The Fall (The Last Druid Trilogy Book 1)

by Glen L. Hall

  He could hear the clash of what sounded like metal against metal, but he couldn’t be sure. Then they were crashing through the wood all around him, no longer hooded, their black-feathered faces making him recoil with horror. Hunched and twisted, they broke through the trees, quickly followed by whistling arrows with white feathers, which hit them with sickening thuds, killing them outright. Braden had never seen such precision from the bow and arrow.

  The wood was quiet once more, but he didn’t move. It was likely that whoever had fired the arrows would be coming his way. Then an arrow thudded into the tree inches from his face. Splinters flew from the bark, opening up a cut on his cheek. With blood running freely, he rolled with lightning speed and came to a crouching position.

  As he raised his knife, he saw a figure materialising through the thicket. To his surprise it was a woman, her dress flickering in the dull light. She stopped twenty feet from where he was crouching. Her skin was pale and her face untroubled. Her grey eyes met his and he found a sharp intelligence stripping him bare and understanding that he had no intention of dying that day.

  She stood there a moment longer, then turned away. As she did so, the wood came alive with ghostly figures. Wiping the trickling blood from his face, Braden counted several dozen forms passing by and gently dissolving into the tangled woodland. He gazed after them, unable to believe what he had just witnessed, grateful that his life had been spared.

  * * * * * *

  He came to the King’s Seat with the sun dipping further in the west and a cold wind picking up. It was known as Birling Hill to the Northumbrians living within its shadow. At its summit was a ring of standing stones. No one quite knew how they had been carried there or why they had been brought there in the first place. There were other stone circles right across the Cheviots, but none quite as significant as this one. Braden had heard his father say that the stones were the remnants of a second wall further north than Hadrian’s, a hidden wall that had been built to keep an enemy out of this world. Most of that wall had not been made from stone, but from the magic of the Druids. In the Reiver world, anything that could not be understood was the work of the Druids.

  What was known was that as long as there had been Reivers roaming the borders, the heads of the families had been scaling the hill and holding councils at the stones. This was a place of comfort and also a place of safety, a fortress that could be defended.

  Braden pondered this last thought as he climbed up the twisting path to the summit of the hill. He could only describe the feathered men he had seen as those from folklore. Why were they here now? Had they even been real? But he remembered the frightening sounds they had made. The smell of their blood was still burning his nostrils. He could tell they had been full of poison.

  He reached the King’s Seat, breathing heavily from the exertion of the hard climb, and his disquiet eased as the breathtaking view opened up before him, the valleys of Northumberland rolling mesmerisingly away to the south. He remembered coming here for the first time with his father and seeing the stone circle. The thought made him happy and sad all at once, remembering the loss of his father and with it the loss of his youth and innocence.

  The sun was falling even lower, touching the top of the distant Cheviots, and the sky was beginning to turn red. Braden moved further into the safety of the King’s Seat, keen to tell people what he had witnessed.

  The standing stones were waiting for him, their shadows lengthening with the passing of the day. The moment Braden stepped past their ancient guard and into the small clearing beyond, peace spread through him. He kneeled down to feel the earth under his fingers and touch the memories of his forefathers.

  He had come fresh from meeting Eagan Reign high up in the Blindburn. It was there that an old man had appeared. He had told Eagan to expect two unexpected guests who should not be offered shelter, but set free to find their own way to the Garden of Druids.

  According to his father, the Garden of Druids had been the meeting-place of the Fellowship of Druidae, the alliance that had fought a long war against an ancient terror from another world. It was said that the remnants of this other world had lain dormant beneath the hills of the borders. Eventually his forefathers had named it the Underland. Could this place really have reawakened, Braden wondered. Could the tales of crow-men, Grim-were and wolves be real? Who was the old man? How had he appeared to them in such an inaccessible place?

  The old man had turned to him next and said to watch for the red mare in the shadows of his forest home. It would be the sign to gather at Birling Wood.

