* * * * *
‘Wake up, slant-eyes!’
Grimbert came to upon a yellow ox-hide in the midst of the muddy floor of King Caradawg’s hall.
‘He’s awake!’ crowed another voice. Grimbert looked up to see the tall, tawny-headed figure of the king standing before him, surrounded by his henchmen. The words were in English, so he knew they wanted him to understand them.
‘What do you want?’ Grimbert growled.
‘Wake up, lazybones,’ said Caradawg. Though the king was grinning wildly, Grimbert detected a tremor of uncertainty in his voice. ‘You have a visitor.’
Grimbert looked around. ‘Where?’ he asked. ‘Who?’
Caradawg spat, and said something in his own tongue.
‘We left it out in the rain,’ he replied. ‘My doorkeeper wouldn’t let it in, and quite right too. Go and speak with it if you must. Those things turn my stomach more than you do.’
Caradawg turned his back on the wizard and strode to his throne, where his foot-warmer stretched languorously. He sat down, slipped his feet between the girl’s legs, and waved a hand to the servants.
‘More mead,’ he commanded. ‘Tomorrow we raid Hywel’s valleys, but tonight we feast. Tomorrow, I will wield the elf-sword,’ - he indicated the burnished blade that hung by its quillons on a nearby pillar - ‘the sword this wizard brought me, with which I took my rightful throne! My sword!’ He continued speaking, but in his own tongue.
Grimbert made his way through the throng of drunken warriors who had gathered around the feasting board. Caradawg had indeed seized his throne with the aid of Wayland’s magic blade, though the king had no notion of its true potential. Nonetheless, he valued it above all his other possessions, and had pronounced the doom of lingering death upon any who laid hands on it without express permission.
The wizard reached the door. The doorkeeper looked up at his approach, his eyes wide.
‘It’s out there,’ he said. ‘Outside the porch.’ His hands fumbled with the crucifix round his neck. Ignoring the man, Grimbert strode out into the rain-lashed night.
In the yard, he stood waiting, his face flickering in the warm yellow light from the hall behind him.
‘Sorcerer!’ Something hissed from the shadows nearby. Grimbert turned in that direction as something scuttled out to face him. Firelight glittered from an almost reptilian face, and the goblin took a pace back.
‘My lord king wishes to speak with you,’ it rasped. ‘We are ready to open the dragons’ chamber.’
‘That is unnecessary before the eve of Yule,’ Grimbert replied. ‘Why does your king insist on such hurry?’
‘The word goes out that our enemies plot against us,’ the goblin hissed. ‘We must be certain that our plan will work. We must be sure the dragons are still sleeping beneath Eryri.’
The natural tongue of the old people was closer to Welsh than to English, and Grimbert often found them slipping back into it.
‘Snowdon, you mean,’ he snapped. ‘But speaking of elven plots, I have spoken with the queen. She tells me that Oswald and the others have been seen heading for the hills.’
The goblin spat a curse. ‘Then we must hurry,’ he hissed. ‘Who knows what may happen if Lady Godda’s agents reach us!’
‘They do not have Wyrmbane,’ shouted Grimbert as he followed the goblin, who scuttled across the rain-lashed yard towards a hut. ‘King Caradawg holds it, and he threatens to quarter anyone who tries to wrest it from him.’
‘Faugh!’ the goblin snarled. ‘It was a mistake to trust these fools.’
He slipped through the hut doorway, and Grimbert followed. Within, a gaping hole stood in the middle of the floor; this was how the goblin had gained entrance to Caradawg’s palace, then.
‘Down here!’ hissed the goblin, indicating it with a gesture of his deformed arm. Grimbert sighed, and lowered himself down after his cat-eyed guide.
The tunnels twisted blackly ahead, and Grimbert followed the scuttling of his guide like a blind man. Occasionally, other noises were audible, growing in frequency as the floor altered from one of earth to one of slate, and the drip-drip-drip from the roof increased. Grimbert had been in many dark places during a life dedicated to wickedness and evil. But nowhere had filled him with such a deep sense of foreboding as did the tunnels that honeycombed these mountains.
He followed his scuttling guide until his legs were weary, until he could almost go no further.
All of a sudden, he felt the close, stuffy darkness opening out before him, and he found himself blinking in a shaft of moonlight that poured in through a hole in the arching roof. In the hazy, indistinct light, a huddle of figures was awaiting him.
One of them stepped forward. It wore a goat skull headdress.
‘You found him, then,’ it whispered to the goblin. Grimbert recognised it as the goblin king himself. He bowed low.
‘My lord king,’ he said formally, before his guide could speak. ‘I come from speech with Queen Cynethryth...’
The goblin king looked shifty. ‘She is here?’ he said.
Grimbert shook his head.
‘I sent my fetch to Offa’s palace, and spoke with her there,’ he explained. ‘And she tells me that Oswald, the rogue who you met at Wayland’s Smithy, is heading for this kingdom.’
‘Damnation!’ the goblin king hissed. ‘How long do we have before we can awaken the dragon?’
‘Four weeks,’ replied Grimbert. ‘At the end of this month we will be able to perform the rite that will awaken the Red Dragon, and send him to burn the lowlands.’
‘In the meantime, we must be on our guard,’ said Puck darkly. ‘It would have been better if we had slain this Oswald at the Smithy. Yet I did not know that he was in Lady Godda’s pay then. Besides, his witch knew enough of conjuring to keep us at bay. But the next time we meet, I will make good that humiliation.’
Grimbert paid no attention to this vow. ‘You intend to open the dragons’ chamber?’ he asked. ‘Tonight?’
‘Yes,’ the goblin replied. ‘We must be sure the dragons are there, and still alive. So much hinges on our success! With the Red Dragon, we will have all Britain under our control before the new year is out. Without it, we may soon find ourselves in open conflict with Lady Godda. And that is a war I look forward to with little optimism.’
The goblin halted, then shot Grimbert a snake-eyed glance. ‘Come with us, then, wizard,’ he ordered. ‘We will take you to the rock-face, and once the cavern is opened up, you may gaze upon the sleeping face of he who is to be our greatest ally.’
He turned, and scuttled across the moonlit patch, followed by his goblins. Grimbert strode after them into the darkness.
The Sword of Wayland Page 30