The Savage Knight (Malory's Knights of Albion)

by Paul Lewis

  “Very well.” Dodinal hesitated, thinking he should say more, but realising there were no words in the world to make Rhydian feel any better, or any less alone. “Goodnight, then.”

  Rhydian responded in kind, and Dodinal went back to the fireside, where he returned his spear and sword to the ground. As Rhydian had no immediate need of his pack, Dodinal took it to rest his head on. Wrapping his cloak tightly around him, he settled down close to the fire and closed his eyes. With his thoughts as turbulent as the river’s harsh lullaby, sleep was a long time coming. When at last it did come, it was filled with dark and twisted dreams.

  He was back in the village, in the chaotic aftermath of the attack. With a groan of horror he saw it was not Idris who lay dead on the ground but Rhiannon, her dark hair matted with blood where her skull had been staved in. Owain sat cross-legged next to her, rocking back and forth, holding his mother’s limp hands in his. He looked up accusingly at Dodinal and opened his mouth as if to say something.

  No words emerged from his lips, only a long drawn-out scream, a shrieking so ghastly the battle-hardened knight clapped his hands to his ears to try to drown it out. There was no stopping it. The scream went on and on. It drilled into his skull until he felt it would burst.

  He woke with a start. His eyes snapped open and he bolted upright, looking wildly around in confusion. It was only when he felt the heat of the fire and heard the scream again, cutting through the air like a knife, that he realised he was no longer dreaming.

  SEVENTEEN

  It came again, weaker this time, ending with a kind of choking sound that was more dreadful than the scream had been. There was no need for Dodinal to rouse the men, who were climbing to their feet and arming themselves. Hywel pulled a strip of cloth from his pack, bound it around the end of a branch and thrust the torch into the fire to light it.

  There was a name on every man’s lips, but they did not say it. There was no need. They could see Rhydian was missing from the camp. Tomos was surely dead, so there was no one else it could be. Even those who had not known him well were shaken by what they had heard; they grasped spears and shields with sweating hands as they hurried from the camp after Dodinal, who had not waited the short time it took Hywel to light the torch.

  Instinctively they followed his lead, not once questioning how he knew which way to go or how he could move so assuredly in the darkness. Such was their trust in him it did not cross their minds. For their part they could only see the stately trunks the torch’s guttering light revealed as they ran, struggling to keep up with the knight. There were no more screams, for which they were thankful.

  Gerwyn forged ahead of them, almost losing his footing in the tangled undergrowth in his haste to draw level with Dodinal. “It’s those devil creatures, isn’t it?” he gasped. “They have Rhydian.”

  For a moment Dodinal did not respond. Then he nodded, too distracted to realise that Gerwyn could not see him. “Yes, they have him.” His voice was barely louder than a whisper. “No more talk. Forget about what they might have done to Rhydian. Start worrying about what they might do to you if they are still around.”

  They rushed through the forest, Dodinal at the van with Gerwyn at his shoulder and Hywel immediately behind. The remaining three followed, grouped close together so that no man was left alone. They knew all too well how silently and swiftly the creatures could strike. None of them had heard Rhydian being taken.

  They reached a small clearing, and Dodinal raised a hand to halt them. This was the source of the screams. It was nothing more than a feeling in his bones, but he trusted his feelings enough to know that from here on they had to continue with the utmost care.

  He hung his shield over his shoulder so he could hold the torch in one hand and the spear in the other, mouthed wait here to his companions and stepped cautiously into the clearing.

  It was deserted, as far as he could tell. He turned slowly, eyes straining to catch sight of anything out of place. There were no tracks to be seen. The ground was undisturbed.

  Dodinal turned to face the men, shaking his head. He was on the verge of returning to them when he heard a soft tapping like rainwater dripping from the trees after a storm. Except it had not rained that day; the sky had been a cloudless blue from dawn until dusk. Almost afraid of what he might see, Dodinal held the torch aloft and looked up.

