he needed speed and agility. For the same reason, he unfastened the gold brooch on his cloak and threw it on top of the shield. He held the cloak up to the boy, who wrapped it around his shivering body. Finally, he shrugged off the leather pack and quickly tied it to the branch by its strap. Then he drew the sword and crouched in readiness.
Three shadows bounded through the gloom. Dodinal moved to intercept them, not wanting to be standing still when they struck. The wolves separated, so that one came at him from either side, and the third disappeared. Dodinal felt rather than saw it loop around him to attack from behind.
With a roar that echoed around the forest, Dodinal ran at the wolf to his right. He swung the sword the moment the animal was in reach, making a deep cut along its side. The wolf yelped in shock and pain. Blood sprayed as Dodinal swung the sword again, this time feeling a jolt of metal hitting bone. The animal staggered and fell, writhing in agony. Blood gushed from the stump of one of its hind legs, darkening the snow.
A red mist descended and he barely felt the second wolf barrel into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He regained his balance just in time as it jumped up at him, front paws slamming into his chest. Its scrabbling claws tore through his tunic and undershirt, digging into his chest, and its jaws snapped inches from his face. Foetid breath washed over him. Dodinal grabbed it by the throat and shoved its head away an instant before the jaws could close on him.
Its strength was ferocious, threatening to push him over. Dodinal forced it away from him and then rammed the point of the sword into its belly.
The wolf yelped, its movements becoming frantic as it tried to break free. Dodinal’s muscles strained to maintain his grip on its throat. Hot blood gushed over his hand as he drove the sword deeper and pulled it down sharply. The animal went rigid, and Dodinal let it go to join the steaming heap of its spilled guts on the forest floor.
Before he could catch his breath, the third wolf pounced. Dodinal heard the thump of its paws from behind and threw himself out of the way; jaws that would have seized and crushed his leg instead clacked shut on air. He rolled on the ground and immediately leapt to his feet, crouching, sword held at the ready, his other arm outstretched for balance. For a moment his eyes met those of the wolf, seeing only madness. They had not been starving, these beasts.
The wolf snarled and lunged at him. Dodinal stood his ground, holding the sword with both hands at waist height. He sidestepped at the last moment, opening up a wound in its flank with the edge of his blade.
Now Dodinal hoisted the sword and prepared to strike, but the wolf moved with a speed that belied its injury. Before Dodinal could react, it spun around and lunged at him. Pain flared in his right leg and the wolf bounded away, well out of reach of the blade. The red mist that had overtaken him died, and he felt his heartbeat subside.
Dodinal, eyes fixed on the beast, reached down and tentatively felt his thigh, grimacing as his fingers touched torn cloth and ripped flesh. The wound was deep and would doubtless become infected from the wolf’s bite if it were not properly cleaned. He could put his weight on the leg, but he could not afford any more carelessness. This animal was cunning, despite the madness that clouded its senses. Even now it was pacing at a safe distance, teeth bared, a deep growl rumbling in its throat as it watched him intently for any sign of weakness.
There was little time to lose. The forest had grown noticeably darker. Before long, the temperature would fall so low that Dodinal would be overcome by the cold, if the wolf did not get to him first. Climbing a tree would put him beyond the beast’s reach but would not protect him from the elements. He needed shelter, a place to light a fire. And he could not make a shelter with the wolf on his back.
He roared and charged. The wolf ceased pacing and bared its teeth. Pain lanced through his leg with every step he took and he felt blood run freely into his boot. Dodinal needed strength. He needed
The wolf, startled by his sudden aggression, took a moment to react as Dodinal struck out with the sword, ramming it deep into the animal’s shoulder. It yelped and snapped its teeth at him, ripping his sleeve but not puncturing the skin, as he pulled the blade free. Now the wolf took the offensive, hurling itself at him, trying to get at his injured leg, only to be repelled by his precise sword strikes. Its body pierced and slashed, still it persisted, bloodlust overruling its wits.
