The Savage Knight (Malory's Knights of Albion)

by Paul Lewis

  Night headed towards dawn; the forest brightened almost imperceptibly around them. Soon it became apparent the woodland was no longer as dense and oppressive as it had been. It would not be long before they left the forest behind. Dodinal yearned for the feel of the sun on his face.

  They had lost the trail in their haste to get away, after the attacks on Rhydian and Hywel. For now that did not seem important. They could return to the woods later, if needs be, and search around until they picked up the tracks. Once they had rested, that was. Their eyes drooped and they stumbled as they walked. They had travelled a long way, and were still reeling from the night’s horrors. They would be in no fit state to resume the search until they had slept.

  They reached the tree line, grinning and laughing as they emerged from the forest. After so many days in the wildwood, the world suddenly opened up into an endless expanse. They stopped and looked about them as though they had forgotten what the land looked like, drawing fresh, clean air deep into their lungs.

  The sky was cold purple, streaked with pale salmon to the east. Ahead of them were piled banks of clouds, high and dark, looming ominously like great castles on the horizon. While there was not enough light for them to see clearly by, the men could hear the soft swish of a breeze skimming the grassland.

  Finally Dodinal spoke up. “We have to keep moving.”

  “Oh, what?” Gerwyn groaned. “I’m dead on my feet.”

  “You will be if any of those creatures are still in the forest. If you feel too tired to walk, just remember what they did to Rhydian. There is open ground ahead. We can make camp once we’re far enough away from the trees that we can see them coming if they attack.”

  He led the way, shuffling through the knee-high grass away from the forest until they reached a small stand of trees. Dodinal turned to look back the way they had come. The forest was a great sleeping beast, a shadowy monster stretching across the land from east to west for as far as the eye could see. For a man who was most at home in the wild, he was surprised at how relieved he felt to be leaving it behind.

  Packs and weapons thumped and clattered as they were dropped to the ground with groans of relief.

  “Here, let me help you.” It was Madoc. Dodinal crouched until Hywel’s feet were touching the ground, the chieftain holding him so he did not fall. Between them they carried him over to the nearest tree and gently lowered him until he was resting beneath its branches. Dodinal lifted his head and placed a pack beneath it, then took off his cloak and draped it over the tracker’s supine body. He pressed his fingers to Hywel’s neck; the pulse was stronger than it had been.

  “Get some sleep,” Madoc told him. “That goes for the rest of you. I’ll rouse the next man in two hours.”

  “Are you sure?” Dodinal asked. The chieftain was the oldest of them all by many years. The journey would have been hardest on him.

  “Yes, yes, I’m sure. Don’t worry about me. I can rest later. I’ll stay close to Hywel and keep an eye on him in case he comes round.”

  Dodinal nodded. He trusted Madoc to stay awake. He settled down under the trees, the other men close by, and reached for a pack, pulling it over to rest his head on, and was asleep almost immediately.

  When he felt hands on his shoulders, shaking him awake, it felt like only moments had passed. He opened his eyes and saw the sun was high in a clear blue sky. “What time is it?” he asked in a thick voice.

  “Noon, or thereabouts,” Gerwyn answered.

  “You should have woken me sooner.”

  “We decided to let you sleep on. You carried Hywel for hours.”

  Dodinal’s eyes flicked towards the stricken hunter, who lay where they had left him. “Has he come around yet?”

  Gerwyn shook his head. “He opened his eyes once when Emlyn was checking the wound, but only for a few moments. Even then, he did not seem to be aware of anything. I’m worried about him.”

  Dodinal said nothing. He was worried too. He got up, brushing dirt and dry leaves from his clothes. Stretching his arms and back, he wandered out from beneath the stand of trees and stood in the long grass, absorbing the view. It was enough to take his breath away.

