struggled to contain it. He could hurt people, kill them even, if he gave in to his anger, which did not distinguish friend from foe. Yet not giving in would get them all killed.
By now the creatures were cut and bleeding. Their movements were slowing down, but none had fallen. A sick feeling came over Dodinal. This was a battle they could not win. The villagers were brave but unskilled fighters. The creatures were fewer in number, but had strength and ferocity to compensate. Unless he could tilt the odds in their favour the men would not live to see daylight.
Slowly but surely they were forced to give ground. He realised the creatures were driving them deeper into the village, herding them like cattle. They must have sniffed out what was inside the Great Hall and were forcing the men away from it to leave the women and children vulnerable. Even as the thought occurred to him, the largest creature peeled away from the pack and leapt onto the roof.
Its weight was too much for the supports to bear. Splintering and cracking, the roof gave way beneath it. The creature tried to scramble clear, claws scrambling for purchase on the wooden struts beneath the thatch, and Dodinal watched in horror as it plunged out of sight, howling as it vanished inside the hut.
THIRTEEN
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
