Our horses sped closer. The dogs bayed, their necks stretched low and teeth bared. The first riders were almost within striking distance. Yet the cow did not move. Far better if the beast takes fright, turns tail, and flees—then it can easily be ridden down from behind. A quick spear-thrust behind the shoulder and into the heart, and the hunt is over. The kill is quick and clean.
But the aurochs did not easily surrender or retreat. The beast stood its ground, forcing its attackers to maneuver in close around it. At such close range the chances for a misstep multiply.
The hounds reached the cow first. Most creatures succumb to terror at the sound of a hound’s hunting cry, and the sight of a pack closing for the kill sends most prey into a fatal panic. Not the aurochs. The bold black beast merely lowered its head still further, protecting its throat. The dogs circled, barking and snarling in a frenzy of rage and frustration, yet keeping well out of range of those long, lethal horns.
We halted a short distance away to assess the situation. “We will drive the animals apart,” said the prince. “You four distract the cow.” He pointed at Simon and three others. “The rest come with me. We will take the young bull first.”
The small aurochs was welcome, to be sure, but the larger animal was the more desirable, for it would feed that many more. The prince thought that without its offspring to protect, the cow would be easier to kill. And at first the plan looked likely to succeed.
As it happened, the seven who were to take on the calf had the more difficult task. And as for driving the animals apart—they seemed to have taken root where they stood or been frozen to the spot, for neither so much as lifted a hoof. Nevertheless, Simon and his group went to work, whooping and shouting, dodging and feinting, in an effort at diverting the aurochs cow.
Meanwhile, the rest of the hunters joined Prince Meldron in forming a large circling ring, riding around and around the young bull, waiting for a chance to strike. One look at that vast, thick-muscled shoulder and that massive neck, and I knew that nothing save a direct, plunging thrust would kill it, and even then I doubted that a single spear could bring it down.
The young bull gazed placidly at us with calm black eyes, wagging its immense head from side to side. With each sweep, its horns described a killing arc which only a fool would ignore. And there were no fools among us this day.
But the prince and his men had hunted aurochs before. After circling the beast long enough to establish a predictable rhythm, the prince, who had been holding his spear aloft, lowered the spearpoint and, in the same motion, turned his horse, driving toward the aurochs, approaching it obliquely from the rear.
Those of us opposite the prince shouted at the animal. The spearhead flashed nearer its mark. The prince leaned forward to plunge the spear deep, the full weight of horse and rider behind the gleaming blade.
Just as the prince tensed to deliver the blow, however, the young bull turned, raising its head at the last moment. If I had not seen it, I would never have believed a creature that large could move so fast.
In a shattered instant, the great black head jerked and the wide-spreading horns struck the prince’s horse just behind the left foreleg. With a quick, effortless toss of its head the horse was caught.
The same moment, swift and certain, the prince struck with his weapon, driving the spearhead deep into the shoulder. Thinking to turn the beast, I heaved my spear as hard as I could. My throw glanced harmlessly off the aurochs’ hump and made no serious wound. But the aurochs spun toward me, thus freeing the prince. Meldron threw himself from his mount just as the screaming, flailing horse toppled backwards.
My action spared the prince a nasty wound, or worse. But now I had no weapon and the prince had no horse. I continued the circuit around the aurochs and called to Meldron. As I came upon him, I reached down a hand; he caught it and vaulted up behind me in the saddle.
Meanwhile, the dogs, seeing the beast’s head rise, sprang to the attack. One of the hounds succeeded in getting close enough to sink its teeth into the soft skin of the aurochs’ throat. The dog bit and held on. The aurochs lowered its huge jaw, catching the hound’s head between its jaw and chest. Then it simply knelt and crushed the dog.
The two remaining dogs smelled the blood and rushed upon the aurochs. The young bull turned to meet the attack with a sweep of its horns and caught one of the hounds, piercing it through the neck and lifting it high. The hapless dog whined hideously and thrashed to free itself, but only succeeded in working the smooth horn deeper. The aurochs tossed its head to shake the dog loose.
