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surely die.'
Having spoken my mind, I made the sign of the cross over my heart and then, using the sword as a staff,
pulled myself up onto my feet and stumbled painfully to join my swordbrothers in the fight.
The undead warriors had regrouped and were advancing once more. Bors had almost reached the battle
line, but Gereint was yet a dozen paces ahead of him. Loosing a loud battle cry, the impetuous young
warrior leapt forward, the great sword a blur of gleaming steel around him as he flung himself headlong
into the centre of their ranks.
Oh, it was bold. It was brave. It was foolhardy beyond belief, but my heart soared to see him as he
charged alone into the fray, brandishing the sword and bellowing his wild war chant.
Behold! Even before Gereint could strike a blow, the enemy's relentless advance staggered to a halt.
Heedless, Gereint raced ahead and the ranks of the undead collapsed before him. He swung Caledvwlch
around his head and leapt to the right and left. Everywhere he turned, the enemy fell away.
Back and back they fled, stumbling over one another in their haste to escape. Wonder of wonders, it
was as if they could not abide the sight of the sword, much less stand against it!
The mere sight of the Sovereign Sword of Britain made them cry out in alarm and dismay, for whenever
Gereint came near, they opened their silent mouths and filled the air with piteous wails. The thin,
bloodless sound tore up from their hollow throats in long, biting shrieks that ended in raking sobs and
clashing teeth. Their faces, once impassive, now convulsed in the hideous rictus of abject, mindless terror.
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Though rarely seen elsewhere, it is an expression common enough on the battlefield, and I had seen it
more times than I like to remember - on the faces of men who knew themselves bereft of every hope and
doomed to swift destruction.
That the sight of Caledvwlch should inspire such horror amazed me so, I stood flat-footed and stared as,
all around me, the enemy abandoned their weapons and fled the field in a mad, futile effort to escape.
They trampled one another and, falling, clawed their way over their comrades in a blind panic.
But Gereint was not daunted. Leaping and spinning, striking with clean, efficient strokes, he cut them
down as they fled before him. With each stroke and every thrust, another enemy fell - and this time they
did not rise again, but expired, screaming as they died.
God help me, their shrieking was more appalling than their loathsome silence. It cut me to the quick to
hear it, even as I rejoiced in the victory.
The young warrior became a very reaper, cutting a wide swath of destruction and havoc through the
crumbling ranks of the undead. As the last of them fell before Caledvwlch's fury, I saw Bors standing a
little distance away, his shoulders bent, his sword dangling at his side. 'Brother,' I said, 'it looks as though
we live to fight again.'
Gereint, exultant in his triumph, came running to where we stood, his face glowing with exertion and
pride. 'Did you see?" he cried, almost shaking with jubilation. 'Did you see?'
'That we did, lad,' Bors assured him. 'You swinging that sword and cutting them down as they fled - it is
a sight I will never forget.'
'A glorious sight,' I agreed. 'Gereint, my friend, you are a very Bard of Battle.'
'It was never me,' Gereint replied. 'It was the sword.' He raised the blade and regarded it with awe.
'Caledvwlch spoke and I obeyed.'
'If you had not obeyed when you did,' Bors declared, 'I am certain we would all be drawing breath in
the Otherworld right now.'
We fell silent then, each to his own thoughts. I closed my eyes and breathed a prayer of thanks that we
had survived our ordeal. While I was yet praying, a gurgling sound reached my ears - like that of a
cauldron left too long on the hearth. It seemed to be coming from the corpses on the ground. I turned in
the direction of the sound and saw that the dead were decomposing - and this with such rapidity that their [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]