For a moment both sides froze, as if time itself stood still. Then the sounds of terrified women and children, helpless wails and disbelieving cries of despair, erupted inside the hall.
The seven creatures turned and raced towards the sounds, aware their prey was within reach. Dodinal reacted quickly. With no thought for his own safety, he took off in desperate pursuit.
The door was flung open and a handful of women ran out, screaming wildly, heading for the gates. Dodinal yelled at them to get back inside, but they were scared out of their wits. They did not know what they were doing or where they were going.
They never had a chance. The creatures swarmed over them like a dark tide, and their screams gave way to the tearing and crunching of flesh and bone.
Dodinal was sickened, but while there was nothing he could have done to save those poor women, there were others, children too, trapped inside, one of the beasts loose in there with them.
He ran to the Great Hall, past the frenzied slaughter. As he reached the door, he heard a clamour go up from behind him. He turned to see the village’s men seeking retribution for the slaughter. They rampaged across the ground and set about the creatures, bloodlust pushing conscious thought from their minds. They were so intent on revenge they were too slow to defend themselves when the creatures turned away from the mangled corpses and fought back.
One of the things threw itself up on two legs and lashed out at Elfed, the big tracker they said was strong enough to have wrestled a bear. Maybe that was true and maybe it was not. Either way, the blond giant was no match for the creature. He cried out and grabbed at his belly, dropping to his knees as steaming viscera tumbled out over his desperately grasping hands. The creature struck out a second time, snapping Elfed’s head around and breaking his neck. The big man hit the ground. Dodinal turned away and ducked through the doorway. Elfed was beyond his or anyone’s help.
Inside, he was confronted by a maelstrom of sights and sounds. He took them in within the space of a heartbeat. Broken wood and thatching lay strewn around the floor. Some of the debris had landed directly on the main fire and was burning. More debris smouldered around it. The air was hazy with dust and smoke. Sparks gusted up towards the gaping hole in the roof.
Women and children cowered in a corner beyond the table, directly across from where he stood. They cried and whimpered, mothers clutching infants to their chests and standing in front of the older children to shield them. Rhiannon had her arms wrapped tightly around Owain, holding her son with his face to her midriff. The look of sheer terror on her face was one Dodinal hoped never to see again.
Two men lay in crumpled heaps on the floor, blood spreading out around them. The mastiff was dead too, its head ripped from its neck. The dog’s eyes stared glassily at Dodinal from across the hall.
The father of the screaming baby had survived the onslaught, although he was bleeding from several wounds. He held out a spear, all that stood between the women and children and the great beast that prowled the hall. Fortunately for them, it was hurt and unsteady on its feet. Blood bubbled up from a deep gash in its head.
By the fire’s light, Dodinal saw it clearly for the first time.
It was an abomination. No other word would suffice. Its body was that of a man, but hideously deformed, and so emaciated that every rib stood out. Yet its arms and legs rippled with muscles, and where a man would have toenails it had claws, four on each hand and foot, long curved nails that tapped and scratched against the wooden floor as it paced from wall to wall, seeking a chance to strike.
The creature sensed or heard Dodinal enter, and swung its head to regard him. He found himself gazing into human eyes that gleamed with malevolent intelligence, set deep into a face that resembled one of the gargoyles that leered down from high on the walls of the Church of St. Stephen.
Its chin was long and protruding, its snarling mouth wide and bristling with sharp teeth, too many even for a mouth that big. Its skull was lumpish, as though it had been squeezed in infancy before its bones had properly hardened. A low forehead was set above heavy, ridged brows. The nose was flattened, the nostrils flared. Its body was devoid of hair, its skin leathery and ash grey in colour, pale enough for the firelight to clearly define every cut and scratch it had sustained in the fall.
Devils, the men had said. Maybe they had been right.
Dodinal threw the shield aside. A large piece of it had broken off; it would disintegrate if it took another blow. Better to be done with it now and have both arms free to wield the sword.
He stepped forward. “Leave this to me,” he told the injured man, voice low, eyes not once moving from the growling, pacing creature. “Take the women and children outside. Keep away from the fighting. Run from here as quickly as you can.”
The man’s face was tight with pain and fear. “And you?”
“Forget about me. Just go.”
The man nodded gratefully and hurried away. Dodinal had his back to the women and children. He did not see them leave, but he heard them, the rapid clatter of shoes on wood, the swish and rustle of cloth, the nervous whispering of children, older voices hushing them. Heard them, but paid them no heed, for he dared not turn away from the beast even for a second. He knew how fast it could move.
Even now it was coiling to leap at them as they rushed outside. Before it could pounce Dodinal yelled and struck out with the sword. The beast shrieked in agony when the cold iron slashed its flank; it spun and darted away from him, claws splintering the floorboards as it scrambled further into the hall, out of the reach of the firelight.
