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.’