The Hound at the Gate Read Online Free PDF Page B

when Gideon caught his wrist.
    â€œNo, boyo. That part of the ceremony was real. As were our oaths.” He pulled Finn to a stop and locked eyes. “And you know how I feel about giving one’s word?”
    â€œâ€˜A man’s word is his honor,’” Finn repeated.
    â€œAye. You cannot have one without the other. So, leave the blood be for now.” He continued walking.
    Trotting beside, Finn glanced back over his shoulder. “Why? And what about all our camping stuff?”
    â€œFirst, we go to stand before the
Rath
with the evidence of our blood oath still fresh. Once they formally acknowledge and welcome us to the Festival, then we’ll go back to the truck for our gear.”
    Trepidation tapped Finn on the shoulder. “Have they ever, you know, turned someone away?”
    â€œNo. This is simply a ceremonial holdover from the days when the
Rath
was not a group of men and women, but rather a fortified stronghold to protect our people. Centuries ago, one had to be invited inside the
Rath
, swearing to abide by the laws of the
Rí
, or ruler, of the stronghold. Although our people are scattered all over Colorado, we still have a leader, or chieftain, so to speak, amongst us—Toryn Mull.”
    As they walked along the footpath treading through the campsite, Finn eyed the tents scattered here and there. Some were old-fashioned affairs made from dirty white canvas, while others were more modernaccommodations—domes of Gore-Tex. He even spotted a tipi to one side. Smoke drifted from the fires of early risers.
    A few De Danaan called greetings to Gideon as they walked past. Others stared at Finn. Something in their expressions made him feel like checking for what Gideon called a “nostril goblin.” He dragged his sleeve across his face just in case.
Trust, but verify
, as his master often said.
    After passing through the camping area, they came out into a grassy area. An enormous barn, its wooden planks stained and weathered to a warm brown, sat in the middle of it. The building’s double doors faced southward. A meadow about the size of a football field stretched from the barn’s doors to the bank of the river chasm. A footbridge, crafted from massive logs, spanned the gap. Finn could hear the faint roar of the current as it churned along through the narrow gorge.
    â€œWho built the barn?” Finn asked.
    â€œIt is a leftover from the days when cattle were raised in the area to feed the gold miners. The current owner of this property allows us the use of the land and structure as long as we do maintenance on it once a year.”
    Continuing along on his master’s heels, Finn noticed a low, raised platform, fashioned from split aspen logs and covered in planks, sitting off to one side near the doors. Three heavy chairs, almost like thrones, were positioned on it. He followed his master over to a spot in front of the platform. At that moment, the barn doors swung inward.
    Martin O’Neill stepped out, followed by a woman and another man. Dressed in jeans and sweaters or light jackets of various shades of reds and browns, each wore the torc as well as a long cloak made from heavy wool and dyed a dark gold. The woman carried a hiking staff. As they walked toward the platform, the cloaks fluttered behind them in the morning breeze, like the last aspen leaves of autumn just before they made their final journey earthward. They stared at Finn while they climbed the single step to the platform.
They must be the
Rath,
the Council members
, Finn thought. Uncertain what to do, he shuffled from foot to foot.
    â€œAt my knife arm and behind,” Gideon muttered without moving his lips.
    Finn scrambled to take a position at the Knight’s right elbow. He watched as the three Council members sat down. For a long minute, they gazed in silence at the master and apprentice, giving Finn a chance to study them. He saw the woman examining him back. Younger than the