Dodinal had a feeling it would not be content with skulking in the shadows for long. He skirted the fire, intending to drive the thing further back and buy the women and children more time while they made good their escape. His foot kicked against wood, and he glanced down. A piece of timber as long as his sword had fallen from the roof and lay partly ablaze in the flames. He stooped and grabbed the unlit end, holding it out before him as he straightened.
The creature barked and growled, its movements increasingly agitated as Dodinal advanced step by cautious step. He waved the makeshift torch from side to side in one hand. In the other he held the sword aloft and poised to strike.
It reared up and arched its back to display its genitals, taunting him. Dodinal responded by ramming the torch into its exposed belly, and the acrid stench of burning meat filled the air. Its gargoyle face made even more hideous with pain, the creature screeched and dropped down on all fours, then twisted round and clattered to the back of the hall where it disappeared behind the hanging hides, leaving them swinging and flapping in its wake.
Dodinal’s mouth tightened. It was time to end this. He lifted the torch to the hides. They were as dry as parchment after countless years hanging in the heat of the Great Hall’s ever-burning fires. They singed smokily, and then burst into flames. Fire clawed at the roof timbers until they too began to smoulder.
Cold air gusted between the open doorway and the hole in the roof, creating a draft that intensified the heat still further. Then came a whoosh and a shower of sparks as the thatch ignited. A searing wave swept over Dodinal, so fierce it was all he could do not to fall to his knees. He felt his hair burning, and he brushed at it violently to put it out.
Suddenly the hut was filling with choking black smoke. Dodinal spun on his heels and dashed for the door. He had to get out before the entire structure collapsed and burned him alive.
He lost his way in the dense smoke, and could not find the door. Sheathing the sword and keeping hold of the torch, he reached out, pressing his hand against the wall, and followed it blindly, trusting to luck he was moving in the right direction. His fingers found the empty space of the doorway and he stumbled out into the blessedly cold night air, retching and coughing up the oily soot that filled his mouth and lungs.
He slammed the door and used the torch to wedge it shut, shoving the burning end against the wood. It would not hold for long if the creature tried to break down the door, but with any luck the fire would have reduced the godless thing to bone and ash before it had time to get out.
Chaos reigned around him. Some of the creatures were mauling bodies on the ground while others harried the surviving men, darting in to cut and then scampering away, giving the villagers no chance to strike back. Women and children who had fled the hut ran screaming into the village, but the flames from the blazing roof reached high into the sky, driving back the darkness and leaving them nowhere to hide.
The beasts suddenly broke away from the men and went after the women and children, bounding across the open ground, moving as one like a pack of wolves hunting game. Dodinal struggled to head them off, but his chest felt as though a band of steel had tightened across it, and he could not find the breath for speed.
A woman screamed and went down, arms flailing wildly as the creatures tore into her. A child’s piercing cry rose above the sound of slaughter. Immediately the creatures turned aside from the savaged body and took off, heading straight for the palisade.
Dodinal could not fathom why they had abandoned the attack. Then the light from the rising flames intensified, and he saw that one of the creatures was running on two legs, holding a young girl aloft like a trophy. It barked and howled and gibbered. The rest of its hellish brood howled and barked in return.
He heard a woman’s despairing voice ring out.
“Annwen.”
Then they were scrambling up the stockade. Shadows cast by moonlight striped their hairless bodies as they clambered and leapt from post to post. The girl wailed as claws scraped and splintered the wood. The beast that had taken her held her pressed to its chest with one muscular arm. It was using its free hand and both clawed feet to propel itself up the wall. They were gone within seconds. The child’s cries faded as the creatures carried her into the forest.
Dodinal’s boots kicked up earth as he came to a shuddering halt. His chest heaved with exertion and the lingering effects of the smoke. Without waiting to catch his breath, he turned and pounded across the ground. He rushed past the Great Hall, the flames clawing at the sky, running towards the gates.
The guard lay where he had left him, forgotten in the carnage. Blood formed a dark aura around his body. Dodinal charged past the corpse without a second glance. He hoisted the wooden bar free of the brackets and hurled it aside, shouldering the gate open.
The barking and yelping had ceased. Nevertheless, he could hear the creatures as they escaped through the forest, the distant crashing and groaning of branches as they hurled themselves from tree to tree.
He stood just outside the gate, torn by indecision. Part of him wanted to give chase, to find the girl and save her if he could. The other part, the part not driven by anger, recognised he lacked the pace and strength to catch them. That aside, he knew they would change direction at random before coming down to ground. Finding their tracks in the moonlight would be impossible. They would make their way north, of that much he was certain. But there was a lot of country to the north and he was not familiar with the land hereabouts.
They could be anywhere.
Dejected and livid, he stowed the blade and went back inside the village, telling himself he would go after the girl as soon as possible. His first concern was Rhiannon and the boy. He had lost track of them in the confusion, after they had fled the Great Hall.
