He glanced up, sure he had glimpsed movement on the cliff top high to the right of them. It was nothing, he told himself. The shadow of a cloud passing across the sun. Yet there were no clouds to be seen in the violet sky. Dodinal looked at the cliff again as dust showered down, as though something had disturbed the rock face above. He slowed his pace as if tiring, allowing Gerwyn to pass him so he could keep a closer watch without causing undue alarm. He felt sure the experienced Madoc would have known if anything were amiss, but even so, he saw no harm in remaining vigilant.
A sound like thunder suddenly rumbled through the ravine.
Ahead of him, Madoc came to a halt and looked up sharply, eyes wide with terror and disbelief. Dodinal followed his gaze. For a moment he could not take in what he was seeing. It looked as though the entire cliff wall on their right was collapsing onto them. Boulders as big as a man plunged from the narrow band of sky far above. They struck the cliff wall with a deafening clatter, exploding into smaller chunks that spun wildly as they fell. Dodinal had no time to shout a warning. A slab of rock struck Madoc on the shoulder and he went down. Emlyn grabbed Gwythyr, who was frozen with shock, and tried to drag him away, but they were too slow. Dodinal’s last glimpse was of them being bludgeoned to the ground, before a dense cloud of dust billowed up, filling the ravine, and they were gone from sight.
Then followed a roar that shook the ground, and a shrieking and splintering that pierced his head like a knife. He dropped the spear and clapped his hands to his ears in pain as part of the cliff wall shuddered and began to shear off; he turned to run, but the dust cloud swept over him, scouring his eyes and clogging his throat and lungs. He coughed and staggered, knowing he would be squashed like a fly in seconds unless he could somehow get away. It was hopeless. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see.
The cliff face toppled slowly towards him, ripping apart the dust cloud below it. Dodinal was disorientated, frozen in place. Then Gerwyn lurched towards him out of nowhere, arms outstretched, eyes bulging and his mouth moving as he screamed something that Dodinal could not hear.
Firm hands on his shoulders pushed him away and he staggered, lost his footing and crashed to earth hard enough to drive the air from his lungs. He tumbled down the ravine, sliding on the loose stones as the great slab of rock thumped the ground. It felt and sounded like the end of the world. Shards of rock exploded everywhere, striking the cliff walls and hurtling down the ravine towards where Dodinal lay helpless. He rolled onto his side and drew up his knees, curling into a ball with his arms wrapped around his head to protect it and to muffle his ears against the roar and crash of the rock fall.
It seemed to go on forever, the cataclysmic rumble bouncing off the ravine’s narrow walls until he was sure it would shake the teeth loose from his gums and grind his bones to powder. With every beat of his heart, he was certain that he would die. It was surely only a matter of time before his luck ran out and a boulder rolled down the ravine towards where he lay, or a deadly shard of flying rock scythed into him.
Finally it was over, although it took him a moment to realise it, so tightly were his hands pressed to his ears. The ground gave one last violent shudder, and then all was still. The last few loose stones rattled and clattered as they fell into the dying echoes of the rockfall. Cautiously, Dodinal raised his head, shaking it to clear it, not quite believing he had somehow managed to survive.
He spent a few moments moving fingers and toes and running his hands over his body, searching for injuries, for he was numb and might not yet feel the pain if he had been wounded. Apart from his aching ribs, where his sword pommel had dug into his side when he fell, there was nothing. Not so much as a scratch. He shook his head. What were the chances?
Dodinal heard a low groan from nearby. It suddenly occurred to him it was not down to good fortune that he was still breathing. He owed his life to Gerwyn.
In the eerie oppressive silence, Dodinal could hear but not see him. White-grey dust obscured everything. The sky was indistinct. He coughed and spat to try to clear his throat of dust, but it was no use. Every time he breathed, he breathed in more.
He was loath to call out, for fear his voice would trigger another fall, so he got slowly to his feet and stood for a moment until the strength had returned to his legs. He headed up the ravine, step by careful step, each time testing the ground with his foot before putting his full weight down. It did not take him long to find Gerwyn, lying on his back with his arms loose at his side. He had dropped the pack but his bow was still slung over his shoulder, as was the quiver, which was empty, the arrows scattered around him. Dodinal knelt at Gerwyn’s side and was relieved to hear him whisper, “Dodinal? Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me. Try not to move.”
“My leg. I think it’s broken.” Even by the murky light, his face was pale and drawn.
“Are you hurting anywhere else?”
“Only the back of my head. I hit it when I fell.”
Dodinal managed a grin and hoped Gerwyn could see it. “Then it’s safe to assume no serious damage has been done.”
Gerwyn’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the sleeve. “What about Emlyn? And Madoc and Gwythyr?”
“I don’t know yet. I haven’t had chance to look.”
“Then leave me here. I’m okay. Go and look for them.”
Dodinal reached down and patted him on the shoulder, saying nothing. A faint whistling had him reaching for his sword, until he realised it was only a mountain breeze, gusting through the narrow passage, slowly dispersing the dust cloud until he could start to make out his surroundings. The path ahead was piled high with rocks and broken slabs. Nothing could have possibly survived that.
Not that he would rest until he was certain. Dodinal clambered up the rocks and looked around for any sign of life, but found none. As the breeze continued to blow away the dust and visibility improved he could see a ragged spray of blood on the cliff wall closest to him. He was, he realised, standing on top of a grave.
As he got to his knees to say a few last words for his friends, a dark figure dropped from above with barely a sound, landing catlike on all fours a few yards along the ravine and launching itself at him. Dodinal only just managed to throw himself to one side, leaving its claws to swish through empty air. Momentum carried the creature past him and he reached for his sword, drawing it as he scrambled to his feet. He realised the rock fall had not been an accident, and the world turned red. He bared his teeth in a grimace of fury.
The gargoyle creature spun around, talons scraping and scratching as it found purchase on the rocky ground, then it darted back towards him. Dodinal held the sword shoulder high and ran to meet it head on. With a roar of unbridled fury, he swung the blade out and down with murderous strength. The blow would have cleaved the beast in two were it not for its speed and agility; it ducked below the blade, then leapt onto the cliff face and clambered up it.
Dodinal recovered quickly and raced after the creature, hacking at its trailing leg, missing it by inches. Sparks flew as his blade clashed against granite.
Dust and debris showered down as the creature scaled the cliff. Dodinal reached for a stone the size of a man’s fist, hurling it as he straightened and feeling a vicious satisfaction as it slammed into the creature’s shoulder.
The screech of pain that echoed around the ravine spurred him on. He dropped the sword — it was useless now — and grabbed more stones, throwing them one after the other. He missed his target as often as not, but when he hit it, he hit it hard, until the creature’s movements slowed and its blood fell through the air like red rain, making patterns in the dust on the ground.