The hunters saw their chance and took it. Three riders turned as one, and three spears sliced the air. Two spears found their mark in the aurochs’ neck, and another bit deep into the swelling side between two huge ribs.
The last two riders drove in and two more spears penetrated the exposed neck; one of these severed an artery. Blood spewed in a sudden fountain and gushed from the great beast’s mouth and nostrils, steaming in the cold air.
The aurochs fell to its knees in the snow, and one of the hunters rushed upon it. In an instant he threw himself from the saddle, plucked a spear from the fallen beast’s side, and drove it in again, thrusting the spearhead into the base of the skull behind the horns. The young bull stiffened and then rolled onto its side, dead before its body stopped quivering.
We paused but a moment—just long enough to retrieve our spears, and for the prince to mount another’s horse—then turned to join the assault of the larger aurochs. But the cow must have seen what happened to her calf, for the larger beast broke from the circling riders and hurtled toward us. None of us was in position to meet the charge, and we all scattered to get out of the way. This gave the wily creature a wide-open path of escape.
The cow ran to the rock mound behind us, and those of us closest gave chase. I was one of the nearer hunters, and Simon was another. Four of us flew after our retreating prey, and the prince began shouting orders to the others to take up positions on the near side of the mound to seal off the beast’s escape. We would chase the aurochs around behind the mound and into the waiting spears of our fellow hunters.
I saw the enormous beast reach the curving slope of the mound and start around the base. As the aurochs turned, Simon, who was slightly ahead of me, saw his chance for a clean throw. I saw the spear streak to its mark, burying itself deep in the upper chest behind the foreleg, very near the heart.
Then the animal disappeared behind the rocks littering the slope of the mound. Simon and I, with two others close behind, pursued the animal around the far side of the mound. We could not have been more than fifty paces behind. Yet, when we came around the rocks, we could not see the aurochs.
Thinking it had climbed the mound, Simon urged his mount up the slope between the rocks. I reined in and wheeled my horse to scan the short distance between the mound and the thick-wooded ridge beyond. But the beast was nowhere to be seen.
“Where did it go?” yelled Simon, lashing his horse back down the slope. “Did anyone see it?”
“It must have run ahead of us,” said one of the other hunters. From the odd expression on his face, I could see that was not what he thought at all. Then again, where else could such a large creature go?
We each gazed this way and that for a moment but caught no sign of the huge animal—no hoofprints, no trail of blood in the snow. Simon turned his horse and lashed it to speed. We three followed and proceeded the rest of the way around the mound to meet the prince and the others waiting on the other side.
They had not seen the aurochs, either.
“It must have escaped into the forest,” observed Paladyr.
“Then it cannot have gone far,” Simon told the prince. “I had a clean throw. I know I wounded it.”
“Aye,” agreed one who had ridden with us. “I saw it. A clean throw into the shoulder.”
Some of the hunters urged giving chase and prepared to do so right away. But the prince cast an eye to the darkening sky and said, “No, it is g
rowing late. A wounded aurochs is too dangerous, and we could not hope to attack it in the forest. We will have enough to do, getting the calf back to camp before dark.”
The hunters did not enjoy letting their prey escape but could not gainsay the prince. So we returned to where the man whose horse the prince had taken was already hard at work. The wounded dog had been lifted from the horn that impaled it, and the poor hound’s agony ended swiftly and mercifully. The same had been done for the prince’s horse.
At our approach, the hunter took his knife and slit the aurochs’ throat, to let the meat bleed. He caught some of the blood in a small wooden cup, and the cup was passed from one hunter to the next. I tasted the thick, hot, salty blood, and gave the cup quickly to the next hand.
