The Shadow of a King (Shadowland Book 2)

by C. M. Gray

  'I bid you welcome to Erin, King Uther, my Lords. My name is Finis and I shall be your guide as we enter the cave.'

  'Thank you for your welcome, Finis,' said Uther. 'You didn't happen to see a Druid by the name of Merlyn, did you? He was travelling with us and went ahead.'

  'The Druid Merlyn is well and has already left us to visit with the Council as they meet upon the high fell. You are to be our guests here for a few days until he returns. Please, let us walk. It would be my pleasure to see you settled and bring you food and ale.' Finis bowed his head and swept his hand in the direction of the trees.

  'No more strong ale, at least for the time being, friend Finis,' rumbled Duc Gerlois. 'However, a place to rest and a little food would be most welcome. I am quite ready to finish our little walk today.'

  'A hall has been prepared for you. Please, follow me.' Finis turned and walked back in the direction that he had come and Uther and his men gathered their things and followed in a ragged line.

  When they passed through the small curtain of trees through which the Druid had disappeared, they emerged into a large open clearing, dominated by an enormous cave that towered over their heads. The Britons began to bunch up as they passed through the barrier of trees, stopping to gaze in awe at what appeared to be the huge mouth of the mountain gaping open above them. It looked as if the mountain was taking a huge bite out of the land and had paused, for just one moment, to contemplate its task.

  High above, the ragged edge of the overhanging cliff had the appearance of jagged teeth set into terrible jaws. Smoke drifted between the teeth and birds circled and called, swooping between the points apparently indifferent to any risk that the jaws might close.

  'Oh, I know why the Druids like this place,' muttered Uther. Looking about him he realised that his men had all halted, yet Finis was still striding on towards the cluster of halls and roundhouses erected further on within the cavern. Smoke rose from several and he estimated that the Druids must number near a hundred, even when one of the larger halls had been prepared for visitors. Finis had turned and was gesturing for them to follow.

  'Come on, let us enter the mouth of the mountain and hope it doesn't decide to taste us,' called Uther, leading his men forward past strange rocks piled one upon another and even stranger totems, branches tied with cloth, feathers, bones and the skulls of animals, birds and rodents.

  As they stepped from the light, passing under the rock canopy far above, they entered the Druid settlement and began to hear the echoes of their own footsteps, and then other strange sounds began to float about them. Chanting and the soft sound of drums filled the air, along with a dry whispering, as if a soft chant were coming from countless voices. Druids began emerging from all around to watch the sight of so many warriors walking amongst them. One Druid, dressed in dirty black robes, walked forward, pointed at the group and started shouting and spitting angrily, but another quickly came and quieted him, leading him away.

  'Truth be told, King Uther, I am not too comfortable in places like this.' Duc Gerlois was indeed looking a little distressed as he tripped along, picking his way over the rock-strewn floor of the cave. 'I find Druids to be a little… well a little confusing and unpredictable to say the least. We have a small grove just a short way from my fortress at Tintagel. Nice enough people I am sure. I have little to do with them, but whenever I pass by, they flap branches at me and make the strangest noises, rattling bones and blowing horns… I don't mind telling you; I find them all just a little… well, just a little disturbing.'

  'You are not alone, Duc Gerlois. I don't think anyone who is not a Druid could ever understand them or some of the things they consider to be normal. The trouble is that the lives of Druids rarely come into contact with many of us. We have little opportunity to become accustomed to their ways.' Uther glanced back and saw that the Duc wasn't alone in his unease. Many of the warriors were wide-eyed and obviously just as agitated as Duc Gerlois to be walking in the company of Druids. Usually, if a band of warriors should chance upon a Druid grove, they would carefully retrace their steps, find a different route, and leave the Druids undisturbed to continue their ramblings and rites alone. Sending them back to the boats wasn't an answer, they would have to hold strong until they were in the hall and then there would be opportunity for rest.

