Pug counted quickly. “He has fourteen points.”
Tomas nodded agreement. “He must be the oldest buck in the forest.” The stag turned his attention in the boys’ direction, flicking an ear nervously. They froze, not wishing to frighten off such a beautiful creature. For a long, silent minute the stag studied the rise, nostrils flaring, then slowly lowered his head to the pool and drank.
Tomas gripped Pug’s shoulder and inclined his head to one side. Pug followed Tomas’s motion and saw a figure walking silently into the clearing. He was a tall man dressed in leather clothing, dyed forest green. Across his back hung a longbow and at his belt a hunter’s knife. His green cloak’s hood was thrown back, and he walked toward the stag with a steady, even step. Tomas said, “It’s Martin.”
Pug also recognized the Duke’s Huntmaster. An orphan like Pug, Martin had come to be known as Longbow by those in the castle, as he had few equals with that weapon. Something of a mystery, Martin Longbow was still well liked by the boys, for while he was aloof with the adults in the castle, he was always friendly and accessible to the boys. As Huntmaster, he was also the Duke’s Forester. His duties absented him from the castle for days, even weeks at a time, as he kept his trackers busy looking for signs of poaching, possible fire dangers, migrating goblins, or outlaws camping in the woods. But when he was in the castle, and not organizing a hunt for the Duke, he always had time for the boys. His dark eyes were always merry when they pestered him with questions of woodlore or for tales of the lands near the boundaries of Crydee. He seemed to possess unending patience, which set him apart from most of the Craftmasters in the town and keep.
Martin came up to the stag, gently reached out, and touched his neck. The great head swung up, and the stag nuzzled Martin’s arm.
Softly Martin said, “If you walk out slowly, without speaking, he might let you approach.”
Pug and Tomas exchanged startled glances, then stepped into the clearing. They walked slowly around the edge of the pool, the stag following their movements with his head, trembling slightly. Martin patted him reassuringly and he quieted. Tomas and Pug came to stand beside the hunter, and Martin said, “Reach out and touch him, slowly so as not to frighten him.”
Tomas reached out first, and the stag trembled beneath his fingers. Pug began to reach out, and the stag retreated a step. Martin crooned to the stag in a language Pug had never heard before, and the animal stood still. Pug touched him and marveled at the feel of his coat—so like the cured hides he had touched before, yet so different for the feel of life pulsing under his fingertips.
Suddenly the stag backed off and turned. Then, with a single bounding leap, he was gone among the trees. Martin Longbow chuckled and said, “Just as well. It wouldn’t do to have him become too friendly with men. Those antlers would quickly end up over some poacher’s fireplace.”
Tomas whispered, “He’s beautiful, Martin.”
Longbow nodded, his eyes still fastened upon the spot where the stag had vanished into the woods. “That he is, Tomas.”
Pug said, “I thought you hunted stags, Martin. How—”
Martin said, “Old Whitebeard and I have something of an understanding, Pug. I hunt only bachelor stags, without does, or does too old to calve. When Whitebeard loses his harem to some younger buck someday, I may take him. Now each leaves the other to his own way. The day will come when I will look at him down the shaft of an arrow.” He smiled at the boys. “I won’t know until then if I shall let the shaft fly. Perhaps I will, perhaps not.” He fell silent for a time, as if the thought of Whitebeard’s becoming old was saddening, then as a light breeze rustled the branches said, “Now, what brings two such bold hunters into the Duke’s woods in the early morning? There must be a thousand things left undone with the Midsummer festival this afternoon.”
Tomas answered. “My mother tossed us out of the kitchen. We were more trouble than not. With the Choosing today . . .” His voice died away, and he felt suddenly embarrassed. Much of Martin’s mysterious reputation stemmed from when he first came to Crydee. At his time for the Choosing, he had been placed directly with the old Huntmaster by the Duke, rather than standing before the assembled Craftmasters with the other boys his age. This violation of one of the oldest traditions known had offended many people in town, though none would dare openly express such feelings to Lord Borric. As was natural, Martin became the object of their ire, rather than the Duke. Over the years Martin had more than justified Lord Borric’s decision, but still most people were troubled by the Duke’s special treatment of him that one day. Even after twelve years some people still regarded Martin Longbow as being different and, as such, worthy of distrust.