The Hound at the Gate (6 page)

“About time you two showed up,” Mac Roth shouted to them from the edge of a stand of aspens. “Have you gone before the
Rath
yet?”

“We have,” Gideon called back.

“I take all went well?”

Gideon hesitated. “In a manner of speaking.”

Mac Roth gave a nod of understanding, then jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Our tents are yonder.”

“We're fetching our kit even now.” He gave a wave and continued.

Picking up their pace, master and apprentice avoided the gate and the
C
ú, not wanting to give away the Hound's game to any new arrivals. Instead, they followed a narrow, overgrown path through the southern edge of the grove back to the parking area. Finn peered around at the shadows. Dark pines crowded each other, making it difficult to see more than a few feet ahead. Squeezed by the narrowness of the path, Finn dropped behind his master.

An odd silence fell as they walked along. Even the breeze stopped blowing.

For some reason, goose bumps broke out on Finn's arms. Catching movement out of the corner of his vision, he slammed to a stop. A figure flitted behind a massive trunk. He blinked.
What the heck?
“Hey, Gideon? Did you see that?”

A few feet ahead, the Knight slowed, then turned back. “What?”

“Something moved back there near that big tree.” He pointed.

Gideon's hand went to the back of his belt. A string of Gaelic curses followed. Dread lanced through Finn when he realized neither of them was armed. Before his master could give the order, he hustled over to take a stand next to the Knight.

“What was it?” Gideon whispered. “Amandán?”

“I-I couldn't tell.” Finn swallowed, eyes fixed on the spot where he had seen the shape. He jumped when Gideon pushed past.

“Stay,” he ordered.

Finn watched, hardly daring to breathe as the Knight stalked back. Without breaking stride, Gideon reached down and snagged a branch lying by the side of the path and hefted it in his right hand. Holding the makeshift club, he slowed, then stopped, scanning the forest. After a long minute, he returned.

“Well, I did not see anything.” He gestured for Finn to walk ahead of him. “It was most likely a lone beastie. Denny did mention there are a greater number than usual.”

“Would it have attacked us?”

“No, there are too many of us around. And it did not know we were unarmed.”

Unease continued to poke at Finn until they reached the parking area. As he stood in the sunlight, surrounded by the sound of cheerful voices and running engines and slamming doors, his fears suddenly seemed foolish. Caught up in the chore of emptying the truck, he soon found himself loaded down with an overstuffed duffle hanging from a shoulder, a rolled-up sleeping bag under one arm, and his old backpack slung behind him.

“Sure you don't want to give me any more to carry?” Finn said. “I've still got one arm free, you know.” He groaned silently when his master promptly handed him a bundle of blankets tied with a cord.

Similarly loaded with the other duffle and his own sleeping bag, Gideon slid a long wooden crate out of the truck bed. With a grunt, he hoisted it onto his shoulder. Balancing it one-handed, he headed back to the campsite.

Finn followed. Looking around, he noticed a few other master and apprentice teams also hauling gear along the same path. Relief made him walk a little lighter. Well, as light as he could be toting twenty-five pounds of camping equipment.

Reaching the spot where they had seen Mac Roth, they worked their way through tall grass, fallen logs, and the occasional small animal hole toward the grove of trees. The air was perfumed with the aroma of burning pine. Reaching the isolated clearing, just the right size for a couple of tents and a campfire, Finn groaned with relief as he set down the duffle and bundle and then helped Gideon lower the crate to the ground. Once done, he glanced around.

Two square tents, canvas walls gray with age, faced each other across the grassy area. A fire snapped and crackled in a stone-ringed fire pit in the center of the clearing. A small iron pot, its bottom blackened from years of use, nestled in the coals; steam rose from it as the water within began to boil. Camp chairs were already scattered
around the fire, and even a small folding table was tucked to one side. It held an assortment of tin cups and a teakettle.

Lounging in one of the chair, Mac Roth waved a massive paw at the smaller tent. “That one be yours and Finn's, my friend.” He leaned back, the chair creaking in protest from the abuse, and called to the other tent. “Lochlan, come lend a hand.”

Flinging the tent flap aside, Lochlan stepped out, a toothbrush in one hand. He grinned. “Hey, Finn! Hi, Gideon.” He looked at his master. “So, what did you decide?”

“No.”

“No? Why? We'll take the small one. That'll leave more room for you—”

Mac Roth shook his head. “Daft you are if you think I'm allowing you two hooligans to share a tent.”

“Aw, come on. We'll be really quiet.” When Mac Roth showed signs of wavering, he added. “And we'll keep it clean.” Lochlan glanced over. “Help me out here, Finn.”

“Please, Gideon?” Finn looked up at his master. “We'll even get up early every morning and make tea for you.”

“Allow you and Lochlan to share a tent, eh?” Gideon rubbed his knuckles along his jaw, then exchanged silent looks with Mac Roth. The red-headed Knight shrugged.

Gideon held up a finger in warning. “No shenanigans, mind you. And you're to go to sleep when we say—
without arguing or complaining
—as well as keep the tent tidy.”

With twin whoops of delight, the boys bumped fists and began dragging Finn's stuff over to the smaller tent. They disappeared inside.

“T
ea, Gideon?”

“Aye, thanks.”

While Mac Roth fetched another mug, Gideon sank down in a nearby chair and stretched out his legs. He shook his head at the sound of bickering about who got to sleep closest to the door flap. He chuckled when Finn tried the
I'm older than you by two months
argument and was immediately squashed by Lochlan's
I had to help Mac Roth set up both tents earlier
comeback.

