Cempa sat with Weard, staring in the direction of the battle. Elewýs had used some of the bridge to create a stone seat for them.

The stone is lumpy and cold, but at least it is dry.

It was getting dark. Leth had wandered off accompanied by Péton.

The battle will be over by now. I’ve seen nothing and done nothing. Should I be frustrated or relieved? I spent his whole adult life as a soldier, training to be in a large battle like this and now I’ve missed it. My purpose has been thwarted, yet by not taking part in the fight I’ve a greater chance of living.

Tadhgán paced back and forth while kicking a pebble. Elewýs and the sisters sat along the bank of the ditch, fishing. So far they’d caught several undersized perch and one oversized pike. At least supper will be good.

Weard stared at the clouds, eyes half closed.

That’s his ‘I know something you don’t’ smile. Cocky bastard.

Weard sat bolt upright, as if someone had given him a static shock, and dived behind the stone seat, “Don’t look so quizzical, jump.”

Cempa frowned, let the comment pass, and rolled over the back of the seat.

Tadhgán crouched beside them, “What’s going on?”

Cempa heard a terrifying howl from above and caught a glimpse of a great mass hurtling towards them, just before it slammed into the earth about eighty yards from their position.

There was a wet, explosive splat followed by hundreds of smaller, equally soggy impacts. A lump of matted, mangy fur and yellow veined flesh spattered over the back of their seat and slid down, flopping onto the bench with a sodden slap.

A potent concoction of malignant odours washed over them as the ruptured bowels of the unfortunate creature vented its digested remains.

“That,” said Cempa. “Is the foulest thing I have ever seen, or smelled, in my entire life.”

“Want to take a look?” said Weard.

“Not really,” said Tadhgán.

“You have anything better to do?” said Weard.

Cempa peered over the top of the bench. A flaccid lump oozed where he’d been sitting, “Not any more.”

They approached the steaming crater. It was twenty feet across and about six feet deep. The ground was scorched black around the edges. In the centre lay a beating yellow stone heart in a pool of blood and broken, multicoloured bones.

Tendrils spread from the stone heart, wriggling through the muck towards the scattered pieces of meat. Every time the heart pulsed, the connecting bits of flesh were pulled a little closer to the crater’s core. Cempa felt sick.

The rest of the troop rushed to the crater’s edge.

“Gods! What are you doing here, Hrolf?” said Milde.

Cempa pointed at the crater, “Leave it for later Milde, we have something more important to worry about.”

“Feorhhord Gimcynn,” said Leth.

“I thought it was supposed to be rare, but we find it wherever we go,” said Clæfre, while glancing at Hrolf.

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“Guessing from the mess, someone’s stuck a lump into a Gréatian,” said Leth. “They were scary enough the first time.”

“Poor creature is still alive,” said Elewýs.

Hrolf shuddered, “Spent the best part of an hour running from one of those things, they’ve been wiping out both sides, but mostly the King’s.”

“That explains a lot,” said Milde.

“It is the most grotesque use of magic I have ever seen, let alone read about,” said Leth. “I don’t know how they made it, but that still leaves us with the question of how we kill it. If the heart survived the crash it must be almost indestructible.”

“Don’t see why we should try,” said Tadhgán. “Running is best.” He clasped Hrolf’s shoulder, “Nice bow.”

Hrolf gave a tired smile.

“There’s another lump over there,” said Weard, pointing at a half buried chunk in the crater wall.

Elewýs sploshed through the innards, dug it out, and held it up to her face, “It looks like a bigger version of the stone the little Duke carries in his pocket.”

“Guntard goes very pale every time the Duke starts fondling it,” said Weard.

“Can you give me a closer look?” said Leth.

Elewýs passed Leth an icky stone the size of his head.

Leth nearly dropped it, “Damn that’s heavy.”

Cempa frowned at the reassembling creature, “We don’t have time for you to examine it.”

“I need to know how the heart works if I want to destroy it,” said Leth.

“You sure?” said Cempa. “Can’t you hit it with a hammer?”

“Seriously, what are you all standing about for? That thing will kill us when it comes back,” said Tadhgán. His hands were shaking.

“How do you suppose it got here?” said Clæfre. “I don’t think it wanted to fly. It made a terrible racket on the way down.”

“It would take a lot of effort to toss something that big,” said Milde. “Must’ve been Guntard. Didn’t know he had it in him, pallid jerk looks like a scarecrow.”

“Its taking a while to revive,” said Weard. “We can run before it does.”

“We don’t have a choice,” said Elewýs. “There are a lot of riders coming from the east and they’re not flying the King’s colours.”

“Have they seen us?” said Cempa.

“I doubt it, they’re still trotting,” said Elewýs.

“Leth, we should move,” said Cempa.

“Hmmm, what was that?”

“Time to go, lad,” Cempa said.

Leth chewed on his lip and frowned.

Cempa clapped his hands once, “You can take the shiny rock with you, but if we don’t move now you’ll never get the chance to examine it.”

Leth nodded.

“Hrolf, pair with Weard and take the biggest horse.”

“Sounds good,” said Hrolf.

Clæfre dashed for the river bank as the troop ran for their horses.

“What the hell are you doing?” said Cempa.

Clæfre sprinted back, her arms filled with rods and a fish.

“You must be joking,” said Cempa.

“I spent an hour reeling that bastard in, no way I’m leaving it,” said Clæfre.

Cempa could see the enemy approaching. They would be spotted any minute, “You’re not the only one at risk of having a bloody pike stuffed up their arse if you don’t hurry up.”

Clæfre crammed the pike under her mail and vaulted onto her horse. She placed the rods across her pommel.

“What are you waiting for then?” said Clæfre.

Cempa realized he was the only one who wasn’t on their horse. He frowned, “Which way, lad? Hurry!”

“We’ll head south, while staying well away from both sides and hope to escape through the chaos,” said Leth.

Cempa wheeled his horse and gave it a firm kick. The lad had made a sound choice. The horse tossed its head and snorted before trotting off. Cempa gave it another boot and finally the horse surged forward, whinnying as loud as possible.

Cempa risked glancing back.

Duke Mánfeld and about forty knights were inspecting the grim hole. He couldn’t believe no one was chasing them. The Duke jumped into the pit.

Cempa shuddered.