The Shadow of a King (Shadowland Book 2)

by C. M. Gray

  By late morning, the warriors were restless at being so confined and several fights had already broken out. Uther knew that being restrained in the hall like this was going to end in further disagreements and before long, bloodshed. When asked about them leaving, Finis had no problem other than suggesting that they should stay low on the mountain and not try to take the path up towards the stones.

  'The Druid Council is meeting there with Merlyn and others. They will have completed their business and the rituals that are necessary within just a few days.' He smiled, looking deeply into Uther's eyes and nodded his head as if hearing something. 'Might I guide you to see the waterfalls, we could be there and back before nightfall?'

  Despite finding the Druid infuriating, the idea of walking his men for most of the day appealed to Uther and so he agreed and they trailed out behind Finis, following him through the cave past the community of Druids. Each Druid paused as they went by, halting whatever intricate complexity of Druidic life that they were involved in to watch them pass, before going back to mumbling, swaying, chanting or sitting as still as stone staring off into the darkness, as was their way.

  Once they arrived outside and into the comfort of a drizzling rain, the warriors were visibly relieved to be away from the Druids and once more under a leaden sky that was, at least, familiar and something they could understand.

  They followed after Finis as he led them on the trail. At first, it twisted and turned back the same way that they had first arrived, through the meadows and woodland, but where the path they had followed dropped down towards the settlement of Difelyn, they instead turned upwards over a small hill and on towards the next valley. By midday, they had again risen to new heights and were walking through lush green woodland dripping with the rain that was falling above them through a high canopy of leaves, and when they finally emerged, it was to see a huge waterfall splashing a torrent of water down into a pool at its base.

  It was impressive, a true wonder of nature, and Uther could see why it was favoured by the Druids. A hawthorn tree, covered with small pieces of cloth torn from the cloaks and clothes of visitors grew close to the pool and beside it, an enormous upright stone stood towering over the visiting warriors – runes, cut crisp and clearly, showed upon its surface. While the warriors spread out, avoiding the stone, Finis walked to it and started a small fire at its base using a piece of glowing ember that he had carried from the Druid cave in a small clay pot that was hung from his neck on a cord and some dry twigs pulled from his robe. The blackened rocks around the base of the stone showed that this was a regular ritual. When he had a small blaze going, he smothered it with green leaves and smoke billowed up and drifted around the edge of the pool.

  'This is a ritual practiced here,' said Finis as Uther looked on. Behind Uther the warriors were spreading around the clearing, some laughing and joking as they hunted the few deer that had been seen, scattering when they first came out of the woods, while others were content to sharpen blades or rest. It was too cold to swim.

  'With this ritual we call upon the three worlds of land, water, and sky,' - he gestured towards the smoke as it drifted around the pool - 'the smoke is our pathway touching each of the worlds and it is through this that we are able to talk with the spirits of the ancestors who abide here.'

  'You speak with those that have died? With people who have walked this land in times before? Would they know the history of the stones?' Uther asked, but wasn't sure how much he wanted to know. He had spoken with Merlyn many times but never felt much the wiser for the conversations.

  'Perhaps they do… we shall see. I am able to speak with the dead as we all are if we would but listen. For they are in the wind which touches us, in the air that we breathe and within our words spoken and the songs that we sing.' Finis smiled and wafted smoke towards his face and then out towards the pond. 'They are all around us; they are in the waters of our land, in the rivers and within this pool, which holds so much memory. They are in the earth that nourished them with food and which their bodies nourished in turn when they died. Our ancestors are in our blood and in the stories told, in the mistakes we make, and in the lessons we have learned. They are also in each child's smile, in every ploughed field and in each glimpse of hope. Our ancestors are all around, but also, within us, it just takes a little effort and understanding to call upon them and ask for their guidance.' He smiled, sank to his knees and began to speak in soft tones as the smoke continued to swirl about him.

  Uther stepped back, glanced about in case an ancestor should show himself, and then decided to leave the Druid to his ritual. It was always better not to try and understand what Druids were doing. He looked for Duc Gerlois, but could not see him, so he joined Sir Ector.

