In the morning, after the meal, George stroked his freshly-shaven cheeks and walked slowly and stiffly over to join Gwyn. His allies and their huntsmen had gathered, as requested, and George was pleased to greet again those he had already met. There were eight pairs of them, lord or lady with a huntsman.
Gwyn said to George, “These noble lords are departing this morning, huntsman. How do we stand with the whelps from the breeding?”
George had already made morning rounds with Dyfnallt and looked over the four litters. The two from outsider blood he was reserving, all eleven of them, but the other two litters had sixteen suitable puppies, and the dams would each get one of last night’s whelps to nurse afterward.
“My lord king,” he said, careful to use the correct form, “there are sixteen whelps available, seven dogs and nine bitches.”
Gwyn declared to his guests, “It is my wish to gift each of you with two of the young hounds of Annwn. Huntsman, will you choose?”
George asked them, “Do each of you have dams available for nursing them? They cannot go long without milk.” The huntsmen nodded. “And is there any who wishes two of the bitches instead of one of each? Otherwise we will draw lots.”
A huntsman he had not yet met stepped forward. “I’m happy to take two little bitches,” he said. “That’s where the great hunters come from in my pack.”
“Alright, then, I’ll do you first. Please come with me, my lords and ladies.” There were two women in the group, though all the huntsmen were men.
He led them over to the wagon, where the outer two litters were the fourth generation litters. Rhian was already standing there, playing with the puppies, and Ives watched with interest, prepared to take notes about the assignments for the breeding records. There were constraints to George’s choices. He didn’t want to give full siblings to the same person, to reduce any issues of inbreeding down the line. Each dam had eight puppies, one with five females, and one with four, so that helped avoid the awkwardness of bloodlines too close in the same gift—each could get one whelp from each breeding.
The huntsman who had asked for the two bitches stood quietly under George’s gaze. He looked lightly at his mind with his beast-sense, to get a feel for his temperament—calm, deep, obstinate. He looked over the female whelps and found two with a similar sense of quiet determination, one from each litter. He gently lifted each away from the warmth of its mother. They were already too large to hold comfortably in his hands, and he placed each one carefully in a crook of the huntsman’s arms where they wriggled and licked his face. He lit up with delight and crooned to them, and brought them out to show his lord. Ives took notes.
For the next huntsman, a lean fellow with a keen air, George found a thrusting sort of bitch, the terror of her litter-mates, and a sturdy dog whelp from the other litter. The huntsman had a large basket nested with straw ready for them, and his lady admired the squirming pups as they investigated their new temporary quarters.
George matched each huntsman’s temperament to that of his gifts, where he could, and he was confident that each was satisfied before he sent him away.
Eventually the two dams, worn out by the attentions of their large lively litters, were left with the two whelps from Cernunnos and settled down into their reduced maternal demands.
Ives said, “Time to name the new ones. The rest are already named, of course.”
George and Rhian looked at them. “You should name the bitch you chose,” he told her.
“Really?”
“Why not?”
She paused to think. “Gweilgi,” she said. “Wolf-dog. There’s a fierce air about her.”
Like Rhian herself, he thought. No wonder she was called to that one.
“Alright,” he said. “Mine will be Leo.” There was something majestic and dignified about him even at that age.
“Look at them,” he told Rhian, “and compare them to the others, one generation away from the outsider blood.”
They each used their beast-sense to compare the thirteen puppies that remained. Rhian said, “I can feel the resemblance, but it’s been diluted, hasn’t it?”
George thought the two new ones still had some of that feel of hyper-reality from Cernunnos’s world. “They’ll find their place. Each brings some valuable traits, if their nose and brains live up to their promise.”
He turned to walk back to his tent, but his eye caught Brynach, hanging about in the background watching for him, and he ambled that way instead obligingly.
Brynach waited for him to get close, then he said, quietly, looking over at Rhian who was trying to catch Angharad’s attention. “Thank you for looking after her, huntsman.”
George answered honestly, “She saved me, not the other way around.”
Brynach looked unconvinced.
“What do you think of your cousin, Coronwen?” George asked.
“I like her.” Brynach hesitated. “Um, I spoke with Eurig and Tegwen before I left, and Rhian has spoken with Gwyn and Edern.”
“Yes?” George enjoyed pretending to be dense about the topic.
Brynach plowed ahead anyway, and George silently cheered him on. “We’re betrothed.”
No kidding, George thought to himself. He waited, he could see there was more.
“Would you stand for me, later, when it comes time? Rhian is asking Angharad, too.”
Now that surprised him. “Not your great-uncle and aunt?”
Brynach said, “Friends are customary instead of family, when it’s possible. I know we’re awfully young to presume but…”
“Nonsense,” George said with suitable dignity. “We would be very honored to do it.”
