unbridled fury, he swung the blade out and down with murderous strength. The blow would have cleaved the beast in two were it not for its speed and agility; it ducked below the blade, then leapt onto the cliff face and clambered up it.
Dodinal recovered quickly and raced after the creature, hacking at its trailing leg, missing it by inches. Sparks flew as his blade clashed against granite.
Dust and debris showered down as the creature scaled the cliff. Dodinal reached for a stone the size of a man’s fist, hurling it as he straightened and feeling a vicious satisfaction as it slammed into the creature’s shoulder.
The screech of pain that echoed around the ravine spurred him on. He dropped the sword — it was useless now — and grabbed more stones, throwing them one after the other. He missed his target as often as not, but when he hit it, he hit it hard, until the creature’s movements slowed and its blood fell through the air like red rain, making patterns in the dust on the ground.
Dodinal reached for more stones, scenting the kill. He drew back his hand to throw.
Before he could let fly, the creature coiled hard against the cliff and sprang across the ravine to the opposite wall, reaching out to grab a handhold in the rock. Dodinal shifted his balance to hurl the stone, and the creature coiled and pushed off again, hurtling through the air towards him. This time he was not fast enough. It crashed into him, slamming him against the cliff, and the back of his skull cracked against the rock. A burst of white light filled his head and he hit the ground.
His fury saved him, as it so often had, driving away the pain and clearing the ringing in his ears. Through streaming eyes, he saw the creature half-senseless, struggling to get to its feet, its body slick with blood from a dozen or more lacerations. Its mouth pulled back into a snarl as its malevolent eyes met Dodinal’s.
The sword lay where Dodinal had dropped it, beyond his reach. Even in his fury, he knew he needed it. He clambered to his feet and threw two more stones at the creature as hard as he could, before crouching to grab more, intending to drive it back until he could get to the sword.
The beast took him by surprise, leaping forward despite the hail of stones that opened up yet more wounds in its flesh. Dodinal lunged desperately to one side and fought to keep his footing, but the uneven ground defeated him and he twisted and stumbled headlong, throwing out both hands to break his fall, the impact tearing skin from his palms.
He spun around on the ground to face the creature as it slowly advanced towards him. Dodinal bared his teeth. He did not need a sword. He would tear this abomination limb from limb with his bare hands.
The creature threw back its head and howled victoriously.
There was a rush of air overhead, and the howl was abruptly cut off as an arrow buried itself in the creature’s throat. For a moment it did not move. Then its clawed hands flew up to its neck and it took a few staggering steps away as arterial blood began to pump around the shaft. Crimson froth bubbled up between its lips. Its fingers pulled weakly at the arrow but the barb was buried deep and the creature could not tear it out without ripping out its own throat.
Dodinal seized his moment, leaping to his feet and running to his sword, picking it up without breaking his stride. The creature’s movements became frantic; black blood cascaded down its leathery neck as it tried to work the arrow free, hissing in agony.
Then Dodinal rammed the sword into its chest, hard enough for the point to scrape against its spine before punching out through its back. The creature went rigid, clutching the blade that skewered its body.
Dodinal shifted his grip on the sword, holding it in both hands, and drove it down with all his strength. The blade opened the creature from sternum to groin, slicing cleanly through skin and flesh.
Stinking viscera slithered out of its belly in a glistening mass that hit the ground with a slap. The creature writhed and screeched and batted at the sword, trying to pull itself free, but its feet became entangled in the slippery mass of its guts and it fell heavily to its knees before him.
Dodinal kicked it hard under the chin, snapping its head back. Then he yanked the sword loose, hoisted it, stepped away and swung. A flash of metal, a flutter of disturbed air and the body tumbled one way, the head another. The torso danced its death throes, feet drumming on the ground, then went still. The head bounced and spun and came to rest, the neck stump still gushing blood.
Dodinal stood for a moment, gasping for breath, waiting for the red mist to lift. It was only then that he noticed the broken arrow shaft that protruded from the creature’s shoulder. He remembered Emlyn’s shooting when they had been attacked in the forest.
Once his head cleared he hurried back to Gerwyn, who was sitting up with his back against the cliff, one leg stretched out, the other bent. He had his bow in hand and a dazed grin on his face.
“Emlyn was not the only one with a good eye,” he said. The grin faltered. “The others?”
Dodinal shook his head. “They’re dead. I’m sorry. They were good men. They knew the dangers, knew they would probably never get through this alive, yet still they came. That takes a rare courage.”
“Fuck,”11 Gerwyn said, so softly it was little more than a breath.
“We were too quick to listen to the old man.” Dodinal crouched and ran his hands gently along Gerwyn’s leg, feeling for shattered bone. “We should have guessed they wouldn’t leave us to pursue them unchallenged. We knew those things don’t give up.”
Gerwyn’s body suddenly jerked and he moaned in pain.
“Try to keep still. It’s broken, but it could have been worse.”
“How?” Gerwyn gasped from behind his gritted teeth.
“The bone could be sticking out through your skin. Then you really would have something to cry about.” Dodinal continued to probe the injured leg. Gerwyn squeezed his eyes shut; his body tensed and the tendons stood out in his neck. By the time Dodinal was done, his face was as white as chalk and his forehead glistened with sweat. “You’ll live. But this is as far as you’re going.”
“To Hell with that. You cannot go after them alone. Not when we’ve come all this way. Not when…” He gestured towards the pile of rocks beneath which their companions were buried. “Not when our friends have died.”
“You’re in no fit state to travel with me.” Dodinal got up and searched about until he found his spear. “And I cannot stay here with you.” He took the spear across to the pile of rocks and used a heavy stone to smash off the blade. “Our friends are gone. We mourn their passing but we cannot bring them back.” He put the shaft over his knee and broke it into two. “So I don’t have a choice.” He snapped each half in two until he was left with four roughly even lengths.
Then he returned to Gerwyn and rummaged through the pack, pulling out a handful of the cloth strips that Hywel had brought with him.
“This is going to hurt,” Dodinal advised as he knelt alongside him. “Do you want something to bite down on?”
Gerwyn sighed heavily and lay flat on his back with the pack under his head, fists clenched. “Just get on with it.”
For all his brave intent, he could not help but bellow his agony when Dodinal lifted the leg to straighten it. He jerked bolt upright at the waist, his eyes bulging and rolling back in his head. He fainted. Dodinal slipped one hand under his head and lowered it to the pack.
Working quickly, he wound the strips of cloth above and below the knee at intervals, then slid the wooden quarters between them before pulling the strips tight and knotting them.
He leant back to inspect his handiwork. It was rough and ready, and Rhiannon certainly had no fear of competition, but the leg was rigid, fixed in place. As long as Gerwyn was careful and patient, it should mend with enough rest. Unfortunately, a half-buried ravine midway up a mountain was not a good place to rest.
He could not see the sun in the narrow strip of sky between the cliffs, so he hurried back down to the plateau. It was gone midday. They had spent six hours getting this far and he had no idea how much longer it would take to get to the valley. Certainly he did not have time to help Gerwyn to the village. There was nothing else for it.
Gerwyn was still unconscious but he quickly came around when Dodinal slapped his face, lightly but persistently. “I don’t know what you did to my leg,” he said groggily, licking his lips. “But it feels worse than it did before.”
