The Hound at the Gate (16 page)

“I see you've been teaching Finn more than just how to use a blade, Gideon Lir.” O'Shea walked past, Tara in tow. “Well fought, by the way, Finn MacCullen.”

“Thanks.”

“Yeah, nice match,” Tara added. “I thought for
sure
your cousin was going to hammer you into the ground.” She grinned, taking the sting out of the comment.

“Me, too,” Finn admitted. He tried not to watch as Tara hurried away to catch up with her master, her ponytail bouncing with her stride. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Lochlan watching, too. “You're staring.”

“So are you.”

“I thought you liked Savannah.”

“I do! I was just… You know.”

Finn nodded.
Yeah. Me too
.

The next day after breakfast, Finn waited while Mac Roth examined Lochlan's arm one last time. Eager to get going, he shifted from foot to foot.

“It's okay, Mac Roth. Really.” Lochlan shivered, his jacket half-off and his injured arm held out to his master. He moved it up and down. “All good.”

“Aye, the
sláinte
nettle seems to have done the trick. And, Finn, what about your ribs? Ennis landed some right solid blows yesterday.”

“
Pffftt
.” He blew a raspberry. “Aw, they're just a little tender. I kept potion on them most of the evening.” He twisted his body from side to side to prove his point. “See?”

“Well, you both seem to be healthy enough to join the hunt later on. But, just in case, come with me.” He picked up a couple of knives and his favorite hatchet.

“Target practice, eh?” Gideon lounged in a chair near the fire, legs stretched out before him. Steam rose from the mug cupped between his hands.

“A bit of a warm-up,” Mac Roth said. “Since we have some time yet.”

“Good idea. But I would bring more knives if you're taking
that one
.” He nodded toward Finn.

“Hey!” Finn protested. “In case you haven't noticed, I can hit the target seven out of ten times now.”

“You mean you can hit the
side of the house
seven out of ten times.”

Why don't I just hit you?
Finn thought while Lochlan hooted with laughter. He scowled at his master, who grinned back.

Ignoring Lochlan's smirk, he followed Mac Roth as he headed south through the campsite. Reaching the edge of the trees, they stopped near a solitary dead pine, its thick branches gnarly like the arms of a boxer. The upper third was burned black from a long-ago lightning strike. One side of its trunk was yellowed with the scars of hundreds of knife throws. Beyond the tree, the field opened up, giving Finn a clear view of both the barn toward the west and the river gorge to the south.

“We've been using this bristlecone for throwing practice for many a Festival.” Mac Roth patted the tree. “The old fellow makes me feel like a lad again. From its size, I'd be guessing it was close to a thousand years old when it was struck by lightning.”

“Can we climb it?” Lochlan eyed the sturdy limbs sticking out from the trunk.

“I do not know—can you?”

The boys rolled their eyes. As they laid their blades on the grass at the foot of the tree, Finn noticed Mac Roth scanning the area. His keen gaze checked every shadow, every movement. Lochlan nudged him.

“You wanna go first?”

“Sure.” Tilting his head back, Finn studied the tree, then jumped for one of the lower branches that stuck out invitingly, as if its sole purpose was to be climbed. With a grunt, he slung a leg over it and hauled himself up. Standing on his feet, he shuffled over to the trunk and wrapped an arm around it, making room for Lochlan. A grunt and a scramble later, his friend pulled himself up next to him, straddling the limbs with his legs.

Finn gazed around the valley. Wisps of steam rose from the gorge, the morning sun forming a partial rainbow in the water vapors. Turning north, he could see tops of tents scattered here and there among the trees of the campsite. Breakfast fires sent up smoke signals. He climbed higher. Lochlan followed, clambering around to a branch across from Finn.

“All right, boyos. Enough sport. Down with you, now.”

“Gideon would've
never
let me mess around like this, not even for a moment,” Finn said as he climbed low enough to jump the rest of the way. “‘Ye think this is a game?'” he growled in imitation of his master. He mimicked cuffing someone on the side of the skull. “‘Focus on yer training before one of those beasties scrambles what little brain ye have.'”

Mac Roth chuckled. “Cheeky. Spot on, but cheeky.” He gestured toward a place about thirty paces away. “Now, gather your weapons and let me see what fine marksmen you are.”

After thirty minutes of target practice, Finn huffed out a long breath. He glared at the tree and his lone knife. Barely hanging on by its point, his blade was completely surrounded by all three of Lochlan's.
He hits it every stinking time
, Finn thought, a little jealous and a lot impressed.

“I was off on that last throw,” Lochlan commented. “I missed the spot I was aiming at by…” he squinted at the trio of blades bristling out of the trunk. “…by about an inch.”

Finn restrained himself from thumping Lochlan on the back of the head. Barely. Knowing Gideon was going to chide him something fierce for his less than stellar performance, he scowled as he walked over to the tree. After plucking his knife from the target, he started searching for the other two. Making his way out into the open field, he glanced westward up the valley. Figures, too far away to see their faces, milled about near the barn. His heart jumped.
They're gathering for the hunt already!
Not wanting to be late, he scrambled, trying to locate the rest of his blades.

A movement at the far eastern edge of the valley caught his attention. Squinting into the rising sun, he stared at a black shadow moving amongst the blacker shadows of the grove of trees where he had first met Dennis O'Donnell. Even as he watched, it disappeared.

A caw made him jump. A crow sailed past, charcoal wings stroking the air as it flew eastward. Even as he turned to follow it with his eyes, a sudden voice jerked his head around.

“Amandán?” Mac Roth was striding toward him, hatchet in hand.

“I can't tell.” Finn shaded his eyes, trying to make out the shape. “And if it was, how could it have crossed the river without anyone spotting it using the bridge?”