Soon, however, the punishment it had taken began to tell. The wolf’s movements slowed and it backed away, still snarling. Dodinal did not hesitate. He raised the sword and lunged, swinging the blade around and down before the wolf could move. It died without a sound, save that of its severed head striking the forest floor.
Dodinal staggered from the corpse, and his legs buckled. He pushed the tip of his sword into the ground and leaned on it for support, clutching the hilt with both hands to prevent himself from collapsing. His lungs ached for air, which was cold enough to hurt when he gasped it down. He knew he had to get moving, and quickly, before his fingers became too numb to fashion a shelter and light a fire.
With a groan, he looked around to regain his bearings. The light had dimmed, so it took him several seconds to find the tree in whose branches he had left the boy. There was no sensing him in the near-darkness, for Dodinal was attuned to nature, not to man. Using the sword as a makeshift support, Dodinal limped over to the tree, feeling the wound stretch and tear. “It’s all right,” he called as he approached. The boy regarded him with that same implacable gaze. “The wolves are dead. You’re safe now.”
Dodinal reached up to retrieve his cloak from the boy, tugging it around him gratefully and using the brooch to close it. He would share it once he could, but for now he needed its warmth. With the heat of battle dissipating inside him, the way was open for ice to steal into his blood and that would be fatal. For the boy, too. Without Dodinal there to help him find his way home, he would be dead in no time. He was suddenly wracked by shivers, and had to wait for them to subside so he could speak without his teeth rattling.
“You will have to jump down.”
The child did not move.
Dodinal grew impatient. Were all children so stupid or was there something wrong with this one? “My leg… I cannot take your weight. Do you understand?”
Now the child nodded. He looked down. The blank expression had gone and there was anxiety on his face.
“It’s not much of a drop,” Dodinal encouraged. “Hang down from the branch and then let go.”
To his relief, the boy obeyed, gripping the branch and lowering himself until his arms were fully outstretched. Then he dropped, barely stumbling as his feet hit the ground. Without so much as a backward glance he began to walk away. Dodinal shook his head, unsure whether he was bemused or angry by the boy’s complete lack of gratitude or concern. Perhaps that was how all children behaved.
Hopefully the boy was heading home, rather than just wandering through the wood. Dodinal shrugged and collected his pack and shield, ready to follow. He needed warmth and shelter, and food in his belly. He had some of the dried meat left but not enough to satisfy his hunger after seeing off the wolves. Besides, if the boy’s home was not far away, he could reserve the last of his supplies for another day when he might have greater need of them. While he did not know how long his quest would last, he sensed it would not be over for some time yet.
He tore a strip from his tunic and bound the wound, grimacing as he tightened and tied it, then he set off after the boy. Within a few steps he knew he would not get far. He could barely walk, even with the sword taking some of his weight, and the boy was already pulling away from him. The bite was burning, perhaps infected by whatever sickness had driven the wolves mad. Dodinal saw a fallen branch and picked it up, sliding the sword into its sheath. The branch made a better crutch. Grunting in pain, he set off again.
At least he could still make out the boy’s tracks, although for how much longer was impossible to predict. Stars were already out, winking through the few gaps between the snow clouds. Dodinal had no choice but to keep going, to force his way through the pain and hope he would reach safety before the blood loss overcame him. He pulled the cloak’s hood over his head to conserve as much of his body heat as possible, and drove himself on through the darkening woodland. Only then did he realise there were no life-lights to be found, now that those of the wolves had been extinguished. Man and boy aside, this entire stretch of forest was deserted.
This was unknown in his experience, even for winter. Game had been plentiful for weeks. Not once had he gone hungry since leaving Camelot. Yet in the last few days he had encountered only a hare, which had ended up skinned and roasted over a fire, and a few squirrels that had eluded him. There had been crows aplenty, but they were not to his taste and offered too little meat to make it worth the effort of snaring them, and now even the birds had gone. It was very strange. In all his thirty-some years he had never known anything like it.
Clouds gathered, obscuring the stars, and the sky grew blacker yet. Even if the wound had not hampered
