Page 29 of Valdemar

“I know how to make you smile!” Hakkon declared. “Come see my puppy when we’re done!”

For a moment Kordas was inclined to make an excuse, but then he thought better of it. He did have some time. Hakkon deserved some of his undivided attention—gods knew Restil got enough of it. And no one can be sad for long in the presence of a puppy, especially not a lurcher, who was the most comical thing on four legs when young. “Let’s finish quickly, then,” he agreed, and Hakkon’s face lit up.

The dogs’ kennels were as good as the stables. Solidly built by the Mother of her peculiar “stone,” with fireplaces at either end, kept as spotlessly clean as it was possible to do with several bitches with full litters. The kennels served as the home to several breeds, each with its own particular purpose.

At the large end were the mastiffs, huge creatures mainly for the protection of the herds from wild beasts, although their mere presence was a significant deterrent to humans as well. The working dogs, except for Trusty and some of the dogs that the guards on the walls used, were all out at farms. Only the breeding bitches were kept here. At the small end were the rat terriers, who vied with the Palace cats to keep the place free of vermin. With poultry on the premises, Kordas had placed a Palace-wide ban on ferrets, no matter how many people asked to have them as pets. The Palace bred and kept their own lines of rat terriers, but puppies were available to anyone who needed one. In between the largest and smallest breeds were a half-dozen other breeds: boarhounds, lurchers, retrievers, beagles, greyhounds, and bloodhounds, all of which were used in hunting. The ones here were all the packs strictly belonging to Kordas and his family; the highborn and moneyed either kept their packs at their manors (if the manor was livable) or at their farms.

Lurchers—the breed that Hakkon’s pup was—looked rather like hairy greyhounds; not quite as fast, but heavier, and less fragile, good for general hunting. Like greyhounds, although they loved to run, when they weren’t running, they loved to sleep and be petted.

Then there were the herding dogs, but none of them were kept at the Palace. The shepherds of Valdemar were very proud of their dogs, and kept the breeding of their charges in their own hands.

The puppies that Hakkon led his father to were being weaned. Their relieved mother—who by now was very tired of being assaulted for her milk at every opportunity—was resting in a pen next to them. She could easily jump into and out of that pen if she chose, and if the pups were truly in distress, she would be with them in a heartbeat, but they couldn’t see or get to her. They were all milling about and playing, or whining at the side of the pen, because they could smell their mother. All but one. Not the runt, nor the biggest, but somewhere in the middle, he was clearly looking for someone when they came into view, and as soon as he spotted Hakkon, he ran to the front of the pen—or rather, blundered, because he was not very graceful at this stage. Hakkon got down in the straw and made much of him, as Kordas entered the pen, determined to test this pup to see what he was made of.

And the first thing that the puppy did was pass the initial “test”—he looked up fearlessly at Kordas, and sniffed loudly in his direction, showing interest and curiosity, but no fear or aggression. “What’s his name?” Kordas asked, getting down in the straw himself.

“Kirren,” Hakkon said proudly. “I thought of it myself. It means ‘watchful’ in Tayledras.”

Kordas made chirping sounds and called the pup by name, and the gray lurcher blundered over to him, tail wagging so hard he was constantly off balance.

Kordas rolled him over on his back to test for dominance acceptance and submissive behavior. He picked the pup up, legs dangling, to test for his reaction to being “restrained” and unable to do what he wanted. He tested the pup’s sensitivity to light and sound—no wincing away, no fear, no barking. Then he suddenly whipped out a bright red handkerchief and thrust it in the pup’s face. There was a startle response, as was natural, but there was no fear, and no attempt to run. “He’s going to make a fine pet,” Kordas said with satisfaction. “The thing I like best about lurchers is what I like best about greyhounds. When they’re not running, they just want to be loved.”

“That’s what the Houndmaster said,” Hakkon replied, getting his pup’s attention again and bringing him back to lie down on command. “Kirren already knows come, sit, and lie down. He walks on a lead pretty well. He doesn’t stay yet—”

“He’s a puppy. His idea of ‘stay’ is ‘I’ll hold still for a moment.’” Kordas could not have been more pleased that Hakkon had already begun training his pup. “If he is that clever, he’ll—”

Hakkon tilted his head when Kordas didn’t finish the sentence. “He’ll what, Father?”

“I’ve just had an idea. I want you to get your pup just after supper and join me—oh—let’s say at the East Gate.” To forestall any questions, he added, “Let’s just say if this works, you can bring him into our quarters as soon as he’s ready to leave his dam altogether.”

• • •

“Kordas, what are you doing out here?” Delia asked, as he and Hakkon approached her and Lythe out of the darkness. Trusty, practically glued to Lythe’s side, raised his head, recognized Kordas’s scent, then recognized by their scents that Hakkon and Kirren were both “puppies,” whuffed, and sat.

Lythe and Delia were not up on the wall yet; Kordas knew that Delia was spending some time with Lythe every night, starting from when Rothas went insensible, and ending when Lythe went up on the wall.

It appeared that they were on their way to one of the external staircases to the top of the wall, because—as Kordas had anticipated—they were following the path at the base of the wall, with the wall on their right and the vegetable gardens to the left. A rich smell of freshly turned loam told Kordas someone had been weeding or harvesting this patch recently.

Delia had a lantern, Lythe did not, but then, Lythe supposedly did not need one. And she proved it by first exclaiming, “Oh, what a nice puppy!” and only then belatedly acknowledging the presence of the humans. “Good evening, King, and who have you brought with you?”

Her voice was high and breathy, and she sounded younger than she actually was. Kordas wondered if that was natural, or an affectation.

“This is my son Hakkon, and the pup is his,” Kordas explained, rather amused by Lythe’s naive salutation of “King.” “The pup’s name is Kirren. Did you get a chance to watch the illuminations last night?”

“Yes, once Rothas . . . after dark,” she replied. “Rothas brought me a feast, and we ate it together, so I didn’t see much of the ones before that. Bits and pieces. The birds were lovely.”

She meant to say, “once Rothas was insensible,” I suspect.

“He told me about his performance, and what a success he was.” Something about her tone alerted him, and confirmed in his mind that he needed to have an in-depth talk with her—well, less “talk” and more “interrogation,” although he would try to keep it friendly. No time like the present for that little talk. Or rather, no time like the present once we deal with what brought us here.

“Can you talk to this puppy?” he asked. Lythe laughed, as if the question was absurd. And there was, he thought, a little touch of pleasure there—pleasure that someone believed in her abilities and didn’t ridicule her.

“Of course I can. I’ve talked to most of the dogs on the night watch.” She got down on her knees, and the puppy came to her without prompting. She took his head in her hands and looked into his eyes. “He really likes you, Prince. He thinks you are his pack leader.”

“That’s what the Houndmaster said,” Hakkon told her with pride.

Kordas smiled. “Well, good. What I want from you, Lythe, is this, if you please. Once the pup is fully weaned, I want you to meet with Hakkon and the pup. I want you to make Kirren understand that when he needs to go, he’s to take himself from wherever he is to the dog-walking trench and do the business there. Then I want you and Hakkon to show him the way from our quarters to the trench and back again. I’ll instruct the guards at the door to let the dog come and go as he pleases.”

He glanced at his son in the lamplight. Hakkon’s widened eyes and the shape of his mouth told Kordas the boy had had no idea that someone could do this. “It’s Animal Mindspeech, son,” he said. “Lythe has it.”