Knights of Dark Renown

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ruad heard the screaming and ran from his cabin. In the square beyond, a scaled creature was dragging a man back towards the trees. The beast was over ten feet long, with six legs, and a long snout which had fastened to his victim’s leg.

Several villagers ran at the creature, hammering at it with picks and axes. It released the screaming man only to lunge at a villager, who jumped back. The beast swung, and Ruad watched as its tail cracked out like a whip to circle the legs of one of its attackers and haul him towards its gaping jaws. Ruad knelt beside his golden hounds and whispered the word of power, then he pointed at the beast and spoke again. The hounds leapt across the square. The first sprang to the creature’s back, sinking its steel fangs through scale and bone. The second lunged for the beast’s throat, ripping apart flesh and artery. The third fastened its terrible teeth to the tail trapping the villager; the jaws snapped shut and the tail parted, green gore pumping from the wound. The ruined tail thrashed wildly, spraying blood across the square, and the hounds backed away. For several seconds the creature snapped its great jaws at the air, then it settled slowly to the ground and died.

The villagers gathered round the wounded man and Gwydion came running from a nearby hut to lay his hands on the man’s gashed leg. The blood stopped flowing immediately, and Gwydion ordered the injured villager to be carried to his hut.

The hounds padded back to Ruad. He touched each on the head — and they froze once more into statues. For several hours the villagers, armed with bows and axes, searched the woods for more of the creatures. At dusk they returned, having seen tracks but no monsters.

Brion dropped the club he had been carrying and walked to where Ruad sat beside his hounds. ‘What manner of beast are they?’ he asked.

Ruad shrugged. ‘It is too complex to explain, my friend. But they are not from here.’

‘I know that,’ the villager snapped. ‘Speak plainly.’

‘They are from a world beyond our own — summoned here by a sorcerer of great power.’

‘For what purpose? Merely to kill? Who does that serve?’

‘I do not know,’ answered Ruad, turning away, but Brion was not to be ignored.

‘It seems strange to me that first you come with your magic beasts, and then these things follow. I am not a fool, wizard. Do not treat me like one.’

Ruad looked into the young man’s square, honest face. ‘It may be that they were sent to kill me. I do not know — and that is the truth. The world outside this forest is sliding inexorably into evil.’

Brion was about to say more when the sound of horses’ hooves came to them and a rider cantered into the village. He appeared tall, and his freshly-shaven face was ghostly pale. He rode to the cabin and hurled a helm at Ruad’s feet; it bounced against the door, rolled, and came to rest against the flanks of a golden hound.

‘There,’ said Manannan, ‘is your magic helm — the one that could not be released save by the magic of the Gate. Explain that to me, liar! And be convincing, Armourer. Much depends on it.’ He dismounted and stalked to stand before Ruad.

‘Be so kind as to leave us, Brion,’ requested Ruad, placing his hand on the young man’s shoulder. ‘I will be leaving tonight, and your home will be your own once more.’ The young villager nodded, gave Manannan a long stare and then backed away.

‘I am pleased for you,’ said Ruad. ‘And yes, I lied. I wanted you to pass the Gate. The spell on the helm was loosed the moment we spoke. Are you going to kill me?’

‘Can you think of a reason why I should not?’ Manannan retorted.

‘Only that I desire to live — and I think I am needed,’ admitted Ruad.

Manannan shook his head. ‘I never was one to kill for the sake of it.’ He glanced at the dead beast, still oozing green blood to the dust. ‘I killed a creature with two heads today. Now this… what does it mean, Ollathair? Where are they from?’

‘Beyond the Black Gate. Someone has decided to bring terror to the forest.’

‘And that someone is…?’

‘I know of no sorcerer powerful enough. But ultimately it must be the King’s doing. Perhaps they are looking for me. Perhaps for another. It seems to me that evil never needs a sound reason for such deeds as this. Will you help me, Manannan?’

To do what?’

‘To fight the evil. To be what you were trained to be: a Knight of the Gabala. Once it meant a great deal to you.’

‘That was a long time ago.’

‘But you have not forgotten?’

‘How could I forget? What would you have me do?’

‘You know what is needed.’

‘No!’ hissed Manannan. ‘It is folly.’

‘The Knights must return; I can see no other hope. It is my belief that this evil emanates from the Red Knights of the King. Only the true Gabala can stand against them — surely you see that?’

‘What I see is a man with a lunatic dream. The past is gone, Ollathair. Dead. Find yourself some new Knights — I’ll even help you to train them.’

