Spell Bound, page 4
"In this thing, there is."
He felt her fingers flex against his palms, as she raised her face to meet his eyes.
"I would ask bride-right, my Cael."
For a moment, he was at a loss, and then he recalled it. Bride-right was more, and less, than the bond they now enjoyed, and it required permission. For what Senaya would do was capture his essence as he stood upon this hour and this day; and hold it within her own essence, as. . .a seed; a possible Cael who might be called into existence with the appropriate application of power. It was a thing not much used among the village-folk, who followed simple ways, but rather more used among the Great Ones, the lords and the ladies and the High Ozali, who had need to protect their power, and their holdings.
Cael drew a breath, and it was on his tongue-tip, the denial.
And then he bethought himself again.
Senaya wished to carry his essence, with its strange power, within herself, cuddled against her very soul.
It was, he realized, understanding her purpose in a flash, it was the most potent way available to her; to prove to him that she believed him no monster, or unnatural thing born from the spite of the elder trees.
And he — how could he doubt himself, when she carried him in her soul? It was a very great gift Senaya proposed to give to him — to them. All of their undertakings would be stronger, because of it.
He smiled at her then, and bent, only a little, to tenderly kiss her mouth. Then, he relinquished her hands and straightened his back.
Looking into her eyes, he smiled again.
"Yes," he said, and felt her power rise over him, and break, like a mighty wave against a stone.
#
It took the three Seafort rangers and three from Stonehold to track and trap the child of the elder trees, which had been fearsome, indeed. Both headwomen and three healers were required to unmake it.
When the thing was done, the folk of both villages came together for feasting, and merry-making, and the sharing about of power.
After the vanquishing of fear, and the celebration of victory, the affairs of both villages, and all the folk of them, slipped back into routine.
Of Senaya the healer and Cael the Ranger, it was said that their bond grew stronger with every sunrise. Certainly, Cael found it so; Senaya’s love was the constant star around which his life revolved; he was content; at peace in a way he had not thought possible. The village was all the world he wanted or needed; he felt himself perfectly fixed, and aptly rooted for the whole of his life.
And so he might have remained, had his duty taken him into the woods, rather than across the pastureland. He was to meet a husbandman there, and assist with mending a warding that his animals had grown too wise to heed. It was a fine day, with the taste of the ocean on the breeze. He strode on, lightfoot with joy, when, piercing even the jubilation of the merrybells, came the call of a horn, closely followed by the belling of hounds.
Frowning, he paused, his hand against the trunk of a tree, listening until the horn sounded again.
No bone-made hunting horn, that. The tone was too high, with a hard edge that was only lent by metal. He had heard its like before, but only once. On that occasion, he had yet been serving as his foster mother’s apprentice. She had drawn him away from the sound and the hunt, and when he had asked her why, she had looked on him, grim-eyed, and said that it was a horning — the lord’s business and none of theirs.
He was his own man now, and had long ago learnt that the great lords in their power and their arrogance did sometimes hold those who displeased them in some manner until there was a house party or other gathering of their allies and peers. Then would the unfortunate prisoner be brought forth and a working performed to give them
the seeming of a hart, or a fox, or some other prey. In that form they would be hunted.
And in that form they would die.
He took a breath, recalling his foster mother’s wisdom, for surely such a matter was beyond him, as were all the doings of the great.
Again the horn sounded, and the hounds shouted, much nearer now. He hesitated, listening with sharp ears, trying to gauge the progress of the hunt, and whether he ought turn aside.
Another breath, the breeze against his face, bringing him the tang of the ocean — and another scent, that set his hackles up.
For it was man he scented — laboring and afraid. That could only be the prey, and what the great lord Aeronymous was about to set his good hunting hounds upon a man, Cael had no notion.
But he intended to stop it.