This ritual observed, the hunters, with a wild whoop of jubilation, fell upon the aurochs with their knives. One began opening the belly to gut the carcass. Another made an incision around the neck, while two more made similar cuts around the lower legs so that the fine black Sollen-thick hide could be stripped from the body in one piece.
Two other hunters hastened to the nearby forest to cut birch poles on which to drag the quartered carcass back to camp. They worked deftly and efficiently, each hand busy. I remarked at the speed with which the men set about their tasks. The prince nodded. “They have good reason,” he said meaningfully.
“Darkness?” I wondered, for the sky was now the color of iron and the light was failing fast.
“Wolves.”
I looked at the spilled blood, crimson upon the snow. The scent was even now spreading on the wind and soon—if not already— every wolf within reach of the gusting wind would be hastening to the place of slaughter.
“I have lost one horse today; I would rather not lose another to wolves,” remarked Meldron. He turned to me. “You saved me from injury or worse. I will not forget you. When we come to Findargad you will have your reward.”
“A portion of that haunch would be reward enough,” I answered, watching the dog greedily gulping down a bit of liver while the hunters set about cutting up the carcass.
“Well said!” Prince Meldron laughed, slapping me on the back. “Tonight you will receive the hero’s portion from my hand.”
The flesh-side of the hide was scrubbed with snow and the skin rolled up, bound, and placed on the back of a horse. The carcass was cut into four pieces and the quarters washed with snow to remove as much blood as possible. Then each quarter was lashed to birch poles and the poles tied to ropes and hauled away behind the horses.
When we turned our horses toward camp, all that remained of our exploit was a mound of offal amidst a faded red patch in the well-trampled snow. Ordinarily, the two dead dogs and the prince’s horse would have been removed from the hunting run, but these were left where they lay. “For the wolves,” the hunter who rode beside me explained. “Perhaps they will content themselves with that.”
The way back to the camp proved much longer than I remembered. It was fully dark by the time we reached the river, and we crossed the last expanse of snow guided by the fireglow from the numerous campfires. Word of our success went before us, and within moments of our arrival, throngs of people gathered to view the kill—and to claim a portion of the meat.
Speaking solely through Tegid, the king gave instructions for the meat to be divided equally among the various family clans. And though it was a massive amount of meat, it disappeared at once. True to his word, Prince Meldron rewarded me with the hero’s portion, though it meant that he himself received less than anyone else. I would have shared it with him gladly, but to do so would have shamed him.
The meat had scarcely been shared out among the clans when the ghostly howl of wolves came snaking down the wind. Twrch, who had been prancing playfully around the fire, scuttled back to sit between my feet. Frightened by the strange sound, the pup peered warily from side to side and shivered nervously. I had on several occasions heard the cry of wolves, but it had always seemed mournful to me, rather than fearful—a sound full of longing and lament, a sad, lonely sound. I said as much to Tegid.
“That is because you have never been chased by wolves,” Tegid replied when I offered my observation. We were sitting before the fire, watching the meat roast on spits of forked alder. “They are only gathering. Wait until they catch scent of the trail and raise the hunting cry, and tell me then if you think it a lonely sound.”
“Will they come here?”
Tegid pinched a bit of meat, tasted it, and turned the spit. “Yes.”
“Soon?”
“When they have finished with the horse you left them.”
“Is there anything to be done?”
“Move the horses nearer to the fires, and keep your spear close to hand.”
As if in fulfillment of Tegid’s words, there came a long, feral, full-blooded howl. It made my skin prick up in gooseflesh and raised the hackles on Twrch’s back. I knew at once that no one would sleep this night.
29
NIGHTKILL
King Meldryn appeared from out of the gloom and approached the fire; he had been walking alone through the many camps of his people. He stood a little apart and gestured for Tegid to join him, and they conferred for a moment. I did not hear what passed between them; but I watched the king. This journey was clearly changing him.
