The Legend of Lady Ilena (18 page)

The unearthly sounds are swelling around us. According to the old stories, Gwynn, huntsman of the otherworld, with hounds howling behind him, gathers the dead and takes them to the Sidth. Some say anyone outdoors is in danger when the hunt rides. Folk in Enfert huddle in their homes until the sounds pass by.

I think back to the first time that I associated the stories told in the village with the noise above our
home. I seem for a moment to be there with Grenna, weaving by firelight, the shrieks outside drowning out the clack of the loom. The house was filled with the sharp smells of thyme and pennyroyal, remedies for the colds and fevers of winter, that Grenna and I had gathered that day. Large bundles lay drying on a bench by the fire.

Moren was bending over the table cutting a piece of leather for a harness strap when he heard them. I can see his head raised, his eyes alert, as he listened to the din.

Grenna noticed me cowering on my bedplace, looking, I suppose, as frightened as I felt. “Moren, look. The lass is terrified.”

I haven’t heard her voice for over two years, but the memory is so clear and true, she could be beside me now.

Moren scooped me up and carried me out into the crisp fall night. “It’s all right, Ilena. Nothing has ever come down out of the sky.”

We stood side by side and looked up. He pointed to the long, V-shaped lines moving across the moon’s face. “What the storytellers don’t say is that wild geese are always overhead when we hear the sound. Call them what you like, the Hounds of Gwynn or the Gabriel Hounds, but know that they are really geese going south for the winter, and they’ll return in the spring.”

Grenna joined us and put her arm around my
shoulder. “Aye, lass, though it’s a time to remember the ones we’ve lost, sure enough.”

“Yes,” Moren said. “But no need to fear the Gabriel Hounds. They wish us no harm.”

Spusscio is saying something. I become aware of the hard boulder against my shoulders and the cold wind whipping my hair. “I’m sorry, Spusscio. I didn’t hear you.”

“You seemed far away. I was talking of Cara and Miquain.”

“Aye, we all have loved ones to mourn this Samhain,” I say.

He is silent for a time. The honking streams of geese pass on to the south, and the wind quiets. He jumps down from the boulder and turns to me. “Tomorrow will be a hard day, lady. Try to sleep.”

I reach out and take his hand in a warrior’s clasp. “I am glad I stumbled over you at Dun Alyn.”

A wide cloud has passed over the moon, and I cannot see his face. I sense a smile, though, as he replies, “A good meeting for me too, lady, and for Dun Alyn.”

I pick my way back to my sleeping place by the dim glow from low fires. The wind has calmed, and the geese are gone. I go to sleep easily and waken almost immediately, it seems, to the trumpet calling us to the day’s march.

We prepare in darkness and move up the second slope as dawn is breaking. Rol is frisky and climbs readily behind me. I have harnessed and saddled him.
One of Perr’s men has the roan now; his own mount went lame in the boulder field yesterday. We reach the overlook on the east side of the mountain well before noon.

On the outcrop Durant, Perr, Spusscio, and I scan the landscape before us. The sea in the distance is a bright blue, and the sky holds no sign of clouds.

Durant says, “The weather has held for us. I hope it lasts a few more days.”

He is thinking of his family, I suppose. Well, I will not keep him at Dun Alyn.

Spusscio has been staring at one spot to the north for some time. He raises his arm and points a short finger. There are hills past the wildwood and well beyond the fork in the trail. They look to lie a good distance northwest of Dun Alyn.

“By the gods!” Durant mutters.

“Several of them,” Perr adds.

I strain to see what they are watching. The hills roll dark and tree-covered to the horizon. There are lines that mark breaks in the trees for tracks or streams. A ray of light gleams along one of the lines. Then another. Finally I understand.

The sun glints off of something shiny in several places along one of the treeless strips. Helmets, armor, weapons, shields, harness fittings are shiny. A war band on the march would look like that. The distance between some of the reflections suggests a large group.