He was already running, the scent full in his nose; the belling of hounds in his ears. His chosen course would intersect the path of the man and the dogs. If the quarry kept the pace, and Cael did not twist a leg in a goper-hole, then all could be managed: He would buy the prey time, though he doubted much profit would come of it; and he would prevent the dogs from tasting man-flesh.
Ahead of him, a white hart flashed from behind a small stand of trees. Cael threw himself forward, the breeze bringing him the unmistakeable scent of man. He spun, digging the heels of his boots into the ground, facing back the way the hart had run.
Already, he could see the lead dogs, legs extended over the ground as if they were flying. They ran silent, now, which meant they had sighted their quarry. Cael settled himself more firmly onto the ground, and opened his arms.
It occurred to him, very distantly, that he was mad, to set himself between a hunting pack and its prey. These were no easy-going and garrulous village dogs such as he had known all his life. These — these were trained predators. Best outcome, they would flow around him, and shortly bring down the prey.
Worst, he would be mauled — or killed.
Despite the distant realization of his madness, he was not afraid. He was confident and at peace. They would neither harm him nor discount him, those swift-approaching beasts, with their long legs and their razor teeth. They would heed him; and he would keep them safe.
The pack leader was upon him, leaping from a distance, growl drowning the shriek of the merrybells. He caught the beast by the front legs and held him, looking deep into brown eyes, catching and holding the intelligence there.
There came the sense of contact, much as with the village dogs; the leader asserting his superiority — and Cael asserting his own. Slowly, Cael impressed his will; impressed calmness; impressed sense, for this noble fellow — this Scartooth — he was no man-killer, but an honest dog, a strong leader, a mighty hunter. Cael approved of Scartooth, and Scartooth approved of Cael. Scartooth was happy to be with Cael.
Scartooth, indeed, would do all and anything that Cael asked, for Cael was leader, and Scartooth so acknowledged him.
. . .by the time the horses and the lords arrived, the pack was lolling on the meadow-grass at his feet, and Cael was softly caressing Scartooth’s ragged ears.
#
The great ones burned so brightly that Cael wished to close his eyes; the weight of their power like to crush him to his knees.
However, he neither averted his eyes, nor knelt before their radiance. It was his to protect the pack; and so he stood tall and met the sea-blue eyes of the forward rider.
"Well, here’s a twist," said the other great one, who sat a stone-grey horse like a boulder come to life. "What’s to do, Aeronymous?"
"Why, now we test our skill at tracking," blue-eyed Aeronymous said, his voice light and even, as if finding his hunters taking their ease in the middle of a hunt was entirely unsurprising, even expected.
"You, boy! Take the pack to their kennel, and tend them till I call!"
Power struck him, hard, augmenting the light command; he felt the need to obey, precisely, sink into his bones, and become his own will.
He bowed to the honor of Lord Aeronymous. Straightening, he patted Scartooth on the shoulder.
"Home," he murmured.
The dog moved forward, Cael at his side, and the others leapt to their feet to follow.
The horses and the lords swept around them, on the trail of the one who wore the seeming of a white hart. Last to pass him was one who smelled of the pack. Scartooth favored him with a glance, before nipping a youngling who lay still in the meadow grass.
"What have you done?" whispered the man — the dog-master, he must be, Cael realized.
"Prevented the dogs from learning that man is prey," he answered, more sharply than he had intended.
The dog-master’s face paled. He licked his lips, then kicked his horse and rode away through the silver dust raised by the lords’ horses.
Cael shrugged, and said again to Scartooth, "Home."
#
There had been no compulsion that they hurry, only that they return. Thus they went leisurely, hunting on the move. The dogs knew their business, and by the time they passed through the small gate, there were three rabbits and a brace of forest-hens in Cael’s game sack.
They crossed the green, Cael at the head of the pack, and Scartooth at his side, his ragged ears held high, and his head at the level of Cael’s belt. The compulsion was stronger now, to find the kennel quickly, but not so strong that he was unable to stop when an arms-man approached, and said, quietly, "Stay."
There was a little power in that command, but nothing to override the lord’s geas.
