‘This,’ said Caswallon, ‘is your safeguard. For a dog is a creature of instinct. You may order it to attack, but another voice may call it back. “Home” should remain a secret command. Share it not even with your friends.’
Gaelen called the beast Render. The hound’s nature was good, especially with Caswallon’s son Donal, now a blond toddler who followed Render – or Wenna, as he called it – about the house, pulling its ears and struggling to climb on its back. Attempts to stop him would be followed by floods of tears and the difficult-to-answer assertion, ‘Wenna like it!’
Maeg was hard to convince that Render was a worthy addition to the household, but one afternoon in late winter it won her over. Kareen had ventured into the yard to fetch wood for the fire, but had not secured the kitchen door on her return. Donal had sneaked out to play in the snow, an adventure of rare magic.
He was gone for more than half an hour before his absence was noted. Maeg was beside herself. Caswallon and Gaelen were at the Long Hall where Caswallon was being elected to the Council in
place of an elderly clansman who had collapsed and died soon after the Games. Maeg wrapped a woollen shawl about her shoulders and stepped out into the storm. Within minutes it had grown dark and as she called Donal’s name the wind whipped her words from her mouth. His track had been covered by fresh snow.
Kareen joined her. ‘He’ll die in this,’ yelled Maeg.
Render padded from the house. Seeing the hound, Maeg ran to it and knelt by its side.
‘Donal!’ she shouted, pushing the dog and pointing out past the yard. Render tilted his head and licked her face. ‘Fetch!’ she shouted. Render looked around. There was nothing to fetch. ‘Donal! Fetch Donal!’ Render looked back towards the house and the open door that led to the warm hearth. The hound didn’t know what the women were doing out in the cold. Then its ears came up as a wolf howled in the distance. Another sound came, thin and piping. Recognising instantly the pup-child of Caswallon, Render padded off into the snow.
Maeg’s hands and feet were freezing, but she had no idea if the dog had understood her and she had not heard the faint cry, so she continued to search, terror growing within her and panic welling in her mind.
Render loped away into a small hollow hidden from the house. Here it found the toddler who had slipped and rolled down on to a patch of ice and was unable to get up. Beyond him sat two wolves, tongues lolling.
Render padded towards the boy, growling deep in his throat. The wolves stood, then backed away as the warhound advanced. Canny killers were the grey wolves, but they knew a better killer when they saw him.
‘I cold, Wenna,’ said Donal, sniffing. ‘I cold.’
Render stopped by the boy, watching the wolves carefully.
They backed away still further, and, satisfied, Render nuzzled Donal, but die boy could not stand on the ice. Render ducked his head, taking the boy’s woollen tunic in his teeth. Donal was lifted clear of the ice and the huge dog bounded up the slope and back towards the house.
Maeg saw them and waded through the snow towards them, but Render loped past her and into the kitchen. He was cold and missed the fire. When Maeg and Kareen arrived Donal and Render were sitting before the hearth. Maeg swept Donal into her arms.
‘Wolfs, mama. Wenna scare “em away.’
Maeg shuddered. Wolves! And her child had been alone. She sat down hurriedly.
Neither of the women told Caswallon of the adventure, but he knew something was amiss when Maeg explained she had given his own cold meat supper to the hound.
Caswallon’s activities during the summer and winter puzzled many of the clansmen. He drove no cattle to Aesgard, nor delivered grain and oats. The fruit of his orchards disappeared, and no man knew where, though the carts were driven into the mountains by trusted workers. There, it was said, they were delivered to the druids.