“Could it be a hunting party?” I ask.

“Too big,” Spusscio grunts.

“Is there another fortress anywhere in that area?” Durant asks.

“No.” Perr and Spusscio speak in unison.

Doldalf and Lenora have joined us and watch glumly.

Hoel climbs up with us and gazes north. “The painted ones we’ve heard about?”

Durant answers, “Probably, and a few Saxons in the bunch, I’d guess. We don’t know of another war band that size anywhere in the area.”

“Then it’s a race for Dun Alyn.” Spusscio turns to go back to his horse.

“Will they have to go through the fork?” Perr asks.

Spusscio stops to consider. “There is an old track that joins the road to the fortress just below the gate. They might know it.”

“If Resad is directing them, they would have any information about the defenses they need,” Durant says.

“Aye,” Spusscio says, “and we must get to the gates before they enter and barricade them.”

He too has returned his borrowed horse and saddled his own. Now he throws the lead rein over the saddle pommel, leaving the mare free to find her own way, and plunges ahead down the rocky descent.

I follow his example and make as good time as I can with Rol close behind. When the two of us reach the bottom, we turn to look back. Our horses are picking
their way toward us a short distance up the trail. Durant, Perr, and the others are far behind them.

The black mare reaches the valley floor ahead of Rol, and Spusscio is mounted and gone before I have caught my breath. When Rol trots up to me, I leap onto his back and set him after Spusscio at a hard gallop.

We stop to rest the horses at the edge of the wild-wood and let them drink.

Spusscio says, “It would be best if you waited for the others, lady.”

“Best for whom, Spusscio?” I ask. “Belert is in danger, especially now that Ogern has support to take over Dun Alyn.”

“I know,” he says. “That is why I hurry. Even a dwarf can be of some help.”

“Well then, a woman and a dwarf should be of more help than a dwarf alone.”

He smiles and says no more.

The troops behind us are starting across the valley now. We splash across the river and enter the forest with the horses at a steady gallop. When we approach the fork, Spusscio pulls the mare up, and I stop Rol beside him. We listen for a time but hear nothing.

“They’re for the old trail, then,” he says. “Resad would have told them.” He heads the mare down the track toward Dun Alyn.

When we move out onto the road that leads up to the fortress, I see a party of five riders moving through
the first entrance. I cannot tell who they are, but one has a large black horse.

Spusscio points to a spot north and west of the fortress where a trail comes out of the woods. A war band is moving toward Dun Alyn.

Spusscio gathers his shield and loosens a war spear from its holder. “Will you go back to meet the others?”

“What are you going to do?” I ask.

“I can get to the gate before they reach this road. I want to be at Belert’s side. Durant and Perr must know what the situation is so they can be prepared.”

I am eager to be with Belert too, but I understand what Spusscio means. I say, “Godspeed, then. I will join you inside as soon as I can.” I turn Rol around and hurry back to our troop.

Perr’s banner flies at the front of the band, with Arthur’s just behind. I stop Rol a short distance ahead of them and turn him so that I fall in alongside Durant and Perr. When I describe the scene at Dun Alyn, both men urge their horses to a faster gait.

“Do we want the horns?” Perr asks.

“Not yet,” I say. “The painted ones are well armed, but they move without urgency. They have no reason to expect an attack outside the fortress. If we can get close before they know we’re here, we may be able to hold them outside.”

Durant nods and turns to the ones behind. “Pass the word to hurry, but no horns or calls until they see us.” He turns back and puts Bork to a hard gallop.

Rol keeps pace and we break out into the open meadow below the fortress before the rest. We raise shields and pull our spears from their fittings as we ride. I cannot see Spusscio and assume he is inside the fortress.

Ten of the painted ones have turned onto the road that leads up to Dun Alyn, while the rest are spread out along the narrow track from the woods. When they hear us, the ten ahead stop and turn to block the way.

