Chapter 5
Old Hollow had once been a hunting lodge.
Before that, a kennel.
Before that, according to Maren, a place Blackthorn lords used when they wanted work done outside the castle walls.
The road north had vanished beneath years of bramble and pine roots.
Gideon’s party went on foot for the last mile.
Rowan led.
Two guards followed.
Maren carried a short bow.
Maeve carried the silver whistle.
Gideon had objected.
“You are injured.”
Maeve answered:
“And Morcant listens to me.”
“He listens to the whistle.”
“Then the whistle is coming with me.”
Gideon almost argued.
Then stopped.
He was learning.
Control disguised as protection still felt like control to the person being overruled.
So he asked:
“Do you want to come?”
“Yes.”
“Then stay beside Rowan.”
“Agreed.”
Morcant walked on a heavy chain between them.
No muzzle.
Maren said a muzzle would interfere if the hound needed scent.
Maeve disliked.
But Morcant had not growled once since leaving Blackthorn.
He moved with nose low.
At first he followed Orren’s cloak scent taken from kennel room.
Then the trail became stronger.
He pulled.
Not wildly.
Purposefully.
At a fork, Rowan stopped.
Tracks.
One man.
One pack animal.
Two sets of canine prints.
Maeve’s stomach tightened.
“More hounds.”
Maren crouched.
“Smaller.”
Young.
Maybe yearlings.
Then Morcant stopped.
His ears rose.
A faint whistle drifted through trees.
One long note.
Morcant strained against chain.
Maeve lifted silver whistle.
Maren caught her wrist.
“Wait.”
Another whistle.
Two short.
Morcant turned left.
Command.
Not simple calling.
Maren said:
“Orren knows we brought him.”
“How?” Gideon asked.
“Sound carries.”
Or lookout.
They scanned trees.
Nothing.
Then whistle again.
Morcant began to whine.
Maeve had never heard him whine.
Fear?
Frustration?
Training conflict.
Maren said:
“He is receiving an old recall command.”
Maeve asked:
“What overrides it?”
“Three high, one low.”
“You’re certain?”
“As certain as I can be.”
Not enough.
But they needed control.
Maeve blew.
Three sharp notes.
One lower.
Morcant stopped pulling.
Looked at Maeve.
Then sat.
Good.
Gideon said:
“Orren will know we know.”
“He already does.”
They continued.
Old Hollow appeared between trees.
Stone walls.
Collapsed stable.
Half roof.
One chimney smoking.
Occupied.
Rowan signaled spread.
No charge.
No heroic rush.
They approached with shields.
Then a black shape moved behind broken fence.
Another hound.
Smaller than Morcant but still huge.
Then a second.
Both lean.
Dark brindle.
One wore iron collar.
The other no collar.
They growled.
Morcant answered.
Maeve gripped whistle.
From lodge doorway, Orren appeared.
Gray beard.
Heavy coat.
Crossbow in hands.
He looked tired, not monstrous.
That angered Maeve.
Men who build monsters should look like monsters.
They rarely do.
“Lord Gideon.”
Gideon stopped beyond crossbow range? Maybe range uncertain. Shield raised.
“Orren.”
“You brought my best dog.”
Maeve said:
“He is not yours.”
Orren smiled.
“He has eaten from my hand since birth.”
“That is not ownership.”
“Spoken like a servant who thinks catching one baby makes her noble.”
Maeve’s face burned.
Gideon stepped.
“Speak to me.”
Orren looked at him.
“You always were sentimental about servants.”
“And you always were brave when holding a weapon at someone else’s distance.”
Orren smiled wider.
“Your father said same.”
There.
Then hounds.
Orren whistled.
Two younger dogs moved apart.
Flanking.
Rowan’s men tightened.
Maeve blew sit command.
Nothing.
Different training?
Maren said:
“New line.”
Orren laughed.
“I improved.”
Morcant stood.
Orren gave a low trill.
Morcant growled at Maeve.
Her heart stopped.
Conflicting command?
Maren whispered:
“Do not move.”
Orren blew again.
Morcant turned toward Gideon.
No.
Maeve searched memory.
Kennel ledger.
GUARD.
RELEASE.
SILENCE.
She had only guessed two.
Maren knew old system, not new.
Then Gideon did something foolish.
He unclipped Morcant’s chain.
Rowan hissed:
“My lord.”
Gideon said:
“If he means to attack, a chain only gives Maeve one arm to lose.”
Maeve would have objected if not terrified.
Morcant stood free.
Orren whistled attack?
One rising, two short.
Morcant charged.
Not Gideon.
Not Maeve.
Orren.
Everyone froze.
The old kennelmaster stumbled backward and fired crossbow.
Bolt struck Morcant’s shoulder.
The hound yelped but kept moving.
Orren slammed door.
Morcant hit wood.
Door cracked.
The two young hounds launched from sides.
At Morcant.
Not humans.
Orren had trained them to defend him from Morcant?
Or they followed attack command toward strongest threat.
Chaos.
Maeve blew silver whistle desperately.
One sharp.
Sit.
Morcant ignored due pain/adrenaline.
The younger dogs fought.
Rowan shouted:
“No blades unless they turn on us!”
Good.
They were animals under commands.
Not enemies to punish.
Maren pulled a second whistle from pouch.
Old bone whistle.
She blew a low pulsing tone.
One younger hound hesitated.
Then the other.
“Mother call,” Maren said.
How know?
Old kennel training.
The young dogs backed.
Morcant still at door.
Maeve tried the strongest override.
Three high.
One low.
Again.
Morcant stopped.
Blood from shoulder.
He looked back.
Maeve lowered whistle.
“Come.”
No whistle command.
Just word.
Morcant stared.
