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tail drooping, listless with pain and fear.
"Black Dog!" My master's voice was like rolling thunder. "Black Dog, I summon
you! Come and face me on this holy ground, you child of Satan! Come! Come,
boy, and I'll give you a fine soup bone!" He winked at me.
Many in the crowd gasped at my lord's audacity. One or two laughed. The
church door swung wide. Father Dywel stepped out, bony face an angry, boiled
scarlet.
"Leave this place, you heretic! How dare you summon a demon to the House of
the Lord?"
"How?" My master laughed. "Like this, Father. Come, boy! Come, Black Dog!
Come to me now!"
Everyone was silent, waiting. A tiny lad began to cry. Morwen, eyes wide and
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fearful, took her father's hand.
"See? Nothing. I tell you, it's but a dog "
There was a terrible crack, as if lightning had struck right next to us. In
an acrid flash of smoke and flame the Black Dog was there, blazing like the
fires of Hell. It reared up on its back legs, roared a challenge in my
master's face, and lunged for Father Dywel, great jaws gaping.
The giant paws struck Dywel's chest, knocking him to the ground. The priest
began to shriek. But the Hound did not pause; he leapt over the man on the
ground and dove into the church.
"Mother of God!" cried my master, more excited than afraid. He charged in
after the beast.
It leapt up onto the altar, scattering candles, setting one sod wall ablaze.
I lunged ahead of my master and screamed a battle cry. The Black Dog whirled.
It did not hesitate; it flung itself at me.
We fought. This was no gauzy spirit, no phantom of smoke. My jaws closed on
the Black Dog's furry shoulder and met with hard-muscled flesh. The creature's
teeth were like knives as it snapped at my face. Heat came from the Hound in
blasting waves. Smoke from the blazing wall choked me and burned my eyes.
We slashed, bit, tore with paws, each vying for a grip on the other's throat.
I threw my weight against the Dog, attempting to flip it onto its back. It was
like running into an oak tree. With a growling roar, it feinted at my foreleg.
When I drew back, it struck like a snake and seized my neck in its deadly
jaws.
"Cabal! Move! Get back!" My lord sought to save me; he held his sword aloft
and ready to strike, but we were entwined, my foe and I. He could not strike
at the beast without hitting me as well.
I knew in that moment that I was dead. All the Black Dog had left to do was
close its jaws and tear my throat out.
But it did not. I realized, with no small surprise, that it was simply
maintaining its grip on my neck, and pushing me backward a step at a time. Why
did it not end this? I had failed my lord the King; I had nothing left to live
for.
The Dog shoved me again, and I bumped into something: the wall between the
altar and sacristy. My lord circled around, eyes wild with frustration and
anger.
"Move, you devil!" he roared. "Let him go, and face me!"
The teeth of the Black Dog pressed harder against my neck. I felt its teeth
break my skin. I gagged, unable to breathe. I shut my eyes and hoped death
would be quick.
Then it was gone. The pressure, the pain. I took in a great whooping gasp of
air. The Black Dog's paws hit me square in the chest, bowling me over like a
clumsy pup.
The beast reared up, snarling at my master. Its eyes, like molten emeralds,
were fixed on him. Witchfire danced around it madly. The blaze from the wall
near the altar, which had spread to the ceiling, filled the church with bitter
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smoke.
My master howled and brought Excalibur down in a mighty arc. The sword passed
through the creature as if it were made of water and smashed into the wooden
wall behind it.
The Black Dog vanished. There was a great whooshing sound, as if all of the
air had been sucked from the church. The fire, which had consumed the altar,
went out instantly as the wooden wall came crashing down.
My master jumped back and covered his head. I looked up, cowering, expecting
the ceiling to fall. It didn't.
The smoke was clearing. My lord took a step toward the fallen wall, and then
another.
"Sweet God," he whispered. I moved quickly to his side to see.
The wall had been hollow; more a tall, narrow box than a wall, really.
Something lay curled inside it; something I did not wish to see.
It was the skeleton of a dog. A pup, in truth; a strapping big fellow but
only half grown. It lay on its side, curled up miserably, muzzle tucked
against its bony chest. I could see curls of rough, shaggy black lying beneath
it like a carpet. Deep claw marks, some stained with old, brown blood, scored
the inside of the shattered boards. Something caught the light at the base of
the pup's throat, or where its throat once had been.
My master bent down and took it; a small metal object on a rotten cord.
Silently, he turned and left the church. I followed.
He approached a wide-eyed Morwen, and placed the object in her hands. She
stared at it, unmoving for a moment or two. Then she began to sob.
"Why?" roared my master into the face of Father Dywel. "Why?"
The priest's face was pale. "It it is tradition," he said, not meeting my
lord's eyes. "It is protection for the church "
"Protection? How the bloody Hell is a dead dog meant to protect your church,
man?" Seldom had I seen my lord so angry. If I did not know that he would
never kill a priest, I would have thought Dywel a dead man.
"It the dog's spirit is meant to "
"His spirit? But dogs have no souls, have they?"
"It is part of the Old Ways, and we must strive to integrate "
My master shoved his face but inches from Dywel's. I was surprised that the
priest did not roll over and show his throat. "I am well acquainted with the
Old Ways, priest. Sometimes there was sacrifice. Never torture."
"It was but a dog! A rude beast "
"Hypocrite."
My King's voice was ice.
The priest drew himself up to his full height. "Do not speak to me so. I am a
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man of God."
"Not my God." My lord turned his back on Father Dywel. "Come, Cabal. Let us
leave this place. I find its odor foul."
Prancing, happy, I danced around him. It was over! The Black Dog, no demon at
all, was at peace. Surely my master was free of his curse! I leapt up to lick
his face.
Imagine my sickening shock. He still was soaked in deathmagic.
With a tormented howl, I whirled and ran into the forest.
"Cabal!" he cried after me. "Cabal, come back, lad!"
I ran and ran. I saw nothing. I heard nothing. I felt nothing but my own
anguish. When I could run no more, I collapsed beneath a great oak tree. There
I lay, curled up on my side like young Soot, howling. I intended to lie there
until I died.
I heard something; a light step, the crack of a twig. I raised my head, not
caring if it were a child or a dragon.
It was a stag. A great, lordly creature with antlers like the branches of a
tree in winter. He stared at me with an uncanny, golden eye. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]