A Stag in the Shadows

by S E Turner

  Contents

  By S.E. Turner

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Main Characters

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright S. E. Turner 2018

  The right of S. E. Turner to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  By S.E. Turner

  The Kingdom of Durundal Series

  Book One: A Hare in the Wilderness

  Book Two: A Wolf in the Dark

  Book Three: A Leopard in the Mist

  Book Four: A Stag in the Shadows

  Book Five: A Moth in the Flames

  www.kingdomofdurundal.com

  'Where the motto is 'never give in'

  Where you fight till you conquer and win

  Where to lose is a mortal sin

  In the Kingdom of Durundal'

  'The Stag is the Emperor of the Forest.'

  Prologue

  He remembered it well, that very first day in the cave. The shore line was jagged with nooks and crannies, and a snarl of rocks tried to hinder them as they sought out the deepest cavern.

  Inside a hollow, the air was cold and damp with a strong smell of sea-salt, and littered with copious amounts of debris. Some squabbling gulls had followed them from the town, but soon disappeared when the two men settled on an appropriate cave. The mouth was a hole in the rock, barely wide enough for a man to get through, but Beauchamp had a nose for these things; he had said they would be hidden from view, and as it opened to the north, they would not get too hot during the summer months.

  As usual, Beauchamp had been correct in his assumptions, and the small passage opened up into a huge cavity with an underground stream and a wealth of natural carvings born from the monstrous arteries. When the sun filtered through, these carvings resembled mythical creatures that took on life enhancing characteristics and appeared to breathe in the air and silently move around.

  That was four years ago, and for the past three years this labyrinth of darkness had become his home. He saw no one; he had become quite malevolent in spirit and onerous in thought. Beauchamp would have loved to know what he was doing in there and what his plans were, but the young man wouldn't confide in him now. The cave had given him all he needed. His friends were the shadows and his allies were the wraiths. Why would he need anyone else? Humans were the mutant force he had decided.

  On many a dark night with his fire shimmering through the chilled vacuous air, the tongues of heat cast a perfect light and wreathed the wraiths in robes of red, orange and yellow. Some slithered and silvered in the light, others became jewelled and gilded, while many seemed to shudder as the flames reached higher and wider. Sometimes his imagination ran wild, where the gargoyles were the souls of witches burned at the stake; writhing and curling, skin blackening and melting. Their very souls dripped away, and their ancient spells pooled into forgotten ashes. And here they stood, dammed forever in cold grey rock, protected in the lair by dragons, each one of them fearful of human contact. It was a momentary assumption, and he laughed at the preposterous idea.

  He remembered how, as a young boy, he was petrified of the dark, terrified of the unknown, and scared witless that witches would come in the dead of night and devour him. That dragons would search him out and breathe fire on him. But then he was told that they lived on the other side of the world and he would be safe in the protection of his father. What a lie that was. His father hadn't protected him, and he had never seen a dragon or a witch in all the seven years he had lived on the other side of the world.

  He had now faced his demons—and those dark terrors were firmly in the past. He feared nothing or no one. Instead, he embraced the serenity and peace that he found amongst the protective cavernous stones.

  But today something was different. Something was amiss.

  The morning air was dark with the smell of rain, and the dragons peered out from their stone surroundings as if they were looking directly at him. A cloud seemed to hang over him today—ragged and black as his cloak. He paced about restlessly, muttering to himself, and the crenel of witches trembled when he brushed past them. He was agitated about something, he did not know what, he just knew that he needed a change. After three years of living in the cave, something had to alter.

  Outside, he heard the waves crashing against the jagged rocks, eager to get past the entrance of the cave's mouth. The wind picked up pace and threaded its way through the canyon into the dome of gargoyles, where it curled round the hundred faces and breathed energy into them. The fire glowed with the life giving elements and rose up higher, burning brighter with every passing minute. He caught his breath for a moment, unsure of what was happening. He heard a rustling and then an even fiercer light bloomed.

  He shielded his eyes and felt the breath stuck in his throat. His own hand gripped his neck and the other protected him from the glare. As the roar of power settled down, it then went pitch black.

  'What witchcraft is this?' his voice quivered.

  All he could hear was the sound of his own breathing; loud, anxious, agitated. He calmed himself. The light returned, and out of the flames stepped a life form. He didn't know what it was. He backed away, stumbling, slipping, falling. Hot coals ignited the being. The black charcoaled image stood there burning, as ashes around its feet lifted in a frenzy and swirled around the body, before disappearing into the orifice of a throat. The blackened skin became young and even skin-toned. Long golden hair grew from the crown of the head. Though shrouded in a fine gossamer, he could see that the face was beautiful. And beneath, the body was perfect. A naked woman stood before him veiled in plumes of smoke. Fiery amber eyes pierced his own and didn't stray from their focus.