‘We do not have five years, Manannan. We may not have five months. Ride through the Gate,’ he pleaded. ‘Find Samildanach and bring him home. He was the greatest warrior I have ever known; the finest swordsman and the noblest of men. He could help me with the Colours; he could stand against the Red slayers. Together we could rid the land of this evil.’

‘Now there is a story I have heard before. Rid the world of evil! I did not accept it the first time.’

‘That was an abstract. And I was wrong! Wrong! Is it so terrible to be wrong?’

‘My friends died for the privilege of you being wrong.’

‘You do not know that, Sir Coward-Knight!’ snapped Ruad.

‘No, I do not.’ He swung on his heel and walked out into the darkness to stand on the porch, feeling the freshness of the night air on his face. He pictured again the Black Gate and heard the hideous sounds of the hidden beasts beyond. His heart raced, his hands trembled. He could not pass that portal. He had told Ollathair he was afraid for his soul but that had been a lie — a falsehood enabling him to save face.

It was death in the dark… just like the tree of his childhood. Trapped in the blackness with ants crawling on his skin. He shivered.

And yet, would any beast be worse than the horror he^had faced today?

Even the monsters of the dark?

I can’t! I’m afraid!

‘Come inside,’ said Ruad behind him. ‘There is someone I want you to see.’ He turned and stepped into the doorway, where the one-eyed sorcerer held out a silvered mirror. Manannan took it and gazed at a face he had not seen for six years. The eyes accused him and he looked away.

‘You cannot run away any more, Manannan. You cannot live your life wondering if your friends are trapped in some deep, dark dungeon. I know you; it will haunt you all your days. And you are no coward; I would never have chosen you otherwise.’

‘Why did you choose me?’

‘Because you were strong in the broken places.’

‘Always riddles with you, Ollathair. I am free now, you said that yourself. Free of my oath — free of that cursed helm. I do not have to pass the Gate.’

‘You are correct in that. It is your choice. But if it would please you, I will beg — I will beg on bended knees.’

‘No,’ said Manannan softly. ‘I would not like to see that. I will journey with you to the Gate and I will sit Kuan as I did before. But I promise nothing, except to try.’

‘I will open the Gate here in the mountains,’ said Ruad, ‘and once through it you will find a city. They will have news there.’

‘And they are friendly?’

‘They are gods, Manannan. Wise and immortal. And you will find Samildanach; I know you will.’

Groundsel sat in the long hall staring at his treasury — three oak chests, the first half full of gold coin, the second brimming with silver, the third a gleaming pile of jewels and rings and brooches. The Royal Road was now a rich source of income, as Nomad families streamed along it to distant Cithaeron in the hope of a ship to safety. At first Groundsel had robbed and killed the merchants as they travelled, but the numbers of refugees had halted that simple plan. Had he continued, the Road would have become choked with bodies. Now he levied a toll on the escapers and soon he would be rich enough to leave this accursed forest and sail for warmer climes, where he would buy a palace and fill it with nubile slaves. Groundsel squirmed in his seat at the thought. He knew he was not a handsome man: short, squat, wide-shouldered and bulky, he had none of the clean lines of the athlete. His muscles were ridged and ugly, his body hairy, his arms inordinately long. As a slave he had been called Ape, and the masters and other servants laughed at him. Then he became Groundsel, for his job was to collect seeds for the feeding of the chickens. The name had weighed on him like a rock.

He leaned back in his carved chair, his small button eyes closing so that he could the better re-live the memory of the last day. He had been given a beating by the senior servant, Joaper, and the whip had peeled away the skin of his back. He was taking it as he took all beatings — in a grim and defiant silence — when he saw the master’s wife grinning by the door of the barn. That dreadful smile carried all the weight of his anger and his shame, and it smote him with tongues of fire. He crouched and turned, grabbing the whip from Joaper’s hand and smashing a fearful blow to the servant’s face. The man crumpled without a sound. Then Groundsel had leapt upon the startled woman, dragging her back into a hay-covered stall and ripping her clothes from her. She had been too terrified to scream and his rage turned to lust.

When he had finished with her, he stood and retied his leggings. Then he tapped his chest and looked down at her.

‘Groundsel,’ he said. ‘The Ape. Now you are the Ape’s leavings. What does that make you?’

He strode from the barn with blood seeping from his whipped back and walked up the marble stairs into the house. A shocked servant tried to stop him, but he rammed the man’s head into a wall and climbed the winding stair. The master was sitting in his study with his son, an arrogant young noble fond of riding and whoring. It was the boy who reacted first.

