The Savage Knight mkoa-2

by Paul Lewis

  But what was its kind? Dodinal had never heard of a man who ran on four legs. For now it did not matter. He need only concern himself with staying alive so he could prevent any harm coming to those he had sworn to protect.

  The ululating calls abruptly ceased, and there was a charged silence. Even the baby stopped wailing. Then they heard the sound of claws on wood, drumming rapidly. A man-like shape appeared above the palisade, a dark silhouette against the moon. It leapt up and balanced effortlessly on top of a post before flowing headfirst down the inside of the wall, its movements swift and sinuous.

  A second figure appeared, then a third. No sooner had they set off, scuttling down the wooden posts, than more followed in their wake. Dodinal counted eight in all, including the scout. He nodded grimly, recalling the tracks at Madoc’s village.

  Even from a distance he could see the creatures were as big as the chieftain’s mastiff, maybe bigger. They were certainly larger and bulkier than the scout on the roof, and it had already killed twice. Dodinal could not imagine the devastation they would cause if they were allowed to run loose. He had to take the battle to them, and strike the first blow before they could wreak havoc.

  With a roar he hoisted his sword and ran at them, reaching the palisade as the first creature dropped the last few yards to the ground. It landed on all fours and immediately went for Dodinal.

  The knight did not break his stride; to hesitate would be fatal. When the creature reared up and lashed out, Dodinal met its forelimb with his sword. There was a sudden jarring in his wrist as the blade scraped along bone. Blood splattered his face and filled his mouth with a hot coppery taste.

  The thing shuddered and howled. Dodinal tore the sword loose and drew it back, ready to strike again. The creature was too fast, despite the wound, spinning lithely around and loping away into the darkness. More of them bounded towards him; Dodinal began to fall back. Voices were raised in battle cry behind him, and he grinned wide as Idris and his men, swords and spears aloft, stampeded towards him, boots rumbling like thunder as they charged across the ground.

  A dark form sprang forward. Dodinal felt the air rush across his face as its claws swept past him. Hell, but those things could move. If he had not instinctively jerked his head back, the creature would have taken his face off.

  Its momentum threw it off-balance. It was too close for the sword to be of any use, so Dodinal slammed the shield against the back of its head, knocking it to the ground. The blow should have caved its skull in but it leapt to its feet and scrambled back before rounding on Dodinal, growling but staying just beyond the blade’s reach.

  The smaller creature leapt down from the roof and joined the others. They attacked as one, scarcely making a sound as they tore across the ground towards the waiting men.

  Dodinal stood firm, as did the villagers who had spread out to either side of him. As soon as the creatures were within reach, he thrust and slashed with the sword, lashing out wildly, using the shield to deflect the swiping blows aimed at him, some striking it with enough force to splinter the wood.

  The beasts had no fear. They darted around at dizzying speed, fighting with jaws and claws. A man to Dodinal’s right screamed as one of the creatures snapped its teeth shut on his groin, and shook its head like a terrier worrying a rat. When the man lost his balance and fell, it let go of his groin, twisted and buried its head in his throat. With a wet ripping sound, the man’s screams were abruptly cut off.

  Idris wielded his blade with reckless abandon, exhaustion forgotten. His voice rose above the din as he bellowed taunts and insults at the foes that scurried around him. When one of the creatures barrelled into the man at his side, upending him, Idris deftly spun the sword and rammed it deep into the thing’s flank. His roar was louder than its squeal of pain. They were fighting for their lives, and the chieftain relished every minute of it.

  Dogs were unleashed to join the fray. They fell upon the creatures but were torn apart. Dodinal saw men go down. More wives widowed, more children doomed to grow up without fathers. Rage flared inside him, and he struggled to contain it. He could hurt people, kill them even, if he gave in to his anger, which did not distinguish friend from foe. Yet not giving in would get them all killed.

  By now the creatures were cut and bleeding. Their movements were slowing down, but none had fallen. A sick feeling came over Dodinal. This was a battle they could not win. The villagers were brave but unskilled fighters. The creatures were fewer in number, but had strength and ferocity to compensate. Unless he could tilt the odds in their favour the men would not live to see daylight.

  Slowly but surely they were forced to give ground. He realised the creatures were driving them deeper into the village, herding them like cattle. They must have sniffed out what was inside the Great Hall and were forcing the men away from it to leave the women and children vulnerable. Even as the thought occurred to him, the largest creature peeled away from the pack and leapt onto the roof.

  Its weight was too much for the supports to bear. Splintering and cracking, the roof gave way beneath it. The creature tried to scramble clear, claws scrambling for purchase on the wooden struts beneath the thatch, and Dodinal watched in horror as it plunged out of sight, howling as it vanished inside the hut.

  THIRTEEN

  For a moment both sides froze, as if time itself stood still. Then the sounds of terrified women and children, helpless wails and disbelieving cries of despair, erupted inside the hall.

  The seven creatures turned and raced towards the sounds, aware their prey was within reach. Dodinal reacted quickly. With no thought for his own safety, he took off in desperate pursuit.

  The door was flung open and a handful of women ran out, screaming wildly, heading for the gates. Dodinal yelled at them to get back inside, but they were scared out of their wits. They did not know what they were doing or where they were going.

  They never had a chance. The creatures swarmed over them like a dark tide, and their screams gave way to the tearing and crunching of flesh and bone.

  Dodinal was sickened, but while there was nothing he could have done to save those poor women, there were others, children too, trapped inside, one of the beasts loose in there with them.