Gideon raised his voice. “Is there a problem, boyos?” He took the proffered mug with a nod of thanks as Mac Roth resumed his seat.

Silence. Hisses and whispers followed. “No, sir,” Finn called back after a few minutes.

“Are you sure, now?” Mac Roth added. “Lochlan?”

“All good,” Lochlan replied. “Sir,” he added hastily.

The Knight exchanged grins. Then, raking his fingers through his beard, Mac Roth lowered his voice. “So, what happened with the
Rath
?”

Gideon shifted the chair so that he was facing away from the boys' tent and leaned forward. “Martin O'Neill did not want Finn here,” he said in a quiet voice. “He flung
halfer
into Finn's teeth, and to the lad's credit he held his ground.”

“And Toryn Mull?”

Admiration swelled Gideon's heart. “Grand it was to see him again. He clearly wanted Finn to attend. As did Kel O'Shea.”

“Besides being wicked good with that bow, she's grown into a beauty, eh?” Mac Roth waggled his bushy eyebrows.

A blush deepened Gideon's tanned cheeks. “I did not notice.” He took a sip of tea.

Mac Roth snorted. “A bold liar, you are.”

“If you're so taken with her, why don't you do something about it?” Gideon joked.

“Now, you know my heart was given to another lass years ago.” He raised a hand, forestalling Gideon's next words. “It dinna matter then and it does not matter now who the lass was, so cease tormenting me. She's gone now, but I hold her memory sweet and dear. 'Tis enough. Now, did you hear they've planned a hunt for tomorrow?” he said, clearly changing the subject.

“Aye. Denny O'Donnell already informed me.” Gideon took a final swig of tea and stood. “In fact, I best unpack. And we still need to fetch our blades.”

Twenty minutes later, Gideon emerged from the tent. “Ye gods, Mac Roth, you've gone soft in your old age. Cots? With air mattresses? Why, I remember many a Festival sleeping on the ground with naught but a blanket.”

Mac Roth walked closer. “Shall I take them away?” He made a move toward the tent.

“No, no.” Gideon hastily blocked the entrance. “After all, I wouldn't want to insult your thoughtfulness and hospitality.”

Looking past the Knight's shoulder to the other tent, he gave a sharp whistle. Almost bringing their tent down by trying to exit at the same time, Finn and Lochlan hurried over to the Knights.

“We're going to go retrieve our weapons as well as the rest of Mac Roth's,” Gideon explained. “Once armed, you're to stay that way at all times.” He pointed southward. “The hills beyond the river are full of abandoned gold mines, which means they're full of Bog-born—”

“I sure hope so,” Lochlan interrupted.

“—and it appears there is a large pack nearby. Now, the Bog-born are fearful of crossing by the bridge, having no love of heights, so we are fairly safe on our side of the river.”

“Can't they just wade across?”

Mac Roth snorted. “Have you seen the current? The beasties swim about as well as they climb.”

“Now, although there are a fair number of us around,” Gideon continued, “the beasties wouldn't hesitate to snatch an unsuspecting apprentice who crosses the river. It happened just last year, to our sorrow.”

“Be warned, then,” Mac Roth added. “Because I'll tan your backside if I catch either of you without a blade or wandering over there without one of us nearby.” He cast a stern eye on them. “Then I'll hold you down and let Lir have a go, too. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Finn said.

“So, when you say
wandering over
, do you mean actually crossing the bridge or just…” Lochlan's voice faded at a grumble of exasperation from his master. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

“And another thing.” As Gideon watched, Mac Roth locked eyes with his apprentice. “You are to stay silent on the matter of Finn being the Spear, Lochlan O'Neill. You've done a fine job so far, and I'll like you to continue to do so unless queried directly, for I would not ask you to lie. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“Yes, sir, I do. I'm not to tell anyone about Finn being the Spear, unless someone comes right out and says, ‘Hey, Lochlan, can I ask
you something? Is Finn MacCullen the Spear of the Tuatha De Danaan, also known as Gideon's Spear, by any chance?' Then I'd have to say yes.”

“Good lad. Although asking you to not share this seems like the worse kind of hair-splitting.”

Lochlan shrugged. “I'm cool with it. Who would I tell, anyway? I mean, Finn's my best friend, and you and Gideon already know.”

“Your da?”

“Not hardly,” Lochlan said coolly.

Nodding in understanding, Mac Roth led the way along the path toward the barn, his apprentice on his heels. Gideon and Finn followed.

“Hey, Mac Roth?” Lochlan's question floated back to Gideon walking with Finn beside him. “That hunt tomorrow—that's the first one, right? No chance of an earlier one?” Gideon couldn't help but notice the note of scarcely veiled desperation in the other apprentice's voice.

Annoyance at Martin O'Neill, for both Finn and Lochlan, flooded Gideon. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he clamped down on his ever-ready temper with an iron will. Out of the corner of an eye, he noticed Finn studying him.

“What's wrong, Gideon?” the boy asked in a low voice.

The Knight hesitated. Tempted to brush aside the question, he thought back on all the times he'd scolded his apprentice for keeping things from him. The memory of a recent upbraiding from Mac Roth made him grimace to himself.

“The path runs both uphill and down, old friend,” Mac Roth had said. “You must show Finn the same trust you expect from him.”