The House Of Gaian

faces. Every one of them standing tall with a weapon ready in his hands.
    They know. They’ve always known what she is and what she can do.
    “Ashk.” Her voice broke on the plea, but it was enough.
    Ashk lowered the horn and turned slightly to look at her.
    An enraged cry. Shouts of warning.
    Ashk dove for the ground as Cullan’s hunting knife flew toward her. But it was paws, not hands, that touched the ground. Before the knife impaled the earth behind her, the shadow hound pivoted and raced toward her prey.
     
    Cullan froze for a second before changing into a stag and trying to leap away from the shadow hound.
    That lost second was all Ashk needed to close the distance between them.
    Jaws closed on a hind leg. Fangs ripped through flesh and tendons.
    Cullan staggered, still tried to run on three legs. Ashk danced around him, nipping his flanks, forcing him to keep trying to run. When he finally turned at bay, she sprang—and changed again in midair.
    Her left hand caught an antler below the points and jerked his head back. Her right hand reached for her boot as she came down hard on his back, straddling him. His hind legs buckled. The hunting knife in her right hand slashed deep across his throat.
    Blood pumped from the wound. His forelegs scrabbled desperately as his eyes began to glaze.
    Death howled.
    Still holding his head back, Ashk leaned forward, and said, “ This is why I am the Hunter.”
    She released the antler. Cullan collapsed, blood still pouring from the wound, but not for much longer.
    Stepping behind him, she cleaned her knife on his still-trembling flank, sheathed it, and walked toward her men.
    Morag stared at her, afraid to move. She didn’t know this hard-eyed woman who walked toward her.
    Wasn’t sure she wanted to.
    Ashk picked up the hunting horn and turned to face the Clan who now stared at her with terror in their eyes.
    “I am the Hunter. Each Clan will send no less than twenty fighters down to Sylvalan. They will go to the southern end of the Mother’s Hills or the northern end, the midland coast, or to a place called Willowsbrook on the eastern side of the hills. The Clans closest to those places will be expected to defend those places. We are the Fae, and it is the Fae who are the protectors of the Old Places and the woods—and everything that lives within them. Either you are Fae or you are not. If you do not defend the land from an enemy who will wipe it clean of magic, then I will take back the gift that came from the spirit of the woods. That is your choice. If you do not make it soon, I will make it for you. I do not have to be here. I don’t even have to be in Tir Alainn. I am the Hunter. I command the woods ... wherever it resides.”
    Ashk turned toward her men. “Get ready to ride. We have some ground to cover today.” Then she looked at Aiden. “Will you write a song about this, Bard?”
    Seeing the flash of pain in Aiden’s eyes broke the chains of fear that had kept Morag silent. “Ashk, that was cruel.”
    Ashk turned to look at her. “Cruelty resides in the shadows. Didn’t you know that, Morag?” She looked at the ground. “But, sometimes, so does mercy.” Taking a deep breath, she turned back to Aiden. “My apologies, Bard.”
    “Accepted, Hunter.”
    Just as Morag breathed a sigh of relief, a huntsman, deathly pale and trembling, approached them.
    “Hunter?” he said.

    What now ? Morag thought wearily. The day had barely begun, and she suspected Ashk would set a grueling pace the rest of the day.
    Ashk studied him. “You’re one of Gwynith’s escorts.”
    “I am, Hunter. She entrusted me to find you and deliver this.” He reached into his leather, thigh-length vest, withdrew a folded piece of paper, and held it out to her.
    Ashk took it, then asked, “Will you be returning to Gwynith?”
    He shook his head. “She has other messages for me to deliver.”
    Aiden stepped forward. “If you meet up with a bard or minstrel who is coming east with messages, perhaps you could exchange them. That way each of you would have less of a journey.”
    The huntsman tipped his head. “I thank you for the suggestion, Bard. I would like to return to Lady Gwynith as soon as possible.”
    “She is well?” Ashk asked.
    “She is well, Hunter.” He hesitated. “She rides with the Lady of the Moon.”
    “I see. Safe journey, huntsman.”
    As the huntsman followed Ashk’s men to the stables, the Hunter walked away from all of them, then broke the