[Envinyatar]

The battle ends . . .

Of the nine great beasts who had sought entrance to the inn, only five now remained. And of those five, two had run off, fur aflame, the reeking stench of their own burnt flesh thick and gagging in their noses.

The Green Man’s defenders still stood firm against the shadow’s onslaught. Yes, a number of birds had fallen, snapped out of the air be the ravening jaws of the wolves. And a cat had met his fate, too, but not before he had clawed out the eyes of his foe and raked the wolf’s snout most grievously. One of the hounds had gone down, having drawn the attention of one of the larger wolves to him, allowing White Paw and his brother to attack from the side and behind. And here and there lay the still body of some small animal who had reached up with tooth and nail to slow the beasts in their pursuit of others.

The determination and will of the defenders moved victorious for this time and place against the foul shadow creatures. With a bark of command, Nilak, the pack’s leader, ordered his remaining wolves to retreat.

The bear, for all his bulk, moved after them, a swift dark death whose long claws brought down one last of the enemy. And as he crushed the spine of the wolf, he could see the dogs harrying the last two of the beasts to the far outskirts of the village and beyond.

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On their way . . .

‘The light waxes strong; the shadow is pushed back again.’

Stamo stood up straight, his grey eyes cleared of the distant fog that had filled them. ‘Both . . .’ he continued in anticipation of Mori’s question. ‘Melkor’s servant and the wolves . . .’

The smell of smoke poured in through the windows as the two unshuttered them to look out into the night. ‘And even the last of the fires dies under the able hands of Carr and the others.’

He turned his gaze toward the Yule fire. It still burned brightly under the ministrations of Old Goody. The skin of her face shone in the light from the flames . . . or rather it glowed as brightly as did the Yule log’s spirit. But more from within, he thought. They will soon both be ashes.

‘We are leaving now, Guðælfr Holtsdottir,’ he said softly, his voice rising barely above the hiss and pop of the fire. He handed Mori his walking staff, and fastened his own cloak on.

‘Keep the log burning, old one. Your task is almost done.’ The two moved to the door, their staffs knocking against the floor as they walked along.

‘We will not see you again in the circles of this world,’ Mori said opening the door to let his companion pass through. ‘And in the other we cannot say.’

The door swung shut behind the two. The light of the fire burned in the little room, pushing back the even the shadows in the farthest corners . . .