Alan continued his journey through the western kingdoms. The road was long, and the black steed carried him across hills, forests and winding country lanes. He had become more confident with his sword, but Merlin's lessons remained in his mind: confidence was useful only when accompanied by caution.
One afternoon, while stopping beside a stream, Alan heard shouting.
A group of bandits had surrounded a woman and were attempting to steal her belongings. Alan approached without hesitation.
"Leave her alone!"
The bandits turned towards him. One laughed at the sight of a young traveller challenging them.
"You should mind your own business, boy."
Alan drew his sword.
The first bandit rushed forward. Alan parried his attack and struck him across the chest. A second tried to approach from behind, but Alan turned quickly and knocked his weapon away. The remaining men hesitated. When two of their companions fell, the others fled into the trees.
The woman thanked Alan and invited him to her village.
He accepted. He was tired, and the village offered food, shelter and a chance to rest.
The woman lived with her husband and their infant daughter. They welcomed Alan warmly, but he soon noticed that something troubled them. During the evening, he overheard the husband trying to comfort his wife.
"I cannot let it take me," she whispered. "What will happen to you and our child?"
Alan approached them.
"Forgive me for asking, but what is wrong?"
The husband hesitated. Eventually, he explained that his wife had seen a creature in the nearby forest. Since that night, she had been convinced that it would return for her.
"The creature is called the Dullahan," he said.
Alan had heard the name before, but never encountered one.
The man described a headless rider travelling on a black horse. The creature carried its own decaying head beneath its arm, and its mouth was said to stretch into a terrible grin. In some tales, it rode with a funeral wagon decorated with skulls, bones and human remains. Its whip was made from a human spine.
The Dullahan was feared because it could call a person's name. Whoever heard their name spoken by the creature was said to die immediately.
"There is no door that can keep it out," the man continued. "Locks open before it. Walls offer no protection. But the old stories say that it fears gold."
"Can it be killed?" Alan asked.
The man lowered his voice.
"Some say its head must be separated from its body and burned. But no one has ever been brave enough to try."
Alan looked towards the woman.
"Show me where you saw it."
Her husband immediately objected.
"You cannot fight something like that. You have already done enough for us."
"I will not allow it to take another innocent life."
That night, Alan rode into the forest. He left his horse at a safe distance and waited beside the road where the woman had seen the creature.
The moon was hidden behind thick clouds. The forest was silent.
Then he heard it.
A dragging sound, followed by the unmistakable thunder of galloping hooves.
A black horse emerged from the darkness. Upon it sat a headless rider, holding a rotting head beneath one arm. Behind the rider came a wagon decorated with skulls and bones. Small flames burned inside the hollow eye sockets of the skulls.
The Dullahan stopped.
Its head turned towards Alan.
Although its lips did not move, a voice filled the forest.
"Alan."
He froze.
The creature knew his name.
The Dullahan raised its whip and charged.
Alan ran behind a tree as the whip struck the ground, splitting the earth. He drew his sword, but the creature continued towards him without slowing. Alan remembered the golden dagger he had used against the Banshee queen, but it was too small to serve as his only weapon.
He needed to get close.
As the wagon passed, Alan leapt onto its rear platform. The Dullahan twisted around and swung its whip. The blow struck Alan's shoulder, throwing him against the side of the wagon.
He struggled to keep his grip.
The rider's head grinned at him.
"You cannot escape death."
Alan drew the golden dagger and slashed at the creature's wrist. The Dullahan recoiled, dropping its head onto the wagon floor. Alan seized the opportunity. He grabbed the head with one hand and pulled it away from the creature's grasp.
The Dullahan's body continued moving, thrashing wildly as it tried to recover its head.
Alan jumped from the wagon and ran towards a nearby clearing, where he had prepared a fire before the creature arrived. He threw the head into the flames.
A terrible scream erupted from the forest.
The Dullahan's body collapsed. Its horse reared, then vanished into the darkness. The wagon broke apart, and the bones scattered across the road.
Alan remained beside the fire until the screaming stopped.
At sunrise, he returned to the village.
The woman was waiting outside her home. When she saw him, she covered her mouth in disbelief.
"Is it gone?"
Alan nodded.
"The road is yours again."
The villagers gathered around him. They celebrated his victory and presented him with a suit of silver armour, crafted by the village blacksmith. It was lighter than ordinary armour but strong enough to withstand powerful blows.
Alan thanked them and prepared to leave.
The villagers warned him that the sea ahead was dangerous. Nevertheless, he needed to continue his journey.
Two days later, Alan boarded a ship with a sailor who agreed to take him across the water. The voyage began peacefully, but on the second day, the weather changed.
Dark clouds gathered overhead. The wind grew violent, and enormous waves crashed against the ship.
"Get below deck!" the sailor shouted.
A wave struck the vessel broadside. The wooden hull cracked, and the mast snapped. Alan was thrown into the sea.
He fought against the current, trying to reach the surface. When he finally emerged, the ship was already breaking apart. He could not see the sailor or his horse.
By the time the storm passed, Alan had been carried towards an unfamiliar island.
His horse was gone.
For the first time since beginning his journey, he was completely alone.
He gathered branches, leaves and pieces of wreckage along the shore. He caught fish with a makeshift fishing rod and built a crude shelter beneath the trees. For three nights, he worked to construct a raft.
His hands were bruised, his clothes were torn, and hunger weakened him. Yet he refused to surrender.
On the fourth morning, he pushed the raft into the water.
He had lost his steed, but not his purpose.
Somewhere beyond the horizon lay the next stage of his journey.