Cael stopped of his own will and looked into the man’s eyes.
"Who are you?" the arms-man asked.
"Cael of Seafort," he answered. "Lord Aeronymous sends me to kennel the hounds, and to bide with them till he calls."
The arms-man nodded slowly, and made as if to step back.
"Hold," Cael said, and offered the game sack. "For the kitchen, if you would. I do not think I can deviate so much." Indeed, it would seem that he had already remained in one spot too long; his feet were shifting against the grass.
"I’ll take it," the arms-man said. "Go — the lord is not gentle with those who try him."
"My thanks," Cael said, and the pack moved on, through the gate in good order, and the young ones running for the water, while Cael kept walking to the very center of the place, whereupon the will of Aeronymous released him, and he heard the gate snap shut at his back.
#
He lay against Scartooth’s back, the rest of the pack lying as close as possible, their joy in his presence warming him as much as the heat from their bodies. The dogs, simple and honest as they were, slept. He, less simple and perhaps not so honest as he had always supposed himself, lay awake, staring up at the stars like jewels in the night sky.
The bond he shared with Senaya seemed. . .less strong in this place that was laced with so much power, and so many workings that his skin itched, and his eyes burned. He did his best to tend it, the bond; Senaya might not know where he was, nor how long he might be away, but he was determined that she not be in fear for his life. Lord Aeronymous — well, there had been a warning, had there not, from the arms-man? Lord Aeronymous was not gentle with those who thwarted him. He must, therefore, expect to be punished. He did not think that the lord would unmake him; it seemed to him that his impertinence in interrupting the lord’s pleasure was not worth that. There had, however, been the other lord, before whom Aeronymous had been disadvantaged. . .
No, it was impossible to guess what Lord Aeronymous might do, he decided, and his thoughts turned again to his determination to stop the hunt, and to preserve the integrity of the dogs.
Since childhood, he had easy discourse with the village dogs; they deferred to him, and mentioned odd smells and movements to him. That was merely. . .who he was. He did understand that others did not enjoy the same level of intimacy with the dogs — even Senaya did not. But, then, Senaya’s gift was healing; she had no need to speak with dogs.
That he had dared placed himself between a pack and its prey — that amazed him yet, and, at the same time, it surprised him not at all, that the dogs had come to him, and placed their wills in service to his. He had expended no power; he had merely. . .stretched himself beyond the familiar mold of husband and ranger, as if he had straightened to his full height after years of standing stooped.
He heard footsteps, coming toward the kennel, and a subtle chime, as if metal struck metal. Around him, the dogs lifted their heads, noses up, testing the air. He did the same, scenting power, and beneath it, the scent of the arms-man who had relieved him of the game-bag.
Cael stood, and Scartooth stood, also. He placed his hand on the hound’s shoulder, and murmured to the rest of them, "Stay. Friends."
"Cael of Seafort," came the voice of Aeronymous. "Come forth alone to make an account of your actions to your liege lord."
He felt the power snatch at him, jerking him forward like a doll. Apparently, Lord Aeronymous did not care to give a man the choice of obeying from his own heart.
Pulled by power, he came to the kennel’s door, and only then realized that Scartooth paced him yet.
"Stay," he murmured.
The hound whined, close in his throat, echoing the distress growing in Cael’s breast. Whined once — and obeyed.
On the green, Lord Aeronymous stood at the center of a nimbus of light, his green curls all tumbled ’round his shoulders, as if he were come fresh from his bed.
"Stand," he said, his voice as cold as ocean spray, and Cael stopped where he was. He heard the arms-man move, and the sound of the kennel’s gate being firmly shut.
"So, Cael of Seafort, why have you not come to my attention ere this?" asked Aeronymous.
"My lord, there was no need, that you notice one ranger more than another."
"But such an unusual ranger," Aeronymous murmured, and then snapped, "What did you do to my hounds, sirrah?"
