The Savage Knight

They were never seen again. We could only assume they had fallen to their deaths in the treacherous mountains.

Our children grew up and raised families of their own. My wife died young and so the grandchildren were a welcome distraction. The missing children and the undiscovered fate of the search party gradually passed from memory. Gwyn went the way of all men and was returned to the earth, after which a new brehyrion was found. I got older but I kept my wits about me. People died, babies were born. The eternal cycle of life continued. Until the night the creatures came.

They must have been watching us for some time, because they knew what they wanted and where to get it. They waited until the early hours, when we were deep in sleep. Then they pounced, smashing down the doors of two huts, making off with two children.

You do not need me to tell you what happened that night. The terror that gripped the parents when they saw what foul things were stealing their children. The mad scramble for weapons as we tried in vain to stop them. The slaughter of those who stood in their way. By the time I had struggled up from bed and stumbled outside, bow primed in my trembling hands, they were already off and away with the young ones, leaving a trail of blood and broken bodies in their wake.

Men set off in pursuit, much as you have. They were gone all day. As the sun set we could hear screaming in the distance. The sound of it left us almost paralysed with fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of what might happen once darkness fell. No one slept that night, I can tell you. Fathers and older sons waited with swords and spears, pitchforks and scythes, anything they could lay their hands on.

The creatures did not return. The next morning it was decided to send a party of volunteers into the mountains, to find out what fate had befallen our men. They had no sooner climbed out of the valley than the volunteers found all six of them, emasculated, their eyes torn out, their bodies horribly mutilated, laid out ready to be discovered.

We spent the nights that followed in constant fear of attack. Weeks dragged by. People became sick with anxiety. The mother of one of the two stolen children died asleep in her bed; it was said she died of a broken heart. Again, though, once many months had passed without incident, we buried the memories of what had happened. It was easier than trying to live with them. We lowered our guard so gradually that I don’t think we even realised we had done so. When, a year or so later, the creatures struck again, we were no more prepared than we had been the first time, and we had fewer warriors to protect us. Only now we offered no resistance. We let them take what they wanted.

We convinced ourselves it was better that way. They would take the children regardless and there would be no bloodshed if we did not try to stop them. They did not return for another five years, and when they did, again we made no attempt to stand in their way. We were doubly cursed; not just sinners, but cowards.

I cannot tell you what happened up in those cursed mountains after Crow and her idiot grandson were left to fend for themselves and the babies. But I can guess. I think they survived and the babies grew up and committed the same foul sin as their parents. Their offspring would have been born even more twisted than they. And as for their offspring… you’ve seen them with your own eyes. Less than human, more than wild beast. Ferocious, but clever with it.

The third time they raided us was to be the last. Who can say why they came when they did and why they stopped? Not I, not with any certainty. But there are villages beyond the mountains, beyond the valley where Crow raised them. I suspect they moved from place to place, plundering at random, letting time go by before they struck again, until there were no more children left to take.

That’s what happened here. We lost six children all told, and after that, no more babies were born. It was not down to any conscious decision; it just happened that way. No woman wanted to live through the pain of losing a child, not to those monstrosities. I suspect one or two may have fallen pregnant; no man can live without a woman’s company, at least no normal man. But there are ways and means. None gave birth.

One by one the villagers died. Some of old age, some of illness; some of starvation, for our livestock sickened and died and there was no longer anything to hunt. There were those who preferred a sharp blade to living with the knowledge of what we had done. At times I thought I might do the same. I’d like to say I am still here out of some sense of defiance, a determination to outlast our bastard offspring. I’d like to claim that. But in truth I cannot. I was too afraid to take my own life, even if it would have been just another sin to add to a long list of sins.

I buried them when they died. I have been alone for so long I have forgotten how many years it has been since I spoke to a living soul. I have prayed for you to come this way, Dodinal, or someone like you. Someone with the courage to root out the evil and destroy it. Someone who is not afraid of the darkness that surrounds us all. That is why I keep the fires lit, you see; I am afraid of the dark and what dwells in it. Sometimes I hear them calling out to me: the tortured spirits of the children we let the creatures take, the restless souls of every man and woman who ever lived and died here.

Now I feel I am ready to join them. I will look after your friend until you come back. If you do not I will take him to your people, then return here. One night I will not light the fires. Instead, I will lay on my bed, and close my eyes for the last time.

Only with my passing will this village be rid of its shame.

¹⁰Grey eyes and a high forehead were much-prized in medieval women. Wealthy women would even pluck or shave their heads to raise their hairlines, in some cases as high as the crown of the head.

TWENTY

Dodinal slept uneasily and was awake before dawn. Leaving the others to their snoring, farting slumber, he went outside and breathed deeply, to clear his lungs of the stale reek of so many men in such a confined space. He sat before one of the fires, now burned down to glowing embers but still giving off enough heat to hold back the early morning cold. Before settling down for the night, he had noticed a whetstone amongst the old man’s weapons stash. Sitting by the fire, he now used it to put a keen edge on his sword, lost in reverie as he ran the stone along the blade, as he had done so many times before.

He knew he should hate the old man. As the last of his people, he must carry the blame for what they had done, the great sin they had committed. Yet he recalled, too, the old man’s words. It was as if it were happening to someone else, and I was a reluctant observer who could not turn away. Dodinal understood. It was how he had felt all those years ago, when the rage had first overtaken him as he searched through the smouldering remains of his village, when he had hacked an injured and defenceless man to bloody shreds.

Incest. Murder. Different sides of the same coin.

He heard the creak of hinges and turned to see Hywel making his way carefully out of the hut, prodding the ground ahead of him with a spear, wary of obstructions. Dodinal got to his feet to help him. “What are you doing? You could trip and bang your thick head again. Then what would become of you?”

“Stop fussing,” the tracker said, making his way steadily towards the fire. “I’m feeling better. I can even see you. Sort of.”

For a moment Dodinal was silenced. It was not impossible. Head injuries were unpredictable. Even so, it sounded too good to be true, Hywel regaining his vision just as they were readying to leave. He raised a hand. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Hywel waved away the question. “I said sort of, didn’t I? You’re a blur. To be honest, all I can see is the shape of you against the glow of the fire. But that’s more than I could see yesterday.”

“Not enough, though. Not to come with us.”

“I know, I know,” Hywel said, trying to sound unconcerned and not making a particularly convincing job of it. “My head still throbs. I think I’d better sit down before I fall down.”

They sat together, not speaking, staring into the softly glowing embers as though they held some mysterious secret. Finally Hywel let out a long, hard sigh. “I’m not very good at goodbyes.”

Dodinal kept his eyes on the fire. “Me neither.”

“Then let’s neither of us say it. I’m not going to ask to come with you. I’d get myself and the rest of you