  Behind him, the forest was as dark and forbidding by daylight as it had been by moonlight, and to the east and west was open land, gently undulating as it stretched away for as far as the eye could see. But ahead of him, rising into the sky like a mighty fortification, was the range of mountains he had mistaken for clouds in the deep darkness that preceded dawn. Beyond the green, gentle foothills towered peaks higher and more formidable than any he had ever cast eyes on. They possessed a strange and desolate beauty. That was where they would find the gargoyle creatures. They could only have been spawned in so wild and dangerous a place.

  He returned to the men. “We have to find the trail. It should not be difficult, but we have a lot of ground to cover. Gerwyn, you come with me. We’ll head west and search for tracks. Madoc, you and Gwythyr head east. Emlyn, stay here and watch over Hywel. All of you keep sharp. We can’t assume those things are only out at night.”

  They set off, leaving their cloaks behind in the warm spring sunshine. Seeing the long grass they left broken and flattened in their wake, Dodinal had no concerns about picking up the creatures’ trail. Sure enough, he and Gerwyn had not gone far when they heard Madoc call out. They turned to see him in the distance, waving his arms above his head, and made their way over to him. Dodinal was not in the least surprised to find the trail led straight for the mountains.

  When they returned to the stand of trees, Dodinal was relieved to see Hywel awake and sitting with his back against an oak. Emlyn crouched by him, talking quietly. The tracker looked up as they approached; a good sign. But as they drew closer they saw the anxiety on Emlyn’s face.

  “How are you feeling?” Dodinal called out.

  “Not good.” Hywel’s voice was strained.

  “A headache?” Gerwyn asked. “If so, it should pass.”

  “I wish it was just a headache. I could live with that.”

  “Then what?” Madoc demanded. “What is it?”

  Hywel passed a hand in front of his eyes. “I’m blind.”

  9Medieval medicine commonly attributed dementia and brain damage to imbalanced humours or spiritual influences, but there is evidence that soldiers – including knights like Malory – and military surgeons were at least broadly aware of the effects of brain trauma.

  EIGHTEEN

  They did not know what to say. Men like Hywel were set apart from the rest by their skills. Sharp eyes had defined him, made him a great tracker. Now he had lost his life’s calling along with his sight. It was as cruel a fate as losing his sword arm would be for Dodinal.

  “Don’t despair. I have seen this before. The loss may not be lasting.” He hoped he sounded more convincing to Hywel’s ears than to his own. “I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. Either way, you’ll go on without me.”

  “I carried you from the forest. I’m not leaving you now.”

  Hywel blinked slowly. “You carried me here?”

  “What did you think? You flew?” Emlyn jabbed a finger into his friend’s shoulder. He was trying hard to sound cheerful.

  “Then you have my thanks, Dodinal. Even so, surely you can see there is nothing to be gained by taking me with you.” He raised his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I will only slow you down. And what if those things attack again? I couldn’t see them coming, let alone fight them off. I’d rather take my chances. Just turn me towards the west. If I can walk in a straight line I’ll find the river eventually.”

  “And then what?” Emlyn demanded bitterly. “You’ll jump in?”

  “I’ll have a spear to fish with. What was it you said last night, Madoc? You just shove the spear in and hope for the best? Doesn’t sound that difficult to me.” His sightless eyes creased as he grinned. “I can light a fire by touch and I’ll have plenty of water. I’ll be fine.”

 
“You’ll be fine until you get too close to the edge or some hungry beast comes looking for food,” Emlyn snapped back.

  Dodinal looked around at the men, his expression clear. They nodded without a flicker of hesitation and began to gather up their belongings as, saying nothing, the knight stooped and lifted Hywel to his feet, ignoring his protests.

  “You’ll walk in a straight line, my friend. Except you’ll be heading north, not west, and you will not be walking alone.”

  “But this is insane. Leave me. Find me on your way home.”

  “Shut up,” Dodinal said pleasantly. “And start walking before you feel the point of my sword in your arse.”