  The crowd of dirty Druids parted as they neared the largest hall. There was much muttering and swaying, but none other approached. Uther found himself touching the dragon shaped pommel of Excalibur and drew his hand away. He led his men through the Druids, smiling at them as he went and then on towards the smiling Finis.

  The hall was large. As they entered through the sturdy plank doors, Uther could see at least eight different areas with fires already burning, with seating and pallets set about each of them promising solace and comfort to his men. The hall was at least fifty paces long and almost as many wide. A high thatched roof rose above them and was open at both ends to help disperse the smoke. Supporting the roof was a framework of heavy beams intricately carved with Druidic runes and knots. It was warm and welcoming, and Uther felt his apprehension fall away as he entered and was welcomed once more by Finis and two older Druids, their long grey beards plaited and laced with an assortment of sticks, bones and shiny things that caught the flickering light of the fires. One of the old Druids stepped forward and raised his staff, the bones sticks and shells rattling as he did so.

  'Welcome, Uther Pendragon, King of the Britons. Welcome, Lords and warriors. We have eagerly awaited your coming,' - he leaned forward, smiling, and lowered his voice as he spoke to Uther - 'we have watched you from afar,' he nodded happily to himself. 'You are most welcome here amongst us. Rest with us here while you await the return of the Druid Merlyn, we shall care for you while the Stranger sees things right.'

  'The Stranger? We have heard much talk about this Stranger. Who or what is he?' asked Uther, as behind him the warriors spread out towards the different fires and platters of food that were being brought in and laid upon the low benches.

  'Worry not about the Stranger. He is who he is, and all is right and part of the story of life.' The old Druid smiled, but Uther felt a rising of frustration at the familiar sound of Druidic nonsense.

  'You are not going to tell me who he is or what he would have of us, are you? Very well, we shall meet whatever takes place with honour in our hearts and if need be, blades in our hands.'

  'That is how the story tells, for without honour and blade to balance, how can each turn of our path to the Shadowland possibly be bright. Especially of you who walks the earth with so little understanding of days and nights beyond the reach of your fellows, is that not so?'

  Uther glared at him and decided it was a worthless undertaking to trade words with a Druid It was all utter nonsense. As the Druid smiled and nodded his head as if he had just received an answer to his cryptic question, Uther turned his back to him and went to sit beside Sir Ector and Duc Gerlois.

  Where at least the fire was hot, and the food was good.

  Nobody saw or noticed as the great doors swung in, inaudible upon well-greased hinges, but the colossal crash of the doors slamming home silenced the warriors who had spent the last few spans until darkness, eating, drinking, and resting around the fires. At once alert, every warrior sat up to look towards the entrance, setting their cups to the side, hands moving towards weapons, they stared at the figure who had entered.

  There, stood a true giant of a man. Eyes glowing like the coals of a fire, the stranger towered higher than any of the warriors present. His head as he walked almost touched the beams of the roof and his brow and nose, set above a thick and bristly beard, cast shadows across the hall, this was no mortal man, this was a giant from tales of old.

  As the giant passed the warriors to either side, waves of body heat and a rich, pungent odour passed over them and they shrank back, but every eye returned to follow his progress. About his waist, he wore the skin of a cow tied with rope and grass while across his shoulders h
e wore a cloak of greasy, matted wool. Silence filled the room save for the heavy tread and the sound of the oaken log that he dragged behind him, held in one massive fist as easily as most men would drag a club. In the other hand rested an axe.

  Dogs that had been moving about amongst the warriors, begging treats or stealing from the tables whenever they could, slunk to the back of the hall, tails touching their bellies, and whimpered in fear at the giant's coming.

  Slowly, each footstep reverberating against the roof beams so that they shook and dust dropped to fill the air, the figure strode towards the hearth where Uther sat waiting with his most trusted warriors seated about him.

  As he reached the centre, the Stranger planted himself dominantly, legs apart, threw down his log in front of the fire and stood, silently challenging anyone to speak, but with the shock of his entrance nobody did. His shoulders sagged in resignation and he addressed the hall.

