under the center section of canvas, he held it still while Lochlan heaved on the rope. The bundle of canvas rose and became a tent again, albeit skewed slightly to one side. “I can't believe it's taken us most of the afternoon.”

“'Tis the blind leading the blind.” Mac Roth leaned back in his chair, a half-eaten apple in one hand. Both feet rested on the stone ring of the fire pit.

Lochlan squatted down and looped the last rope around a peg hammered into the ground. “You could have helped us, you know.”

“Aye, I could have.” The Knight grinned and crunched down on the rest of the apple. “But I wasn't the one who brought it to its knees.”

Lochlan made a face, then looked at the pile of broken cot pieces stacked nearby. “Too bad about those. Guess we'll be sleeping on the ground.”

Finn shrugged. “I don't mind. At least we've got the air mattresses to put under our sleeping bags.”

They dragged the mattresses into the tent. For a few minutes, they busied themselves spreading the sleeping bags on them and storing various articles of clothing that seemed determined to sneak off back into their packs. They froze when a bugling call sounded in the distance.

“That's the Horn.” Finn cocked his head, listening. “I wonder what's going on. There wasn't a hunt planned or anything, was there?”

Before Lochlan could answer, Gideon stuck his head in. “We're going to go see why Denny has sounded the Horn. Have your chores completed by dinner. And stay close by.”

After the Knights left, they finished up. Then Lochlan dug into his pack and pulled out an ankle sheath. He knelt down and strapped it on.

“Where are you going?” Finn asked.

“Don't tell me you want to just sit around camp the rest of the afternoon.” After tightening the straps, Lochlan slipped a blade into it. “Want to go do some target practice?”

“Gideon said we supposed to stay in camp.” Even as Finn said it, his hands were reaching for his own knife and sheath.

“No, he said we were supposed to stay
close by
.”

“Good point. And that big bristlecone
is
close by.”

“Exactly,” Lochlan said. “Let's bring more knives so we don't have to spend so much time retrieving them.”

“Right.” Finn grabbed his backpack and upended it on his mattress. Then he stuffed Kean's sweater into the bottom of it as a cushion and handed it to Lochlan. “We can carry the extras in this. Go get them—they're in the crate.”

After Lochlan left the tent, Finn pulled his journal out from under the sleeping bag, tore out a blank page, and scribbled a note to Gideon, stressing the nearness of the bristlecone. He threw Mac Roth's name in twice. Just in case. He left the paper in the middle of his sleeping bag, held down by Lochlan's flashlight. He stepped outside as the other apprentice finished zipping up the pack.

“All set?”

“Yup.” Finn tucked a knife into his belt, then took the pack from Lochlan and hoisted it over one shoulder. Side by side, they headed for the edge of the campsite.

“I
do not like this—the Horn being sounded without reason,”

Mac Roth said as they made their way across the field. The sun balanced on the top of the western pass.

Gideon nodded. A dark-tinged uneasiness stole over him like the shadow of the barn creeping toward them.

Reaching the area in front of the Council's platform, they joined the other Knights milling around, waiting for an explanation. Speculations zinged back and forth. He frowned when he noticed the
Rath
huddled together on the platform. All three examined a large map Kel O'Shea held open. As Gideon watched, Toryn Mull leaned over her shoulder to study it before scanning the hills to the south. The chieftain spoke in an undertone to the other two
Rath
members, then walked to the edge of the platform and signaled for silence.

“About an hour ago, Douglas and Fitzgerald,” Mull pointed to a pair of younger Knights standing nearby with somber expressions, “stumbled across a larger than normal number of fresh Amandán tracks just on the other side of the river. Curious as well as foolish,
they followed the tracks all the way to the den. It seems there are a great more of those Bog-born around than we had first thought.”

“How many more?” Mac Roth asked.

“Dozens upon dozens. Probably more,” Douglas said. “They were huddled outside their den, talking.” He made a wry face. “Well,
grunting
. Anyway, we snuck closer to listen.” He paused with a look of disbelief. “They're planning a massive assault of our camp.”

“When?” Gideon asked.

“From what they said, I think they're planning on attacking at dusk.”

Mull glanced westward. “Then we must hurry. We'll gather the families with children, as well as the younger apprentices, into the barn for protection. The Knights and older apprentices will—”

A scream from the camp ripped the late afternoon air. As the Knights whirled around, a boyish voice shouted in defiance, followed by a howl of pain.

O'Shea leaped up on one of the thrones for a better view. “Amandán! Attacking from the east side of the camp!”

“How could they have crossed the river without us seeing them?” O'Neill demanded.

“They must have found a ford to wade across.” She craned her neck. “The river becomes shallower the further east it runs.”

“You four,” Mull ordered a quartet of younger Knights. “Stay here to guard those that make it back.”

“I'll stay, too, to help organize things,” O'Neill declared.

Mull nodded. “The rest of you, split into two groups. I'll lead one. Lir. Mac Roth. Take the other.”