  Muttering curses, Hywel did as he was told, but he had no sooner taken a few steps than he stumbled and almost fell over some hidden tummock. Before Dodinal had a chance to react, Emlyn brushed past him and took hold of Hywel by the elbow. Dodinal was glad to see the tracker made no effort to push his friend away. He might not like it, but he must have come around to the fact that they were not going to leave him behind. Instead, the two continued on their way together, heads close, talking quietly as they walked.

  They followed the trail of broken grass, cloaks tossed over their shoulders, weapons stowed. There was no danger of being caught in an ambush, not with open land all around them. As they walked, the mountains, stern grey and featureless with distance, seemed to grow steadily higher. Their peaks would have been lost in the clouds, had there been any.

  Dodinal felt rested after his long sleep, but his empty stomach gurgled and rumbled. He wished they were close to the river. He would willingly break off the pursuit for a while if that meant they could find something to fill their bellies with.

  The afternoon wore on, and the sun began its slow descent. They began to feel the strain as the ground rose, the gradient so gentle at first that they had scarcely noticed it. They had left the lush grassland behind and now followed an ancient path leading up towards the hills. The earth was firm and rocky, with hardly a tree to break the monotony of the landscape; with the dying of the light, it had become hard to make out the creatures’ trail.

  Even with Hywel to slow them down, they moved at a brisk pace that would take them well into the foothills before dusk, where they would have to find a place to pitch camp. Somewhere defendable. Dodinal’s fingers stole to his sword hilt. By now he had come to expect trouble. It was more a question of when than if.

  They pressed on until the sun dipped low enough to ignite the horizon and suffuse the air with a soft golden light, and Dodinal called a halt. It would be dark in less than an hour. Turning back, they could see the great forest spread out like a slumbering serpent below them. Ahead, the land rose steadily upwards, the great mountains already lost to shadows, harbingers of the encroaching night.

  Dodinal gathered the men around. “I don’t like the idea of sleeping out in the open, but there’s no shelter that I can see. I say we continue on uphill for as long as the light lasts. If we’re lucky, we’ll find a cave. If not, we’ll have to get to higher ground. We’ll have a better chance if they come after us.”

  “I don’t think we need worry too much about that,” Madoc said. He was gazing uphill, towards the shadow-clad mountains, and sounded distracted.

  “Why not?” Dodinal said, a little irritably. He was tired and hungry, in no mood for games.

  Madoc stretched out an arm and pointed. “Look.”

  Dodinal saw a flickering glow, carrying a pillar of smoke out of a hidden fold in the hills.

  They were not alone. Someone had started a fire.

  “That’s settled, then,” Emlyn said. “Those creatures seem to be afraid of fire. If there are people up there, we’ll be safer with them than making camp out in the open. You never know, they might even have food going spare.”

  “There’s no guarantee they’ll be friendly,” Madoc observed.

  Dodinal nodded. “Quite so. We know the creatures passed this way. There’s every chance these people, whoever they are, will have been attacked. They may not welcome strangers in their midst.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting we should just go charging in.” Emlyn looked offended. “I’m not an idiot. But we should at least go and check out the lie of the land.”

  Dodinal considered this. They would have to skirt the fire in any event. It would do them no harm to find out who had started it, and they would be foolish to turn their backs on what could prove to be a safe haven for the night. Tiredness and hunger had left them snapping tetchily at each other. The chance of a decent night’s sleep was too good to pass up.

  “Sound thinking,” he said, speaking directly to Emlyn. “We’ll get as close as we can without being seen. If it looks dangerous, we keep going and find someplace else to make camp. And listen out. It’s nearly dark. Those things could have killed us all, last night. They might try to do so again.”

  The gradient became steeper, and he slowed the pace for Hywel’s sake. Before long, they were all puffing like a smithy’s bellows.