‘Get out, you miserable peasant!’ he ordered. Groundsel smiled and hammered his fist into the boy’s face. The older man ran towards his desk and swept up a dagger, but Groundsel was upon him before he could draw it from its scabbard and dragging the man to the wide balcony he pushed him against the edge.

‘I have raped your wife. I will kill your son. Die with that thought!’

The old man screamed once as Groundsel toppled him from the high balcony to crash to the marble flagstones. The rebel slave grinned as he saw his master’s head split like a melon. Taking the dagger, he cut the throat of the unconscious youth, then walked back to the stables and saddled a gelding. The wife still lay where he had left her; he thought of killing her, but decided that to leave her was a greater punishment.

And he rode for the forest. He had been foolish then, for he had not robbed the house, and it was two years before he had gained mastery of the first outlaw band he joined. Now, five years later, he was the undisputed master of the Western Wood. Five settlements paid tribute to him, and the Royal Road was making him richer than he had dreamed possible.

He had thought to give himself another name — a proud name. Yet he had not. Groundsel was how he saw himself, and the sound of the name added fuel to his hatred.

He closed the chests and dragged them back to their hiding-place in the false wall. It was not much of a hiding-place, but few would dare to approach Groundsel’s quarters in his absence. He rubbed at his close-cropped black hair. Rich, you are, he told himself. Yet something was lacking.

It was curious, but until today he had not known what it was. Then the girl Arian had walked into the settlement, along with the poet Nuada. Groundsel watched her hip-swinging stride, her honey-gold hair blowing in the breeze, her high proud head — and need flared in him like a summer fire. He felt hot as he drank in her beauty; his mouth was dry. He rubbed the back of his hand over his face and then glanced at his fingers — noticing for the first time in days that they were filthy. Ducking back inside the hall, he rummaged through another chest which contained clothing he had stolen from his first forest victims. He found a shirt of yellow silk and took it out, along with a pair of brown leather trews and a belt emblazoned with silver circles. Then he ran from the rear of the Hall to the stream. Some women were washing clothes there, so he moved upstream and bathed, scrubbing himself with mint leaves and lavender blossoms. He wiped the surplus water from his body with his hands and dressed swiftly. The shirt was on the large side, but the sleeves were far too short; he rolled back the cuffs and pulled on the trews. Again they were too long. Removing them, he took his knife and cut several inches from each leg. Once dressed, he returned to the hall to welcome his guests.

Like many others in the forest he had heard of the poet, and his first invitations had been courteously refused. Then Groundsel had sent a messenger with a gold coin — and the promise of more.

The man had better be worth it, he had decided, or he’d cut his ears off. Arian and Nuada were waiting in the cool of the southern entrance when Groundsel appeared. Nuada gave a courtly bow — which pleased the robber — while Arian merely smiled. Groundsel’s delight was complete.

‘Enter, enter,’ he said. ‘Welcome. I have heard wondrous tales of your skill, master poet. I trust you will not disappoint us, poor folk that we are.’

Nuada bowed again. ‘My Lord Groundsel, I can only hope that my poor talents prove worthy of the trust implicit in your invitation.’

‘I am no Lord,’ said Groundsel, sitting back on his chair and ordering wine to be brought for his guests. ‘Just a poor man trying to do his best for the people who need him. These are hard times. But I am not a Lord — nor would I want to be.’

‘A Lord,’ said Nuada, ‘is a man who commands respect from those who serve him, or fear from those obliged to serve him. He should also be a man of courage and leadership. Last year, I am told, a great fire sprang up, and men turned to you to save them, you organized bands of workers, dug a fire ditch, cleared the ground before the blaze and yourself worked alongside your men. That is heroic leadership, my Lord, sharing the dangers and inspiring your followers.’ Groundsel was lost for words. The fire would have destroyed his granary and winter would have brought Starvation and an end to his leadership. Could the fool not see that? But the words were pleasing, and he was beginning to see the value of his investment in the poet, he turned his attention to the girl, asking her name and straining to be cool and pleasant. He talked with them for an hour before having them escorted to an empty hut at the western edge of the village. When his men returned to explain that the woman and the man were not together, and desired separate accommodation, he was overjoyed. He ordered a second dwelling cleared, the resident family being moved to an overcrowded hut to the north. Naturally, there was no argument.

Back at the first dwelling, Arian turned to Nuada. ‘You flatterer! Oh, my dear Lord Groundsel, what a hero you are!’ she mocked.

Nuada grinned at her. ‘And you, I suppose, offered nothing by way of flattery yourself?’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘He all but climbed into your breeches, but you just stood by smiling provocatively. Do not think to lecture me! I was raised at court, where the wrong word or look could see a man ruined — or worse. This is no different. Groundsel is like a king here and to go against him could result in unpleasant consequences.’