  Sure enough, the red mare had appeared to his people, and so he had sent messages to Jolan Raeshaw, Dwarrow Dun-Rig and the weapons master Ged Broadflow to take their rangers there and to meet him personally at the King’s Seat, their spiritual home. Together they represented more than half of the remaining Reiver families and their rangers, totalling several hundred in number.

  The standing stones were now losing their shape as the sky turned deep red. Braden sat until dusk had turned to night before lighting a fire in a stone trough and settling down to wait.

  * * * * * *

  It was the early hours of the morning before the first figures appeared out of the night. Jolan Raeshaw, who led the most northerly clan, was the first. Braden could tell that beneath his travelling cloak the tall slim man wore the light armour of the Forest Ranger.

  ‘It is good to see you, cousin,’ Jolan said, slapping him on the back with a heavy hand. ‘The Raeshaws send you great health. We answered your call and came quickly through the secret ways of the Blindburn.’

  ‘Thank you. The borderlands grow stranger by the day—’ Braden broke off, as two figures stepped through into the stone circle.

  Dwarrow Dun-Rig was a giant man with a thick neck who wore a long black coat that covered him almost from head to foot. When he spoke, his voice was deep and reassuring, though a little coarse. He greeted Braden and then stood aside for the other man. He was shorter than Jolan, but as broad as Dwarrow. He wore a black Viking beard and had a shaved head. He smiled only briefly as he shook the hands of those gathered.

  These four men represented the four main Reiver clans from across the north: the Bows, Raeshaws, Dun-Rigs and Broadflows. As they stood in the circle, the stones loomed over them, immovable giants whose faces trembled in the light of the fire, their backs turned against the vast darkness of the Northumberland night.

  Braden was in a pensive mood. He drew no comfort from the wall of standing stones helping to keep the night at bay. These men were going to be shocked by what he had to say. They might be angry, for he had kept much from them, and even now he could not tell them the truth, for he didn’t know it. As yet, he had only fragments of the puzzle.

  He looked at each in turn and could see their concern reflected back at him.

  ‘We Forest Reivers grew up on tales of spirits living in the forests and woods,’ he began, ‘and our elders spoke of a Faerie who dwelt in the Dead Water. Have we not heard that this Faerie takes the form of an old man, walking the fells and valleys of the borderlands, setting those who are lost on their right path?’

  He looked round at those gathered. They were silent, waiting.

  ‘I was with Eagan Reign in the Blindburn when we happened upon an old man. He told me to take our rangers to Birling Wood, for they would be needed before this night was over. You know there have been skirmishes along our forest borders. Now the red mare has shown herself in the shadow of the Cheviots.’

  ‘The red mare, Braden – can you be certain? Isn’t that a prediction of war?’ asked Jolan.

  ‘I believe,’ said Braden slowly, ‘that the fabled Underland is on the move and the secret ways of our people are in danger of being closed.’

  He looked at his friends in turn. Their faces were serious and pale.

  ‘I don’t know why you are so shocked at hearing the Underland is moving,
’ said Ged, moving forward. He had chosen stay out of the firelight, concerned that it could be seen for miles around. ‘The forests are quiet – the animals sense a dark wind blowing through the borderlands. The Underland moves through the air and is impossible to track. We have no idea about numbers, or where they are going and what their purpose might be. We followed a horde of several hundred that one minute ran like men, the next scattered into the sky in a murder of crows. How can that be? What magic are we facing?’

  He shook his head and stepped back into the shadows.

  Braden remembered the strange gait of the men hiding in the grass and their hideous end.

  ‘Today I saw a ghostly company,’ he said, ‘led by a woman whose skill with a bow I have never witnessed before. They cut these crow-men down with perfect shots to the back of the neck, killing them with one fell strike. Whether they are on our side remains to be seen, but they were definitely not on the side of those they killed, and for that I am grateful.’

  Ged reappeared. ‘Be on your guard, brothers, for I no longer trust that we are alone. Something is stalking us, I can feel it.’

  ‘That is very likely,’ Braden agreed. ‘I believe the peace we have enjoyed is coming to an end. We may need to move our people to the safety of Bamburgh and Holy Island. Tonight we will join Eagan at the Garden of Druids and await news from Jarl.’