  Her voice was enchanting.

  'Cornelius, I have watched you grow into a man. I have seen the change in you. But I know you are about to leave this place and embark on a journey. '

  Cornelius pinched himself, he shook his head, not quite believing what was in front of him or what he had just heard.

  'You are not the frightened little boy anymore. You are strong and you are courageous. I can help you become even stronger.'

  'How?' his voice was small and weak.

  'The gods of darkness protect you and I can give you immortality.'

  Cornelius laughed out loud.

  The fire soared, the wind howled, the amber eyes glared. 'Do not mock me,' she bellowed.

  He swallowed the laugh and spoke quietly. 'Why would you do
that for me?'

  'Because I want something in return.'

  He braced himself, fearful of what she would request from him.

  'What can I give you?' he heard the whisper.

  Her eyes burned brighter, the plumes of smoke clung to her curves. The breeze curled around his torso.

  She bore into his very soul. He turned away. 'Look at me Cornelius.'

  Their eyes met.

  'It is written that a warrior will charge through the kingdoms and seek vengeance for those whom have been slain and tortured. This warrior will be born from the seed of the living and the womb of the dead.' He dropped his head sideways in astonishment.

  'Her name will be Sansara, her purpose will be to bring peace. She will be able to take many forms – but in this life – it will be of a human. '

  His rhetoric was mocking. 'That is impossible. There is too much evil out there for one person to take care of. Even a ten thousand strong army, with the very best bowman, cavalry and foot-soldiers cannot do what you propose'

  The fire blinded him. The wind froze him to the spot.

  He frowned.

  'I want you to father me that child.'

  She saw the pink cavern of his mouth.

  'If you do this for me then I give you my word, no ordinary man will take your life.'

  'How do I know you are speaking the truth?'

  The fire roared again, the waves snarled foam around the cavern, the wind raced through the gloom.

  'How can you take care of a child? What will you do? Where will you go?' he continued despite the wrath.

  'That is not your concern. The child will be mine and given everything she needs. I can assure you of that.' Her voice grew thin 'But I grow weak in this life form...I am tiring... now do we have a bargain?'

  Cornelius sat in the tavern for the first time in months.

  'Gimme another flagon of ale!' He caught the passing serving girl by the arm.

  'Are you sure sir? I think you have had enough for one night.'

  'I'll be the judge of that you useless wench, just do as I ask. '

  The girl rushed off to get his ale, and left Cornelius immersed in his thoughts, looking down at a torched piece of paper born from the ashes.

  ' Beware a stag in the shadows – for he has the power to slay you.'

  Chapter One

  The darkness pitched his eyes. The cold had become a numb presence that was slowly devouring him. He was so far down in the gorge that the pair of hunting eagles didn't even notice him. He was lying face down. The snow covered him like a shimmering blanket, the crystallised ice pierced his cheek like daggers – but he couldn't move. He tried to straighten his legs. One was bent right back in an excruciating fashion. He groaned several times and rolled over onto his back. His leg snapped back into place. The cloak fell away from him. He felt for blood. There was none. He pressed his fingers around his torso to detect a wound. Again there was nothing. He looked up into sky. The eagles continued to swoop and soar on seraph wings, the majesty of their power commanded awe. The sun caught the tip of a feather and turned it golden. He turned his head to shield his eyes. Still they didn't see him. And still he searched for answers. Why was he here, who was he, was this his death – or was it hell ?

  To those that had seen it, or heard of it, the mine at Break Pass Ridge was like no other place in the kingdoms. A vast rock face that filled up half the sky, pale grey in colour, and a natural wonder. From miles away it looked like any other colossal formation; proud and unbroken, stretching into the distance, where the sprawling rolling hills and pockets of alpine plants had covered it in a protective green winter coat.

  But close up, it bore a never ending scar from constant cleaving and clawing to get to its contents. In most places, centuries of wind blown dirt had pocked and scoured it until it resembled an unrecognisable fossil, while in others it exposed the remains of cruel curved ribs. These lifeless craggy cliffs spewed out of the woodland for miles, where broken boulders fell like corpses, and sheets of slate protruded from the flesh of the earth like hideous grey skeletons. Here, each jagged edge and pointed face cried tears of unbearable suffering, but none more than those who had inflicted the wounds. Now, the ghosts of more than a thousand men, women and children, who had given their very souls to Break Pass Ridge Mine, could see to their horror, that they had been searching in the wrong place.

  A strange noise woke him. The sun was disappearing behind the trees, and his eyes flew open. A branch snapped. A man cursed. They were walking. Why are they walking he thought to himself. Why are there no horses?

  'What's over there?'

  'I think it could be him.'

  'At freckin' last, I'm freezing my nuts off out here.'

  'Come on then, let's get him bound up again, and get out of this gods forsaken place.'

