Egelric rides out alone

Egelric held the reins in one hand and leaned over to lay the other on the hilt of the knife he wore in his boot. No, he hadn’t forgotten it. No, it hadn’t disappeared since the last time he looked for it.

He wore his sword on his opposite hip, but he had never learned to use a sword from the back of a horse. He thought he could wield a knife without decapitating his horse.

He passed Alwy’s old farm, and turned back to the north.

At last he was beginning to feel… not at ease, he thought, but rather numb. It was turning into a dream. For hours he had ridden up and down the road, between Alwy’s farm and Ethelmund’s farm, passing and repassing through the crossroads.

In this world of dreams, he was the only living man in the valley. In truth, all of the others were sheltering in the church or in one of the castles. It was a night of siege, and he, Egelric Wodehead, a mere squire who had never even learned to fight from horseback, had ridden out alone to meet the enemy.

It was, as his lord had said, folly. Better to stay in the castle and wait there – perhaps there would be no deaths if there was no one abroad to kill. Or if not that, then better to ride out with dozens of armed men. Better to hunt than to be hunted.

He reached the southern corner of the old Selle farm and turned his horse’s head back to the crossroads. But the horse was beginning to learn the routine.

It was folly, but he had insisted on riding out alone – on nothing more than the word of the creature he had met two months before, who had told him he would have no need of his sword. It was folly. Perhaps it was not even the same creature who had killed the last woman.

But he had to put an end to this nightmare. A death every month for six months… and if he had not killed the elf the last time – if the elf could not be killed – then he would need to find another solution.

And he would ask about his son. He would risk death for this.

The silence was becoming harder to bear than the dark. Even the animals that had called and scurried earlier in the night had gone off to sleep until they rose again just before dawn. In this world of dreams, he and his horse were the only living creatures in the valley.

This time he stopped in the center of the crossroads.

The horse cocked his hind hoof, sighed, and swiveled his ears drowsily. Egelric leaned forward and patted his neck. No doubt the poor animal was wondering why he couldn’t simply go back to his stall and sleep.

The eye of the great bull had risen in the east. It was growing late. Perhaps the elf had already killed, elsewhere, and meanwhile he had ridden up and down all night like a fool. He was suddenly angry. He would find the creature. He would die, perhaps, but he would not see the sun rise without having met his enemy.

“Druze!” he shouted, and the echoes shouted back at him from the hills. His horse snorted and mouthed his bit.

Nothing.

He waited until he felt a drop of sweat run down his temple. The night was not even warm.

“Druze!”

He closed his hand over the hilt of the knife again. The numbness was fading, and a feeling of dread had begun to rise again from his belly, and fear to prick at the back of his neck. What if the creature were watching him from the woods? What if he had been watching all this time?

Suddenly the horse’s lazy ears stood up, and he lifted his head, listening intently.

Egelric had heard nothing, but a moment later, a breeze from the northwest brought down that familiar smell of death. He felt the horse’s haunches tense as he considered flight. Egelric laid a cautioning hand on his neck and waited for the animal to calm before calling again, “Druze!”

The horse shied before Egelric could see the reason for its fright.

By the time Egelric had regained control of the animal, the elf was standing only a few yards away, panting with his laughter like a dog in agony.

It was Druze, or the double of Druze. But then Egelric saw a faint line where the sword had pierced his side. It was Druze.

The horse danced in terror – Egelric realized suddenly that it had been a mistake to bring a horse. He would have to try to dismount, but it was all he could do to keep the horse from bolting. And meanwhile the elf stood by and laughed his hideous laugh.

Egelric fought with the panicked horse, wild with frustration. The elf was speaking, but he stood too far away, and with the stamping and the frightened whickering and his own swearing, Egelric could understand nothing.

“Druze!” he yelled at the elf. And “Damn you!” at the horse.

He kicked his feet out of the stirrups. He would try to leap off and let the horse run where it would. If he fell… 

But he could not leave the elf. He could not allow the horse to carry him away from there.

But just then Druze came close enough for Egelric to hear him wheeze, “Hold your – horse?” and laugh as he leapt at the animal’s head.

The horse screamed and reared. Egelric felt himself going up and up, and instinctively he grabbed great handfuls of mane as he felt himself begin to slip from the saddle.

But the horse kept going up and up until the horizon fell away, up and up until they were both going down again – but now the horse was above the man. Egelric saw only the sky, and then the neck of his horse blotted out the sky, and then he saw only dark.