Madoc pulled a face. “Used the trees? How?”
“Consider it. They came into your village as if out of nowhere. They took the boy. The tracks vanished again.” Dodinal gestured towards the darkening wood. “They moved from tree to tree while they carried him, keeping off the forest floor to leave no trail. Once they were far enough from the village to leave you with no means of following them, they returned to the ground to move faster.”
“That is nonsense,” Madoc argued. “No man can move through the trees that swiftly, let alone eight of them.”
Dodinal rubbed his eyes, feeling suddenly weary. It had been a long hard day and its outcome had drained him of strength. “There is no other possible explanation, aside from your devils. And I have no time for them.”
He made no mention of the strange twisted footprints he and Hywel had found, and for which he had no ready explanation. To do so would only deepen the atmosphere of dread and despair that already blighted this place.
Madoc paced for a moment, mulling over the knight’s words. “Very well, then,” he said at last. “I am not entirely convinced, but I would sleep easier believing men are behind this and not something from the spirit world. We can defend ourselves against men.”
“Then make sure you do,” Dodinal told him. “Your village is far too open. Enclose it as best you can. There is timber all around you and you have enough strong men. You don’t need me to tell you to make sure your children are never left alone.”
“The children are fine. As for the defences, I’ll see to that as soon as it’s light. But what of you? Do you still intend to leave?”
“We do, and we will leave now,” Dodinal said. “Our village is fortified, but its stockade has been left to rot for too long. We will strengthen it so that nothing, man or beast, can get through. Once we are done, we’ll return here with as many people as we can spare to make sure your defences are as strong as they can be.”
“Then travel safely.” Madoc held out his hand. Dodinal shook it, as did Idris and the others. Farewells made, they turned and set off through the forest, Dodinal taking the lead.
They made good progress even after the sun had set and the forest was shrouded in darkness. After a while, however, it became clear Idris was not up to the arduous pace Dodinal had set, so the knight gathered the others to him and told them to push on ahead.
“Idris and I will follow,” he said. “We have much to discuss, but we cannot talk if we’re gasping for breath.”
Gerwyn nodded. He looked shaken by what he had seen.
“Make sure everyone stays indoors,” Idris told him. “No one goes outside alone. I want a watch kept overnight.”
“You really believe they’re in danger?” Gerwyn asked, eyes darting around anxiously. “Our village is far from here.”
“The other villages are even further,” Dodinal pointed out. “Yet they have been attacked. We cannot take anything for granted.”
Within moments the four men had vanished into the darkness, leaving Idris and Dodinal alone. They walked at a brisk pace to keep warm, for while the day had been mild, the night air was as cold as winter. The moon was full; the constellations shimmered. The wind had dropped to a whisper.
They talked of inconsequential things to while away the time: the onset of the spring, plans to hunt together once the palisade was repaired. Imaginary feasts were prepared and they laughed when their stomachs rumbled in unison.
It was only after their conversation had reached a natural break and the two men were travelling in companionable silence that Dodinal realised he had made the decision not to leave, without being aware of it. Perhaps the boy’s death had been enough to convince him that, having found people he cared for, he should not risk losing them.
Neither man spoke of what had happened that day. There was no need. Each was painfully aware of the events he had witnessed, and each preferred to come to terms with it in his own way.
It was past midnight when they reached the village. Dodinal yearned for nothing more than a hot drink and a bed to sleep in. Anything else could wait until morning.
When they staggered into the Great Hall, blinking against the heat and smoke from the fire, it was to find Rhiannon sitting at the table waiting for them. Of Gerwyn and Owain there was no sign; presumably they slept at the back of the hut, beyond the hanging skins. He thought he could hear snoring.
“Sit down,” Rhiannon ordered, getting to her feet and bustling across to the fire. “You must be exhausted, both of you. The others got back hours ago.”
The knight groaned as he lowered himself to the bench. Idris almost collapsed into his chair. “Next time, go without me.”
Dodinal managed a laugh that quickly turned into a yawn.
Rhiannon returned with two steaming bowls of cawl, and the men fell on them. This time the meal was rich with meat. Rhiannon must have decided that, with spring here, the game would return and so there was no need to ration their supplies quite so rigorously.
Although he had doubts, and his senses had found no signs of life to contradict his suspicions, Dodinal was too ravenous to care.
A second bowlful, and a beaker of ale, disappeared in short order, and finally he was sated. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he thanked her for her kindness and then made to leave. “Get yourself to bed,” he told Idris, who appeared to be having difficulty keeping his eyes open. “We have work to do tomorrow. Everyone will need to be well rested.”
“And that includes you,” Rhiannon said. “I have tended to the fire in my hut. You will not be cold tonight. But if you would prefer to stay here, you are more than welcome.”
Dodinal politely declined and was disappointed to see a look of relief on her face. He took his leave. Once inside the warmth of Rhiannon’s hut, he hung up his cloak, rested the spear against the wall and tugged off his boots, leaving them where they dropped. Finally he removed his sword belt and dropped it on the floor beside the mattress before sinking gratefully onto the bed.
Yawning, he closed his eyes. But even though he was light-headed with fatigue, sleep proved frustratingly elusive. He kept seeing that poor boy’s lifeless face. Madoc had been right; what kind of man could leap from tree to tree while burdened with a struggling child? And what kind of man left footprints in the snow that were twisted and had too few or too many toes?
He was just drifting off when the door swung quietly open.
Dodinal reached out and slid his sword silently from its sheath. There was only one man arrogant or foolish enough to dare skulk into the hut at this hour and, chieftain’s son or not, he was about to learn the hard way that Dodinal was not to be fooled with.
But then came a soft rustle as a cloak was undone and dropped to the floor. The furs on his bed were pulled back, and a warm body slid in beside him. Dodinal immediately recognised her scent. “What are you..?” he started, then her mouth closed over his, silencing him. He resisted for a moment, then reached down to pull her closer, and was startled when his hands touched bare flesh. She had not just removed her cloak.
Rhiannon broke off the kiss and started undoing his shirt buttons, then gave up and pulled it impatiently over his head. Dodinal did not protest. She was in control and he was content to allow her to take the lead. Her hair brushed against his chest and stomach as she lowered her head, then he moaned deeply in his throat as she took him in her mouth.
When it seemed he could bear it no longer, she clambered up onto him and guided him inside her; she was already wet. Now it was her turn to moan as he wrapped his arms around her and began to move. He became lost in the moment, feeling nothing but the heat of her around him, hearing nothing but their hitching breath, seeing nothing but her face above his, radiant in the firelight, contorted by her rapture.
When they were done she collapsed on him, her mouth finding his. “Thank you.”