‘We are here on safe conduct,’ she reminded him.

‘Oh, grow up, Arian. Safe conduct? The man is a savage. However, he is a rich savage, so that gives me a reason for being here. But if you will take my advice, you will leave as soon as it is dark.’

Arian had already decided on that very course of action, but the poet’s words stung her.

‘I shall do nothing of the sort. I will leave tomorrow after breakfast. I wouldn’t miss your performance before these rabble for… for a gold piece!’

He shrugged. ‘As you will. I should have known better than to advise a woman so worldly-wise. But when he drags you to his bed, I think you will find there is a pig inside that silk shirt.’

‘Jealous, poet? Are you attracted to men?’ She hurled the question like a barb, and was furious when he laughed at her.

‘You are angry, Arian,’ he said. ‘Was I not attentive enough on the journey here? Did you expect me to ask you to share my blanket? How remiss of me!’

The truth of his words made her blush furiously. Had he so invited her she would have refused, but she had expected him to make an advance. Her hand snaked out to crack against his cheek. For a moment anger flared, then he smiled, bowed and left the hut.

Arian watched him go, then swore under her breath. The poet was right; it was foolish to trust Groundsel’s safe conduct. And yet she had only risked this journey in the hope that it would inspire some concern in the heart of Llaw Gyffes. In that she had failed miserably. She pictured Groundsel and his lust-filled eyes and slowly pulled the hunting-knife from its sheath at her side. The edge was honed to razor-sharpness and curled up into a double-edge crescent. Drag her to his bed?

She slid the knife back in its scabbard. And waited.

Arian sat beside Groundsel as Nuada stood on a central table and wove his spell over the seventy or so men who had crowded into the hall. His talent filled the room — his voice mellow and musical, his words rich and rolling, his stories vivid and compelling. Even Arian, who often found the battles of men incomprehensible, was swept along by his tales of heroes and maidens, swordsmen and sorcerers.

His delivery was subtly different here, she noticed — more quickfire and the stories less romantic, as if he had gauged his audience in the moment that he stepped to the table. The heroes he spoke of were common men, who had risen to the ranks of the great or who had fought against the evils of the monarchy in times past.

Groundsel was as spellbound as his men, his dark eyes fixed on the poet. Nuada closed his performance with the tale of the great fire, and Groundsel’s part in it, emphasizing the strength of character and the powers of leadership that were gifts from the gods to men of certain futures. The hall exploded with applause and Nuada bowed to the audience, then turned to bow even lower in Groundsel’s direction.

The outlaw leader stood and returned the bow. Bathed in sweat Nuada leapt from the table, swept up a flagon of ale and downed it.

‘You are a man of great talent,’ Groundsel told him as he joined the outlaw and Arian at the far end of the hall.

‘My talent would be as nothing without the exploits of heroes, my Lord.’

‘How did you come to hear of the fire?’

‘Everywhere I have travelled men talk of it,’ Nuada answered. Arian leaned back and shook her head. She said nothing. Early in the evening Groundsel had put his arm around her, stroking her neck or patting her thigh. But when Nuada had begun speaking he had forgotten her presence. It was galling. And as for the fire… everyone knew how Groundsel had done nothing until his own granary was threatened. Three villages were destroyed and fourteen people died before he even stirred from his own settlement.

In that moment, Arian came close to hating Nuada for glorifying the incident.

Groundsel turned to her and grinned. Sweat had drenched the yellow silk shirt and it was creased over his bulging belly. His hand pawed at her thigh. ‘You are a fire in my blood,’ he whispered, pushing wet lips against her cheek.

She blushed deeply and pulled away from him, but his brawny arm circled her shoulder to drag her in against him.

The door at the far end of the hall opened and two men entered. The first was drenched in blood; the second was Llaw Gyffes.

Llaw supported the wounded man, helping him to a chair. Men rushed towards them, blocking Arian’s view. Groundsel leapt to his feet and ran forward, knocking aside any in his way.

‘What in the devil’s name is going on?’ he roared. Llaw stood and faced the shorter man.

‘There are beasts loose in the forest. I have never seen their like. I found this man crawling in the undergrowth about a mile away to the east; he said his family had been slaughtered. I carried him half-way here, then I saw one of them — eight to ten feet tall, with the head of a wolf and a body like a bear. It was feeding on a slaughtered bull and ignored me. In the distance I saw a second creature; I would swear it had two heads.’