The man I saw before me was not the man I had seen in Sycharth. Meldryn appeared drawn, haggard, and drained. He was tired, yes; we were all tired. But it was more than fatigue. It was as if the journey itself, or the bitter Sollen wind, was bleeding him of his spirit and strength. His eyes no longer held their spark; he no longer held his head erect, nor his shoulders square. The Great King Meldryn was like a mighty tower beginning to crumble inward upon itself, and it was a distressing thing to see.
When they had finished their talk, Tegid returned. I rose to offer the king my place at the fire, but Meldryn motioned me to remain seated. He walked away once more, continuing his restless circuit of the camps.
So far as I knew, Meldryn Mawr had not uttered a word to anyone save Tegid since turning his back on Sycharth. All that he wished known, he told his bard. Tegid then acted or instructed others in the king’s command.
“Why does the king not speak?” I asked, handing a spit of roasted meat to Tegid.
“He has taken a geas upon himself,” he explained simply. “The voices of his dead kinsmen are silent. Therefore will the king remain silent until he either joins them or until the voices of the people are heard in Sycharth once more.”
I remembered Meldryn Mawr saying as much the night we left Sycharth, though I had not realized he meant it literally. “The king speaks to you,” I pointed out.
“Kingship comes to the lord through the Chief Bard, who holds the power to grant or withhold sovereignty. It is the bard alone who approaches the king without bending the knee. Therefore may Meldryn speak to his bard without violating the geas.”
I had heard of these strange taboos. But I had never seen one in action, and I wanted to know more. “I do not understand,” I said, stripping meat from the alder spit and sucking the hot and savory juices. I pulled off a strip of meat and gave it to Twrch—still huddled between my feet, though the cries of the wolves had ceased for the time being. “You make it sound as if the bard is greater than the king.”
Tegid lifted some meat to his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Finally, he swallowed and said, “It is not a question of who is greater. The bard is the voice of all the people—the living, the dead, and those yet to be. It is through the bard that the king receives wisdom; and through the bard the king’s judgments are dispensed. The king’s word is law to his people, who must submit to him, but the king must also submit to a higher authority—that of the sovereignty itself. It is the bard’s duty to hold the law of kingship for the people, lest the king become haughty and forget his place.”
“So talking to a bard is not like talking to an ordinary clansman,” I said. “It is more like talking to yourself?
??is that what you mean?”
Tegid smiled, and it was good to see him smile. “The things you say, brother.”
“Well, is it?”
“For a king, talking to his bard is like talking to the source of his kingship. It is like taking counsel from his soul and from the soul of his people. The bond between a king and his bard is not like any other.”
“I see,” I said casually. “Well, if I were king, I would want a bard just like you, Tegid.”
I meant it as a compliment, but Tegid lowered the meat from his mouth and stared at me.
“What have I said now?”
He did not reply, but his gaze took on a disturbing aspect—as if he were seeing through me, or seeing me differently somehow. His scrutiny made me uncomfortable. “Listen, Tegid, I meant nothing. If I have spoken amiss, forgive me.”
“You may have cause to regret those words,” he replied slowly.
“I am sorry,” I told him. “I tell you I meant nothing by them.”
Tegid relaxed and began eating again. I was itching to know what I had said to upset him, but I did not like to probe the wound again so soon. We finished our meal in a somewhat strained silence, and I reflected on another lord who had gone down into death without a sound: the aurochs we had killed that day. Even as its life spilled out upon the snow, the young bull did not bellow or cry out. The beast went silent to its death. Now its flesh nourished us and kept us alive.
This meditation brought to mind the other aurochs—the one that had disappeared, almost before our eyes. Where had it gone?
I wondered about this as I gnawed at the last of the meat. And the more I thought about it, the more certain I became that I knew where it had gone. This conviction induced a queer feeling in the pit of my stomach, and a tremor of excitement like that which I had experienced at the first mention of the aurochs. I told myself that it was preposterous, that I could not know, that there had to be another explanation.