The Endless Knot (37 page)

Returning for another spear and bale, I saw Scatha running toward me. “Rally the war band!” I shouted. “Help Cynan drive the serpent away from the horses.” Turning to Tegid, I ordered, “Stay here and light more bales as we need them.”

Bran and Alun, having seen my feat, appeared with bales ablaze. I quickly armed myself again and joined them; together we charged the Wyrm. Scatha and the war band had taken up a position on the near side, midway between the serpent and the river—dangerously close to the creature, it seemed to me. They were already strenuously engaged in trying to attract the beast's attention and draw it away from the camp.

I made for a place opposite them, thinking that if the serpent turned toward them, we three would be well-placed for a blind-side attack. Upon seeing our approach, the Ravens, flying to meet us with weapons alight, sent up a shrill war cry, distracting the serpent. Scatha and her band saw their chance and rushed forward, weapons low and shields raised high. They struck at the huge coils, driving their blades into the softer skin of the belly between the scales. The huge, snaky head swung toward them.

“Now!” I shouted, sprinting forward. My silver hand burned with a freezing fire.

Scatha's band stood fearless to the task, jabbing their spears into the Wyrm's side. The annoyed beast lowered its head and loosed a menacing hiss. As the awful mouth cracked open, I heaved the shaft with all my might. The unbalanced missile fell short, striking the creature on the underside of its mouth with a great flurry of sparks, but no hurt to the creature at all. As my first missile fell harmlessly away, I was already running for another.

Alun had no better luck with his throw. But Bran, seeing how we had fared, managed to compensate for the top-heavy spear with a well-judged, magnificent throw. The serpent, aware of our presence due to our first clumsy attempts, swung toward Bran, hissing wickedly.

As soon as the great wide mouth opened, Bran's spear was up and in. The Ravens cheered for their chieftain. But the serpent gave a quick shake of its head and dislodged the barb and fire bale.

I thought that Bran, like Cynan and me, would return to Tegid for another bale. Instead, he simply bounded forward and took up the shaft I had thrown. He impaled the fiery bale and prepared for another throw.

Perhaps the beast anticipated Bran's move. More likely, Yr Gyrem Rua, enraged by our attack, struck blindly at the closest moving shape. I glanced around just in time to see the huge horny head swing down and forward with breathstealing speed just as Bran's arm drew back to aim his throw.

The serpent's strike took the Raven Chief at the shoulder. He fell and rolled, somehow holding on to his weapon. He gained his knees as the Wyrm struck again, raising the spear in both hands as the head descended so that he took the blow on the shaft instead. The spear with its flaming head fell one way and Bran was sent sprawling the other. The serpent drew back and tensed for another strike.

The Ravens leapt forward as one man to save their chieftain. Alun reached him first and, taking up the fallen weapon, flung it into the serpent's face while the others dragged Bran to safety.

“Alun! Get out of there, man!” Cynan cried.

Diving sideways, Alun hit the ground, rolled, and came up running. But instead of retreating to the campfire with the others, he stooped to retrieve the spear Bran had thrown.

I saw him do it and shouted. “No! Alun!”

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B
ATTLE
A
WEN

T
he Wyrm struck. Alun whirled, throwing his flaming bale at the same time. The throw grazed the serpent's jaw and bounced away as the head descended, knocking Alun off his feet and throwing him onto his back.

I seized a spear Tegid had readied and ran to Alun's defense. Garanaw and Niall heard my shout, turned, and ran to his aid. Scatha's warriors redoubled their attack. They drove in close, stabbing fearlessly. Scatha, by dint of sheer determination, succeeded in forcing a spear into a soft place between two scales on the serpent's side. With a mighty lunge, she drove the blade in. I saw the shaft sink deep into the beast's flesh, and I heard her triumphant cry: “
Bás Draig!
”

Spitting with fury, the red serpent hissed and the long neck stiffened; the two ridges on the side of its body bulged, then flattened into an immense hood, revealing two long slits on either side and two vestigial legs with clawed feet. The legs unfolded, claws snatching, and suddenly two great membranous wings emerged from the side slits behind the legs. These huge bat wings shook and trembled, unfurling like crumpled leather, slowly spreading behind the Wyrm in a massive canopy.

Scatha gave the embedded spear another violent shove. The serpent hissed again and swiveled its head to strike, but Scatha and her warrior band were already retreating into the darkness.

