The Savage Knight mkoa-2

by Paul Lewis

  “Sounds easy enough,” Madoc said sourly.

  The old man ignored him. “It’s easy going once you get to the top. The descent into the valley is nowhere near as challenging.”

  “You’ve been there?” Dodinal asked.

  “Me? Don’t you listen? I told you, I haven’t been even this far up since what happened to my sister. But the men who took Crow and Arwel and the young ones there, they talked about it for months. You’d swear they’d been on some brave quest rather than off to dump an old woman, a simpleton and a bunch of squawking infants in the middle of nowhere to fend for themselves.”

  “You sound as if you almost regret it,” Dodinal observed.

  “I regret what we did that night, nothing else. We did a great wrong and we tried to find a way to atone. We tried and we failed.” He hawked and spat, then turned away. “You’d best be off. If you hurry, you should reach the valley this afternoon. A word of advice. Be well away from there by sunset, with or without the children you seek. Now go, and travel safely.”

  He turned and set off down the hill towards what remained of his village, raising an arm in farewell as he disappeared from view.

  “Well, then,” Gerwyn said after a moment. “You heard him. We need to be there and on our way back by sunset. Best to get moving.”

  He shrugged the pack until it hung comfortably from his shoulders and then took off towards the mountain without waiting for a response. The others hesitated, eyebrows raised. Dodinal gave them the nod and they set after him, with Dodinal following a short distance behind.

  He could hear the murmur of their voices as they walked, but he was in no mood for idle talk, not when they were heading towards an uncertain fate. For all he knew they would be dead by nightfall. Now he almost regretted his decision to travel in their company. He had grown to like them, to see them as friends, even the near-silent Gwythyr. While death held no fear for him, he would prefer to die alone than take his companions with him.

  The path the old man had indicated took them through the forest along the lake’s western bank. The men became silent as they passed beneath the green-budded branches, perhaps remembering what had happened here that day all those years ago. Tramping along a woodland path, Dodinal found himself looking out for a tall cluster of ferns, but saw none. It had happened a long time ago. The boy had grown into a half-mad old man and the sister was far from here, perhaps dead. Only the spectre of unwanted memories remained. Dodinal realised none of them had thought to ask the old man his name.

  The forest felt suddenly oppressive and gloomy, bright wildflowers doing nothing to dispel a sense of foreboding that made his skin prickle. Again he had to remind himself why he was here. If it had not been for his feelings for Rhiannon and the boy, he would have gladly given up and gone home.

  Home? Yes, home. Home to where she was waiting for him, for him and the boy and the others, not yet knowing that two of them would never come back and another was little better than blind.

  He would get there yet, he told himself. Owain too. No matter what awaited them up in the mountains, he would find a way home.

  It took them the best part of an hour to reach the head of the lake. When they emerged from the trees, the mountain suddenly reared up before them, impossibly high. Craning his neck to look up, Dodinal felt a tug of disquiet. He did not like heights; up in the high places, he would be a stranger in an unknown and dangerous realm. A man who fell in the forest could pick himself up, dust himself down and be on his way. A man who fell in the mountains would fall a very long way. And all they had to guide them were directions from someone who had not even walked this way before. It did not augur well.

  The path petered out, and the ground became steeper and uneven. Some of the boulders were as tall as Dodinal, reminding him of a story his mother had once told him, about how warring giants had created the mountains, long ago in the time before memory, by hurling rocks at each other to settle their differences.

  Soon they found the track, as the old man had said they would. It was overgrown and had not been walked on for many years, but the ground beneath the ankle-high grass was firm. It carved a crooked route up the face of the mountain, and they walked at a steady pace. When Gerwyn eventually called for a rest halt they turned back to face the valley, which spread out before them in miniature. They sat on the grass banks that edged the path on both sides, massaging cramping muscles and wiping the sweat from their brows. The sun, though strong, was still some way from its zenith. Dodinal nodded, satisfied with their progress.

  They pushed on, their voices stilled. They needed all their breath for the ascent. The track became steeper the higher it took them: their lungs ached, their faces glowed, and their thighs and calves burned with the strain. When they reached the plateau the old man had spoken of, they dropped their weapons and packs where they stood and lay on their backs on the hard ground, chests heaving, until they could talk without gasping for air between words.

  The first to recover, Dodinal sat up and looked down the path. It fell away from the plateau until it appeared no wider than the laces that tied his boots. It had taken them an hour to walk the length of the lake, but from here it looked to be about as long and as wide as his thumb. Instinctively he drew back from the plateau’s edge. While there was no danger of falling, his stomach still gave an unpleasant lurch as he realised just how far up they had climbed. And the worst of it was, they still had a long way to go.

  Reluctantly, he turned to look up at the tall peak ahead. This close it was no longer featureless: directly before him was a deep cleft in the rock, forming a ravine with cliffs rising up on either side. If there was a path, it was buried beneath a layer of stones and slabs that brought to mind the old man’s talk of rock falls. Dodinal studied the cliffs. They were not sheer, but bellied out before curving up and levelling off far above his head. They appeared stable and, besides, the route between them was wide enough that they should be safe as long as they kept to the middle of the path.