  There were two of them, and they were getting closer.

  'It doesn't look much like him from here.'

  'Maybe he's dead. No one makes it this far anyway. I don't know why we've come out here.'

  'You know why, if we go back empty handed we'll be flogged.'

  'We'll have to take the corpse back with us to show the master.'

  'Wipe the snow off him then.'

  Cornelius sat up coughing and spluttering before the gloved hand got too close.

  'By the gods, you gave me a turn, thought you be dead.'

  Cornelius pawed at the snow frozen to his face.

  'It's not him,' came the disappointment.

  'No, it's not him, the master won't be happy. You know how he likes to set an example to potential escapees.'

  'That one must be dead though, no one survives out here. The wolves or the bears will have got him by now.'

  'So I'm not dead then?' Cornelius interrupted their exchange of words.

  'Well if you are dead, then I must the devil's kinsman, and I certainly not be him.' He let out a raucous laugh. 'So who might you be?'

  Cornelius looked puzzled, he frowned and shook his head. He struggled to find an answer.

  'I don't know.'

  The two men laughed. 'You don't know who you are?' said a gruff voice.

  'No.' Cornelius looked around. 'No, I don't. Where am I?'

  The two men laughed again.

  'You are the other side of the world my boy, where the witches and dragons live.'

  'And the bears and the wolves.'

  They both roared with laughter.

  'This is Break Pass Ridge, and you are our bit of luck.' A sinister smile spread across the gruff voice.

  Cornelius looked puzzled.

  'We've lost one escapee, but gained another, so not a bad day's work after all.'

  'I thought the master would thrash us for letting that one escape, but bringing this one back will put us in his good books again.'

  The larger one of the two had a deep scar imbedded in his cheek that went from the lobe of his ear to the corner of his mouth, giving him a rather lop sided grin. His ruddy complexion matched his gruff voice. The smaller one had several teeth missing, and a high pitched tone matched his weasel like eyes.

  The high pitched voice nodded his head in agreement. 'How long you been out here boy? '

  Again Cornelius couldn't answer. 'I don't know. Really I don't know.'

  The two men looked at each other and shrugged.

  'No matter, you are alive and breathing. Goodness knows how you got here, or how long you've been here. But that's of little consequence to us. You are our prisoner now and will work for our master, the King of Hezekiah Hall.'

  'I've never heard of him,' said Cornelius witheringly.

  'Not many have, I can assure you. But soon you will fear his very name. Your skin will crawl if he summons you, and most of the time you will wish that you had died out here.'

  The words rolled off the gruff voice like it had been said a thousand times before.

  'Why is he so bad? What will I have to do?'

  'You will find out soon enough. Come on, let's go and me
et your new master.'

  He was tied up with his hands behind his back and another noose around his neck like a lead. He didn't know why he had to be trussed up so viciously, there were two of them after all, but then again, he had heard how they spoke about the king, they were clearly terrified of him and couldn't risk losing another prisoner.

  It took forever to work their way through the small dense forest. The tracks were narrow and ill defined in the fading light. Cornelius heard his own shortened breaths as he weaved around protruding trees and pushed through the matted undergrowth. He gritted his teeth as a thicket of hawthorn clawed at his skin. Without his hands to move them away, everything whipped at him. Here the night was an eerie place, punctuated by harrowing sounds that seemed worse in the dark. The howl of a wolf, the screech of an owl, the wail of a fox. Every now and again a smaller nocturnal animal skittered away, a flash of fur becoming a shadow. A squeal disappeared into a struggle – that would be a meal for something.

  'Why do we have to go this way? There must be an easier route?' Cornelius was tiring already.

  'Well there is my boy, but escapees always come this way. They think they will be hidden and go unnoticed. Besides, we don't want to show you the easy route now do we, you might try to escape.'

  He heard them sniggering in front of him.

  Still, the snow continued to fall; numbing the bones right down to his very soul. Struggling for the duration, the guards had to drag him under the arms when the going got really tough. No horse or mule could handle these conditions. It was difficult for a man, and nigh on impossible for a trussed up one with acute amnesia. They carried on, and all he could do was stumble and follow, trying to keep his balance within their tracks. Up steep slopes and down into stream beds, through blackthorn bushes, battling their way through the undergrowth with hostile brambles fighting back. Above them, the moon was still rising and cast her shadowy light; and now he could see the trees were beginning to thin out.

  They approached the lower slopes of the mountains that stood at the hub of the kingdoms. Here, the view was spectacular. High peaks and steep ravines were covered in snow, and under the brilliance of the stars and a three quarter moon, they gleamed and shimmered like shards of light. Cornelius sensed they were nearing the end of the journey as the wide valley opened up before them and their pace began to slow. And right ahead of them was the immense stone bulwark of Break Pass Ridge Mine.