Dolwillen was tired, he was also incredibly pleased with himself. They’d reached the Werodflód and if he stood in his saddle he could see the filthy Eten.

A few more miles and I can kill it.

He nearly fell as he tried to skip in his stirrups. He drew Beceorfan and waved it about to restore his dignity, then he spotted something even more delightful.

“Look Guntard, it’s Gristbitung!”

“How wonderful, your Grace. You are finally reunited.”

“He looks sick.”

The harsh breathing of men and horses filled the air; armour rattled and tackle jingled. Gristbitung growled.

“I’ll give him a scratch. That’ll cheer him up.” Dolwillen sheathed Beceorfan and dismounted, “Do we have any meat? I think he’s hungry.” He could feel its grumbling through the soles of his feet, a vocal massage of sorts.

Gristbitung stood.

“Are you sure that’s wise, your Grace?” said Guntard.

Heat shot through Dolwillen’s body. He turned, “Wise!”

“Yes your Grace. Wise.”

“Did you sigh at me, Guntard?”

“I would be more concerned with what the Heoruwearg is doing, your Grace.”

Gristbitung sniffed him, then sneezed, showering Dolwillen in glue-like slobber. He faced the beast and raised his hand to beat it but it licked him.

His anger evaporated, “See, he likes me.”

“Looks like he’s testing his food to me, your Grace.” Guntard tapped his staff in a sedate fashion.

“Did I ask for your opinion?”

Gristbitung opened his magnificent, malignant jaws.

“We both know how this is going to end, your Grace.”

“Nonsense,” Dolwillen pulled a green handkerchief from a pouch and started patting his hair dry. “You don’t know him as intimately as I do.”

“I can see that.”

Gristbitung picked Dolwillen up and gave him a gentle shake.

Dolwillen yelped.

The knights around Guntard stopped trying to control their horses and backed off.

Dolwillen’s armour groaned and screeched.

Guntard laughed and continued his slow pitter-patter against his staff. Almost half of the symbols were glowing.

“Put me down!” said Dolwillen. “Bad dog.”

Gristbitung tossed Dolwillen into the air. At the apex of his summersault, Dolwillen stopped and floated, a powerful torrent of air keeping him aloft. He flailed.

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The Heoruwearg jumped and tried to swat him.

Dolwillen was yanked sideways. A single claw scrabbled across his plate, scoring it deeply. Gristbitung howled, turned, and bounded into the horses. Knights and mounts screamed as he crunched through their ranks.

Chunks of horses and men disappeared down its gullet.

Dolwillen’s soldiers rallied and charged the creature with their lances. Most of the riders were propelled from their horses on impact. Gristbitung’s rampage slowed for a few seconds.

A great shard of ice, several feet across and tapered to a point, shot past Dolwillen at tremendous speed. It slammed into Gristbitung’s skull, pinning the animal to the ground. The soldiers cheered.

“What are you doing? Leave him alone!” Dolwillen tried to reach Guntard’s heartstone.

Guntard glared at him.

Dolwillen stopped struggling. He supposed he needed a few soldiers and the Eten was getting away. He could always make another Heoruwearg.

Gristbitung was out cold. The great spike was slowing the Heoruwearg’s healing, but the ice wasn’t going to last. Already it was splintering under the pressure of the closing skull.

Dolwillen wanted to poke the wound and see what would happen, but he was still floating, “Let me down, Guntard.”

Bang. Bang. Bang. Dolwillen looked over. Guntard was using his staff like a sledgehammer, battering the ground as hard as he could, sending huge chunks of rock, soil, and vegetation several yards into the air with every strike.

“For Gods’ sake you moron,” said Dolwillen. “How is hitting the ground going to help us get anywhere?”

Guntard ignored him. He quickly surrounded himself with several mounds of rocks. Guntard made the rocks float, then directed them with his staff. Sparks and shards flew everywhere, but everything eventually fell at Guntard’s feet. Within minutes, he had a circular pile six feet high and four across.

Dolwillen lost interest in landing and watched.

“Get back,” said Guntard. “At least a hundred yards.”

The knights retreated, then lined up in a wide semicircle around Gristbitung.

Dolwillen began to count the shards. He reached nine before he thought to ask about himself, “What about me?”

Guntard raised his head slowly then looked at Gristbitung. Guntard shrugged.

“Did you just shrug at me, Guntard?”

“You’ll be fine up there, your Grace.” His words were muffled, as if there were a much greater distance between them than Dolwillen could see.

Guntard tapped his staff again. The shards rose and locked together into a massive toothed wheel. It flashed bright red. Dolwillen watched the air bend as the wheel shed its momentary heat.

Gristbitung flicked open its yellow eyes as it finally woke up. It growled.

The wheel began to spin.

Gristbitung pawed at the ice in its skull then snapped its head to one side. It crouched, then sprung at Guntard who pointed his staff at the beast.

The jagged spinning wheel was propelled towards the oncoming beast. It sounded like a saw mill, only wetter. The earthen saw blade sliced along the centre line of the beast until it shattered on its stone heart. Blood sprayed absolutely everywhere, coating Dolwillen, Guntard, and even the far off riders in a slick of red muck. The two front halves of the Heoruwearg split and slumped.

Dolwillen clapped.

Guntard stepped between the twitching paws and into the yellow riddled flesh of Gristbitung. He reached the centre of the beast and drove his staff into the ground. He plucked the beating imitation stone heart from the creature’s shattered chest cavity with both hands and leaned over it.

Dolwillen moved his head from side to side, trying to see what the Drýmann was doing.

Gristbitung’s two halves began sending tendrils towards each other. Thick fleshy tentacles that reached blindly across the gap to grasp at their other half, obscuring Dolwillen’s view even further.

Dolwillen caught a glimpse of Guntard’s hands scurrying over the stone at an almost inhuman speed. Just when Dolwillen thought Guntard would be enveloped by the tightening halves, the heart popped like a rotten haggis, sloshing raw magic over Guntard’s boots, leaving him in a blood streaked pool of yellow liquid and covered in gore.

The creature ceased jiggling. Guntard waded through flaccid tendrils of lifeless flesh.

Dolwillen descended.

“Fascinating Guntard, absolutely beautiful.” Dolwillen strode towards the Drýmann and patted him on the back.

Guntard toppled. He was asleep.

“Damn,” said Dolwillen. “How do we get across now?”