The Savage Knight

her arms folded across her chest. The gag and blindfold had been torn from her clothes. She would be freezing.

He looked across at the pallet, thinking perhaps that he might find an old blanket or cloth to wrap around her. When he saw what rested within the broken wood, he quickly placed his hand on the girl’s shoulder and turned her so she faced the entrance.

“Wait just outside. If you see anything coming toward us, run back to me. Don’t make a sound, though.”

She nodded again and made to move off, but then hesitated. Dodinal was about to chivvy her on her way when the girl bent down and reached into the shadows. “Here,” she said, holding out her hand. “This is Owain’s. You should look after it. You’re his friend.”

Dodinal knew at once what it was. It was not much, not really; just a battered old leather pouch holding nothing of value to anyone, save a little boy who missed his father. To that boy it was priceless. Dodinal looked at it. The strap had snapped where Owain had torn it loose. He must have been desperate to keep it from the creatures, so they would not tarnish the memory of a father he would never get to know. Dodinal gripped it so tightly his fingers threatened to tear it apart. If they had harmed the boy, nothing — nothing — would save them from his wrath.

“Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “Now, wait outside.”

Annwen did as she was told, and Dodinal tied the pouch around his neck, so it rested against his chest, and crossed over to the pallet.

Resting on the tattered remains of a mattress, tufts of straw sticking out, were the remains of two people who had died many years ago. He knelt to study them closer.

There was nothing left but bones. The boy Arwel, and his grandmother Bronwyn, the one they had called Crow.

They had brought their village’s twisted offspring here, had raised them and fed them and then had gone the way of all flesh. At first, Dodinal assumed they had been placed here out of respect, as a son or daughter might honour those who brought them into the world. Then, peering closer, he saw that neither skeleton was entirely intact after all. There was a cleft in the top of each skull, where they had been struck and killed.

There was also something unnerving about the precise way the skeletons had been placed, on their sides with the heads close enough to touch, their arms and legs intertwined. It was, Dodinal suddenly realised, intended as a mockery of lovemaking. However long the two had lived before the children turned on them, he assumed that grandmother and grandson had not wanted for intimacy. He spat on the ground in disgust. The old man had said the madness had gone away, and he had been right. The Crow and the brehyrion’s son had taken it with them.

“Can we go now?” the girl called quietly.

“Yes, of course.” He joined her at the mouth of the cave and quickly looked around. Nothing to be seen. He crouched by the girl and looked at her intently. “I will take you out of the forest, to the mountain. There is a path you can follow. Once I know you are safe, I will return for Owain. But we have to hurry.”

The girl shrunk away from him, fearful. “You can’t leave me.”

“You cannot stay here. It’s too dangerous.”

Her eyes welled up. “But I’m scared.”

“I know. Owain gave chase when the creatures took you. He was very brave. Now you have to brave too. Once you get to the path, you will be fine. The creatures will not pursue you.”

“You can’t be certain of that.”

“I’m certain,” he assured her. “I found you and I got you out of the cave; now I’m asking you to trust me. Will you?”

She wiped her eyes and nodded.

“Good,” he said, taking her hand in his. “Now, we go.”

He led her through the forest, moving as quickly as he could, slowing whenever it became obvious she was struggling to keep up. The light was almost gone now, rendering the forest impenetrable to all but the keenest of eyes. When Annwen cried out and fell heavily to the ground, her hand tearing free from his, he picked her up and threw her over his shoulder, in much the same way as the creature had done when it stole her from her village. His progress was much swifter.

Finally they were out of the trees, the mountain’s sheer mass dwarfing them. The sky was deep purple and the stars were out. A full moon was rising, its great round face peering over the rim of the hills and washing the valley with its cold silver light. Dodinal carried the girl as far as the start of the path and put her down.

“Follow the path. Go as fast as you can.” He thought of her struggling to clamber down the rocks on the other side. After that, she would have to negotiate that fearsome ridge. He had barely made it across by daylight. If she tried it, she would almost certainly end up getting killed. “When you reach the summit, wait for me. I will come for you once I have found Owain.”

“Do you promise?” Her voice sounded very small.

“I promise.” Though it went against his nature to lie, it was better to give the child hope than admit the truth; he was almost certainly not coming back, and she might not survive the night without the means to keep warm. He had no intention of giving up, but if the worst happened, he hoped she would simply fall asleep and not wake again. “I thought you said you trusted me.”

“I do,” she said, throwing her arms around his waist and hugging him.

Dodinal cleared his throat, embarrassed, and gently pushed her away. “I have to go and find Owain now. Remember what I told you. As fast as you can. It will help to keep you warm.”

He watched her go, her little legs carrying her away from him with surprising speed. Dodinal’s heart ached with sympathy. She must have been terrified from the moment she was taken until the moment he found and released her. He had filled her with hope. He had promised to save her, knowing it was a promise he might not be able to keep. Well, he was not done yet. He was Dodinal; Sir Dodinal the Savage. Men feared him, and with good reason.

Now the creatures would learn to fear him too.

TWENTY-TWO

Dodinal raced through the forest, shield over his shoulder, sword in its sheath, running with barely a sound, even though the ancient trees’ life-lights were too dim to guide him and the moon had created a realm of shadows whose secret paths would remain closed to those who lacked the art to find them. Not once did he stumble nor slow to search for the way. He was most at home in the forest. Any forest.

When the sun had set and the moon had risen, the cries of the creatures had become more subdued, spurring him on. There was an almost tangible feeling of anticipation in the air. Visions of murder, of ritual sacrifice, filled his head, and he had to quell the fury that burned inside him. Until he found the boy and established what he was up against, he had to keep his head clear.

The cave gaped at him like a toothless mouth as he sprinted past it. He had a feeling of time running out, and Owain’s life with it. The screeching sounded like it was growing louder again, and for one heart-quickening moment he feared he was too late. Despair turned to hope when he realised it was louder because he was getting closer to them.

The ground sloped upwards, and Dodinal slowed to a fast walk. The cliff was to his left, the deep forest to his right. The trees around him thinned out, and he cut eastwards until the denser woods closed in, shielding him from any watchful eyes. He ran on, reaching the edge of a steep hill.

Beyond the rise was where he would find the boy, he was sure of it. The noise was piercing, almost unbearable, a calamity of howling and yelping and screaming, as if every lunatic that ever lived had somehow ended up in this place of lost souls. It disorientated him, made him feel vulnerable. He spun around, braced in readiness for the horde of creatures he imagined stealing up on him.

The forest was deserted all around him.

He leaned against a tree while his nerves steadied. Once, he would not have bothered. Once, he would have charged straight in, seeing the Saxons as nothing but meat for his sword. He had been younger then and faster with