“Very well,” Madoc said. “It is decided.” He called out orders to his men. Three of them stayed with him. The remainder returned to the hut, to protect their people. “A smaller group travels faster. Between us, we will find anything that is there to be found.”
Dodinal glanced up at the cobalt circle of sky above the clearing. They had four hours of daylight left, five at best.
The men were pensive as they prepared to move out. Dodinal was not of the Christian faith, he did not concern himself with Heaven and Hell. He had often escaped to the Church of St. Stephen during his time in Camelot, but only because it was the one place where he could find peace. Here, though, so far from civilisation, it would be easy to believe in gods and devils. Some still followed the old religion. He might not share their beliefs, but he understood their fears. Even Gerwyn looked anxious. The air of arrogance had gone. If anything, his expression was that of a man with much on his mind.
They set off, fanning out as they advanced to sweep a wider area of ground, looking for anything untoward. Afternoon sunlight had burned away the worst of the cold; before long, Dodinal was sweating beneath his cloak. He took it off and slung it over his shoulder. The snow still lay thick on the ground, but if this weather lasted it would not be there for long. He would not be sorry to see the back of winter, even if the onset of spring brought him closer to a decision he would not relish having to make.
His stomach rumbled. Dodinal cast his senses outwards, hoping in vain that the milder conditions might have enticed game to return. He could still taste the venison they had feasted on. The thought of fresh meat made his belly ache, so he turned his thoughts elsewhere.
An image of Rhiannon came to mind. He smiled, despite the grim nature of their task. That she might not feel the same about him as he had come to feel about her was something he did not want to dwell on. It was not only possible, but likely; while she had been kind, even affectionate, there had been no hint of anything deeper.
“Over here!” a voice cried out, tearing Dodinal away from his thoughts. Looking across, he saw Hywel away to his left, crouching and examining the ground. The other men hurried over, then waited for Dodinal, who was the last to arrive.
“What have you found?” the knight demanded.
Without waiting for an answer, he crouched alongside Hywel, tugging thoughtfully at his beard as he tried to make sense of what he saw; tracks that, to inexperienced eyes, would have appeared as little more than a confusion of churned-up snow. Dodinal, however, saw with eyes that pierced the secrets of the wildwood.
What strange tracks they were. He reached down and ran his fingers slowly around the edge of the imprint closest to him. Such was its size and shape it could have been made by a man, but a man whose feet were deformed. The print was curved, as though the foot was badly twisted, and it possessed only three toes.
“You have seen this?” he said quietly to Hywel.
The tracker nodded. “It could have been someone who had lost two toes in battle, or to frostbite.”
“It could,” Dodinal conceded. “But that does not explain this.” He indicated another print. It too was curved; the only difference between it and the first was this one had six toes.
Dodinal straightened, so he could follow the course of the tracks leading away from them, northwards into the depths of the forest. He counted eight pairs, all displaying similar deformities. One set was noticeably deeper and better defined than the rest. He nodded. One of the eight had been carrying something heavy enough to have driven its weight further into the snow. “Neither does it explain why they would be running around barefoot in this weather.”
“There’s something else,” Hywel said, looking back nervously. “There are no tracks behind us. They start right here.”
Dodinal grunted, struggling to accept a truth that defied logic. The evidence was plain to see. The tracks started in the middle of nowhere. For all his scorn of the men’s talk of devilry, the knight nevertheless found himself gazing at the cloudless vault overhead. It was indeed as if something had come down from the sky. Something that walked like a man but on feet that were not quite human.
“Well?” Madoc demanded.
Dodinal chose his words carefully, not wanting to spread alarm. “We have their tracks now.”
“Men?”
Dodinal nodded, far from convinced. “Eight of them. One was carrying something. I suspect it was your missing boy.”
Madoc brightened. With no blood trail, it was possible the child might still be alive, making it all the more vital to find him. Dodinal looked up again, not out of anxiety but to study the light.
“We have perhaps three hours left to us. If we have not overtaken them by nightfall we will have to give up the search. We cannot track if we cannot see.”
“What? But we cannot give up!” Madoc sounded aghast.
Dodinal frowned. They had given their word they would help, and he would not halt the search until the very last moment, but they could not stay overnight. Idris had left armed men behind and given instructions for the young to be kept indoors at all times. While there was nothing to suggest their village was at risk — no sign of any tracks, strange or otherwise — the chieftain had taken no chances while he was away.
It had disturbed Dodinal greatly to hear of children elsewhere being stolen. The raiders were on the move. There was no way of predicting how far they would travel. He would not rest easy until he was back with Rhiannon and Owain. “I am not suggesting you give up the search,” he told Madoc, with quiet authority. “We will help you for as long as we can. But no longer than that. We have our own people to consider. Surely you would no more expect us to abandon them than we would expect you to abandon yours to help us.”
“Of course not.” Madoc slumped. “Believe me, we are truly grateful for any help you can give us. So let us make haste while we can.”
They set off again, moving swiftly now they had a trail to follow. Dodinal kept a tight grip on the spear, although at the first sign of trouble he would want his sword in his hand.
An hour passed, then two. The sun eased down the sky, and a sound like rain filled the air. Water dripped from branches as the ice began to thaw. Where it drummed on the ground, the snow started to melt, a sure sign that spring was at last upon them.
Then the trail suddenly ended, the tracks vanishing as abruptly as they had appeared. Dodinal raised his hand and the men came to a halt alongside him.
“What is it?” Idris asked. Dodinal pointed. “Ah. I see.”
Madoc went to push past them. “What kind of man can appear out of nowhere and vanish just as easily, eh? You say there is an explanation for everything, Dodinal. Explain that.”
Dodinal put a hand on his chest to hold him back. “I cannot.”
“Then let me pass. I will find the answers you cannot give.”
“No,” Dodinal said softly. “If there are answers to be found, I will find them. Stay here. The less we disturb the snow, the better.”
“Do as he says,” Idris advised. “He knows what he is about.”
Madoc’s lips tightened into an angry line but he gave way.
Dodinal drove the point of his spear into the hard ground and unsheathed his sword. He made his way slowly to the point where the trail abruptly ended, next to a small, snow-covered rock.
His eyes scanned the forest for movement, but the woodland was populated only by the long swaying shadows of the trees. Sweat broke out on his forehead and he impatiently wiped it away. He did not believe in devils. Even so, there was something unarguably wrong here, something out of kilter with the natural order. He could try to deny it for as long as he drew breath, but he had learned years ago never to deny his instincts.
He drew close to the rock. The tracks did not peter out. They simply stopped. Beyond the last print, the snow, while thinner on the ground than it had been, was unbroken. The forest stretched away before him. Nothing had passed beyond here. If Dodinal had been religious he might have fallen to his knees and prayed for guidance. But he was not, and so could rely only on intuition and his senses.