Horns sound and shouts begin from the enemy and then from our force. I raise the call Moren taught me, the battle cry of Dun Alyn, and set Rol straight for the warriors across the path ahead. Durant is on one side of me, and Hoel is on the other. I hear a woman’s voice—Lenora’s, I think—in a bloodcurdling series of notes and syllables behind me.

The ones across the path seem stunned at first. Before they can raise shields and aim spears, we are upon them. My spear takes a tall, heavily tattooed man at the waist. His leather vest holds against the iron, but the force topples him off his horse. Rol’s charge carries us through their lines and out onto the road behind them. I slow him, and we wheel around to face the battle.

I pause to determine the most important point to charge. The ten who blocked the road are losing ground under fierce attack. Three are in the dust, and as I watch, Durant unhorses another. Lenora wields her sword in a whirling arc that endangers anyone within striking distance.

Most of our people have turned onto the narrow track to engage the attackers before they reach the road. I see Cochan with Perr’s banner over his head and Gola beside him. The war band of Northmen is being beaten back onto their own ranks. Supply horses are slowing the movement to the rear and causing a jumble of warriors and animals throughout the troop.

I turn Rol again and head to the first entrance of Dun Alyn. The sentries put lances across the opening when they see me coming. As I draw nearer, they lower the weapons and leap back.

“It is the lady Miquain!”

“She returns when we need her.”

Both stare at me open-mouthed as I guide Rol through the entry. We are moving now at a quick walk. A faster speed and Rol would not be able to make the turns into the ring and through the second entrance.

There the response is the same. The sentries seem to fear me, but no one challenges me.

At the inner entrance to the compound, I recognize the young men who laughed at Spusscio when we left four days ago. The gate is open, but they race to close it against me. I speak to Rol, and he lunges toward them with such force that they let go of the gate and leap out of the way. We pass through with a light scrape of my boot against the logs.

T
HE FORTRESS GROUNDS ARE ALMOST DESERTED
. A woman drags her child into a house while another races to a stable, calling out for her son. Most people seem to have taken refuge already from whatever is to come.

I can hear Ogern’s voice above a noise of horses and weapons from the side of the main stable. I move closer and turn Rol in against a wall where we won’t be seen. Ogern’s voice rises and falls in hypnotic cadences.

“The ones from the North are our allies. They ride here now to assist us against Arthur’s men.”

A voice calls out, “And where is our chief? I am sworn to stand beside Belert.”

Ogern answers, “Belert is mad. He can no longer lead you. His decisions are flawed.”

“Where is he?” another voice asks.

“I do not know,” Ogern says. “If he were able to
lead you, would he not be here when a battle rages outside our gates?”

There is a confusion of voices. One sounds above the others. “Then let us hold from the battle. It is not clear to me that we should ally with the painted ones.”

“Aye. Until we have a council we cannot determine the wisest course.”

Ogern’s voice is shrill. “I tell you we must drive Arthur’s men from our gates. They would drag us into alliance with old enemies in the South.”

“I don’t care what you say, Ogern. I’m for pushing the painted ones back behind Red Mountain where they belong. If Arthur’s men oppose them, I fight under the dragon.”

I pull Rol back farther into a space between two houses as a group of horsemen leaves the stable area and heads for the gate. As they pass through the entrance, I can see a banner with black background and a goshawk outlined in white needlework. The familiar battle cry begins as they move out of sight into the inner ring.

Ogern’s voice still sounds from the other side of the building. “Let them go, then. The rest of you follow me! We’ll force Arthur’s men out of the North and ally with Northmen.”

The voice I heard first speaks again. “I’ll wait here, Ogern. I’ve no desire to get into a fight when I’m not sure which side I’m on. I still want to hear from
Belert. He’s our chief, and we have no reason to abandon him.”

“He won’t be chief for long. Cara is dead. Remember?” Ogern’s voice is hoarse from shouting.