The Sword of Wayland

by Gavin Chappell

  * * * * *

  ‘What happened?’

  Cynethryth’s question cracked like a whip above the wizard’s head. He looked away.

  ‘I… I couldn’t save all of them,’ he admitted.

  ‘My son - where is he?’ she demanded. ‘Is he dead? You’ll pay for it if he is!’

  Grimbert shook his head quickly. ‘They spared him,’ he gabbled. ‘I persuaded them to let him go. Not easy - they’re hunters; once they’ve been blooded it’s almost impossible to hold them back.’ His brow gleamed in the rushlight, slick with sweat. ‘I let them slay the rest, and that briefly slaked their hunger. But it was not enough. They still thirst for the blood of men.’

  ‘But my son is safe?’ Cynethryth demanded. Bargaining with darkness, she had almost lost something she valued more than power.

  The wizard nodded. ‘As long as he does not venture into the woods again,’ he said. ‘But still they demand blood. They will not be happy until they have drunk their fill.’

  Cynethryth stared at him. Suddenly, she laughed.

  ‘Then send them after Thane Oswald, fool.’ Without another word, she turned and swept from the chamber.

  Grimbert stood still for a second or two. Then he scurried forward and plucked his wand from the ground where he had dropped it. He stepped over to the cauldron, and raised his arms.