Even as the chieftain gave the order, Gideon took off running with half the Knights behind him. Sliding his knife free, he sprinted toward the tents. Ahead of him, more screams and shouts filled the woods. They mingled with growls and yowls of the Amandán. Mac Roth thundered along beside him, his deep voice chanting the Song. On his other side, O'Shea matched him stride for stride. Even as she ran, she was loading her bow with a bronze-tipped arrow.

Charging into the first cluster of tents, Gideon ducked as a knife flew past his head. A woman, white-faced and clutching a second blade, stood with her back against a boulder. A toddler was clinging to her leg with chubby arms. In front of the mother and child, an Amandán smacked its lips. Even as Gideon raised his knife, an arrow zinged past his head. It buried itself halfway to the feathers before the goblin exploded. Ash blew everywhere.

Skidding to a halt, he scooped up the girl and thrust her into her mother's arms. “Take your child to the barn!” He nudged the woman toward a knot of families surrounded by a handful of apprentices. Gideon scanned their youthful faces. The younger ones were wide-eyed and the older ones grim-faced. But each one was armed and ready.

Nearby, O'Shea spoke hurriedly with Tara, cutting off any protests. After a brief hug, the Knight gave her a push toward the group.

“You stay with the other apprentices, Tara Butler. Once you get to the barn, do what the Knights tell you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Scowling, Tara blew her bangs out of her eyes, then stomped over and joined the knights. Nocking an arrow, she pushed another apprentice to one side. “What?” she said at O'Shea's look of disapproval. “I need room to shoot.” She took a stance on the outside of the circle.

One safe
, Gideon thought.
Now to locate the other two
. A flash of dark red hair amongst the boys made Gideon's knees sag with relief. “Finn!”

The boy turned. It was Ennis. He held a knife in each hand.

Disappointment and worry raked Gideon in tandem. He ignored them. “Ennis, take charge. Get everyone to the barn!”

Ennis gave a curt nod. He began ordering the younger apprentices to help carry toddlers, then placed older apprentices on the outside of the circle. The group took off running toward the barn.

Gideon, with Mac Roth and O'Shea fanning out on either side of him, crept deeper into the deserted camp. In the distance, he caught
some howls that were abruptly cut short, followed by faint cheers from the other group of Knights.

Moving on silent feet, he scanned the area. Fires languished in unattended rings while tents flaps hung open. Pots and utensils and iceboxes were strewn about. Smoke rose from a smoldering patch of grass, burning from a tipped-over kerosene lantern. They stamped it out before continuing.

Reaching the campsite, Gideon cursed at its emptiness. “Son of a goat.”

“What were you expecting?” O'Shea said. Another bronze-tipped arrow was nocked in her bow.

“A bleedin' miracle.” He started toward the boys' tent, then stopped when a voice shouted his name.

The others Knights, with Mull at their head, appeared. All of them were filthy with ash. “The beasties have fled. All are safe,” the chieftain panted.

“Not everyone,” O'Shea said. “We can't find Finn or Lochlan.”

“Your apprentices?” Jack Tully appeared from the back of the crowd. “I saw them heading toward the barn with some of the others.”

Gideon narrowed his eyes. Relief vied with skepticism. “Are you certain?”

Tully nodded. He started to add something when a harsh caw sounded overhead. They looked up. A crow circled overhead. Two more joined it. Then more, as if the evening air were spitting out crows like the black seeds from a watermelon.

The Knight whirled around. Taking a stance back to back, they raised their weapons and braced themselves.

“Stand firm!” Mull shouted.

Amandán burst out of the trees and from behind the tents. They flung themselves at the warriors, gibbering and howling. Demons on recess from Hell. Yellow slobber flew from yellower teeth. “Their heads,” screeched one goblin. “Go for them bleedin' heads!”

Fighting shoulder-to-shoulder, Gideon and Mac Roth slashed and stabbed at anything and everything with green fur. Goblin dust hung in the air, burning Gideon's throat as he fought to breathe and chant at the same time. After a few minutes, the need for air won.

Suddenly, a second wave of Amandán shoved the front row right into his face. He staggered, falling to one knee. Before he could rise, a hand grabbed his arm and yanked him up again.

“Taking a rest, are you?” Mac Roth asked as he swung his hatchet in a wide arc to clear a space around them.

“Not at all.” Gideon grunted as he nailed another goblin. “Simply removing a bothersome thorn from my foot,” he yelled over its death shriek.

“You're wearing workman boots,” Mac Roth pointed out, cleaving a goblin's arms clean off. Followed by its head.

“'Twas a large thorn.”

Unable to penetrate the Knights' defense, the nearest goblins danced to one side, seeking easier prey as they screeched and yowled. Grateful for the lull, Gideon spat to clear his mouth. “And how stands the
C
ú?” he shouted at the Knight on his other side.

“Like a hound at a gate,” O'Donnell shouted back, his blade a bronze blur. Dust and sweat decorated his features like the woad face paint of the Celts of old. A wild grin matched the light of battle in his eyes. “Only
this
hound
bites back
. They're going to be sorry—”