The Sword of Wayland

by Gavin Chappell

  * * * * *

  ‘What? What is it?’ grumbled Edwin, starting from his sleep.

  Oswald stared down at him, his expression unreadable.

  ‘There’s something out there,’ he hissed. ‘Among the trees.’

  Bork sat up.

  ‘What’s that stench?’ he said, glancing around him.

  ‘Look!’ Oswald said urgently, pointing towards the edge of the clearing. The two robbers followed his gaze.

  ‘I see nothing…’ Edwin said.

  Oswald peered into the darkness. Edwin was right - he could see nothing and no one under the spreading branches.

  ‘I swear I saw someone,’ he said. ‘And then there’s that smell…’

  ‘Trolls,’ growled Bork superstitiously. ‘Only trolls would smell that bad.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Oswald asked Edwin.

  ‘Trolls,’ replied Edwin with a shrug. ‘Monsters, he means.’ He took a deep breath, then gagged. ‘It’s certainly no natural smell,’ he added.

  The bushes rustled behind them. They scrambled round to stare in that direction.

  There was another noise, from behind them, the pad of a foot. They turned, peering vainly into the darkness.

  All of a sudden, the wood was alive with stealthy creeping noises.

  ‘We’re surrounded!’ hissed Edwin.

  ‘What by?’ Oswald demanded.

  Edwin shook his head.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted thickly. ‘I’ve known these woods for years, and I’ve never heard anything like it…’ He sounded terrified.