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.
“
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
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