  ‘My sister Bretta will have reached Birling Wood by now,’ began Jolan.

  ‘The Raeshaws will be joined by the Dun-Rigs,’ Dwarrow added. ‘The crow-men would be foolish to come up against such numbers.’

  ‘Thank you, Dwarrow. I hope you are right.’

  ‘Was there a reason you brought us to the King’s Seat, Braden?’ Ged asked. ‘I am uneasy about the fire you have lit. Shouldn’t we join our men and women and await Eagan in a place where we are not so exposed?’

  Braden could see Ged’s uneasiness, and perhaps he had a point, but there was a reason for bringing them there. His elders still spoke of their meetings with Aine, the old man’s daughter who had offered them protection in moments of strife, and the old man had said his daughters might help them. He hadn’t offered anything more specific, but Braden thought that if Aine was going to offer assistance, she would meet them here. Was he clutching at straws? Perhaps he was. Perhaps the Faerie wouldn’t help, after all.

  He paused, wondering how to answer, but it was Ged who spoke first.

  ‘Wait!’

  Standing on the edge of the clearing, he became as still as the stones themselves. A form was quickly and silently moving up the hill.

  A second later the haunted face of Jarl Reign came out of the night. ‘Draw your swords!’ he shouted.

  Braden looked past Jarl in horror. A rippling sea of vague shapes was scaling the hillside. Even in the darkness he could see they were great in number.

  Jolan Raeshaw was lightning quick, bounding through the stone circle in long leaps. Braden drew his long knife and as time slowed to a crawl he saw Dwarrow moving to his left and drawing his sword. Ahead of him, Jolan’s long knives were already flashing into life and his face was ablaze with fear and determination.

  Beyond the stone circle, hell had come to the King’s Seat in the form of an unspeakable horde of strange misshapen men. They swarmed in from every point of the north ridge.

  Ged was standing alone on the edge of both hill and darkness, firing his bow and arrow, his skill and ferocity keeping him alive. Jolan’s twirling knives were sending the enemy backwards, whilst Braden and the giant Dwarrow joined battle with a sickening clash of flesh and steel. Braden found himself face to face with more of the creatures he’d seen in Threestoneburn Wood, their hideous black beaks snapping just inches from him.

  The Forest Reivers met the snarling horde with a cold courage, their blades cutting them down, opening up their feathered bodies and pushing them back towards the edge of the hill. Every now and then they would turn to bow and arrow before following up with cold metal.

  Jolan was lightning quick, making the crow-men pay dearly as he moved between them with his long cruel knives. It was like watching an acrobat twirling and rolling; his blades were cutting right and left, harrying the inhuman throng, turning them back on themselves. The giant Dwarrow and the fiery Ged were soon fighting back to back and proving themselves to be fearless descendants of those who had made the wild lands their spiritual home. Dwarrow’s sabre was sweeping the crow-men away time and time again, whilst Ged was working tirelessly with his bow and arrow.

  Still Braden knew they were becoming hopelessly outnumbered. The crow-men kept on coming in a relentless onslaught that would soon overwhelm them. There was a madness in the dark marauders who threw themselves forward without thought, as if possessed, caring nothing for their lives or the terrible weapons of the defenders. Their hatred was spilling out of their cawing throats, their red eyes were bulging with fury in the black night and there was a crazed look about their snapping beaks. Slowly the Reivers were being forced back from the edge of hill and were no longer able to stop more crow-men joining the battle.

  Suddenly they were falling back with terror at their heels, almost drunken with the effort. They tumbled into the standing stones, expecting to be followed into the circle and slaughtered. Their eyes searched the darkness between the motionless stones, but the night had gone still.

  ‘Quickly,’ shouted Braden, ‘circle the fire! It’s not our night to perish!’

  Jarl and Jolan piled the fire higher, the flames roared back into life and the heat bathed them in hope.

  Braden felt his eyes stinging with the fear and effort. He knew there must be a hundred creatures gathering in the darkness. If they came all at once, it would be the end.

