Goewin laughed. “Gwyn-ap-Nudd hounding the souls of the dead across the sky? Morgause’s children aren’t that bad.”
“No.” I laughed with her. “But in the south they used to play out the Wild Hunt in earnest, ending with the chosen victim ritually slaughtered on his own threshold. They still do it in some places, only now the killing is mimicked.”
“God help us,” Goewin said grimly. “I hope our fair cousins don’t know about that.”
“I don’t think so.”
“It’s as well you’re not playing,” she said as she turned to go. I stood looking after her with bow in hand, thinking that to follow Lleu would be sport indeed. And then the thought, Why should I not? I would not interrupt his game; but I would watch.
I challenged myself to guess what Lleu would do. His cousins must let him start first, so that he might have an initial hope of eluding them; I thought he might head south on the track through the beech woods that leads to the fisheries. The forest there was heavy with the heat of August, sunlight filtering green and gold through the thick leaves. I tethered my horse well off the track where it was screened by half grown birch, and then I hid among the ferns to watch for Lleu. To lie there was pleasant, knowing that I waited only for my brother, and that I need not be alert for a chase. The loam forest floor was cool against my chest and palms, piebald with spots of sunlight that were hot on my back. And as I lay half dreaming so, a doe stepped from the tall undergrowth across the path, and presently another joined it. I lay breathing the warm scent of fern, my mind empty of anything but the grazing deer, for what seemed a measureless space of time.
Lleu appeared at last, moving easily and almost noiselessly along the path, listening and careful. He wore short leather trousers and a linen shirt, and seemed somehow to be only another kind of wild forest creature. He did not even carry a hunting knife. He stopped when he saw the deer, as still as I, and watched. They might have even been aware of him, but did not run. My left hand lay across the shaft of my bow, but still; I closed the fingers of my right hand upon a small twig, and threw it gently past the head of the closer deer. Both their heads went up; they eyed Lleu a brief moment in recognition of his unwanted presence, and then bolted back into the forest. Lleu called softly after them: “Run swiftly, sisters.”
I watched him pass and let him go. Then I got to my feet, bound my hair out of my face, and went back to the horse. I waited long enough to give Lleu a fair edge, then followed after him. Oh, he moves lightly enough, but at first it was not difficult to track him; he could not help but leave an occasional sandal print in the soft earth, or at least broken branches and trampled ferns. Yet I lost him. He passed the fisheries and came back indirectly, familiar and more at ease on his own ground than I had expected. The southern end of the lake is grown over with spindly trees and dense reeds; the land there becomes marshy and uncertain. By moving quickly from clump of grass to hummock of turf it is possible to make one’s way to the island in the center of the lake, though it appears unattainable from the shore. Cautiously and quietly, Lleu must have picked his way through the bog until he reached the firm ground of the island. Once there, he could lie flat underneath the thorny blackberry canes and wait till sunset, gazing at the sky through the tangle of briars and green leaves, listening to the marsh birds callin S biandg and insects humming. I thought with scorn, Easy enough to outwit his cousins if he chooses to hide on Glass Island all day. So I turned my attention back to the forest and to my own hunting, and left Lleu to his vigil.
I had an easy day. I rode slowly, lulled by solitude and the stillness of the forest. I saw no more deer, and though I caught two small partridges, the day seemed to be passing without incident. I struck back toward Elder Field and was nearing the foot of the bare stone cliff that is the highest point of the Edge when I heard Agravain’s voice raised in a shout of discovery, followed by the unmistakable pandemonium of dogs chasing through thick woodland. I rode toward the noise, drawn. When I came nearer, I found Lleu engaged in a heated confrontation at the bottom of the cliff: Agravain and Gaheris had caught him, and Agravain was holding him pinned against the red stone, though as I watched Lleu managed to wrench himself out of his cousin’s grip. But he was cornered. Unable to go anywhere else, surely without thinking, he began to climb the cliffside.
Agravain half tore one of the sleeves from Lleu’s shirt in his effort to pull him back; but Lleu kicked downward at him sharply, striking him on the chin and then the shoulder. Agravain fell backward and slid, but Lleu still climbed, finding footholds and handholds instinctively. He must be tearing his palms to shreds, but he was startlingly secure on the cliff face. And Agravain, sportsman that he is, snatched up a stone the size of an egg and hurled it at Lleu. He missed, but came deadly close, and the rock wall next to one of Lleu’s feet crumbled away in sharp spalls and shards of stone. Lleu yelled, “Don’t—no!” He shouted a name at random.
His cousin let fly another missile and roared, “Agravain! Learn it, you pompous imbecile!”
Rock slammed into the cliffside inches from one of Lleu’s hands. He clung to cracks in the sheer sandstone, thirty feet above the ground, and cried, “Agravain, stop it!”
Gaheris made a feeble attempt to restrain his brother, but Agravain shook him off. I swung down from my horse and caught hold of Agravain’s arm even as he drew it back for a third shot. He turned in fury, but went scarlet and shamefaced when he saw who halted him. Lleu, above us, could do nothing but continue climbing. He gained a narrow ledge halfway up the cliff, barely as wide as his body, and hauled himself along it till he lay with his face turned to the rock wall.