The Sword of Wayland by Gavin Chappell

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  ‘This is a crazy idea,’ Llewellyn complained, halting at the base of the scree slope and looking back at his comrades.

  ‘Don’t argue,’ Hywel puffed. ‘You know the route. Get going!’

  ‘I’ve never been this way,’ Llewellyn replied, gazing up at the looming cliffs. The crashing spray from the mighty waterfall nearby was white in the darkness. ‘My father made it across those peaks, but only once. It’ll take us hours. Why don’t we go back to the horses and ride around the mountains?’

  ‘Because that will take too long,’ Edwin said grimly from beside the king. ‘Far too long. Get going, friend.’

  Llewellyn looked doubtfully back down the wooded valley where the river wound towards the far-off road. He sighed helplessly.

  ‘Follow me,’ he commanded.

  He began to make his way up a narrow slanting path that led at an angle across the slope of scree.