Noise erupted all around them, for many of the men at the hall had homes in the woods and valleys beyond and had travelled in to hear Nuada.

‘Silence!’ bellowed Groundsel, kneeling by the wounded man and ripping the blood-drenched shirt from him. Four jagged tears had gouged his chest and it was obvious from the lines that it had been a single slash. That made the paw a prodigious size. No bear could match it, not even the towering black grizzly of the high mountains. ‘Carry him to the witch woman,’ ordered Groundsel, ‘or he’ll bleed to death.’

As the man was carried out, Groundsel turned to Llaw. ‘You saw two of them. How do you know there are more?’

The tall warrior scratched at his red-gold beard. ‘The howling,’ he said simply. ‘The beast by the bull let out a howl, and it was answered from many points.’

‘Aye, I heard the strange howling,’ said a man. ‘It was from the north. I thought it a trick of the wind.’

‘And I saw a track,’ put in another. ‘On the way here, Groundsel. Big, twice the size of a lion’s.’

Other men began to shout and the clamour grew.

‘What a night for heroes!’ came a voice and the crowd swung to see the poet standing on his table once more. ‘If there are two beasts savaging the countryside, are there not heroes enough here to hunt them down? We have Groundsel, the Lord of the Fire, and Llaw Gyffes, who freed the prisoners. And as I look around me I see other men — strong men, proud men. There is a saga waiting out there — and I shall sing it. We will place the carcasses at the far end of the hall and build a fire, and dance. And your bravery will become immortal.’

Those in the crowd screamed their approval and moved to the walls to gather their bows and knives.

‘Wait!’ yelled Groundsel. ‘It will be dawn soon and I’ll have no wild men rushing around in the darkness sending shafts after everything that moves. We’ll kill more of each other than any beast.’

Llaw nodded. ‘We’ll need to lure them into a trap. I have no wish to walk into a darkened lair hunting the things.’

‘Get some rest,’ Groundsel told the men, then stalked back to his seat.

Arian rose as Llaw approached. ‘I did not expect to see you this far west,’ she said. ‘Are you lost?’

‘I had intended to leave for Cithaeron, but the howling disturbed me,’ he told her. ‘I tried to skirt it, but I sensed the beasts had my scent so I cut west. What do you make of it, poet?’

Nuada shrugged. ‘There are many songs in legend about werebeasts, but I have never seen one. It is said that, far to the east, there is a rich land where the mines are dug by giant ants with the heads of men.’

Groundsel swore. ‘It is always far to the east, or the west, or the north. It seems to me that legends always originate far from where men can study them. However, that hardly matters. I too have heard the howling, but I doubt not that the size of the creatures is exaggerated. We are dealing with a rogue bear — large, but still a bear.’

Llaw reddened. ‘It is not wise to call a man a liar — especially a man you do not know.’

‘You have it right, Stronghand. I do not know you — therefore I have no reason to trust either you or your judgement. I say it is a bear. The dawn will tell.’

‘Indeed it will,’ agreed Llaw. ‘Until then, I will sleep.’

‘I’ll show you to my hut,’ said Arian swiftly and now it was Groundsel whose colour darkened.

‘Is this your man?’ he demanded, his eyes bright.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘He is a friend of my family.’

‘Good,’ said Groundsel. ‘I look forward to the hunt with your "friend of the family".’

Llaw tensed, but Arian seized his arm and the two of them left the hall and wandered out into the night. The gates of the stockade were once more shut, and guards patrolled the wall.

‘Why did you come here?’ Llaw asked. ‘You want to be bedded by that son of a sow?’

‘How dare you? I go where I will. I am not your daughter; you have no right to question me.’

‘True enough,’ he admitted. Just then a piercing scream echoed from the woods and Llaw ran to the stockade wall and mounted the rough-cut ladder to the palisade. ‘Can you see anything?’ he asked the sentry.

‘No,’ replied the man, ‘but Daric slipped out about ten minutes ago. He was trying to get back to his family. What is the beast?’

‘I do not know,’ replied Llaw, ‘but it’s no damn bear.’ A black shadow moved from the trees, halted in the moonlight and looked up at the stockade. The sentry stared in horror at the grisly remains it was dragging.

‘Daric did not make it,’ stated Llaw.

‘I want no part in hunting that thing,’ said the sentry.

Llaw watched until the beast moved back into the trees, then he slapped the sentry on the shoulder. ‘Think of the saga,’ he said.

The man’s reply was short, foul and to the point, and Llaw chuckled.

Arian still stood staring into the blackness of the forest. ‘Can such a beast be killed by arrows?’ she asked.