  The old warrior was talking with several others, discussing the imminent return of Uath the Stranger. One voice was raised suggesting that they should all bring the giant to battle as soon as he entered the hall. Uther was about to interject, but stopped and listened as Sir Ector tried patiently to explain that if they all fought him, then there was no way that the Druids would see they had any honour, and they would not be able to take the stones; a point that Uther had already come to.

  As he approached, they all stood. 'Do not fret. We are merely pieces within these Druid games, nothing more,' said Uther as he crouched down beside them. 'It pleases them to taunt and play with us like this. Duc Gerlois will be spared at the last moment, and we shall all be celebrated as worthy and honourable men.'

  'But the Duc is not here, Uther. We were just discussing when he was last seen. I am not sure he even joined us on this small journey today.' Sir Ector shrugged.

  Uther shook his head. 'He would not leave. He will be waiting back in the hall when we return, or he will join us shortly. I have faith in him.' He stared around at the warriors, saw the looks in their eyes, and began to feel his faith slip slowly away. If the Duc was a coward, then he was jeopardising the whole quest, betraying them all.

  When they returned to the hall within the mouth of the mountain, the Duc was not there.

  Druids, both male and female brought in platters of food, ale and mead and the warriors, hungry from their day's walk, were happy to be so entertained. Wrestling matches were pitched between warriors of different tribes and there were contests with axe and spear.

  It was late and the mood somewhat more sombre when the heavy doors were thrown back with a great crash that echoed about both the hall and the cave outside, and let in a gust of cold wind and the smell of falling rain. The giant figure of Uath the Stranger stooped to enter. Whole once more, without a single mark on his great thick neck, Uath strode into the hall cradling the heavy axe in his hands. He slowed his pace and walked slowly towards the central fire, glowering at the warriors who were once again struck dumb with awe. When at last he reached the hearth and the oaken log set before it, he stood silent and unmoving, his thumb rubbing against the axe blade, the rasping noise that it made the only sound beyond the crackling of the fires. After some moments of contemplation, he turned a slow complete circle, and seeing that Duc Gerlois was not in attendance, he hung his head, shook it slowly in sadness and then spat upon the stones of the floor, but as he did, a voice rose from the back of the hall.

  'I am ready to honour your challenge, giant… I am ready to strike your head from your shoulders, and when you return tomorrow, I shall not fear to offer you the same pact.' Cunobelin walked from the ranks of warriors and, standing in front of the towering figure, accepted the proffered axe amid a cacophony of noise, calls of encouragement and lament, anger and fear, slowly the sounds died.

  The giant met the warrior's gaze for one long moment, then shrugged and knelt beside the oaken log, placing his head so that it might be cleanly struck.

  Wasting no time, Cunobelin cried out as, with all his strength, he lifted and swung the huge axe, and with all the force he could muster, struck.

  'Ahhhhh yuhhhh!' The axe met the log with a solid 'thunk,' cutting cleanly through the neck, p
arting the head from the shoulders with such force, that it bounced across the flagstones with great gouts of blood pumping after it, spraying across every warrior seated within five paces. Cunobelin let go of the axe and stepped back.

  A moment later, the giant's body rose, walked around the log and with blood still pumping from the ruined stump of its neck, levered the axe free from the wood, and then crossed to where his head had rolled to lay beside one of the great carved beams that supported the roof of the hall. As before, he picked it up and held it with the face staring outwards. The eyes rolled around in their sockets for a moment, and then settled and glared from side to side at the warriors who had witnessed its torment, and then the giant slowly walked to the door and left.

  As the massive door boomed shut, the hall erupted into pandemonium as all began talking, shouting and arguing with one another.

  'I had to do it.' Cunobelin wiped away a stray spot of blood that had landed upon his cheek and sat down next to Uther. 'Someone here needs to meet the giant's demands and it seems it wasn't destined to be Gerlois.'

