“And if it isn’t?” Gerwyn demanded.
Dodinal drained the last of his ale and put the beaker down on the table. “If it isn’t, then I will go south alone. Better to risk the life of one man than the lives of many. If there is any game to be found in this forest, I will find it and bring it to you.”
Gerwyn made a dismissive gesture and turned away.
They talked a while longer, and then, one by one, the villagers said their farewells and drifted off to their homes. It was dark. The air was already cruelly sharp. Everyone wanted to be wrapped up in furs around their fires before it got any colder.
Dodinal yawned. “I will take my leave. It has been a long day.”
“You are welcome to stay.” Idris placed a hand on Dodinal’s arm. “Surely it must get lonely, spending so much time in that hut.”
For a moment Dodinal was tempted. Then he shook his head. “Solitude suits some people, and I am one of them. I like to be alone with my thoughts.” Realising that sounded as though he did not want their company, he quickly added: “And you would not like my snoring!”
As he got up from the chair he saw Owain gazing at him, head cocked, just as he had done before the wolves attacked. The hound dropped the bone and raised its head to look intently at the door. There was someone outside. The mastiff gathered itself and leapt to its feet, a growl rumbling in its throat.
“What’s wrong with him?” Gerwyn asked, sounding more irritated than concerned.
Dodinal glanced at Idris and nodded towards the door, an unspoken thought passing between them. Trouble.
The knight had left both sword and spear in Rhiannon’s hut, thinking he would have no need of them. It was too late to be concerned about that; he would have to make do with what he had.
“Stay here,” he said. Idris started to protest, but Dodinal waved him silent. There were no wild beasts outside, he knew that much. Men, then. If there were intruders in the village, Dodinal would need to move quickly, without Idris getting in his way. Should the rage overwhelm him, he would not differentiate between friend and foe.
He moved swiftly to the door and pulled it open. The hound growled louder, snarling, but staying at Idris’s side. Dodinal had encountered knights who were less disciplined.
He stood in the doorway and looked around. The sky was clear, the moon a polished coin. Stars glittered coldly. The village was a patchwork of silver and shadow. A faint voice called out from somewhere within the dense wall of trees beyond the palisade.
Dodinal glanced back into the hut towards Idris. “It could be trouble or nothing at all. I’ll go and look. Give me fifteen minutes; if I have not returned by then, gather your best men and take arms.”
“I will come with you,” the chieftain offered.
“Stay here. I can move quickly and quietly. They will not even know I’m there. Don’t worry, if I need your help I’ll call for it.”
“Be careful,” Rhiannon said, and Dodinal nodded and stepped outside.
As ever, he was soundless as he drifted across the deserted village. Dodinal eased through the broken palisade and hurried across the clearing until the black maw of the forest devoured him. He heard the echoing voice again, this time near enough for him to be certain it was a man calling out. If these were intruders, they were not especially bright. Even a child would know to keep one’s voice down while closing on a foe.
A twig snapped, unnaturally loud in the hushed woodland. Now Dodinal knew the man’s exact location. But was he the vanguard of an invading force or just someone lost, blundering through the cold, dark forest in the hope of finding shelter?
Dodinal had not travelled far when he saw a man, short and stocky, staggering through the trees towards him. The moonlight was bright enough to show he was alone. The man called out. When Dodinal shouted back, he jumped in shock and stumbled to a halt.
“Stay where you are.”
“Who are you?” the man asked, his voice shaking either with nerves or cold, or possibly both.
“I would ask that same question,” Dodinal answered, stepping forward so the man could see him. The stranger took an involuntary step back, his arms flailing for balance.
“Are you alone?” the knight demanded.
“Yes, yes, I swear. Please, I intend no trouble.”
“Then why are you here? It is hardly the place or the time of year for a midnight stroll.”
“I am searching for the brehyrion Idris. My people sent me to find him and seek his help. Do you know where his village is? If so, I beg you, take me there. I have not rested since daybreak.”
“Why do you need his help?”
The man clasped his hands together in supplication. “Please. I need to reach him while I still have the strength to walk.”
“Are you armed?”
“Yes.” The man approached Dodinal slowly. He withdrew his sword and dropped it to the ground, close to the knight’s feet, before backing away. “There. Now, please, take me to Idris.”
Dodinal stooped to pick up the sword. When he carefully ran his finger along its edge a thin red line appeared on his skin. The blade had not been especially well made, but it had been kept sharp. The stocky man had been expecting trouble. “Very well.” Dodinal sucked blood from his finger. “Stay ahead, where I can see you. I will tell you where to go.”
“Thank you. You have no idea how important this is.”
“Save your breath for Idris,” the knight growled. The man nodded hurriedly and fell silent. He did not speak again until they arrived at the Great Hall. Dodinal opened the door and nodded him inside. As he stepped across the threshold, the man staggered and his legs gave way; Dodinal caught him before he collapsed.
“Who in God’s name is this?” Idris demanded, leaping to his feet as Dodinal lowered the stranger to the bench. Gerwyn did not move from his chair, and watched proceedings unfold through half-closed eyes. By contrast, Owain was staring wide-eyed at the stranger. Dodinal was well used to that look.
The man gasped out a name, Ellis, but was too weak to say anything else. Rhiannon hurried away, returning with a beaker of warm ale. The man held it in his hands to heat them and then gulped down its contents, shivering as the brew drove the worst of the cold from his bones. Wiping the back of one hand across his lips he gasped: “Thank you.”
Rhiannon nodded and returned to her seat.
“What brings you here?” Idris demanded. “Sneaking about in the night like a common thief?”
“We need your help,” Ellis said. His voice was hoarse and his breathing ragged. Water trickled down his face and dripped onto his chest as the ice in his dark hair and beard melted in the heat. If he had not stumbled across the village, if his calls had not been answered, he would have perished before much longer. Now his skin, almost blue when Dodinal had helped him inside, bloomed a vivid red.
“What do you mean by we?” Idris was too much the good host for belligerence, but there was clear suspicion in his voice.
“I come from a village half a day’s walk north of here.”
Dodinal straightened, his interest piqued. He was still bothered by the memory of that troubling presence in the north.
“Your brehyrion?” Idris demanded.
“Madoc.”
“I know him. A good man. You say you need our help. Explain.”
Ellis fidgeted nervously. “Something has taken our children.”
He looked at them and there was unmistakeable suffering in his eyes. “Two now. Vanished, as if they had never been there. Not one of mine, thank God, but my sister lost her only daughter.” His voice caught and he struggled to continue. “We searched, but… nothing.”
Rhiannon gently took the beaker from his unresisting hands and brought him more ale, and they waited in silence while he drank it. Even miserable Gerwyn seemed to have taken an interest, sitting up in his seat. Knowing him as he did, Dodinal suspected this was less out of concern for missing children than at the prospect of an intriguing tale.