  Lightning had struck one of the huge, ancient trees that edged the clearing. It had sheared off high above Dodinal’s head, ending in a ragged stump and a thick bough, no longer than a man’s arm.

  Rhydian had been impaled on it, the branch’s broken end protruding from his chest. The corpse stared at Dodinal with empty eye sockets. The skin around them was pierced and bleeding where the creature had dug in its claws to grip him before gouging out his eyes.

  But that was not the worst of it.

  Dodinal backed away, a groan of revulsion building in his throat.

  Rhydian’s groin was a gore-soaked mess where his manhood had been torn away. It had been rammed into his mouth so that his cheeks bulged and his genitals protruded from his lips like a swollen tongue, resting against his red-smeared chin.

  Dodinal was vaguely aware of someone violently retching.

  Then his own stomach rebelled and he had to turn away before he too emptied his guts on the ground. In his time, he had witnessed the most barbaric deaths on the battlefield. Truth be told, he had been responsible for a great many of them. But that had been in the heat of battle. He had committed violence only against men who would have ended his life had he not ended theirs first.

  This was different. If Rhydian’s death had been intended to scare them away, the creatures could have just killed him and left his body for them to find. Instead they had tortured him, broken him with acts of the most obscene cruelty. They had not merely wanted to frighten the men. They had wanted to drive them mad with terror.

  He staggered away from the clearing.

  It was Gerwyn he had heard retching. The brehyrion’s son was bent over at the waist, dry-heaving. The other men gathered around him, stunned, faces ashen as they stared with appalled expressions at the body, mercifully returned to the shadows now that Dodinal had lowered the torch. Gwythyr was visibly shaking, his eyes wide, his hands pressed to his mouth. Perhaps it had occurred to him that his son had been lucky to die how he did.

  “We have to get him down,” Gerwyn said weakly. He straightened and wiped a hand across his mouth, then spat on the ground. “We can’t leave him up there. It isn’t right.”

  “Have you taken leave of your senses?” Madoc snapped. “We have to get away from here now. Those things could still be around.”

  This was met with a general murmur of agreement.

  Anger flashed across Gerwyn’s face. “Would you be as hasty to leave a friend of yours like that? He deserves a decent burial.”

  Dodinal held up a hand for silence. “I understand. He was your friend. But Madoc is right. It’s not safe to stay here. We assumed those creatures were long gone, and Rhydian paid for our mistake.”

  “But –” Gerwyn started.

  Dodinal spoke across him forcefully. “Someone would have to climb the tree and cut him down. Will you? And even if you do, then what? We have nothing to dig a grave with. We would have to leave him on the ground for wolves and carrion birds to finish what those creatures started.”

  Gerwyn tried to interrupt, but Dodinal would not be silenced.

  “We have to go, now. Only a fool would believe they would have gone after slaughtering Rhydian. They are out there, waiting. Waiting for one of us to wander off, and then…” He did not finish the sentence. There was no need to. “ But we will not give them that chance. We stay close at all times, understand? If any of you needs to piss, we all stop and you piss where you stand.”

  Gerwyn fumed for a moment, but relented. The men had given him no choice. If he had insisted on getting the body down they would have left him behind and carried on. They could not wait to get away from
the clearing. It was in their faces and in the way they shifted nervously on their feet, waiting for Dodinal to take the lead.

  The knight shouldered his shield and set off away from the clearing, going around rather than through it. He listened for the sound of pursuit, but soon gave it up as hopeless; he could hear nothing over the noise of the men following behind him.

  Dodinal became increasingly anxious. He might not hear the creatures, but the racket the men were making would carry a long way. Glancing over his shoulder he realised Hywel was still carrying the burning torch. While there was nothing he could do about silencing them, he could at least make it harder for the men to be seen.

  He quietly called out the tracker’s name and beckoned him closer. “Put that out. They’ll see us from miles away.”

  They stopped while Hywel did as Dodinal had told him. He rammed the torch into the ground and twisted and scraped until it was blackened and dead. Tiny flames began to dance across the undergrowth and he stamped on them until they too were out. Starting a forest fire would do none of them any favours.

