He walked the broad circle of the summit until he could see the valley, an elongated bowl carved out of the earth, surrounded on all sides by almost vertical hills, granite grey and patched with green. An ancient forest covered the valley floor. Even from a distance he could see the trees were dark and twisted with age.
From the rock wall at the head of the valley, a great waterfall tumbled into a narrow lake below, snaring a rainbow in its spray. Dodinal caught the glitter of water through the leafless branches; the lake extended the length of the valley.
This side of the mountain was nowhere near as steep or rugged as that which had brought him here. He sought out the way into the valley: another track, worn into the rock over the centuries by men or the beasts that dwelled in the high country, carving a serpentine trail across and down the face of the mountain.
The creatures were in there somewhere, in those aged trees. Even from a height he could hear them, strange cries and screeches that arose from the ancient woodland. There could be scores, maybe hundreds of them. He was one man alone, with nothing but his sword and his shield to protect him.
Dodinal grinned, daring fate. This was how it should be.
He set off down the track, striding with effortless grace, not once losing his footing on the rough surface. One hand rested lightly on his sword handle. Whatever awaited him, he was ready for it.
11“Goddes woundes,” in the manuscript, which carried a great deal more weight in Middle English than it would today, hence the idiomatic translation.
TWENTY-ONE
The cacophony grew louder as Dodinal descended, his fate rushing to meet him. He had sought peace and had come to believe that death would be the price of finding it. Then he had met Rhiannon, and found the peace he longed for, and for a short while at least it seemed to have come without a cost. Then he had learned, not for the first time, that nothing in this life was free, and that a man had to pay for the consequences of his actions. He had come to care for these people, but had failed to protect them. Now he would bring the boy home or die trying. Either outcome would be a form of peace.
By the time he reached the ground, the sun was close to the mountaintops, rimming them with golden fire. Already the western side of the valley was deep in shadow. He would begin his search there, where he would be less likely to be seen.
It was like stepping back into the time before memory. Trees that had appeared small from the summit now towered over him, twisted and gnarled like surly old men. Exposed roots formed nests deep enough for a grown man to shelter in; the ivy that choked the trunks was as thick as a warrior’s arm; skeletal branches sagged as though too weary to raise themselves towards the sun. Days of constant sunlight had left the undergrowth dry and brittle, crunching and snapping beneath Dodinal’s boots as he made his way deeper into the forest. He was not unduly concerned. The hellish din the creatures were making masked all other sounds.
The ground rose and fell. He hid behind moss-covered boulders, searching the trees overhead, alert to any hint of movement. Again there was nothing. He pushed on, heading north, following the length of the valley. His throat was dry so he veered east, looking for the lake he had seen from on high.
It was closer than he had believed. The setting sun’s reflection sent dazzling flashes of light through the spaces between the trees. Dodinal raised a hand to shade his eyes.
The forest reached right down to the water, crowding the shore on both sides. The bank was muddy and fell away sharply. He hesitated, despite his thirst, until he was satisfied there were no malformed tracks in the mud. Then he crouched at the edge, cupping his hands to scoop water into his mouth. It was cold and fresh, not brackish like he had expected.
The sun dipped behind the mountains, and the shadows thickened around him. The screeching chorus intensified; the creatures loved the night. Dodinal drank more water until his belly was full and the thirst had gone. His head felt clear. Not that there was much thinking to be done. He could not plan for the unknown.
As he had no idea where the creatures were, he decided to scour the western side of the lake first. He worked his way steadily towards the waterfall as the forest slowly succumbed to twilight.
The trees thinned as he reached the valley’s westernmost edge. To his left, a cliff stretched away into the distance and up towards the darkling sky. It was sheer, its summit inaccessible. Dodinal peered into the gloom. Just ahead of him was the dark mouth of a cavern, taller than him. A boulder had fallen or been pushed across the entrance, blocking it. Dodinal ran a hand through his beard. The creatures must have pushed it into place.
What better place to hold the captured children? There would be no need for guards. No child, few men even, possessed the strength to roll such a heavy obstruction clear.
Dodinal drew his sword and eased towards the cavern, wary of a trap. The screeching was interminable, and louder than ever with the cliff to bounce it back. Had he believed in Hell this was what he would have imagined it to be like; a shadowy, grotesque place filled with the cries of the damned and the demented. Suddenly cold, he hastened to the cave and stood by the boulder with his back against the cliff, darting eyes scanning for any movement within the shadows.
The forest was still. As far as he could tell, he was alone. He sheathed the sword then leaned against the boulder and pushed. It did not move, and for a moment he wondered if the stone had been there untouched for so long it had sunk into place, held firm by earth and grass, but there were drag marks on the ground. He shifted position. Digging his boot heels into the ground, he pushed again, grunting with the effort, straining until the tendons stood out in his arms and neck and sweat ran down his brow into his eyes. The boulder trembled, and then gave, as if the earth’s grip on it had been broken. It rolled away with a grating rumble until it was clear of the cave.
Sword and shield in his hands, Dodinal stepped cautiously inside. He waited just within the entrance while his eyes adjusted to the gloom, and thought he heard, above the feral din, a furtive rustle deep in the darkness. He held the shield steady and tightened his grip on the sword. There came another sound; a muffled sobbing.
Dodinal crept deeper into the cavern, booted feet scraping across the stone floor. The sobbing was immediately hushed.
“Owain?” he whispered, the word echoing in the close confines of the cave. “Don’t be afraid. It’s me, Dodinal.”
There was no response, but as he looked around the cave it seemed the darkness was no longer absolute. The cave was small, no more than a modest hollow in the cliff, with a low ceiling that slowly dripped water. At the back, directly opposite the entrance, was a wooden pallet, the timber so cracked and dry it had partially collapsed.
Dodinal’s eyes, however, were drawn to the small hunched form in the centre of the cave, its hands and feet bound, its clothes in tattered ruins. A rag had been tied around the child’s eyes, and another used to gag its mouth.
Dodinal stepped forward and knelt, reaching with gentle hands to take hold of the trembling figure. Immediately the child cried out, the words lost behind the gag, and tried to struggle free of his grip.
“Don’t be scared,” he said, keeping his voice calm and friendly. “You know me. I have come to take you home.”
Now he could see from the child’s long hair it was Annwen he had found, not Owain. Dodinal reached around her head and undid the knot that held the blindfold, then removed the gag. “Hold still,” he said. The girl, a few years older than Owain, looked at him with wide eyes as he used the sword to slice through the bindings. They fell away from her, and at once she clasped her hands together to massage them, whimpering as blood began flowing freely through her veins.