  He ran to the Great Hall, past the frenzied slaughter. As he reached the door, he heard a clamour go up from behind him. He turned to see the village’s men seeking retribution for the slaughter. They rampaged across the ground and set about the creatures, bloodlust pushing conscious thought from their minds. They were so intent on revenge they were too slow to defend themselves when the creatures turned away from the mangled corpses and fought back.

  One of the things threw itself up on two legs and lashed out at Elfed, the big tracker they said was strong enough to have wrestled a bear. Maybe that was true and maybe it was not. Either way, the blond giant was no match for the creature. He cried out and grabbed at his belly, dropping to his knees as steaming viscera tumbled out over his desperately grasping hands. The creature struck out a second time, snapping Elfed’s head around and breaking his neck. The big man hit the ground. Dodinal turned away and ducked through the doorway. Elfed was beyond his or anyone’s help.

  Inside, he was confronted by a maelstrom of sights and sounds. He took them in within the space of a heartbeat. Broken wood and thatching lay strewn around the floor. Some of the debris had landed directly on the main fire and was burning. More debris smouldered around it. The air was hazy with dust and smoke. Sparks gusted up towards the gaping hole in the roof.

  Women and children cowered in a corner beyond the table, directly across from where he stood. They cried and whimpered, mothers clutching infants to their chests and standing in front of the older children to shield them. Rhiannon had her arms wrapped tightly around Owain, holding her son with his face to her midriff. The look of sheer terror on her face was one Dodinal hoped never to see again.

  Two men lay in crumpled heaps on the floor, blood spreading out around them. The mastiff was dead too, its
head ripped from its neck. The dog’s eyes stared glassily at Dodinal from across the hall.

  The father of the screaming baby had survived the onslaught, although he was bleeding from several wounds. He held out a spear, all that stood between the women and children and the great beast that prowled the hall. Fortunately for them, it was hurt and unsteady on its feet. Blood bubbled up from a deep gash in its head.

  By the fire’s light, Dodinal saw it clearly for the first time.

  It was an abomination. No other word would suffice. Its body was that of a man, but hideously deformed, and so emaciated that every rib stood out. Yet its arms and legs rippled with muscles, and where a man would have toenails it had claws, four on each hand and foot, long curved nails that tapped and scratched against the wooden floor as it paced from wall to wall, seeking a chance to strike.

  The creature sensed or heard Dodinal enter, and swung its head to regard him. He found himself gazing into human eyes that gleamed with malevolent intelligence, set deep into a face that resembled one of the gargoyles that leered down from high on the walls of the Church of St. Stephen.

  Its chin was long and protruding, its snarling mouth wide and bristling with sharp teeth, too many even for a mouth that big. Its skull was lumpish, as though it had been squeezed in infancy before its bones had properly hardened. A low forehead was set above heavy, ridged brows. The nose was flattened, the nostrils flared. Its body was devoid of hair, its skin leathery and ash grey in colour, pale enough for the firelight to clearly define every cut and scratch it had sustained in the fall.

  Devils, the men had said. Maybe they had been right.

  Dodinal threw the shield aside. A large piece of it had broken off; it would disintegrate if it took another blow. Better to be done with it now and have both arms free to wield the sword.

  He stepped forward. “Leave this to me,” he told the injured man, voice low, eyes not once moving from the growling, pacing creature. “Take the women and children outside. Keep away from the fighting. Run from here as quickly as you can.”

  The man’s face was tight with pain and fear. “And you?”

  “Forget about me. Just go.”

  The man nodded gratefully and hurried away. Dodinal had his back to the women and children. He did not see them leave, but he heard them, the rapid clatter of shoes on wood, the swish and rustle of cloth, the nervous whispering of children, older voices hushing them. Heard them, but paid them no heed, for he dared not turn away from the beast even for a second. He knew how fast it could move.

  Even now it was coiling to leap at them as they rushed outside. Before it could pounce Dodinal yelled and struck out with the sword. The beast shrieked in agony when the cold iron slashed its flank; it spun and darted away from him, claws splintering the floorboards as it scrambled further into the hall, out of the reach of the firelight.

  Dodinal had a feeling it would not be content with skulking in the shadows for long. He skirted the fire, intending to drive the thing further back and buy the women and children more time while they made good their escape. His foot kicked against wood, and he glanced down. A piece of timber as long as his sword had fallen from the roof and lay partly ablaze in the flames. He stooped and grabbed the unlit end, holding it out before him as he straightened.

  The creature barked and growled, its movements increasingly agitated as Dodinal advanced step by cautious step. He waved the makeshift torch from side to side in one hand. In the other he held the sword aloft and poised to strike.

  It reared up and arched its back to display its genitals, taunting him. Dodinal responded by ramming the torch into its exposed belly, and the acrid stench of burning meat filled the air. Its gargoyle face made even more hideous with pain, the creature screeched and dropped down on all fours, then twisted round and clattered to the back of the hall where it disappeared behind the hanging hides, leaving them swinging and flapping in its wake.

  Dodinal’s mouth tightened. It was time to end this. He lifted the torch to the hides. They were as dry as parchment after countless years hanging in the heat of the Great Hall’s ever-burning fires. They singed smokily, and then burst into flames. Fire clawed at the roof timbers until they too began to smoulder.

  Cold air gusted between the open doorway and the hole in the roof, creating a draft that intensified the heat still further. Then came a whoosh and a shower of sparks as the thatch ignited. A searing 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.

  “Annwen.”

  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 p
art, 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 brehyrion, and this time Dodinal had no trouble remembering the word, was dead. His eyes stared at the stars. Crouching wordlessly beside Rhiannon, Dodinal reached out and passed his fingers over the man’s eyelids to close them.