  Strange barks were coming from behind the watchful stones, and faces were peering at them, but for now the enemy was holding off. He wondered why.

  ‘We can’t let them defeat us!’ he shouted. It was he who had brought his fellow Reivers to the King’s Seat and it was he who would get them off it alive.

  His fellowship stood around the fire and took strength from the stone circle soaring around them. And still the enemy did not attack.

  Instead, a single arrow whistled out of the night and into the middle of the fire, sending sparks high into the air. As Braden focused on its shaft, he recognised the white feather at its end.

  Out in the night, caterwauls erupted, growing louder until after several long minutes the night was silent but for a few distant cries.

  In the circle, no one moved for what seemed an age, still half expecting to see the feathered faces in the dark slits between the stones.

  Finally, Braden could wait no longer and made his way cautiously into the night, warning, ‘It could be a trap – keep together.’

  The rest followed, tense and watchful, their weapons poised for action. They came across a sea of corpses, long arrows buried in their hearts. The crow-men had been wiped out by an enemy with a ferocity and accuracy that reminded Braden of the ghostly company in Threestoneburn Wood. He felt repulsed, for the whole of the summit was littered with the dead and dying.

  ‘What is this madness?’ growled Jolan.

  ‘How do we know they’ve gone?’ asked Dwarrow wearily, one eye closing from the fight.

  ‘We wouldn’t be alive if they were still here. Look at their work.’ Braden bent down and examined one of the feathered arrows. ‘I’ve seen arrows like this before,’ he added thoughtfully.

  Jarl bent down beside him, taking a look at the arrow’s shaft. It was made of a wood he had never seen before and was perfectly straight, with a small intricate carving leading down to its point, which was neither made of metal nor stone.

  Braden reached for the end, but Jarl quickly grabbed his arm. ‘You can’t be sure the tips aren’t poisonous. Look at the enemy – not one moving.’

  ‘I saw these creatures on the road here,’ Br
aden explained. ‘There were a dozen of them. I followed them into Threestoneburn Wood, where they were hunted down by a people I’d never seen before. They used arrows like this – and they used the bow and arrow like no one I’ve ever seen before. Not even our finest rangers come anywhere close.’

  Jarl nodded. ‘I have much to tell you,’ he said. ‘Gather round.’

  Leaning heavily on Braden, he waited until the others had formed a tight circle around them. He looked at them in turn. Most were bloodied and all were bewildered and concerned.

  ‘I left Brennus and Drust travelling to the Dead Water,’ he began.

  ‘But,’ cried Braden, ‘those fells and valleys are no longer safe!’

  ‘I hear you, Braden, but Brennus thought he had no option. We had been attacked by an enemy without equal. It appears as a Shadow in this world and we have neither the strength nor the knowledge to stop it. I don’t think you can wait until morning before you travel to Birling Wood. The Shadow wasn’t far behind me when I left it in the Usway Valley.’

  Jarl took a deep breath, unsure whether it would be wise to tell them everything or whether he should wait until he was alone with Braden, for the Reivers were spooked by things they could not understand. He could already see that his words had sent a shiver into their hearts that their hardened faces couldn’t conceal.

  ‘What is this Shadow?’ Jolan cried. ‘Tell us more!’

  ‘Look around,’ Jarl said. ‘Isn’t this evil enough? You can’t wait here a moment longer. Great danger will come to the Garden of Druids.’

  ‘And where does this leave Brennus and Drust?’ asked Jolan. ‘Are we to act like frightened children and desert our friends?’

  ‘Jolan, those are generous words,’ Jarl replied, ‘but if the Shadow is heading for Warkworth, that’s where we must head too. The Hoods are very capable and I have faith they’ll find a way back.’

  He hoped the Reivers didn’t realise how little faith he really had.

  ‘Look!’ The cry came from Ged. He had refused to take his eyes off the dead crow-men. They were manifestly unnatural and there had been a colour-magic to their movement that concerned him. Now – were his eyes were playing tricks in the darkness?