  They halted briefly to catch their breath and to rest their aching legs, then continued upwards. The air turned chilly as the sun dropped out of sight and dusk turned to full dark, but their exertions screened them from the cold. Each man walked with his cloak draped over one shoulder. The fire, though still unseen, drew them in like moths. Dodinal sniffed at the air. Wood smoke. Encouraging. A lot more encouraging than the acrid stench of burning flesh.

  Then he felt the ground levelling off, and sensed they were close to cresting the hill. He drew his sword; he did not need to turn around to know that each man save Hywel would have his own sword and spear at the ready. His stomach knotted, as it did in the final moments before battle. A warrior who felt no fear did not last long. The skill was not in disregarding the fear but in learning how to control it.

  He pushed on until he reached the summit, where he waited while the men fell in beside him. They stood in silence and stared down at the village nestled in the narrow coomb below them, lit up by the fires that had been set around its perimeter. The fires aside, the place appeared deserted. Nothing moved. Even from a distance they could see most of the buildings were in disrepair, gaping holes in their roofs, walls half collapsed, fallen timber scattered haphazardly across the ground.

  “What can you see?” Hywel hissed.

  “A village,” Dodinal answered with quiet urgency. “Looks abandoned, but obviously someone’s about.”

  “You think they’ve been attacked?”

  “Hard to say. Stay here. I’m going down to find out.”

  “You’re not going alone,” Madoc said. “Too dangerous.”

  “That’s why I’m going alone. No sense putting all of us at risk. Besides, if they have been attacked, they’re less likely to be hostile if they only see one of us.” Dodinal raised his sword. It flashed amber with reflected firelight. “And if they’re still hostile, well, I can look after myself. Be patient. I’ll signal as soon as I’m sure it’s safe.”

  He left his spear and shield with them, not wanting to look any more threatening than his bulk already made him appear. Then he began to descend, treading carefully for there was no path now, the valley wall falling steeply towards the village. Slender trees somehow managed to cling to the thin rocky ground, and Dodinal in turn clung on to them as he slipped and slid down the slope.

  By the time he made it to the valley floor, he was breathing hard; he was not getting any younger. It was just as well Arthur had brought peace to the land when he did.

  He remained concealed in the trees while he considered his options. There was nothing except open ground ahead of him, and fires lit up the entire area. Other than edge his way around the valley to approach the village from behind, there was no way for him to avoid being seen. With that in mind, he judged it would be better to make no attempt at stealth and instead to walk openly into the village, sword sheathed and hands in sight to show he had nothing to hide. He could have the blade drawn in seconds if he came under attack. />
  He felt a familiar churning in his guts as he stepped out from under the trees. He counted half a dozen fires around the village’s edge. Close up, the bonfire stacks were smaller than they had appeared from above. These fires would not keep the creatures out. They might serve some other purpose. A beacon, perhaps. Or a warning.

  Dodinal could feel the heat from the nearest fire as he approached. The skin on the back of his neck prickled and the hair on his arms stood on end. He sensed he was being watched by someone or something unseen. It took a conscious effort to resist reaching for his sword.

  He stopped when he reached the first building, an indistinct structure twice his height. A barn, he supposed. Most of the wall boards had fallen from the frames and lay like broken bones on the ground. He peered inside and saw only shadows dancing in the firelight. Moving on to the next building he found it had fared no better. He stepped inside, his boots kicking up dust and clumps of dried thatch. Even with the roof and walls mostly gone, the air was musty and stale; it must have been abandoned a long time ago. Suddenly uneasy, he hurried outside and looked around for some sign of life, anything to suggest he was not the only soul around. Surely whoever had started the fires had not lit them and then left the village? What purpose would that have served?

  Fighting the urge to give up and return to his friends, he drew his sword – to Hell with appearances – and forced himself to head further into the village. He passed between huts that were all in such a ruinous state he was certain they would collapse if he so much as brushed up against them. Little fear that the creatures had attacked the place. There was nothing left to attack, and certainly no children to steal. Dodinal had a distinct feeling there had been no children here since before he was born.