He looked over at his tent where Angharad was listening to Rhian. He caught her eye and indicated Brynach with his head. She looked over Rhian’s head and smiled at him, and nodded. He returned her smile. Wedding sponsors, he marveled. His thoughts turned to the new whelps. Guess I’m not such an outsider myself, any more.
George took a last look around the encampment. Many of the groups around the circle had already departed. Llefelys’s men were breaking down his camp and packing it up.
He encountered Ceridwen returning from the market in the outer ring, where it seemed as though business was still going strong. She had a distinctly satisfied expression on her face.
“You look pleased with yourself,” George said.
She laughed. “I’ve been inviting any tradesman and merchant I could find to come and visit us in Greenway Court. All they have to do is contact Gwyn for tokens—it was his idea, and he’s judged them correctly. Some have already asked if they could come today, after the fair. I warned them we’re not ready to do business yet, but they were welcome to come and look, and to meet our steward Ifor Moel, that he could tell them about what sells well.
“I predict we’re going to be drowning in merchants soon, once Lludd drops his untenable blockade. And if he doesn’t we’ll use the new way Mag just made.” She smiled in satisfaction. “Oh, and there are korrigans who send you greetings, friends of Tiernoc.”
George remembered him, one of the pioneers in resettling Edgewood. “More merchants competing means lower prices,” he said, “and a market for our own produce and goods. More settlers, too.”
He saw Llefelys’s pavilion come down and excused himself to make his goodbyes. His limp was easier today, though he was still stiff and sore. He sought out Angharad and together they approached Llefelys and Coronwen, waiting for a break in their overseeing of the work until they had a moment to spare. Morien was with them.
George bowed deeply to his kinsmen. “I am very grateful for your help, my lord king, my lady queen. And to you, Morien.”
He received a grave nod in return, and a grin from Morien.
Gwyn approached from behind, with Edern. “Thank you for your care of my relations, uncle. You and yours are welcome anytime. We look forward to discussing lands in the new world at your convenience.”
Gwyn’s party withdrew as one, and Gwyn remarked to Edern, “You know your days of peace here are numbered. Please let me settle you on new lands in Annwn. I would not see you persecuted by our father for your part in this.” He reached out and clasped Edern’s hand. “Let me show you my gratitude.”
Edern nodded. “I’ll let you know what I decide.”
All this time they had gradually been working around to the entrance of the new way, in their own section of the quickly dissipating encampment circle. Servants had assembled their few goods, and the hounds and hunt staff were already in place.
Gravel and Seething Magma had joined them. The kitten sat unconcernedly on Mag’s smooth surface as she glided along. Something about Seething Magma’s hesitant posture made George wonder. Are you coming with us, he thought at her.
*Apologies. We want to explore for a while. Llefelys has invited us to visit.*
He asked her silently, do you have tokens for this way, so you can get back without difficulty?
*Picture of Rhodri and a way-token.*
“Alright, then,” he said aloud. “Be careful.”
She stretched a pseudopod to her upper surface and gave the black kitten there an easy path to the ground.
*Picture of kitten, picture of dignified mature woman.*
“Thank you for visiting, my lady,” Mag rumbled.
The kitten rollicked over to George who picked him up and put him on his shoulder in his customary spot, where he clung fiercely. “Good to have you back, Imp,” he said. “And you, too, my lady.”
“I’ll get whatever I can of yours out of our father’s guest rooms,” Edern told Gwyn, “and send it along with the horses and goods you left at Plas-Marl.”
Gwyn looked about him, as if to check that everyone was ready.
Dyfnallt left the pack and rode over to George. “Take my horse, huntsman, and lead the pack.”
George shook his head. “You’ve earned it.”
Gwyn told Dyfnallt, “Please take us back, huntsman.”
Dyfnallt straightened in his saddle with pride and returned to his place and, just like a hunting party, he led the pack forward into the way, the hunt staff around them. Ives drove the wagon with the dams and whelps, and then Gwyn’s party began to enter, on foot. Edern stayed behind, talking with Llefelys. Gwyn and Ceridwen went first, then Rhian, Angharad, Maelgwn, and the new apprentice Bedo, and finally George himself. The few couriers and other staff remaining followed.
Before they entered the way, Angharad dropped back to the limping George, and he put his arm around her growing waist and leaned down to smell her hair. It put a spring into his sore step.
“Wonderful,” he said. “A girl, is it?”
The huntsman and the hounds had already transitioned through the way.
He looked back over his shoulder at Salisbury Plain and tried to envision Stonehenge there. He paused for a moment.
“Let’s go home,” he said to her.
He heard a rumble of thunder in the distance and entered the way.