‘It lives and breathes,’ said Llaw. ‘Therefore it can die. Now show me this hut.’

Llaw Gyffes could not sleep as he lay on the narrow cot bed in the small hut. He could hear Arian breathing beside him and yearned to reach out and touch her, to draw her to him. Guilt washed over him. Lydia had been the love of his life and their few years together had filled him with a happiness he could never have known without her. As a young apprentice he had courted her for four years, and had worked hard to save the money for his own smithy. Lydia’s father had always maintained that he was not the man for her, and had dreamed of marrying her to a young nobleman. He had disdained their wedding, and had not spoken to Llaw again; he died three years after the marriage. Lydia’s mother had moved north to be with her family, but she at least had always treated Llaw with courtesy, if not with love.

Through it all Llaw had been filled with a burning desire to make Lydia happy. But at the end her father had been right. Lydia died a terrible death — one that would have been avoided had she not married the giant smith. He would never forget the sight of her lying on the bed, her dead eyes staring up at the ceiling.

Yet now he lay with another woman, and his thoughts were not innocent of desire.

He rolled to his side, facing away from Arian. He could smell the perfume of her body and see, without seeing, the oval beauty of her face, the sparkling challenge of her eyes and her mocking smile.

‘Are you awake?’ she whispered, and he heard her body move on the bed. He did not reply; there was nothing to say. He was being betrayed by his body, which yearned for her, and even his mind was at war. It is natural, he told himself, for a man to desire a mate. Tragedy could not change that. And yet… and yet… If he found peace and love with another woman, would not that make him forget Lydia? And then she would be truly dead — lost and forgotten, as if she had never been. He could not stomach that thought. She had not deserved her fate and did not deserve this treachery now.

Llaw lay silently until the dawn, then rose and watched the rising sun. Beside him Arian lay sleeping, her arms tight against her body, her long legs curled up like a child. Llaw looked down at her; his fingers brushed the hair back from her cheek and he felt the softness of her skin.

Her eyes opened as he touched her. ‘Did you sleep well?’ she asked, yawning and stretching. Her shirt slid up to expose an inch of midriff and Llaw moved away to the door. Outside the men were gathering and he saw Groundsel, dressed now in hunting leather and carrying a bow. The squat outlaw leader was also wearing two short swords with curved blades.

Llaw gathered his double-headed hand-axe and joined the men. Nuada waved and approached him.

‘It should be quite a day,’ said the poet, grinning. ‘The sun is high, the sky is clear. Tonight will be a fine time of feasting.’

‘You have no idea of what today will be, poet. This is not a stag hunt. Are you coming with us?’

‘Of course. How can I tell the saga if I do not witness it?’

‘That does not seem to have affected your talents thus far,’ observed Llaw.

The group split into three sections and scouts were sent out to search for spoor. Llaw went with Groundsel, Arian, Nuada and three others, and led them back along the trail to where he had seen the beast feeding. They found traces of blood, and a few split bones and several enormous tracks, but of the creature there was no sign. They stopped at midday by a stream and sat in a circle around a small fire.

‘It has gone to ground,’ said Arian. ‘I think it must be sleeping in a cave somewhere. But the ground to the north is rocky, and we’ll not be able to track it.’

‘Then we must bring it to us,’ stated Groundsel. ‘Last night it slew one of my men, so we know it has a taste for human meat.’

‘You keep saying it,’ Llaw remarked. ‘But there are more of them.’

‘So you say,’ snapped the outlaw leader. ‘This is my plan: We will journey back to the point of its last feeding and wait. It has probably buried some meat there and will return after dark.’

‘You will fight this creature at night?’ Arian whispered. ‘What if the clouds gather? Without a hunter’s moon the archers will be useless.’

Groundsel grinned. ‘We will sit by a fire — your friends here, and I. And we will talk, swap stories. You and the other archers will be hidden nearby in the trees, out of harm’s way. I think the beast will come to us.’

‘That is madness,’ said Arian. ‘And what will it prove?’

Groundsel’s eyes flickered towards Nuada, then he shrugged. ‘Can you think of a better plan, Llaw Gyifes?’

‘As you wish,’ Llaw muttered. ‘But I think you should gather in all the hunters. This creature will withstand many arrows.’

After the meal Groundsel ordered one of his men to sound the horn and the hunting parties converged to meet at a pre-selected spot, on a high hillside overlooking the stockade. Here a change was made to the original plan, for the first hunting group had found the remains of Daric’s family half-buried in a tree-shrouded hollow.

‘It will return,’ said Groundsel. ‘Did you leave the bodies where they were?’