  'You have a great heart, Cunobelin. Your ancestors are proud of you, as am I, your King. This act will not go unrewarded, and I am certain… that you will not lose your head when that monster returns. I have lived around Druids from an early age and I know the games they play and the riddles they mutter.' Uther smiled and clapped the warrior on the shoulder. 'For now, my friend. Let us drink and celebrate the bravery of the Trinovantes and their Lord.'

  Uther stood and raised his drinking horn. Ale slopped over the side and there was laughter from some who saw this, he smiled and saluted them with the horn.

  'Warriors of Briton, I call upon you to drink, something I know you do well.' There was a cheer and many calls of agreement. 'We honour the Trinovante tonight and the bravery of their Lord, Cunobelin. For he is the one amongst us who accepted their challenge and struck the head from their monster. It is he who shall laugh in the face of the Druids and regain their respect for all of us when he shows that they should never throw dice with a Trinovante!'

  A roar of approval filled the hall and ale and mead flowed as the latest developments to their quest were discussed and bantered over. Uther sat down again and smiled into the stern young face of Cunobelin. They touched drinking horns and drank deeply, and then they both turned to look across the fire towards the blood-soaked log and wet, slick flagstones. The blood was as dark as night and reflected the flickering from the flames and they were both thinking the same thing. That tomorrow night, Uath the Stranger, would return.

  'Forgive me, King Uther.'

  Uther opened his eyes and tried to understand what was happening. It was dark within the hall, save for the soft glow from the burned down fires, but he judged it was some time around daybreak outside. There was a dark shadow hunched beside him. He could hear the ragged sound of breathing and the occasional sniff; it was obviously Duc Gerlois.

  'I… I could not return to… to greet that giant, I just… but I see there is blood, fresh blood, what happened? Tell me what I must do to make amends, please… forgive me, King Uther?'

  'You can find me water. That would be the first thing you could do. My head is fit for nothing but bursting at the moment.' Uther sat up as Gerlois went off in search of water. By the time the Duc returned, clutching a jug to his chest, Uther had managed to rise from where he had slept and was now sitting up at one of the low tables, gazing out at the sleeping warriors as they snored and passed wind around him.

  'Water, I fetched it from the stream, it is good and clean.' Duc Gerlois thrust the jug towards Uther and some slopped out of the top to splatter upon the table. They both stared at it for a moment, and then Uther cleared his throat.

  'Where did you go yesterday?' Without waiting for an answer, he picked up the jug and drank. It tasted good and helped to still the thumping tension in his head.

  'I was scared, but I did not mean to leave, I… I wasn't running away.' The Duc was silent for a moment, staring at smoking embers of the fire. 'I didn't know what to do, but I couldn't bring myself to return. I've been sitting, freezing on the mountain asking the Gods, the spirits and my ancestors to help me, to give me guidance and help bring back the life I had, which now seems to be in ruins. I have been watching the clouds float past when the moon has shown light and then sat listening to the rain dripping through the trees above me when all around was in darkness. My ancestors did not speak; I heard nothing, no guidance, just the empty echo of my heart.'

  'Uath the Stranger returned as he promised.' Uther turned to face Gerlois. 'When you did not step forward, Cunobelin of the Trinovante did. He took the giant's head and tonight, it will be he who must lay his head upon the log.' They both turned their eyes to the log, still black and glistening with congealing blood. Uther drank more from the jug and then put it down with a thump.

  'I don't have advice for you, Gerlois. I don't know what you must do to make amends, but I do know that it will not be easy. Your cowardice is a betrayal of your people. Others will no doubt die because of your weakness and our whole venture might well fail.' He stood and then made his way through the sleeping bodies and out into the cave in search of somewhere to empty his bladder, leaving Gerlois to ponder how he would face the day and the warriors who would soon awaken.

  This day's march was down to the sea and the boats they had left there. For much of the time, Duc Gerlois walked towards the back of the line alone, save for a few of his tribesmen who spoke little to him and showed every indication that they would prefer not to be in his company. He endured jibes and a few small insults from warriors around him that at first he felt were almost justified, and so he walked on and bore the shame. But then later, on the return march after they had checked upon the boats and warriors stationed there and gathered a few provisions, the insults had continued and his temper had started to rise.