Meanwhile, Garanaw and Niall pulled Alun away. And I took advantage of the momentary lapse to position myself for another throw. Cynan, flaming spear streaking the night, ran to my side. As its evil head turned, the Wyrm's mouth came open with an angry, rasping, seething hiss.

“Ready? . . . Now!” I cried, and twin trails of fire streaked up into the monster's maw. Cynan's spear struck the roof of the serpent's mouth and fell away causing a little hurt; mine hit on one of the long fangs and glanced away. I ran back to the campfire. “Give me another spear,” I demanded. “Hurry!”

“It is not working,” Tegid began. “We must find another way to—”

“Hurry!” I shouted, grabbing the firebrand from his hand and setting it to the nearest bundle. I took up a spear and plunged it into the bale. “Cynan! Follow me!”

Scatha had seen us return for more bales and understood that we meant to try again. As we flew once more to our positions, she launched another attack on the Wyrm's side. This time both she and one of the warriors with her succeeded in forcing spears between the thick scales. Two other warriors broke off their attack and leapt to Scatha's side, adding their strength to help drive the shaft deep into the serpent's flesh.

Scatha's success inspired the Ravens, who raced to repeat the feat on the opposite side. Drustwn and Garanaw charged in close, working their weapons into a crack between scales. They, too, succeeded in wounding the beast.

Yr Gyrem Rua screamed and flapped its enormous wings; its forked tail thrashed from side to side like a whip.

Cynan and I took up our positions. Placing the butt of the spear in the palm of my metal hand, I stretched my other hand along the shaft as far as I could reach. As the Wyrm's head veered toward me once more, I crouched low, my heart racing. The flames flared; sparks fell on my upturned face and singed my hair.

“Come on, you bloated snake,” I growled, “open that ugly mouth!”

The massive neck arched. The hideous head tensed high above me. I saw the fireglint in a hard black glittering eye.

With a shout of “Die, dragon!” Cynan took his place slightly behind and to the left of me. The serpent shrieked, and the sound was deafening; its awful wings arched and quivered, and clawed feet raked the air. My stomach tightened. I clenched my teeth to keep from biting my tongue.

“Strike!” I taunted. “Strike, Wyrm!”

The enormous mouth opened—a vast white pit lined with innumerable spiked teeth in a triple row. Two slender fangs emerged from pockets in the upper mouth. The blue-black ribbon of a tongue arched and curled to a frightful screech.

And then the awful head swooped down.

I saw the fangs slashing toward me. My body tensed.

“Now!” cried Cynan. His spear flashed up over my shoulder and into the descending mouth. “Llew!”

I hesitated a rapid heartbeat longer, and then heaved my flaming missile with every ounce of strength I possessed. My metal hand whipped up, driving the missile into a high, tight arc.

Cynan's spear pierced the puffy white flesh and stuck fast. My spear flashed up between the two fangs, over the teeth, and into the throat.

The red serpent recoiled. Its mouth closed on the shaft of Cynan's spear, driving the spearhead even deeper into the soft skin and forcing the mouth to remain open. The creature could not close its mouth to swallow, which would have allowed it to quench the flames now searing its throat.

The Wyrm began thrashing violently from side to side. With great, slow strokes, the terrible wings beat the air. Burning lichen rained down on our heads. The lethal tail slashed like forked lightning, striking the ground with killing clouts.

“Run!” Cynan shouted, pulling me away.

We fled to the fire where the Ravens now stood shouting and cheering. Bran lay on the ground bleeding from a wound on the side of his head. Alun sat slumped beside him, white-faced, a foolish, dazed expression on his face.

Blood oozed from Bran's head, and Alun's eyelids fluttered as he fought to remain conscious. Rage seized me and spun me around. I saw the winged serpent slam down its head as if to bite the earth. The force of the blow splintered the spear holding open its mouth. The huge jaws closed, the throat convulsed, and up came my spear with the smoldering bale still attached.

Wings beating a fearful rhythm, the serpent slowly lifted its flat head and upper body, loosed its coils and began half-flying, half-slithering away. Our campfire guttered in the gale of its retreat.

“It is fleeing!” shouted Drustwn, lofting his spear in triumph.

“Hie-e-ya!” crowed Emyr with a jubilant whoop. “Yr Gyrem Rua is defeated!”