‘We did,’ replied a tall lean hunter named Dubarin, his face still grey with the shock of the find. ‘Believe me, Groundsel, the beast is large. Its stride length is over seven feet; it is no bear.’

‘As the poet said, we will nail its carcass to the hall doors tonight.’

Some of the men were sent back to the stockade but Groundsel, Llaw, Nuada and Arian journeyed into the hills with twenty bowmen, arriving at Daric’s cabin an hour before dusk. They were led to the bodies by Dubarin, who stopped short of the grisly grave and waved them on.

‘I have no need to see it again,’ he said, turning aside.

‘I don’t want to see it at all,’ declared Nuada, backing away, but Llaw Gyffes grabbed his arm and hauled him forward.

‘Come now, poet, you can’t sing of it if you haven’t seen it!’

Nuada struggled, but Llaw’s grip was like iron and he was dragged to the shallow grave. An arm jutted from beneath the earth and the half-eaten corpse of a young woman lay exposed, her entrails covered in dirt. Part of a child’s body lay close by. Nuada gagged and twisted away to vomit on the ground. Llaw knelt beside him. ‘Now you see,’ he said. ‘This is not some song. There are no Elven princes, no flame-breathing dragons. I shall listen to your tale with interest — if we survive this hunt.’

‘Leave him be,’ said Arian. ‘It is hardly his fault that he has never seen death.’

Llaw stood and wandered to where Groundsel was issuing orders to the men. There were trees all around the hollow and he ordered the archers to climb them and prepare for a long wait. Arian took Nuada by the arm and led him to a thick-boled oak, helping him to climb to the lower branches. Groundsel moved some twenty paces from the bodies and built a fire; Llaw gathered wood and joined him.

‘You know, of course,’ said Llaw, ‘that there is no need for us to sit out here in the open like this? The beast will return anyway.’

‘It will smell people. I want it to see there are only two of us.’

‘There is no one to hear us, Groundsel. What you want is to impress the girl. I am not a fool; I see the way you look at her.’

‘And I you,’ snapped the outlaw. ‘How is it you haven’t bedded her?’

Llaw sat down and removed his tinder-box from the pouch at his belt. Swiftly he lit the fire. ‘Maybe I will — when the time is right.’

Groundsel chuckled. ‘You think you’ll survive the night?’

‘If I don’t, I will not be alone. You may have ordered one — or more — of your archers to cut me down, but I won’t die until my axe is buried in what passes for your brain.’

‘I have ordered nothing of the kind,’ retorted Groundsel. ‘I need no help to kill a man. I was thinking of the beast.’ He strung his bow and removed three shafts from his quiver; having checked them for warp, he stuck them in the earth beside him. ‘Have you ever heard of a beast of ihis size?’

Llaw shrugged. ‘No. A merchant once told me of great cats in the east that could kill a bull and leap a fence carrying its carcass. But this is no cat.’

The sun sank slowly behind the mountains and the two men sat quietly, Llaw feeding the fire. Neither man stared directly into the flames, for the brightness would cause the pupils to contract and leave them virtually blind if they needed to scan the undergrowth. After a while, Groundsel spoke.

‘If you deem it unnecessary to sit here, why do you do it?’

‘Perhaps for the same reason as you?’

‘To impress the lovely Arian? I don’t think so. You worry me, Llaw. Could it be that you want to die?’

‘You think, perhaps, that if we sit quietly in a safe place we will live for ever?’ responded Llaw, removing his axe from his belt and laying it in his lap.

‘Did you really kill your wife?’

Llaw swung on Groundsel, his hand curling around the black haft of the axe. For some seconds he could not speak.

‘My wife was… strangled by the Duke’s nephew. He raped her and killed her. I killed him. Do not — ever — repeat that calumny. You won’t understand what I am to say to you, but I’ll say it anyway: I loved Lydia. More than life. Much, much more than life.’

‘So, you are looking to die here? Not a good end. You think to join your Lydia? Believe me, Llaw, there is no one to join. Look in that pit over there. That’s death, and that’s all there is. Darkness and corruption.’

‘When did you become a philosopher?’ hissed Llaw.

An owl screeched in the night and the two men froze, listening to the wind sighing in the leaves. Groundsel glanced up; the clouds were gathering.

‘It will be a dark night,’ he observed.

‘The night of the beast,’ said Llaw. His words hung in the air.

Groundsel hawked and spat. ‘Are you frightened?’ he asked.

‘Of course. And so are you — I can smell your sweat.’

