striding up. The footman stepped aside, and the knight took one look at the mound before him and almost vomited.
Before him were what appeared to be the entrails and viscera of the missing oxen—artfully heaped into a single, glistening purple mound of rotting slime. Rising from the centre of this putrefying mass was a long wooden stake, and on the stake was the severed head of an ox. The skin and most of the flesh had been ripped from the skull to reveal the bloody bone beneath. Two of the hapless animal’s hooves were stuffed in its hanging mouth, and its tail protruded absurdly from one of its ears, and jutting from the naked eyeballs of the freshly flensed skull were four long, black raven feathers.
The weird sight caused these battle-hardened men to blanch and brought the gorge rising to their throats. One of the soldiers cursed, and two others crossed themselves, glancing around the clearing nervously. “Sacre bleu!” grunted a soldier, prodding a lopped-off hoof with the blade of his lance. “This is the work of witches.”
“What?” said the knight, recovering some of his nerve.
“Have you never seen a slaughtered beast?”
“Slaughtered,” muttered one of the men scornfully. “If they were slaughtered, where are the carcasses?” Another said, “Aye, and where’s the blood and hide and bones?”
“Carried away by them that slaughtered the beasts,” replied another of the soldiers, growing angry. “It’s just a pile of guts.” With that, he shoved his spear into the curdling bulk, striking an unseen bladder, which erupted with a long, low hiss and released a noxious stench into the already fetid air.
“Stop that!” shouted the man beside him, shoving the offender, who pushed back.
“Enough!” shouted the knight. Quickly scanning the surrounding trees for any sign that they were being watched, he said, “The thieves may still be close by. Make a circuit of the clearing, and give a shout when you find their trail.”
Only too glad to turn away from the grisly mound in the centre of the glade, the soldiers walked to different parts of the perimeter and, bending low, began to look for the footprints of the thieves. One complete circuit failed to turn up anything resembling a human footprint, so the knight ordered them to do it again, more slowly this time and with better care and attention.
They were all working their way around the circle when a strange sound halted them in midstep. It started as an agonised cry—as if someone, or something, was in mortal anguish— and then rose steadily in pitch and volume to a wild ululation that raised the short hairs on the napes of the warriors’ necks.
The crows in the treetops stopped their chatter, and a dread hush descended over the clearing. The unnatural calm seemed to spread into the surrounding forest like tendrils of a stealthy vine, like a fog when it searches along the ground, coiling, moving, flowing amongst the hidden pathways until all is shrouded with its vapours.
The searchers waited, hardly daring to breathe. After a moment, the eerie sound rose again, closer this time, growing in force, rising and rising—and then suddenly trailing away as if stifled by its own strength.
The carrion birds in the high branches took flight all at once.
The soldiers, holding tight to their weapons, gazed fearfully at the sky and at the wood around them. The trees seemed to have moved closer, squeezing the ring tighter, forming a sinister circle around them.
“Christ have mercy!” cried a footman. He flung out a hand and pointed across the clearing.
The soldiers turned as one to see an indistinct shape moving in the shadows beneath the trees at the edge of the glade.
Straining into the darkness, they saw a form emerge from the forest gloom—as if the shadow itself was thickening, gathering darkness and congealing into the shape of a monstrous creature: big as a man, but with the head and wings of a bird, and a round skull-like face that ended in an extravagantly long, pointed black beak.
Like a fallen angel risen from the pit, this baleful presence stood watching them from across the clearing.
“Steady, men,” said the knight, holding his sword before him. “Close ranks.”
No one moved.
“Close ranks!” shouted Guiscard. “Now!”
The soldiers, shaken to action, moved to obey. They drew together, shoulder to shoulder, weapons ready. Even as they formed the battle line, the phantom melted away, disappearing before their eyes as the shadows reclaimed it.
The soldiers waited, bloodless hands gripping their weapons, staring fearfully at the place where they