“Because the traveler does not know its danger until it pierces his ears with its screech?” Geoffrey nodded grimly. “That would be most dangerous, yes—and most deceitful.”
“Surely it will not bother us again,” Alain protested, “now that it knows we can hurt it worse than it us, and knows we are wise to its ways.”
“It does not know that last,” Geoffrey said, “does it, brother?”
“It does not,” Gregory confirmed, “and therefore will it test us more, most likely with its friends of tooth and claw—so I shall be true to my name as a most wary sentry. The first watch is mine.”
Geoffrey shrugged. “If you wish, brother—though for some reason, I suspect I shall not sleep much this night.”
None of them did, though the Biasd Bheulach did wait until they had eaten and lain down before it began its torments. No sooner had Alain and Geoffrey closed their eyes than a horrid whooping and shrieking sounded from the woods some distance away.
Alain sat bolt upright, hand on his sword. “What mayhem does it bring!”
“Naught,” Geoffrey said, still lying on his side—but tense as a bridge cable. “It but seeks to frighten us.”
“It has succeeded, then.” Alain stared off into the forest with wide eyes. “Can you not make it stop, Gregory?”
Gregory, deep in his sentry’s trance, sighed, “Should I?”
“Well asked,” Geoffrey said. “As long as we hear its sounds, we know where it is.”
Alain shuddered. “To have to listen to that all night long!”
Deep in the wood, a scream split the night, like that of a man pierced through with a sword.
“Did you truly think to sleep?” Geoffrey asked. “If so, I can arrange it—a soothing spell that shall yield a floating feeling to remove you from cares and lull you to sleep.”
Alain actually considered the question for a few minutes before he shook his head. “A prince who would lead armies must keep a clear head at all times, most especially when danger threatens—and be able to ignore his weariness.”
“Well answered.” Geoffrey nodded. “I think I shall follow you in war.”
A piercing cry echoed through the forest.
“Its sound is behind us!” Alain spun, trying to track the noise. “How can it move so quickly?”
“By being near and walking around us in a circle,” Gregory breathed in a voice like the wind. “Hearken to its progress—it moves widdershins.”
Alain turned slowly, following the source of the sound. It did indeed move from west to north to east.
“Is that its true place?”
“It could indeed be illusion,” Geoffrey acknowledged. “Its shrieks make the whole forest ring, so you may be tracking an echo as easily as the Biasd Bheulach itself.”
“How shall we know, then, from which direction it will attack?”
The piercing cries cut off.
“Blessed peace!” Alain sighed.
“Malicious, rather.” Geoffrey’s sword was halfway out of its scabbard in an instant. “When something that seeks to frighten us ceases to sound, beware attack!”
Something whined in the shadows.
“What comes?” Now it was Alain’s sword that whisked free.
“A dog!” Geoffrey said with delight. “I should know that calling anywhere!” He sheathed his sword and knelt, holding out a hand and calling, “Come, poor thing! Be not afraid!”
The dog, if dog it were, whimpered in the shadows but stayed hidden.
“It fears people!” Geoffrey exclaimed. “How has it been mistreated?” He pulled a stick of dried beef from his pouch, broke off a piece, and held it out. “Come, fellow! Come taste! Nay, none here will hurt you—unless you should seek to bite the hand that feeds.” He laughed softly, then called again, “Come!”
Into the firelight slunk the most mangy, decrepit old greyhound they had ever seen.
“There, now!” Geoffrey coaxed. “Come taste! It may be you will ward us from that which shrieks in the night, eh?”
“It may be it will not!” Alain cried. “Do you not remember what Gregory said even now, Geoffrey? The Biasd Bheulach goes oft in the form of a greyhound!”
Geoffrey knelt stunned, staring in surprise—and in the instant of his amazement, the greyhound swelled to the size of a horse, its muzzle thickening into that of a mastiff and gaping wide, reaching for Geoffrey’s head, huge enough to engulf it entire.
“Aroint thee!” Alain cried and leaped forward, sword thrusting upward past Geoffrey’s head into that huge and putrid maw. He could tell by the sudden resistance that he had lanced flesh. The huge head reared up, slamming Alain back as the monster let loose a shriek that would have done credit to a steam engine.
By that time, Geoffrey had his sword out, face dark with fury. “Traitor! False friend! Would you take the form of man’s greatest ally, then? Have at thee!” He leaped in to thrust at the dog’s chest.
With a howl, the monster leaped backward, but the sword nicked flesh just before its huge paw sent Geoffrey flying. It screamed again—but even as it screamed, it made one more try at taking a bite out of Geoffrey. He rolled aside, though, and the huge jaws clashed shut only inches from his head. Then Geoffrey scrambled to his feet and leaped back in to thrust his sword into its nose.
The giant hound gave a most pitiful howl that would have drowned out the thunder itself as it whirled and fled back into the forest, leaving all three men with their hands clapped over their ears—and if it had turned back then, it would have been a proper race between the companions grabbing up their swords from the earth, and the Biasd Bheulach’s teeth. Not knowing its opportunity, though, it only raced farther and farther away, its howls fading in the night until other canine voices answered it.
Gregory tensed. “Others. . . could they be other Biasd Bheulachs?”
“If they were, he would have brought them with him already,” Geoffrey said. He plunged his sword into the earth, yanked it out, and plunged it in again. “Clean your blade, Alain. There is no telling what manner of blood that creature possesses, or what it will do to our steel.”
“Which certainly caused it pain enough.” Alain stabbed the earth, too, then looked up at Gregory. “Will it come back, think you?”
“It will try again to cozen us,” the scholar said, gaze abstracted once more. “Lose no sleep over it, though—it may be long ere it comes again.”
“Sleep! As though my eyes could close!” Alain said, his voice shaky. “Nay, let us brew a cup or two, Geoffrey. I shall need its soothing heat and a bit of talk ere I can sleep again.”
Geoffrey blew up the fire and sat down, holding his hands out to its warmth—but with his sword across his knees. “Only think what a fine story this will make to tell your grandchildren, Alain.”
“Let us see to the children first,” Alain said drily, sitting across from Geoffrey. “Nay, let us be sure of their mother before that.”
Geoffrey frowned. “How now? Do you think you cannot trust my sister?”
“Trust her, yes,” Alain said. “Be sure that she is so thoroughly mine that I never need to court her again? No.”
“Well, of course.” Geoffrey looked down at the flames. “A man can never take a woman for granted—even if it is she herself who has done the granting, for she might decide to take herself back at any time.”
That easily, the conversation fell to discussing the finer points of their respective fiancées, which was soothing indeed—and led to swapping tales of their childhoods, so it was only a half-hour or so before Geoffrey stretched and said, “I could begin to think of sleep now.”
“Think of food instead,” pleaded a reedy voice from the darkness.
Alain tensed. Geoffrey leaped to his feet.
A wizened old man hobbled into the circle of firelight, one hand tucked inside his tunic, leaning heavily upon a cane and imploring them, “Think of the poor and the hungry, kind noblemen. Pity the humble!”