“Then we have no fear of going hungry,” he said.
Idris pulled a face. “Fish is for the old and for babies, those without teeth. No, we will not go hungry, but that is about the best that can be said. Why the forest is so barren this year is beyond me.”
Dodinal kept his suspicions to himself. It did not matter what dwelled in the north. It did not matter what had taken the children, not at that moment. They were warm and safe. Thatwas what mattered.
It was, he knew, a selfish attitude, given what had happened the previous day. But what had happened could not be undone. The only sensible course of action was to make the best of what they had.
He finished his meal and washed it down with the last of the beer. As he wiped his hand across his mouth, he noticed Owain sitting up straighter. The boy had cocked his head as though listening to something beyond anyone else’s hearing.
Again, Dodinal thought, wondering what was approaching this time. Owain looked at him, then shifted his gaze towards the door.
His message could not have been clearer.
The mastiff was immediately on its feet. It growled and ran to the door, where it leapt up and began scratching at the wood.
Villagers edged away, deeper into the hall.
Idris pushed his chair back and stood.
“No,” Dodinal said. “Stay here. I will look outside.”
“You cannot go alone,” the chieftain argued.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” He kept his tone light, but he was glad he had not left his sword inside Rhiannon’s hut this time. “It’s probably no more than your hound having a bad dream. Nothing can get in. Even if it had, the guard would have raised the alarm.”
“Then take me with you.” It was Hywel. “We can check the ground outside the palisade together. For tracks.”
Dodinal considered this. “Let me see if there’s anything to track first. Just make sure you keep the hound inside. If there are any prints I don’t want it churning them up.”
He didn’t want the mastiff turning on him in the darkness either, not when it had already gouged chunks out of the door.
Idris held the dog by its collar. It growled and tried to break free when Dodinal opened the door, but Idris was stronger. Once outside and with the door shut firmly behind him, Dodinal drew his blade and surveyed the village. It appeared deserted in the moon’s cold light. Nothing moved, save for the ghostly plumes of his breath that appeared and vanished before him.
Dodinal sheathed the sword as he approached the gates, so as not to startle the man standing sentry. He need not have bothered. The guard, no doubt exhausted from his labours, had succumbed to fatigue and sat on the ground, back against the gates, legs stretched out. Not even the sound of the knight’s boots thumping across the hard earth was enough to rouse him from his slumber.
Dodinal was unimpressed. Words would be had. There was no purpose in having guards if they were going to sleep on duty, no matter how tired they were. It was inexcusable.
“You,” he said gruffly. There was no response. Dodinal’s mouth tightened. He reached down to shake the guard by the shoulder. The man toppled slowly onto his side, head flopping loosely to reveal a deep, ragged wound across his throat.
TWELVE
Instinct took over, and the knight wheeled around and drew his sword. He had considered the village unassailable. He had been wrong. Something had got inside. Something that had opened up the guard’s throat so fast he hadn’t had time to cry out.
Dodinal searched the ground for tracks, but there were none to be seen. Branches creaked in the wildwood beyond the palisade. Whatever had taken the children had used the trees to move through the forest. Even so, climbing trees was hardly the same as scaling a wall three times as tall as a man.
Dodinal squinted up at the top of the palisade rising high above his head. He could not imagine anything that could scale it with no branches to haul itself up by. Yet something had got in.
The tethered hounds barked. A baby started crying shrilly. Dodinal winced. Between the barking and the infant’s wailings, he would not be able to hear any sound the intruders might make that could lead him to them.
He set off for the Great Hall, body tensed to strike at anything that came out of the shadows. The intruders had come for the children, no question of it. Dodinal was certain they were still inside the village; why kill the guard if they were prepared to leave empty-handed? He moved silently. If they had not seen him already he wanted them to remain unaware of his presence.
From the barn he could hear oxen shuffling nervously. A sheep bleated, low and mournful, and fell silent. As Dodinal neared the hall, a furtive rustling made him look up. Moonlight etched a shadowy figure, the size of a child, crouched on the roof. It was such an incongruous sight that for a moment he took it to be one of the village youngsters, up to mischief. The figure straightened, stepped forward and launched itself off the roof at him, leaping higher and farther than any child ever could.
It moved too fast for Dodinal to react, crashing into him and sending him sprawling to the ground, his sword flying from his hand. He scrambled to his feet and raised his fists, looking around wildly for the intruder, catching a glimpse of it darting into the shadows. Dodinal stood still, watching, listening, but he could hear nothing other than the barking of dogs and sounds of livestock roused to panic by the presence of a predator close by.
His face stung. He raised a hand and felt a thin cut down one cheek. His fingers came away bloody. Another scar to join the others, he thought darkly, but it could have been worse. Far worse. No wonder the guard had not had time to raise the alarm. Dodinal had been sliced so fast he had not felt it. A few inches lower and his life would have been draining out of him.
He bent to retrieve his sword. The Great Hall door crashed open and Idris and a handful of men spilled out, all unarmed.
“What’s going on?” the chieftain called, stepping towards Dodinal. His eyes widened in surprise as he took in the knight’s face. “And what happened to you?”
“No time to explain. Something got in.”
The chieftain’s eyes were drawn to the palisade, which stood as solid and impenetrable as a rock. “Impossible.”
“Do as I say and be quick about it. Your man is dead. I would prefer it if no one else was killed while we stand around talking. Keep the woman and children inside, and the hound to guard them.”
Idris hurried the men back inside, returning with swords and spears and shields. Idris held a second shield, which he gave to Dodinal. The knight nodded his gratitude and slipped his arm through its strap. It was unadorned. Nothing like as fancy as the shield Arthur had presented him with, rimmed with gold and bearing the King’s motif of a red lion set against a crucifix. This was made of old wood and cracked leather, with a battered metal rim. It looked older than Dodinal, yet could not have been more valuable to him if it had been fashioned from gold.
Dodinal ordered the men into pairs. “Two remain in the Great Hall. Nothing gets inside, understand? The rest of you, scour the village. Be careful. Whatever it is, it’s fast and it’s dangerous.”
“There’s only one of them?” Idris looked surprised, as if he felt Dodinal had overreacted.
“I hope so, for all our sakes. You haven’t seen it move.”
The dogs continued their ceaseless barking. The baby’s crying suddenly got louder. Its parents must have carried it outside. Almost immediately a scream rang out around the village, bouncing off the high walls so that it was impossible to tell where it came from.
“Move,” Dodinal hollered. “Search the huts. You find anything, you kill it. It might have got in, but there’s no way it’s getting out.”
Another scream came, from Dodinal’s left. “Move,” he shouted, breaking into a sprint. Idris and his men followed close behind him.