“It may have come across in the darkness and remained hidden in the trees, although that is highly unlikely. O'Donnell has had a guard posted at the bridge each night since ye and Lochlan were attacked.”

“Dennis O'Donnell?” Finn asked

“Aye. One of the Hound's duties is to arrange for any necessary protection of the Festival. Denny would not have allowed those beasties to cross, I can tell you that. And even if one did slip past, 'tis only a lone goblin.” Mac Roth brightened when a horn call echoed across the valley. “And speaking of the
C
ú—he is calling us to the hunt. We best hurry.” They located Finn's remaining weapons, then hurried back to where Lochlan waited.

“Come on!” Lochlan called as they approached. He took off at a jog back toward camp with Finn on his heels and Mac Roth taking up the rear.

After swinging past their camp to pick up Gideon, the four set out for the barn. Each carried two weapons apiece. While Gideon favored a pair of large, wicked-looking hunting knives, Mac Roth carried a dagger, reduced to dirk size in his enormous paw, and his hatchet. The boys had their smaller, simpler knives.

A half-dozen Knights, along with their apprentices, waited near the Council's platform. A few were jogging in place or limbering up, while others were shedding jackets as the morning sun warmed the air, the sky a pristine blue overhead.

Upon arrival, Finn took a knee, pretending to tighten his ankle sheath as he peeked out of the corner of his eye for Ennis and his master. He sighed in relief when he failed to spot either one.
Good. Maybe he's still recovering
. Cheered by the thought, he straightened. He spotted Kel O'Shea standing off to one side, twirling a blade while she chatted with Dennis O'Donnell and another woman, who was armed with hunting knives strapped to each forearm. Kel's bow was nowhere in sight. Seeing Gideon and Mac Roth and the boys, O'Shea excused herself and sauntered over.

Gideon gestured toward the weapon in her hand. “Rare it is to see you armed with something other than the bow.”

She shrugged, flipping her braids back behind her shoulders. “I like to keep my skill level up. Now, Denny and I have scouted the woods on the other side of the river earlier. We saw lots of tracks—there'll be a fair number of apprentices earning their torcs today.” She grinned at Lochlan, who grinned back.

“Speaking of such, where is Tara?”

“In our tent. I wouldn't let her come this time—not this early into her apprenticeship.” She exchanged knowing glances with the other Knights, who nodded in understanding.

“She took it well, then?” Gideon asked with a straight face.

“Like a lamb,” O'Shea replied with just as straight a face.

“Are we all assembled?” O'Donnell raised his voice. “Then on with the hunt.” He turned and led the way to the bridge.

“Good luck,” Finn said to Lochlan. Lochlan nodded back, too excited to speak. He jogged away after Mac Roth.
I bet he'll be wearing a torc at tonight's feast
. He started to follow the hunters when Gideon snagged his arm and pulled him back.

“Let the others go ahead.”

“Why?”

The Knight shook his head in mock sorrow. “Ah, I miss it so.”

Finn frowned at the sudden change of subject. “Miss
what
?”

“The sound of a simple
yes, sir
coming from my apprentice's mouth.”

“Get used to it,” Finn muttered under his breath before his brain could remind him to
think first, speak later. Much later. Preferably when Gideon isn't around
.

“What did you say?” Ice coated his master's tone.

Oh, crap
. “Nothing, sir. I was just…just… Nothing.” He cleared his throat and added. “Sir.”

Gideon pinned Finn with a stern eye before turning to watch the others cross the bridge, the dull rumble of their feet on the wooden planks scarcely heard above the thunder of the river. Finn gulped in relief when his master started for the bridge. He followed.

Careful to stay in the center of the almost-wide-enough-for-two-abreast planks, Finn peeked over the edge as he walked along. A stray drop kissed his face. Ten feet below, the river churned as if it were irritated at the mountain for delaying its journey to the eastern plains and then on to the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic Ocean.
Maybe some of that water might get all the way across the ocean and touch the shore of Ireland
, he thought. On a sudden impulse, he spat into the water below. “Tell Ireland hello for me,” he whispered.

Once across, he and his master joined the others. After a brief discussion, each pair of Knight and apprentice fanned out, picking a different route into the forest. Bronze gleamed like fire in the sunlight as blades were pulled free.

Finn peered around as he trailed after his master into the trees. They followed a faint path meandering through the underbrush. Heavier and darker than the forest on the Tuatha De Danaan side of the river, even the air seemed thicker.
And stinkier
. He wrinkled his nose. “Smells like goblins. A
lot
of goblins.”

“Aye, it does. As O'Shea mentioned, there is a large pack on this side.”

“Maybe all the Amandán moved from High Springs out here to party,” Finn joked.

Gideon frowned. “
To party
?”

“Never mind.”

They continued walking. After a half-hour hike, Gideon slowed when they reached a clearing. He glanced about, then squatted to examine the ground.

Finn immediately went on guard. Tightening his grip on his knife, he turned slowly in place as he watched all four sides, gaze never lingering on any one spot. Opening his mouth slightly to hear and smell better, he strained to pick up any sign or sound or taste of Amandán. He tensed as a squirrel did an abrupt Spider-Man down the trunk of a nearby tree, its claws making a scratching sound too loud for such a little animal.

Gideon rose and gave a nod of approval at Finn's vigilance. “
Gle mhaith
, lad.” He gestured toward the ground. “Now. Tell me what you see.”

With his master taking a turn watching their backs, Finn bent over, studying the mix of dirt and thin grass. “Amandán tracks.”
I think
.

“Really? And here I was thinking Mac Roth has been dancing about these woods barefooted. Of
course
it's bleedin' Amandán tracks. How many? What direction?”

Finn straightened. “Um…one? Going that way?” He pointed further into the woods.