That was accompanied by a lash of power, burning as it broke across his cheek.
Cael took a breath.
"I prevented them from learning that man is prey. They are good dogs — hunting dogs. To use them to hunt men — it was a corruption of their service, my lord."
He braced himself for another blow, and was mildly surprised when it did not come.
"The criminal they chased was horned, exactly to prevent this lesson of man as prey from being learnt."
Cael shook his head.
"He smelled like a man yet, my lord. I caught the scent myself. The dogs knew what they hunted."
There was a long pause, in which power snapped and glittered, but none struck him.
Inside his halo of light, Aeronymous inclined his stately head.
"For the sake of my hounds, I thank you, Cael Dog-Friend. Come with me now."
With that, Aeronymous turned and marched off, a line of power sunk deep into Cael’s chest, so that he was pulled along in the lord’s wake, like a child’s toy. The arms-man kept pace, and Cael smelled his dismay.
He scented them in the instant before the lord exerted his power, compelling Cael to leap down into a pit. Smelled them; heard them — and, landing with bent knees, saw them, as the lord threw his nimbus wide.
Wolves.
Coats brindled, and eyes red-shot, half-mad with their confinement. They growled, all three as one. Cael dropped to one knee, seeking the red gaze of the wolf before him. Teeth showed, the growl came to a crescendo; and Cael felt the connection made; breathed in, waiting. . .
The wolf threw himself onto his back, paws waving in the air. Cael leaned in to rub the lean belly, while the other two jostled him, licking his face and hands.
Kneeling, he opened his heart, and allowed their untamed nature to rise into him, stirring his blood, freshening his courage.
"Cael of Seafort, come to me!"
He felt the tug of the lord’s will, augmenting the command. He resisted the compulsion, though doing so waked a pain like a dagger through his breast.
"My lord!" He called out. "I obey you, but in my time. There is delicate business afoot, and I cannot say what will happen, if I am suddenly removed from it."
There was a slight pause, in which he thought he heard the arms-man gasp. Then came the voice of Aeronymous once more.
"Do not by any means endanger yourself," he said. "You become precious to me, Cael the Wolf, and I would not see thee harmed. I leave here at your service Erdin, my arms-man sworn. He will lower a rope to you when you ask for it. You will — in your time, of course! — place yourself in his hands, for he has my orders concerning you."
"Yes," Cael whispered, drinking in what the wolves would give him: stealth, cunning, loyalty, fierce devotion.
Wolf ears heard the lord’s departure; wolf senses noted the man left behind, shivering in the cold sea air. Cael and the wolves dreamed red dreams and gold together, until they faded.
The wolves slept. Cael rose, stiff with long kneeling, walked to the edge of the pit and called quietly for Erdin to lower the rope.
#
Dawn was painting bronze streaks across the velvet sky when he was ushered — fed, bathed, and dressed in tunic and leggings provided by the House — into the presence of his lord. Into, as Erdin whispered to him before he knocked upon the door, my lord’s private chambers. Erdin misliked this private meeting, though Cael was at a loss to know why. He might have asked the arms-man, but the door swung open then, and they entered a room done ’round in shelves, each groaning beneath a weight of books. Aeronymous sat in a white conch by the window, a book open, but unregarded upon his lap. His head was turned, the green curls orderly now; and it appeared that he watched the progress of the dawn.
"My lord," said Erdin, "the ranger Cael is here."
"In his own time," my lord murmured, without turning his head. "Leave him; and find yourself some rest."
Erdin hesitated, and it seemed to Cael that he would speak, save Aeronymous, his face turned toward the window, tipped his head just slightly, as if listening closely for some particular sound.
The arms-man swallowed and bowed.
"Yes, my lord," he said, and shot a sharp glance at Cael before he strode away into the hallway.
The door closed behind him.
Slowly, then, the shell-chair turned, until Aeronymous was fully facing the room. Cael met the sea-blue eyes, then, recalling himself, bowed to the lord’s honor.