  He was so intent on studying the terrain ahead of them that he did not hear Gerwyn approach. “Have you considered what we’ll do when we get there?”

  “Not yet. When we get there, that’s when I’ll decide.”

  “Isn’t that leaving it a little late?”

  Dodinal sighed and looked at the younger man. “We have no idea of the lie of the land. It could be open ground, it could be forest. Why try to second guess? Better to wait until we’re close enough to know what we’re up against. Then we decide how to approach it.”

  “Fair enough. You know best, I’m sure.” Gerwyn was silent for a moment. “You still don’t trust me.”

  It was not a question.

  Dodinal glanced across at the rest of their party. The men were still sprawled on their backs in the sunshine, knees drawn up, making the most of every moment of rest they had. They were talking in low voices as though afraid they might bring the mountain down on top of them if they spoke too loudly.

  “You are here, that’s all I care about,” he answered. “Your motives for being here aren’t important to me.”

  “I mean, trust me to be of use when we finally catch up with them.” Gerwyn had taken off his sword belt before collapsing; now he reached out to pick it up and held it lightly in both hands, gazing down at it rather than at Dodinal. “I know what you think of me. What everyone thinks of me. I’m half the man my father was, lazy and feckless, more interested in going off hunting than helping when there’s work to be done.”

  He broke off. Dodinal waited in silence for him to continue.

  “I won’t deny it. Can’t deny it. But that was then. When he was still alive. My father, I mean. When I was growing up, there was never any point in trying to impress him. I knew all along he wanted my brother Elwyn to follow him as brehyrion. The way I saw it, I was never going to amount to anything, so why bother trying?”

  “And after your brother died? You could have tried to impress your father then. He never spoke of it, but I t
hink that was what he was waiting for. Hoping for, maybe.”

  Gerwyn put the sword back down and pinched his chin with one hand, the dark stubble rasping against his fingers. “It was too late for me by then. Some habits are hard to break. I was so used to being the second son, my father’s second choice to succeed him, that when the chance finally came for me to prove myself I no longer cared.”

  “Until Idris died,” Dodinal said.

  “Yes, until he died. That woke me up more than Rhiannon’s slap that night.” Gerwyn smiled to himself, his fingers slipping from his chin to idly rub his cheek. “I deserved that. Deserved a lot more than that. I meant what I said to you, Dodinal. I want to find my brother’s son and bring him home. Not for your sake or even Rhiannon’s, but my own. I’ve been a failure all my life. This is my one chance of redemption.”

  “Even if it gets you killed?”

  “You’re as likely to die as I am, yet here you are. They’re not even your family. And you say you have no feelings for Rhiannon?”

  “She saved my life. I’m in her debt.”

  “No, she was in yours, for saving Owain.” Gerwyn suddenly laughed, his reflective mood broken. “Go on. Admit it.”

  “Shut up,” Dodinal growled at him, not unkindly. “You’ve been out in the sun for too long.” He got to his feet, wincing as his knees creaked and his lower back began to complain. There was a long way to go yet. “Come on, you wastrels. Time we were moving.”

  Madoc said, “I grew up in a village in the hills. Not these hills; many miles to the south. The terrain there was less barren, but mountains are mountains. If it’s all the same to you, Dodinal, I will lead the way here. I will find the quickest route to the summit.”

  “Go ahead,” Dodinal answered gladly. He could track prey through the forest for days at a time, but up here he was helpless and could easily lead them far from where they wanted to be. He held back, Gerwyn at his side, until Madoc and the others were on their way, then the two of them followed behind, stepping out of the sunshine into the shadowy ravine.

  Although it was not especially steep, the loose stones made the going far from easy, shifting under their boots as they scrambled upwards. The cliffs amplified their panting and cursing as they staggered and stumbled along, and the rattle of the stones underfoot. Dodinal found himself anxiously eyeing the towering cliffs overhead.

  The walls began to close in, making him steadily more nervous. He almost called out to Madoc to stop for them to rest a while, but decided they would be better off getting through the ravine as quickly as they could.

  He glanced up, sure he had glimpsed movement on the cliff top high to the right of them. It was nothing, he told himself. The shadow of a cloud passing across the sun. Yet there were no clouds to be seen in the violet sky. Dodinal looked at the cliff again as dust showered down, as though something had disturbed the rock face above. He slowed his pace as if tiring, allowing Gerwyn to pass him so he could keep a closer watch without causing undue alarm. He felt sure the experienced Madoc would have known if anything were amiss, but even so, he saw no harm in remaining vigilant.

  A sound like thunder suddenly rumbled through the ravine.

  Ahead of him, Madoc came to a halt and looked up sharply, eyes wide with terror and disbelief. Dodinal followed his gaze. For a moment he could not take in what he was seeing. It looked as though the entire cliff wall on their right was collapsing onto them. Boulders as big as a man plunged from the narrow band of sky far above. They struck the cliff wall with a deafening clatter, exploding into smaller chunks that spun wildly as they fell. Dodinal had no time to shout a warning. A slab of rock struck Madoc on the shoulder and he went down. Emlyn grabbed Gwythyr, who was frozen with shock, and tried to drag him away, but they were too slow. Dodinal’s last glimpse was of them being bludgeoned to the ground, before a dense cloud of dust billowed up, filling the ravine, and they were gone from sight.