Then limped toward her.
Not because word necessarily.
Maybe because override released.
Maybe recognition.
No need myth.
The young hounds crouched.
Maren repeated low pulse.
They stayed.
Rowan advanced shield-first toward lodge.
Door broken.
Orren gone.
Back exit.
Of course.
They entered.
No one.
A table.
Maps.
Food.
Three cages.
One empty.
Two open.
Walls lined with collars.
Whistles.
Training poles.
Old leather sleeves.
Not torture chamber.
A professional kennel.
That was worse.
Methodical.
Maeve found shelves of ledgers.
Decades.
Seven hounds indeed.
Varric.
Shade.
Morcant’s sire, Grim.
Morcant.
Others.
Each with command sets.
Owners.
Handlers.
Assignments.
Gideon read.
His grandfather.
His father.
Orren.
Perrin.
Sabine.
Lucan Dacre.
Names in columns.
Not everyone ordered attacks.
Some signed feed accounts.
Some handled.
Need distinguish.
Then one ledger labeled:
INCIDENTS.
Isolde.
OBJECTIVE: RETRIEVE PAPERS.
METHOD: SHADE BLOCK WEST STAIR.
RESULT: FATAL FALL.
AUTHORIZED: O.
NOT PREPLANNED.
Orren.
He had caused Isolde’s death accidentally while stealing evidence.
Then:
BROTHER ALDEN.
OBJECTIVE: PREVENT EXIT / RECOVER COMPACT DRAFT.
METHOD: MORCANT GUARD ARCHIVE.
ESCALATION: MANUAL.
RESULT: FATAL.
AUTHORIZED: O.
Manual.
What meant?
Maeve turned page.
Orren note:
Subject recognized whistle. Dog no longer sufficient. Used ladder.
Gideon went pale.
“He killed Alden himself.”
Yes.
No accident.
He pushed ladder.
Then cover with hound.
Then Perrin.
OBJECTIVE: SILENCE AFTER QUESTIONS.
METHOD: MORCANT CORNER CELLAR.
RESULT: INJURY.
DISPOSITION: TRANSFER NORTH.
Transfer north.
Where?
Maren said:
“Not monastery.”
They searched.
Behind kennels, old mine entrance.
Locked.
Inside?
A cell.
Empty.
Chains.
Human bones?
Maybe too grim but plausible.
Let's do not bones immediately; find scratched names and old possessions. Perrin might still alive? Eleven years if imprisoned at remote place? Could be moved. Let's make "transfer north" means to Carrow estate labor camp? This becomes evidence of forced disappearance. Could be rescued later. But user asked gripping. Let's have recent note:
PERRIN — alive / monastery of Saint Vey, under name Brother Pell.
Interesting. Orren exiled him by coercion, not killed. Good.
They find transfer documents forged, sending inconvenient servants to remote monasteries/mines. This adds crime network.
Maeve found names.
Marek.
Lysa? Lysa still in village. Tomas.
Not all killed.
Fear and forced exile.
The hound legend helped.
Then Elodie ledger.
OBJECTIVE: REMOVE INFANT / PRESERVE ADULT SUCCESSION.
AUTHORIZED: S.
DESIGN: O.
C AWARE OF PRESSURE ONLY.
C aware of pressure only.
Lucan/Dacre not aware of murder plan?
Maybe.
Then line:
AFTER E EVENT, S BOUND.
Sabine bound.
Blackmail.
Orren planned to control her.
Exactly.
Gideon closed book.
Then Rowan called from rear.
“Tracks.”
Orren fled into old mine passage.
A narrow tunnel descends toward north quarry.
Dangerous.
Maren said:
“He’ll head to the river post.”
What there?
Carrow courier station.
If Orren reaches Lucan, evidence destroyed or political response.
Gideon said:
“Then we follow.”
Maeve looked at Morcant.
Bolt still lodged shallow shoulder.
Maren said:
“He stays.”
Good.
The hound had done enough.
A guard tended wound.
Young hounds stayed under Maren’s low whistle and food.
Then Maeve noticed wall inscription.
Not Orren.
Older.
Her father? No.
A saying carved by kennelmaster generations:
MEN FEAR TEETH. THEY SHOULD FEAR THE HAND.
Maeve stared.
The whole castle had known in pieces.
Some trainer long ago understood.
Then from tunnel came a sound.
Not footsteps.
A bell.
Three rings.
Maren’s face changed.
“River post signal.”
Orren was not merely fleeing.
He was summoning someone.
Gideon took sword.
Rowan lifted lantern.
Maeve tied sling tighter.
Gideon looked at her.
“You can stay.”
Maeve answered:
“I can.”
Not:
I will.
Then stepped into tunnel.
Choice.
They followed.
The passage sloped beneath mountain.
Old mining route.
Water dripped.
At one point fresh blood marked wall.
Orren wounded? Crossbow? No, he fired. Maybe Morcant scratched him through door? Could be.
Tracks.
Then fork.
One to river.
One to collapsed gallery.
Maren knelt.
Blood toward river.
They moved.
Halfway, a whistle sounded behind.
Maeve spun.
No hound.
Echo.
Then another.
Different.
A signal to people, not animals.
Rowan whispered:
“Ambush.”
Lights appeared ahead.
Torches.
Men.
Not Carrow soldiers in uniform.
Mercenaries.
Six.
Orren behind.
He called:
“Lord Gideon. You should have stayed with your baby.”
Gideon raised sword.
“No.”
Orren smiled.
“You still think this is about a dog.”
Maeve looked at six men.
Then at narrow tunnel.
No room for battle.
But perhaps room for evidence.
Gideon said:
May you like
“It stopped being about the dog when I learned who held the whistle.”
And the men advanced.