  'Enough!' He spun upon the warrior who had been whispering loudly behind him. Some notion about facing men in battle and excrement soiling the legs. It was nothing, but it was one insult too many and he now found himself confronted with a Trinovante warrior, who, far from backing away because he faced a Lord, was holding his spear as if he meant to stab him.

  'Because you could not hold with the challenge that you made… that you…' - the warrior stabbed forward with the spear -' …made. A great man had to take your place, and King Uther and all of us who quest with him lost any respect that we might have gained from these people.' He spat at Gerlois feet. Several of the other warriors were trying to calm him but he shrugged them off. Others were turning back now to see what was happening. Gerlois glanced about, but Uther, Sir Ector and anyone who might possess a voice of reason were towards the front of the line and had already passed some distance ahead.

  The warrior was young and eager for the situation to turn into a fight. Gerlois turned to face him and felt his own men come to stand behind him; he felt a small amount of comfort from their support. He studied the warrior. The boy, for he was not much more than that, was bare-chested above baggy leggings and a length of course wool that had been coloured a deep red was worn slung over one shoulder. His hair was thick and black and tied at the side with a piece of rough hide. A badly painted swirl decorated his face and neck, daubed by a hasty finger with blue woad before they left the hall, was Gerlois guess.

  'Do not test me, boy. I may have earned some scorn, but I'm done now and I will not be pushed by the likes of you.' The Duc glanced to his side and seeing that one of his men held a spear, he snatched it and now armed, stood to face the grinning warrior and two of his companions. The main party of warriors were out of sight having passed up into the woodland. Here, they were on open ground with a cliff on one side and a meadow behind; a few sheep ignored them some distance away offering just an occasional bleat. He could hear others running in to see what was happening and knew that this situation had to be finished before it got out of hand.

  'Let us step back and we shall say this never happened, what
do you say?' He looked questioningly at the warrior but saw what the answer was going to be even before it happened. The warrior's spear snaked out and might have taken him in the shoulder if he had been any less of a fighter himself. Gerlois stepped to the side and knocked the spear away sending a half-hearted response with his own.

  'Last chance, and I'm not normally a man given to offering chances, step away!' He shouted the last, but the warrior cried out in anger and attacked in earnest, stabbing and then slashing with his spear. The two others did not join in, but looked nervously to one another, and then towards warriors that Gerlois could hear pushing through the crowd behind him. 'Protect my back!' He called to his men and then concentrated solely upon his adversary. The boy was no real match for him, but he was also no child. Gerlois loosed his own combination of stabs and cuts using both ends of the spear, herding the warrior towards the cliff where he knew he would have the advantage and possibly force the young warrior to yield.

  They were on the edge of the cliff now, a drop long enough to kill either if they were to fall. 'Back away!' cried Gerlois, but the Trinovante was in no mood to submit, he stabbed out narrowly missing the Duc then spun the spear to try and catch the Duc on the head. Gerlois ducked feeling the spear pass over his head and realised he should have removed his heavy cloak, he was hot already and it was getting in his way, he was blind on his right side when he raised that arm. Too late now to get rid of it, he just had to go on and finish as best he could.

  The air was filled with noise as warriors shouted and screamed in excitement. The blood of battle coursing through their veins as the combatants were urged on, the young warrior becoming even more reckless. Gerlois realised he was tiring. He was the older man and it had been many years since he had trained regularly. His arms were aching, feeling spent and he could hear his own breathing loud in his ears. This needed to end… and then amid the screaming he felt a surge of hope, as he discerned that some were pushing back the crowd, trying to stop the violence. He took an almighty swipe which made the young warrior step back, and he hoped might possibly offer a chance for someone to jump in and halt the fight, but his spear travelled past the warrior and caught one of the men who was trying to enter, hitting him, hard across his chest, sending him stumbling back. For one awful moment, the man stood upon the cliff's edge, staring at them in silent incomprehension, his arms spinning in circles as he sought for balance, and then he fell.