  Then followed a roar that shook the ground, and a shrieking and splintering that pierced his head like a knife. He dropped the spear and clapped his hands to his ears in pain as part of the cliff wall shuddered and began to shear off; he turned to run, but the dust cloud swept over him, scouring his eyes and clogging his throat and lungs. He coughed and staggered, knowing he would be squashed like a fly in seconds unless he could somehow get away. It was hopeless. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see.

  The cliff face toppled slowly towards him, ripping apart the dust cloud below it. Dodinal was disorientated, frozen in place. Then Gerwyn lurched towards him out of nowhere, arms outstretched, eyes bulging and his mouth moving as he screamed something that Dodinal could not hear.

  Firm hands on his shoulders pushed him away and he staggered, lost his footing and crashed to earth hard enough to drive the air from his lungs. He tumbled down the ravine, sliding on the loose stones as the great slab of rock thumped the ground. It felt and sounded like the end of the world. Shards of rock exploded everywhere, striking the cliff walls and hurtling down the ravine towards where Dodinal lay helpless. He rolled onto his side and drew up his knees, curling into a ball with his arms wrapped around his head to protect it and to muffle his ears against the roar and crash of the rock fall.

  It seemed to go on forever, the cataclysmic rumble bouncing off the ravine’s narrow walls until he was sure it would shake the teeth loose from his gums and grind his bones to powder. With every beat of his heart, he was certain that he would die. It was surely only a matter of time before his luck ran out and a boulder rolled down the ravine towards where he lay, or a deadly shard of flying rock scythed into him.

  Finally it was over, although it took him a moment to realise it, so tightly were his hands pressed to his ears. The ground gave one last violent shudder, and then all was still. The last few loose stones rattled and clattered as they fell into the dying echoes of the rockfall. Cautiously, Dodinal raised his head, shaking it to clear it, not quite believing he had somehow managed to survive.

  He spent a few moments moving fingers and toes and running his hands over his body, searching for injuries, for he was numb and might not yet feel the pain if he had been wounded. Apart from his aching ribs, where his sword pommel had dug into his side when he fell, there was nothing. Not so much as a scratch. He shook his head. What were the chances?

  Dodinal heard a low groan from nearby. It suddenly occurred to him it was not down to good fortune that he was still breathing. He owed his life to Gerwyn.

  In the eerie oppressive silence, Dodinal could hear but not see him. White-grey dust obscured everything. The sky was indistinct. He coughed and spat to try to clear his throat of dust, but it was no use. Every time he breathed, he breathed in more.

  He was loath to call out, for fear his voice would trigger another fall, so he got slowly to his feet and stood for a moment until the strength had returned to his legs. He headed up the ravine, step by careful step, each time testing the ground with his foot before putting his full weight down. It did not take him long to find Gerwyn, lying on his back with his arms loose at his side. He had dropped the pack but his bow was still slung over his shoulder, as was the quiver, which was empty, the arrows scattered around him. Dodinal knelt at Gerwyn’s side and was relieved to hear him whisper, “Dodinal? Is that you?”

  “Yes, it’s me. Try not to move.”

  “My leg. I think it’s broken.” Even by the murky light, his face was pale and drawn.

  “Are you hurting anywhere else?”

  “Only the back of my head. I hit it when I fell.”

  Dodinal managed a grin and hoped Gerwyn could see it. “Then it’s safe to assume no serious damage has been done.”

  Gerwyn’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the sleeve. “What about Emlyn? And Madoc and Gwythyr?”

  “I don’t know yet. I haven’t had chance to look.”

  “Then leave me here. I’m okay. Go and look for them.”

  Dodinal reached down and patted him on the shoulder, saying nothing. A faint whistling had
him reaching for his sword, until he realised it was only a mountain breeze, gusting through the narrow passage, slowly dispersing the dust cloud until he could start to make out his surroundings. The path ahead was piled high with rocks and broken slabs. Nothing could have possibly survived that.

  Not that he would rest until he was certain. Dodinal clambered up the rocks and looked around for any sign of life, but found none. As the breeze continued to blow away the dust and visibility improved he could see a ragged spray of blood on the cliff wall closest to him. He was, he realised, standing on top of a grave.

  As he got to his knees to say a few last words for his friends, a dark figure dropped from above with barely a sound, landing catlike on all fours a few yards along the ravine and launching itself at him. Dodinal only just managed to throw himself to one side, leaving its claws to swish through empty air. Momentum carried the creature past him and he reached for his sword, drawing it as he scrambled to his feet. He realised the rock fall had not been an accident, and the world turned red. He bared his teeth in a grimace of fury.

  The gargoyle creature spun around, talons scraping and scratching as it found purchase on the rocky ground, then it darted back towards him. Dodinal held the sword shoulder high and ran to meet it head on. With a roar of 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.