The Beast of Caer Baddan (19 page)

A second flash gave energy to her tired legs.

She darted through the forest like some wild creature, pushing off from the tree trunks to propel herself forward. She did not think or stopped, but ran silently until she came to the edge of the forest, where the tall grass met the trees, and collapsed there from exhaustion.

The battlefield went bright and the ground rumbled, but the soldiers were undaunted by the furious weather.

“Call
Taranis!” they cried.

They believed that the ancient Britannae god of the sun, sky, and thunder was present in the wild storm and would give them victory over the Dumnonni. Thus they cheered all the more for lightning and charged on their enemy with an unstoppable force.

Owain struck the Dumnonni king hard with the pommel of his sword and pinned him up against a tree trunk. The king struggled against him.

“Surrender!”
Owain cried.

“Never!” the king replied.

Owain thrust his sword into him, and the blade cut through his neck and held fast into the tree.

A flash of white covered the land and the putrid smell of burning flesh filled the air.

The clouds opened and rain poured down on the battle. The Dumnonni fell in disarray, each warrior running from the conflict without looking for their king. The Britannae soldiers chased them until their feet sunk in the mud.

“Blow the horns,” Swale said to one of the centurions, who then repeated the command.

The battle horns sounded, and the soldiers gave up their tired chase and gathered where Swale stood.

“Owain!
Owain! Owain!” they cried.

Britu’s steady eyes traveled over them, but he did not see anything of his cousin.

“Swale!” he cried, his voice coarse from battle. “Where’s Owain?”

“I shall find him!” but the fear in Swale’s voice was plain.

“He could not have been hurt!” Britu cried.

They went and knights with them, and searched the battlefield. Servants and other soldiers tended the wounded, and Dumnonni lay dead, but nothing was found of their dominae.

The rain continued to pour down heavily on them.

“Prince Swale!” one knight cried. “Here’s his sword!”

Swale, Britu, and the knights came to a great oak tree. It was black as if burned, and a foul smell linger around it. On the other side of the tree, they found Owain’s sword protruding outwards, still pinning the Dumnonni king to the charred trunk.

Swale seized the sword to pull it out but it held fast. The king’s head, however, ripped off and rolled aside. Britu flared in rage and kicked it.

“Britu!” Swale cried, in rebuke. “Pull this out.”

Britu took hold of the handle with both hands and forced it from the trunk.

“Find Prince Owain!” Swale said to the knights.

They rolled the bodies over and examined them.

“He’s not here, Prince!” they cried. “These are only Dumnonni knights here.”

“Count the bodies and leave them,” Swale said.

“As you wish, Prince.”

“But where is he?” Britu asked what the knights never would dare.

Britu’s eyes followed Swale’s glance to the ditch nearby.  The rain had filled it to full, and the abundant water now flowed freely away as a mighty river.

“By this time?”
Swale replied. “He is most likely out to sea.”

Leola lay still in the high grass, too tired to rise again. A sharp pain in her chest halted her breaths, and her pulse beat rapidly in her head.

When she had composed herself, her thoughts wondered to her present state, and the realization of her escape. 

“I’m free!” she cried, her merry voice high with excitement.

“Leola fleeing, Leaping further,

No Briton senses, No battalion sees,

They look not, They lack knowing,

Leola gets away, Leola goes her way,

She runs fast, She rushes far.”

And at that she laughed at her own wit, that she should make a poem out of her escape. Laughing thus, she collected herself and sat up.

“Now,” she said, staring around her in wide eye, “where am I?”

It took much longer to find the road then it had for her to safely depart her captor’s camp, for the greenery there was too dense for normal travel, and she was quite far from any recognizable location. She soon found herself wondering back to one place or another where she was sure she had just left, until she stumbled on the hidden path.

A stinging pain swelled in her right ankle and darted up her leg.

She stumbled and dropped down, clenching the ground as if to relieve the pain by squeezing the wet earth in her hand.

Cold rain flowed down on her and drenched her hair and clothes. She felt the drops streaming down her face and back, until she was soaked through to her very being.

I will get there
.

With some new determination, she came to her feet and followed the old road. She was cold, wet, and tired, and her ankle gave her no peace, but her stubborn will forced her on.

Chapter Sixteen: Loss and Reunion

Swale and Britu found Annon at the entrance to the camp. He was drenched from rain as they, but free from both mud and blood splatter.

“What is it?” he asked, fear building in his eyes.

“Owain is dead!” Britu replied, and his voice matched the anger in his heart.

“No!” the boy cried, and his teeth chattered in the cold.

“It is true, Annon,” Swale said, gently. “He must have been struck down by lightning.”

“Lightning!”
Annon gasped. “Where is he? I must see him! Let me see him!”

Britu was silent and his stomach twisted within him until he felt sick.

“His body washed away in this storm,” Swale replied.

“No! No! No!” Annon screamed.

Swale put a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“He died fighting, as a warrior should,” he said. “We are honored to have stood by his side in his last battle.”

Annon nodded but could not seem to find his tongue to respond.

Swale continued to talked, but Britu was too angry and tormented to listen.

“Agh!” he cried.

His eyes swelled over with tears, and his hands shook from grief, but he would not let them see him weep. He turned his back on them and marched off back through the camp. He did not want them to follow, and it infuriated him to hear their footsteps behind him.

When they got to Owain's tent, they found that the outer room looked just as any of theirs, but the inner room was in shocking disarray. Blankets and pieces of ripped cloth were tossed around the room. The baskets and boxes were opened, some even tipped on their sides. Half eaten food and drink were still sitting on the tray on the table.

“What a mess!” Britu cried.

He so angry that he could vent on anything.

“I shall see to his servants later,” Swale said.

Britu looked around the tent, his eyes casting here and there, focusing on nothing. He tried to think what Owain would do before the battle, but the inner room was in such a disarray that it seemed nothing like Owain at all.

Britu’s eyes caught sight of the small leather bound book that Owain used to write his notes in for the Army. He knew that there was nothing in it but numbers and charts for weapons and food, and perhaps short descriptions of the various fights they had encountered. But it was in Owain’s hand.