Diana Jones - Power of Three

“Dorig!” shrieked Kasta, towing a green-faced terrified Ondo. “You have to help us, Gest!”

Streaming into the mound behind Kasta came a host of people from Otmound. All were white and frightened. Some were wet; some, Orban among them, were hacked and bloody. They had cooking-pots, bundles, spindles, babies and all the gold they could wear. Sheep, dogs and cats came streaming into the mound amongst them.

For a time, there was desperate confusion. The Garholters had to leave their supper unfinished and find food, beds and medicine for the fugitives. And, as Kasta kept screaming that the Dorig had chased them the whole length of the old road, the Garholt sheep had to be got inside and the doors locked as quickly as possible. Gair found himself with Brad, both of them yawning till their ears cracked, guarding Ayna and the other girls, who were running about by Moonlight, shrieking the words to the sheep, which had scattered for the night nearly as far as the old road itself. They were relieved but puzzled not to see a single Dorig.

“Just as well,” said Brad. “I think I’d snore in their faces. What do you think happened?”

Gair wanted to know that too, but he had to wait until the sheep were in, the doors locked, watch posted and the fugitives all settled in somewhere. Orban, Kasta and Ondo were, of course, settled in Gest’s house. Ayna, Gair and Ceri all gathered to watch Orban, with his wounds now bathed and bandaged, drink mug after mug of beer and explain what had happened.

The long and short of it was that the Dorig had driven them from Otmound. That afternoon, the wells of Otmound had begun to overflow. While the Garholt hunt had been peacefully making its way home, Og’s people had been struggling to hold back a flood which no words would stem. The water ran from the wells, filled the mound and went on rising. By Sundown, the flood had reached the rooftops and everyone was forced to go outside. And outside, the Dorig were waiting.

“Crafty swine!” said Orban. “It was just like smoking out bees. They hid in the Haunted Mound and waited for us to come out.”

Orban and Og rallied those who could fight and attacked the Dorig, while the rest got away with their possessions. The fight had gone very badly. Og was killed. Orban had been forced to run for it with the rest of the fighting-men, and the Dorig had pursued them. But the Dorig had not been anxious to go beyond the thorn trees along the first Giant road – Kasta, as usual, had overstated the case – and had turned back to Otmound. Orban had caught up the rest and they had come on to Garholt as fast as they could.

“And you’d better watch that they don’t try that trick with the wells here,” Orban said, passing his mug to Miri for more beer.

“They can’t,” Gest said confidently. “All our wells are protected.” He pointed to the nearest, with its rounded stone hood and the twig-shaped writing on the stonework, which was the indoor equivalent of a thorn tree.

“I hope you’re right,” Orban said glumly.

Gair looked from his uncle’s weary face to the tears running down his mother’s. In a shocked, distant way, he knew there had been a terrible disaster. War, he thought. But it did not feel like that. He could not imagine Otmound as an underground lake or think of more than one Dorig at a time. As for Og, it was a shame, but to Gair he was a fussy old grandfather whom Gair had not known very well, or to tell the truth, liked very much. He looked at Ayna and Ceri’s sober faces and saw they felt the same.

The important thing to all three was that here was Ondo back again after only two days, and the important question was when was he going?

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