  “I should have thought of that,” Hywel said apologetically.

  Dodinal did not answer. His eyes flicked forward as a sharp crack like a branch breaking came from ahead of them.

  His searching eyes picked out something smaller than a bird arcing down from the trees, hurtling towards them.

  Before Dodinal had the chance to bellow a warning, Hywel’s head suddenly snapped back. The tracker gave a soft grunt, sounding more surprised than hurt. Then his hands flew to his face and he staggered backwards, twisting in a slow half-turn, and collapsing heavily to the ground.

  Acting without thinking, Dodinal dropped his shoulder and let the shield slide down his arm, then lifted it to protect his head. No sooner had he done so than the shield was struck a thundering blow.

  Dodinal crouched over Hywel’s unmoving form, holding the shield up at an angle to protect them both as best he could. There was a small rock on the ground close to where the tracker lay. Now Dodinal wondered if Tomos had fallen into the river after all.

  The sudden assault had left the men frozen. Now they shook off their inertia and erupted into action. Following Dodinal’s lead, they held their shields at the ready and crouched around him, covering him while he reached out with his free hand to feel Hywel’s neck for a pulse. Though fearing the worst, he was relieved to feel a faint tremor beneath his fingers. In the moonlight he could not see the tracker’s head but it seemed Hywel had only been caught a glancing blow.

  They crouched and waited until their cramping muscles began to complain. Even then, they dared not move, dared not speak, hardly dared to draw breath. Dodinal braced himself as his keen ears detected a faint whistling racing towards them. A moment later he heard stone strike hard against wood, followed a moment after that by a grunt of pain. Whoever had been hit had not been badly hurt, though; the barrier of shields remained unbroken and steady.

  Minutes dragged by. All Dodinal could hear was the fast and ragged breathing of men in fear of their lives. He listened for the creaking of branches.

  A moment later, a stone hit the barricade, followed rapidly by another and then another, booming out like thunderclaps as they clattered against the shields. Wood began to splinter and leather began to tear with the ferocity of the onslaught.

  “I’ve had just about enough of this,” a disgruntled voice suddenly muttered in the darkness. Emlyn. “Time to make those filthy bastards regret starting a fight with us.”

  Dodinal glanced at the shadowy figures beside him, he could just about make out Emlyn putting down his shield. Madoc adjusted his arm so that his own shield covered them both, lowering it just far enough for them to see where the next stone came from.

  Emlyn reached over his shoulder for his bow, notched an arrow and pulled it back, waiting. He did not have to wait long. “There,” he called. Madoc’s reflexes were sound for a man of his age. He hoisted the shield a second before a stone slammed into it. Emlyn was instantly on his feet, loosing the arrow. As it flew away into the darkness he reached over his shoulder for another, notching it and firing it with a speed born of many years of practice, then immediately ducked back under cover.

  They did not hear either arrow strike, but the wildwood was suddenly filled with an agonised screeching and a frenzied clatter of branches. Dodinal got to his feet, ignoring the screaming protests of his legs, leaving the other men where they were to protect Hywel.

  The knight held his shield and spear at the ready, trying to gauge whether the creature was heading towards them or away, deeper into the forest. Soon enough, the screeching and crashing faded out of hearing.

  Even then he waited. Those gargoyle monstrosities may be savage, but they were cunning too; a fearful combination. He dared not let his guard down, not when there could be more of them out there, hiding in the trees, biding their time, patiently waiting for the men to lower their defences so they could launch another ambush.

  They had to move quickly. At least one of the creatures knew their location. It would be safer for them to get away than stay where they were, especially as they no longer had the torch to give away their position. Unless, that was, the creatures could see in the dark.

  Dodinal shuddered at the prospect.

  Undecided, he stood for several long moments, eyes closed and listening. There was nothing save the soft breathing of men and the shifting of cloth and creak of boot leather as they moved.

  Finally, Dodinal abandoned his vigil. If there were any more devils were out there, they were in no hurry to attack.

