The Once-Knight stood his ground, his sword held double-handed over his right shoulder, ready for the slashing sweep. As the beast closed on the slender figure, Manannan saw it crouch for the spring and as it leapt he dropped to one knee, his sword flashing in a disembowelling arc. The blade buried itself in the beast’s side as it swept over him, and was almost torn from his hands. In his desperation to keep his grip, Manannan was dragged several yards; he rolled swiftly, but the beast — blood gushing from its side — turned and was upon him. The stallion, Kuan, galloped forward and hearing the sound of the charging warhorse, the monster hesitated. Manannan gained his feet and hammered the blade through the neck of the nearest head. The great jaws snapped shut and the head toppled to hang by a sinew. Blood fountained from the neck. Kuan turned his back on the beast, lashing out with his hind legs, his hooves thundering against the creature’s body and hurling it into the air.
Manannan rushed in and clove a mighty blow to its remaining head; his blade smashed the skull asunder. The beast reared and a massive claw raked out at Manannan, catching his helmet. The Once-Knight was torn from his feet as the beast fell and died.
Manannan rose. Never had he seen a beast like this — nor heard of any such in the Worlds of Civilization.
The sound of sobbing broke across his thoughts and he turned to see the child kneeling by her mother, pulling at the woman’s arm. He sheathed his sword and walked over to the child, lifting her to his chest.
‘She is dead, girl. I am sorry.’
Several men came running from the trees, carrying bows and lances, but they stopped, awe-struck, by the body of the beast. As the Once-Knight carried the child to them, her arm reached up to touch his helm and the metal slipped. Swiftly he passed the child to a waiting man and took hold of the helm. The claw had torn away a hinge at the top of the neck-plates and he raised his hands to the metal, but at that moment a thick-set man spoke.
‘What is this creature?’ he asked, staring down at the two-headed monster.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Manannan. ‘But I hope it lives alone.’
The man held out his hand. ‘I am Liam. We saw you tackling the beast, but we did not think we could reach you in time. Are you a King’s man?’
‘I am no one’s man. Excuse me.’ He walked slowly away from the group and lifted his hand to the spring bar on his helm. It slipped sideways… His mouth was dry, and he was almost too frightened to raise the helm. Taking a deep breath, he gripped the metal and straightened his arms… the helm grated against the neck-plates and then slid loose. His matted hair caught in the rotting leather padding within, but he tore it free. Without the helm in place the neck-plates fell away, draping his shoulders. The wind was cool on his face; his beard was matted and filthy, and sores stung his skin.
‘How long have you been wearing that?’ asked Liam, moving to stand beside Manannan.
Too long. Do you live far from here?’
‘No. You are welcome to eat with us.’
‘Hot water and a razor would be a blessing beyond my power to describe,’ Manannan told him.
In the distance came a terrible howling.
‘Something has tasted blood,’ said Liam.
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.’