Groundsel chuckled and drew his swords. ‘I stole them from a Nomad merchant. Silver steel, Llaw, the finest I have ever seen. They are from the east.’

‘There’s good ore there,’ said Llaw. ‘They make impressive blades — and horseshoes that will last a year. I’d like to have gone there and learned the craft. May I?’ he asked, holding out his hand. Groundsel reversed a blade and handed it hilt-first to the former smith. ‘Yes,’ said Llaw, running his fingers reverently along the curved blade. ‘Beautiful work. Layer upon layer of fine steel, tempered with the blood of the craftsman. The hilt is held in place by a tiny sliver of ivory.’ He tapped it out and removed the blade. ‘See? Here is the mark of the craftsman. Ohei-sen. This sword is over three hundred years old.’

‘It’s worth a lot then?’ Groundsel asked.

Llaw slid the hilt back in place, locking it with the ivory. ‘Worth? Tonight you will see what it is worth. But in the east you would receive maybe 200 Raq — in gold — for each sword.’

‘That much? Then maybe I’ll go there one day.’

A movement in the undergrowth caused Groundsel to reach for his bow, while Llaw eased himself to his feet, wiped his sweating palms on his leggings and took up his axe.

The undergrowth parted and Arian walked to the fire. ‘I was getting cold,’ she said, dropping her bow to squat by the blaze and holding out her hands to its warmth.

‘Perhaps you were missing me?’ suggested Groundsel.

‘Behind you!’ yelled Nuada and Llaw swung as the beast exploded from the undergrowth, charging across the small clearing on all. fours. For a moment Llaw froze. The size of the creature was beyond anything he had imagined. Groundsel swept up his bow and loosed a shaft which glanced from the monster’s skull. As the beast neared, Llaw — realizing Arian was behind him — hurled himself forward. Arrows flashed into the racing form, but did not check its speed. Llaw’s axe hammered down to smash into the creature’s shoulder, but its weight struck him — hurling him back, the axe torn from his grip. Arian dived to her right as the beast turned towards her, its great paws scattering the fire.

Groundsel had sprinted some yards to the left and hastily he notched another arrow, sending it to punch home into the grey fur of the beast’s back. More than twenty shafts bristled from the creature. The hunter Dubarin leapt from a nearby tree and ran at the wolf-beast with a lance. As he approached the creature sprang forward, sweeping aside the weapon with a great paw. Talons raked down, ripping Dubarin’s face from his skull. Coolly, Arian loosed two shafts and the beast turned, its red eyes focusing on the slender bow-woman. Groundsel ran forward with his two swords in his hands. The creature rose on its hind legs and Groundsel ducked under a vicious sweep of its talons and buried his right-hand blade in its belly. Its forelegs swept around him, the talons lancing into his back. He bellowed in rage and pain and rammed his left-hand sword into the beast’s armpit. Then Llaw Gyffes, axe once more in his hand, leapt to the creature’s back, hooking his fingers into the shaggy mane of its neck. The axe rose and fell, again and again. Finally the wolf-beast released Groundsel, who staggered back into the arms of Arian.

Two men now ran to aid Llaw. The first died as talons ripped into his belly, the second plunged a lance into the beast’s breast. It tried to retreat back into the undergrowth, but more men ran in to encircle it… and all the while Llaw Gyffes clung to its back, hammering his axe against the corded muscles of the creature’s throat. At last it grew weaker and fell forward. Tearing a lance from the hands of a man near him, Groundsel moved in to help Llaw. The beast’s huge head came up and Groundsel buried the point of the lance in its mouth, using all his weight to drive the weapon through its spine.

Llaw stepped from the monster’s back just as the clouds cleared and moonlight bathed the scene. The creature was dead.

Snow began to fall as Groundsel pulled the spear clear of the gaping mouth and used it to measure the beast’s length. It was over nine feet long from taloned toes to gaping maw.

‘We’ll never drag this back to the stockade,’ said Groundsel. ‘Cut its damned head off.’

‘We ought to see to those wounds,’ suggested Arian. ‘You’re leaking blood badly.’

‘There’s no good way to lose blood,’ responded Groundsel and kneeling by the creature, he tore one sword loose from its belly. The other was snapped just below the hilt; he swore, and looked up at Llaw Gyffes. ‘You know, before tonight this would just have been a broken sword. Now it’s 200 gold Raq lost. There’s a moral there.’

‘You can always steal another,’ suggested Llaw. Groundsel’s eyes narrowed as in the distance an eerie howl echoed in the forest. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said, ‘we go after the others. I’ll not have these creatures in my forest. Now where’s that cursed poet? I want to hear my song.’