It was with relief that he caught sight of Rhiannon, moving slowly among the dead and wounded, stumbling as she walked even though she did not appear injured. He hurried towards her, feeling heat on his face as he passed the Great Hall, its roof ablaze. Sparks and smoke boiled into the night sky. Flames bathed the village with their fitful orange light. The walls were charred, but their oak frames were slow to burn. Before long, even they would ignite, and that would be the end of it. Idris would have to build another home.
Rhiannon gasped and fell to her knees. Dodinal turned suddenly cold. Please, he thought, let it not be Owain.
He quickened his pace, guts tightening with dread.
When he reached her, he saw it was not her son that lay still on the ground, but Idris. Rhiannon was kneeling alongside his body. She had lifted his head to place it on her lap and was bent over it, fingers running through the long white hair that spilled across her waist.
One side of his skull had been crushed and was seeping blood and grey matter. No man could have survived such a blow, not even a man as full of life as Idris had been.
The old brehyrion, and this time Dodinal had no trouble remembering the word, was dead. His eyes stared at the stars. Crouching wordlessly beside Rhiannon, Dodinal reached out and passed his fingers over the man’s eyelids to close them.
He was dimly aware of people moving and talking in hushed tones around him, but he paid them no notice. His mind struggled to comprehend the enormity of the man’s passing. He got down on one knee and put his arms around Rhiannon, saying nothing, just holding her, feeling her body stiffen and then relax at his touch. Moments later she shuddered as she began to weep, and he held her tighter still.
They stayed like that for a minute or two, and then Dodinal leant across to lift the old man’s head from Rhiannon’s lap and lower it gently to the ground. “There will be time to grieve for the dead,” he told her as he helped her to her feet. “But that time will come later. For now we must concern ourselves with the living.”
People had gathered round and were standing there helplessly as they looked down at Idris, traumatised both by the sudden ferocity of the attack on the village and by the death of their leader. They seemed to be at a loss to know what to do or what to say.
Then all heads turned as one towards the Great Hall as its door was hurled open with a mighty crash. Dodinal had given the creature no further thought, assuming it had perished in the flames, but it had not. It leapt out of the burning building, alive if not unscathed. Its body was blackened and blistered. It rolled on the ground, yelping in pain.
Rhiannon went rigid and screamed her son’s name.
“Oh no,” Dodinal groaned when he saw why she had cried out. Owain was running past the Great Hall, towards the gates. The boy, oblivious as always of his own safety, was perhaps trying to rescue the stolen girl. He gave no sign of having seen the creature, but the creature immediately saw him. It twisted around on the ground, jumped up and reached out to snatch Owain off his feet. Dodinal had left the gates open. There was no need for it to scale the palisade. It vanished into the darkness in the blink of an eye. Dodinal heard it howl in triumph.
He saw red and went after it.
The smoke in his throat and his lungs was forgotten as he tore between the trees. Their life lights, though dim, were bright enough for him to avoid them even with his eyes closed. Behind him he was aware of the sound of villagers hurrying after him, but he did not slow; he didn’t want them anywhere near him.
The moon bathed the forest in its unforgiving light. Ahead of him, a shadow flitted and leapt high up in the trees. Dodinal’s fury coalesced as he realised it was pulling away from him. The distance between them was growing even though he was running so hard his heart felt like it was about to burst through his chest.
Consumed by the fire of his seething rage, he had no sense of time. So when the mist cleared and he was finally forced to break off the pursuit, throat ragged, legs burning, pulse thudding, lungs puffing like bellows, he had no idea how long he had given chase.
He doubled over, hands on his knees, head bowed, gasping for breath, hearing nothing above his heart’s relentless pounding. When at last it calmed, he realised with dismay that the forest around him was silent.
The creature was gone. He had lost it.
Baying his frustration and anger, he drew his sword and hit out at the tree closest to him, striking it repeatedly, roaring with each blow. The force of the impacts was like a hammer against his wrists, until it seemed the blade must surely break. He hated himself for failing, for letting down the people he had sworn to protect. He hated Arthur, too, for making him take the oath to begin with. Dodinal had not sought knighthood. But neither had he refused it.
Now he would give anything to turn his back on it.
He hurled the sword away and wiped his eyes. Blood and ash and sweat smeared the back of his hand. Then he slid to the ground and sat with his back against the tree, elbows resting on his knees, and held his head in his hands. Men called out to him. Dodinal did not call back. He was too troubled to want anyone near him. It was the first time in his life he had failed. He hated the feel of it. Anger, despair and inadequacy battled for supremacy inside him. He raised his head to stare into the inky darkness of the forest. There was a good chance Owain and the girl were alive; whatever those things were, the children were no good to them dead.
Perhaps there was time to save them, and redeem himself.
Even if there was not, he would go after them regardless. He would not suffer the creatures to live. Not after what they had done and would doubtless continue to do. They would continue probing south, attacking village after village, unless they were stopped.
So he would stop them. They did not deserve to live.
Dodinal nodded solemnly. His mind was made up.
He got to his feet and retrieved his sword from where he had thrown it. Then he set off for the village to say his last farewells.