“The Wyrm is conquered!” Cynan shouted. He grabbed me and clasped me to his chest. I saw his mouth move, but his voice had become the irritating buzz of an insect. His face creased with concern; sweat gleamed on his skin in the firelight. The glint of each bead became a needle of stabbing light, a naked star in the frozen universe of night. The ground beneath my feet trembled, and the earth lost all solidity.

And I felt my spirit expand within me; I was seized and taken up, as if I were no more than a leaf released from a branch and set sailing on a sudden gust of wind. My ears pounded with the blood rush; my vision hardened to a sharp, narrow field: I saw only the winged serpent—scales gleaming bloodred in the shivered light of our fire, grotesque wings stiffly beating, lifting that huge body to the freedom of the night sky. I saw the Red Serpent of Oeth escaping; all else around me dimmed, receded, vanished.

A hand grasped my shoulder, and then two more laid hold to my arms. But Ollathir's battle awen burned within me and I would not be held back. Power surged up in a mighty torrent. Like a feather in a flood, lightly riding the currents, upheld by them, I became part of the force flowing through me. The strength of the earth and sky was mine. I was pure force and impulse. My limbs trembled with pent energy demanding release. I opened my mouth and a sound like the bellow of a battlehorn issued from my throat.

And then I ran: swift as the airstream in the wind-scoured heights, sure as the loosed arrow streaking to its mark. I ran, but my feet did not touch the earth. I ran, and my silver hand began to glow with a cold and deadly light, the etchwork of its cunning designs shining like white gold in the Swift Sure Hand's refining fire. My fist shone like a beam of light, keen and bright.

A gabble of voices clamored behind me, small and confused. But I could not be bound or deflected. Can the spear return to the hand that has thrown it?

I was a ray of light. I was a wave upon the sea. I was a river beneath a mountain. I was hot blood flowing in the heart. I was the word already spoken. The Penderwydd's awen was upon me and I could not be contained.

The serpent's bulk rose like a curving crimson wall before me, and I saw Scatha's spear buried midshaft in the creature's side. Grasping the shaft with my silver hand, I pulled myself up. My flesh fingers found a crack between scales, and my foot found the spearshaft. One quick scramble and I reached the serpent's back.

Solid beneath me, but fluid, like a molten road undulating slowly over the land, the red beast fled, fell wings stroking the air. Moving with the quickness of a shadow and the deftness of a stalking cat, I skittered over the sinuous backbone, over scales large as paving stones. A notched ridge down the center of the creature's back made good footing as the earth dropped away below. The foul beast had gained the air, but I heeded it not.

With the uncanny skill of a bard's inspiration, I climbed toward the vile creature's head and passed between the buffeting wings. Keen-eyed in the night, I glimpsed a fold of skin at the base of the serpent's skull and, above it, a slight depression where the spine met the skull; thin skin stretched tight over soft tissue.

The Wyrm's body stiffened beneath me as it rose higher. Mounting to the bulging mound of muscle between the two wings, I planted myself there and, raising my silver hand high, I smashed it down hard.

The metal broke the skin and slipped under the ridge of bone at the base of the serpent's skull. I stabbed deep, my metal hand a thrusting blade—cold silver sliding as in a sheath of flesh, plunging, piercing, penetrating the red serpent's cold brain.

A blast like the wind scream of a Sollen gale rent the night. The wingbeats faltered as the immense leathery wings struggled to the sprung rhythm of a suddenly broken cadence.

“Die!” I shouted, my voice the loud carynx of battle. “Die!”

I slammed my fist deeper, metal fingers grasping. My arm sank past the elbow, and my fingers tightened on a thick, sinewy cord. Seizing this cord, I ripped up hard and my fist came out in a bloody gush. The left wing faltered and froze. The Wyrm slewed sideways, plunging deadweight from air. I clung to the bony rim of scales and held on as the earth rushed toward me.

My feet struck the ground with an abrupt bone-rattling jolt. I rolled free and stood unshaken. The Wyrm convulsed, recoiling, rolling over and over, wrapping itself in itself, pale belly exposed in twisted loops.

The Red Serpent began striking its underbelly. The poisoned fangs slashed again and again, sinking into the exposed flesh. I laughed to see it and heard my voice echo in the empty depths of the nearby shrine.