The Legend of Lady Ilena Read online

  “Drink this. You’ll need it against the chill.” She carries two waterskins. “I’ll fill yours while you eat.” She moves to a table that holds large pails of water.

  Outside I find my gear on a tall roan mare. Rol, wearing a light halter, paces impatiently around a stable boy. Spusscio rides a small gray horse and leads his black mare. I am grateful to Perr’s stablemaster. Our horses need more than one night’s rest after such a strenuous trip. Rol doesn’t appreciate the kindness and threatens to nip the roan when I mount her. I take his lead rein and pull his head up close beside me. There are other extra horses, most with packs, in the group.

  I am amazed that such a large company could gather on a few hours’ notice. Durant and Hoel are near the gate. One of their companions raises a spear with Arthur’s pennant on it. The bards often sing of the white dragon on a red background, but I’ve not seen it before. I feel a tremor of excitement as I watch it unfurl against the gray dawn sky.

  Other pennants rise around the compound. Cochan holds one of blue with a gold boar, and a brown bear on green cloth snaps in the wind above Lenora’s head.

  Elban leaves Perr’s side and rides over to me. “Chief Perr asks if you are ready, lady.”

  “Yes,” I answer. Something more seems expected, but I don’t know what.

  He says, “Will you take the lead, then?”

  I turn Rol and the roan toward the gate and hear the company move into place behind me. With Durant and Hoel on either side, the trumpet sounding its quick rhythm behind me, and the dragon pennant of Arthur streaming over my head, I ride through the gates of Dun Dreug out onto the track that leads to Dun Alyn.

  The red rim of the rising sun greets us. It is a fair day for travel.

  “Spusscio thinks we can reach Dun Alyn by late afternoon tomorrow. Do you agree?” Hoel asks.

  I consider. “We have an early start, certainly. Days are short now that Samhain approaches, so it depends, I suppose, on how fast a group this size can travel.” I remember our pace yesterday. “With Spusscio driving us on, we should certainly be there well before nightfall.”

  “Do you think we’ll have trouble gaining entry to the fortress?”

  “Spusscio will have a plan. And Belert will be watching for us.” I hope that Belert is safe and able to watch for us and that he has found Ryamen. I steal a sideways glance at Durant. The sharp ache that kept me awake last night returns, and I look away quickly.

  When we reach the turn where the trail leaves the streamside, I glance down the faint path that leads to Mona’s Well. I wish there were time to stop and ask protection for our journey and for Belert’s safety. Moren used to say that a warrior learned to pray on horseback. I can feel myself smiling as I think of him.

  “You look cheerful, Ilena,” Durant says. “When I saw you so grim this morning, I feared you were frightened. It would be natural, certainly, since we may have a battle on our hands.”

  “I am not frightened!” Surely it is only a small sin to lie at a time like this. Mock fighting with Moren was one thing. Actually being attacked or trying to kill someone else is quite another. I think back to the battle at the fork and feel the fear building inside me.

  “You could let the rest of us go ahead and secure the fortress. That would be sensible.”

  I glare at him. “I am not frightened, and I will not stay behind!” I urge my horses forward until I am several yards ahead.

  When we reach the first ascent, there is a short rest. Riders dismount and lead horses to a pool where water spurts out of the rock above. Standard-bearers stow pennants in their spear holders, and I watch Perr’s trumpeter lash his instrument carefully on top of his pack.

  After my horses have drunk their fill, I take their reins and head up the slope. My leg muscles ache at first, but the pain soon stops and I trudge on steadily. Spusscio is in the lead now, and Durant and Hoel are somewhere behind me.

  When I reach the summit, the sun is directly overhead, lending welcome warmth to the day. I look below and see our party stretched far down the mountainside. A metallic jingle floats above the sounds of hooves and feet on the rocky track. Sunlight glints on helmets and sword hilts.

  Hoel steps up beside me. “How far ahead is Spusscio?”

  “I think he’s just over the summit. He keeps stopping and waiting for us.”

  “I wish I had his energy,” Hoel says.

  I’ve thought the same thing several times on this trip. Hoel and I are both breathing heavily from the climb, and I hope Spusscio is ready to stop for a rest.

  Durant and Perr join us. The horses stamp and blow while we stand quietly to watch the others approach.

  Spusscio has come up behind us. “There’s a spot large enough for some of us a short distance down the other side. Let’s push on.” He speaks easily, as though he’d been strolling along a pleasant path instead of scrambling up a mountain.

  I pull Rol and the mare into motion and follow him. Durant moves to walk beside me, but the trail narrows sharply, and he lets me go ahead. I’m glad. I am not ready to talk with him. I want to keep his friendship. A brother is a fine thing to have, but I cannot keep the pain out of my voice yet.

  Spusscio’s rest spot is a gentle slope just off the main trail. A stream splashes over a series of flat rock ledges. There isn’t room for our entire group, but several horses at a time can water along the stream. I snatch a few minutes to sit before moving on to make room for those behind me.

  Our night stop, hours later, is a strip of meadow that lies at the base of our next ascent. There is enough debris from shrubs and small trees to feed several fires. It is cold, and I am thankful we aren’t higher. I roll myself in my own cloak and Ryamen’s and fall asleep listening to quiet conversations around me.

  I awaken to a whistling wind that moves down the valley. The only sounds close to me are the crackle from a dying fire and someone’s snoring. The moon hangs just above the mountain across the valley, and clouds dim its light. I roll over and tighten my cloaks, but it is no use. I was too tired to find a place to relieve myself earlier, and now I cannot sleep.

  I pull on my boots and move as quietly as possible among the sleeping forms to a jumble of large rocks just beyond the campsite.

  As I come back around the rocks, I hear a shrill whine riding above the wind’s whistle. Clouds are roiling fiercely now, and the moon casts a ghostly light that glimmers around them.

  A footfall nearby startles me.

  “Who …?”

  “Ilena?” Spusscio whispers from the other side of a boulder.

  “Is it the Wild Hunt?” I ask.

  “Aye.” He pulls himself up onto the rock. “The Hounds of Gwynn. We always hear them this close to Samhain.” He looks up into the sky, where a number of dark, V-shaped lines move from north to south.

  I shiver and pull my cloak tighter. The noise strengthens, and the wind increases. “The monks call them the Gabriel Hounds,” I say.

  “Gwynn ran his hounds of the Wild Hunt long before the monks came.”

  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, loo
k. 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 t
he 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.

  THE 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.