  He crouched and whispered, “We have to get away from here.”

  “Have they gone?” Gerwyn whispered back.

  “Yes. But I think there was only one of them, holding back to make sure they were not being followed. It’s impossible to be certain; those things are devious. So we’ll have to keep our guard up.”

  “What are we going to do about Hywel?” Emlyn asked.

  Dodinal had already asked the same question of himself.

  While it was never wise to move a wounded man, especially a man with a head wound, they had no other choice. Leaving Hywel in the forest alone would be as good as condemning him to death.

  “We either take him with us or someone will have to stay here with him until he comes around,” he said.

  “I’m not staying.” Gerwyn responded immediately and with fierce determination. “Don’t get me wrong. Hywel is a good man. But I owe it to my father. Besides, they still have the boy. Rhiannon would kill me if I returned without even trying to bring him home.”

  Then Madoc spoke. “There is not a man among us who would be prepared to abandon the search, Dodinal. We all have reasons for wanting to track down those godless bastards. But neither would we leave Hywel here. I say we take him with us, carrying him if needs be. If he recovers soon, all well and good. If not… we’ll worry about that when the time comes.”

  “That’s what I was hoping to hear.” Dodinal grinned, his heart lifted by this spirit of brotherhood. It took him back to his days of fighting alongside Arthur, when they had been outnumbered more often than not. Now, like then, they needed to stand together and fight as one if they were to stand any chance of victory.

  “We will bind his wound and be gone from here before that devil has chance to return with more of its kind,” he said.

  Hywel groaned but did not wake when Dodinal turned him to see his head in the moonlight. Fortunately for Hywel, the stone had whipped across his forehead, where the bone was thickest. A flap of skin hung loose, bleeding copiously. Gerwyn handed Dodinal a strip of cloth, and he bound the wound to keep it clean.

  It could have been worse, he supposed. What worried him was that it may yet prove to be. Sometimes a hard blow to the head left a man damaged in ways that would only become apparent later.9

  “How bad is he?” Emlyn’s concern for his friend was heartfelt.

  “Too early to say. The wound should heal quickly enough.�
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  “Aye, but will he still be the Hywel I have known since we were babes in arms? I have seen such injuries before, Dodinal. I have seen good men turned into dribbling wrecks.”

  “There is nothing we can do about it for now. As long as he breathes, there is a chance he will fully recover. I will carry him for as long as I can. Then we will rest. I want two men before me and two behind, shields at the ready.”

  Madoc took hold of Dodinal’s shield and sword while the other three men shared out Hywel’s belongings between them to lighten the load. That done, Dodinal placed both hands beneath Hywel and lifted him, placing him gently over one shoulder, giving silent thanks that the tracker was such a small man.

  They set off, chancing to luck that they were heading north, for they had lost all sense of direction. The river grew quieter as they moved away from it, until it was no more than a distant rumble.

  Gerwyn and Madoc walked a few paces ahead of Dodinal, with Emlyn and Gwythyr following closely behind. The knight kept one hand resting on Hywel’s back to try to hold him still.

  After a couple of hours of uneventful travelling, he called a halt, although he could have carried on with no discomfort for several hours more. He lowered Hywel to the ground, using a pack to cushion his head, and they sat in a rough circle around him, shields raised while they debated with lowered voices whether it would be wiser to wait for the dawn or push on once they had rested.

  In the end, it was agreed they would move on. They were tired and craved sleep, but recognised they would only lose time they could not afford to lose, if they sat around until daylight. Dodinal lifted Hywel again and they gathered up their belongings and continued on their way at a steady pace.

  Occasionally the tracker would let out a low moan or would shift on the knight’s broad shoulders as though coming around, only to remain dead to the world. Dodinal hoped he would make it. Putting aside their friendship, they had lost two men already and could not afford to lose a third. Before long, they would have to decide what to do with him if he did not regain consciousness. Their options would be limited. Dodinal pushed such thoughts from his mind. He was already dizzy from too little sleep and too little food.