“That’s why I’m going alone. No sense putting all of us at risk. Besides, if they have been attacked, they’re less likely to be hostile if they only see one of us.” Dodinal raised his sword. It flashed amber with reflected firelight. “And if they’re still hostile, well, I can look after myself. Be patient. I’ll signal as soon as I’m sure it’s safe.”
He left his spear and shield with them, not wanting to look any more threatening than his bulk already made him appear. Then he began to descend, treading carefully for there was no path now, the valley wall falling steeply towards the village. Slender trees somehow managed to cling to the thin rocky ground, and Dodinal in turn clung on to them as he slipped and slid down the slope.
By the time he made it to the valley floor, he was breathing hard; he was not getting any younger. It was just as well Arthur had brought peace to the land when he did.
He remained concealed in the trees while he considered his options. There was nothing except open ground ahead of him, and fires lit up the entire area. Other than edge his way around the valley to approach the village from behind, there was no way for him to avoid being seen. With that in mind, he judged it would be better to make no attempt at stealth and instead to walk openly into the village, sword sheathed and hands in sight to show he had nothing to hide. He could have the blade drawn in seconds if he came under attack.
He felt a familiar churning in his guts as he stepped out from under the trees. He counted half a dozen fires around the village’s edge. Close up, the bonfire stacks were smaller than they had appeared from above. These fires would not keep the creatures out. They might serve some other purpose. A beacon, perhaps. Or a warning.
Dodinal could feel the heat from the nearest fire as he approached. The skin on the back of his neck prickled and the hair on his arms stood on end. He sensed he was being watched by someone or something unseen. It took a conscious effort to resist reaching for his sword.
He stopped when he reached the first building, an indistinct structure twice his height. A barn, he supposed. Most of the wall boards had fallen from the frames and lay like broken bones on the ground. He peered inside and saw only shadows dancing in the firelight. Moving on to the next building he found it had fared no better. He stepped inside, his boots kicking up dust and clumps of dried thatch. Even with the roof and walls mostly gone, the air was musty and stale; it must have been abandoned a long time ago. Suddenly uneasy, he hurried outside and looked around for some sign of life, anything to suggest he was not the only soul around. Surely whoever had started the fires had not lit them and then left the village? What purpose would that have served?
Fighting the urge to give up and return to his friends, he drew his sword — to Hell with appearances — and forced himself to head further into the village. He passed between huts that were all in such a ruinous state he was certain they would collapse if he so much as brushed up against them. Little fear that the creatures had attacked the place. There was nothing left to attack, and certainly no children to steal. Dodinal had a distinct feeling there had been no children here since before he was born.
That was when he stumbled across the graveyard.
At first he did not recognise it for what it was. In the glimmering light it resembled nothing more than an uneven common, that had perhaps been worked for crops in the past, but had since been left to grow over until brambles and weeds had choked the life out of it. Yet as he closed in on it he saw otherwise. The grassy mounds of the graves, four dozen or so at a rough count, were laid so close together they almost touched. A stone had been placed at the head of each grave; they were inscribed, but Dodinal had no intention of lingering to read them. They were weathered, some more than others, but even the most recent must have been put there a generation or two ago.
It was a dead village in more ways than one.
Blowing air from between his lips, he turned away and resumed the search, relieved to be putting the graveyard behind him.
Only a few huts remained. He hurried past two that were obviously dilapidated, before he came to a third that was more or less intact. His stride became measured and cautious and he held his sword at the ready as he approached in absolute silence.
He was close enough now to see a soft amber glow spill out from under the door. Amidst the flames that burned around the village he had not noticed it before. For the same reason, he had neither seen nor smelled the smoke rising from the hole in the thatched roof. Questions jostled in his mind, but he silenced them at a stroke. It would not be long before he had all the answers he needed.
Dodinal crept up to the door and stood with one ear pressed to the wood, but heard nothing from within save the muted crackle of a fire, like hundreds of tiny bones snapping. He waited, but still nothing. He sighed. There was nothing else for it. Reaching down with his free hand, he took hold of the latch and eased it up, then pulled the door open hard enough that it smacked against the outside wall. Even before the thudding crash had done reverberating around the dead village, he was inside, sword clasped two-handed.
There was a man sitting on the floor by the fire, or rather, there had been right up until the moment that Dodinal flung the door open. As the knight filled the open doorway, the man let out a piercing shriek and leapt to his feet, only to get tangled in the moth-eaten cloak he had draped around his shoulders. The fire danced hectically and the man, arms flailing, let out another yell as he lost his balance and landed heavily on his arse, recovering quickly to scurry backwards away from Dodinal, his eyes bulging with fear.
The knight sheathed his sword and stood by the door with his palms raised, showing he intended no harm. The man cowered against the far wall, shaking like a beaten dog. He was older than any man Dodinal had ever seen. His body, clearly visible through the tattered rags that passed for clothing, was thin to the point of skeletal, and the hair on his head was sparse and a lacklustre grey. His mouth was parted in a grimace of fear, revealing blood-red and largely toothless gums.
“It’s all right,” Dodinal assured. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The man said nothing. His chest was heaving and his breath came in gasps.
“I swear, you have nothing to be afraid of. I am a traveller. I saw the fires and came here in the hope of finding shelter for the night.”
The man licked his lips and swallowed loudly. “Traveller?” He frowned, as if unused to hearing his own voice, which was dry with age and fear. “No travellers ever come this way. So what could bring you here, eh? Tell me that, damn your heathen hide.”
And with that he let out a high-pitched cackle.
Dodinal’s shoulders slumped. Whatever answers he had hoped for, he doubted he would find them here.
“It’s a long story,” he said tiredly, wondering why he was bothering to answer at all. “I am travelling with friends. Some of their kin have been taken. We are going to get them back.”
The man’s jaw dropped. “You’re going up into the mountains? After those black-hearted bastards?”
Dodinal nodded. He was not in the least surprised the man knew about the creatures. Of course he would, living here in these hills. Who was to say what misery he had endured over the years? Perhaps the reason there were so many dead and only one living was because the creatures had wiped the village out long ago. It would explain the man’s strange manner. To be the only survivor…
“Why didn’t you say so!” The old man suddenly clapped his hands together and hurried to his feet, beaming a gap-toothed grin. “Do you have any idea how long I have waited for you?”
“Waiting for me?” Dodinal found himself backing away as the man stumbled barefoot towards him. “But you couldn’t have known I was coming this way.”
The man waved impatiently. “Not
Dodinal flinched as the old man held out both arms as if to embrace him. This close, he smelled as though he had recently risen from one of the grass-covered graves. The stink was enough to bring tears to anyone’s eyes. “Well, then, that’s good,” he said helplessly.
The man’s eyes suddenly widened and he flung up his hands as though suddenly remembering something. “Travelling with friends, you said? Quickly, go fetch them. Bring them to me. You will be safe here. I have food. We’ll eat, and talk. Oh, I have such a story to tell.”
Dodinal suspected the man’s story would amount to little more than deranged raving, but was persuaded to stay by the prospect of food. None of them had eaten anything since the fish from the river, and they had walked a long way since then. Now his stomach was so used to being empty it no longer gurgled in protest.
That aside, the man could possess information that might help them. He knew about the creatures. Perhaps
