text: [Themes: mystery / thriller]
  
  Taking another swig of mead, Wulf tossed the dice again. There was little hope of finding the two men- they might be anywhere in Wessex by now, and he didn't even know what they looked like.
  
  They played a few more rounds, and Wulf won back a little of his silver. One of the guards, a thin, ugly man with only three fingers on one hand, had a streak of bad throws, and his eyes grew angrier and angrier with each lost coin. The bearded man either didn't notice or didn't care, slapping the thin man on the back and laughing each time he took his silver. Wulf could sense the fight coming.
  
  "Your wife won't be happy about this," the bearded man said jovially after one throw. "I'll have to stop by to put her in a good mood, and...mruph!" His words were cut short when the thin man caught him with a quick punch and then stormed from the table. The others paid it no mind, but the bearded man bellowed "Get back here, you runt!"
  
  He dove for the thin man's legs but missed, nearly hitting the one sharpening his sword, who leapt up and scampered to the corner of the room. The bearded man rose again, tottering a little from the blow and the mead, but by the time he spotted the thin man, he had his own sword. "Piss off," he muttered, and, though the bearded man muttered some insults, he did not attack again.
  
  At that moment the door flew open and another guard ran in. He glanced at the bearded man, whose eye was already swelling up, but then turned to the others. "There's been another murder! Grimbold is dead, and we must secure and search the castle and then the rest of Winchester." They jumped from their seats and grabbed their weapons while he described the one they were hunting, and Wulf realized it was the same cook he had spoken to last night. They'd better not catch the man before he had a chance to speak with him again.
  
  "Who the hell are you, anyway?" the new arrival barked, pointing his blade at Wulf. The question was bound to come up eventually.
  
  "I'm on the king's business," he said softly, which just made the man's eyes narrow.
  
  "You aren't on anybody's business; you're just drinking and gambling with the rest of these layabouts. This isn't a tavern. Who said you could be in here?"
  
  "He's a good man," the bearded man interjected.
  
  The newcomer shot him a withering look. "Sharing a drink with you hardly makes him a good man, and neither does putting some silver in your pocket. An ealdorman was just murdered in this castle, so I ask again, who are you?"
  
  Wulf answered, keeping his eyes on the man's sword. "I work for Cynehelm, the king's steward, and I came here for a bit of a break. I didn't kill anyone, as your own guards can say. I'll leave you to your search."
  
  The man scowled. "You're not leaving so easily. Cynehelm seems a good man, but he was with Grimbold when he was murdered. I won't take any chances. You'll stay with us and help look for the cook, and, once we find him, I'll speak to Cynehelm about you. I will not allow this headquarters to become a den of iniquity, so even if he confirms that you work for him, you are not permitted to return here. Do you understand?"
  
  > Run
  Yes, the man looked strong, and Wulf had drunk a little, but he was confident he could force his way out before the others even realized what was happening. He had to find the cook before they did, had to question him before one of these buffoons stuck his sword through his throat. Besides, he preferred to work alone.
  
  "Fine," he said at last, and the man turned to speak with the others. Suddenly, Wulf drew his sword and slashed wildly, cutting the man's arm and knocking him to the floor. He darted away and through the door, and the mead and excitement made him laugh a little as he went.
  
  "After him!" he heard, and ran faster, his feet clattering against the castle floor. It sounded like the whole room of guards were after him, and he raced through the corridors. Unlike before, they were full of people, everyone looking panicked and afraid. Most were women or old men, as the men-at-arms and guards were no doubt searching for the cook, and they jumped away as he came barreling towards them.
  
  He twisted and turned through the halls, coming eventually to the older, Roman part of the castle, which was much emptier. Wulf listened. He could still hear footsteps, but they seemed far away, and he started looking for Leofwine's room. It took a while to find, but once he was there, he worked quickly, prying up the heavy tiles one by one and tossing them aside.
  
  He was only half-finished, however, when they burst in. It was the thin, ugly guard and two others, and they formed a semicircle, barring the door with their drawn swords. "It's the dungeon for you," the thin man said nastily, but Wulf swung his own blade. They looked at him warily, coming a little closer with each passing moment, and he knew he had to take a chance.
  
  With a great shout, Wulf dove towards the thin man, hacking desperately with his short sword. He caught the man's arm and then his neck. Blood spurted out as he fell, but the others kept their focus. One got Wulf on the leg, and the other just missed his head, the steel whistling as it flew by. He shook off the pain and turned, blocking another slash, and tried to stab the one to his right. The guard leapt out of the way, and the other brought his sword down on Wulf's back with all his strength.
  
  The blow cleaved straight through his cloak and old chainmail, tearing into his back with a bitter agony. He collapsed to the ground, still clutching his sword, but the guards took no chances. One kicked his hand savagely, knocking the blade away, and the other drove his sword into his neck, snapping skin, muscle, and bone and cracking the tile below. Blood streamed out and mixed with the flow already on the floor, but the blow was a small mercy. Wulf felt no pain as he faded away, nothing but a bitter disappointment that Leofwine's killer still lived and that he failed his old friend.