  'My name is Uath, and I am known to all who will hear me, as Uath the Stranger,' his voice was deep and slow, the gravel of it felt within the belly of all those that were present.

  'I roam this sorry world seeking one man amongst the multitude who might hold fast to his word.' He turned a full circle, dragging the axe as he surveyed the faces turned towards him, finally completing his turn he stared at Uther as he sat amongst his men. 'A simple task, an easy thing to find you may think, but you would be wrong.' Again, all stayed silent in shocked disbelief as they waited for the huge giant to go on.

  'I have spent an eternity walking this earth searching for a man who would hold a contract with me, a man who will keep to an agreement that we make. That tonight…' - he turned a circle once more, staring into the soul all of every warrior present before continuing - 'that tonight this one brave man should step forward… take this axe,' - he held the huge axe up high - 'that the man I seek should take this axe and strike my head from my shoulders… while tomorrow as the sun sets I may return and then strike a similar blow to him,' - he looked deeply into the eyes of Uther Pendragon - 'do I ask so much? Surely there is one here tonight, a champion filled with warrior's blood, who will meet these simple terms?'

  The answer he received was silence because it smelled so badly of Druids and magic it was impossible to comprehend or make any sense out of.

  Uath turned again, taking in all those present. The hall remained silent save for the crackling of the fires. A smile crept over the giant's face and he spat into the fire in scorn, the phlegm hissing as it hit hot embers.

  'Silence? You answer me with silence, and so I say there is no champion here, there is no man of honour amongst you.'

  Uther leapt to his feet, as did many others each calling their contempt and outrage at the Stranger's words. But it was Duc Gerlois who strode to the centre of the hall and looked up into the giant's face as it towered above him.

  'You have no right to call this gathering dishonourable,' he bellowed. 'I will hold fast to my word. I will cut your evil head from your shoulders; I… will answer your challenge.'

  'Duc Gerlois, no.' Uther walked around the fire and took the Duc's shoulder. 'This is a trick. This is Druid magic; this is not…'

  Gerlois leant forward and spoke in a low voice into Uther's ear. 'This is just Druid tricks, I agree, King Uther, but this is a mortal man, a big one I grant you, but this man can and will be killed. He expects that no man will walk forward and take his challenge.' He turned without waiting for Uther to say anything in reply.

  'Kneel then, Uath, the Stranger. Kneel at my feet and I give you my word, I will cut off your head this night, and tomorrow night, if you return, you may take mine.' He smirked as he said these last words and looked around at the gathered warriors. Smiles and no small amount of laughter greeted him as all realised the absurdity of his words. Yet, beside him, Uath the Stranger fell to his knees, placed his huge head upon the oaken log, and waited for the blow to fall.

  The hall returned to quiet as the warriors stared at Duc Gerlois, waiting to see if he would pick up the giant's axe. It took a few moments for Gerlois to realise that the giant did indeed expect him to cut his head off, but realise he did, and with no small effort, the Duc lifted the huge axe, tested it's weight in his hands for a moment, and then swung it high.

  Firelight caught the blade as it flashed down, whistling its death song as it cut through the air. With a meaty thwack, it struck the creature's neck, cleanly cutting through to embed itself in the log beneath. For a moment the head held, and then slowly it lolled forward to thump onto the flagstone floor. Instants later, it was followed by great gouts of blood pumping and spurting past the axe blade from the severed neck splattering those closest with scarlet droplets and hissing where they landed in the fire.

  Gerlois stood for a moment gazing down at the bloody mess and then gestured with his hands as if showing all present what he had accomplished. An uncertain smile crept across his features, and then it slowly dropped as the massive body stirred, and then rose to its feet, the lack of its head affecting neither its composure nor poise.

  The hall was silent as all stared in awe as the giant, headless body bent down, reached for the axe and rocked it back and forth to lever it from the log. The blade squeaked loud in protest at each effort to rock it free, and then once accomplished, the giant crouched back down to claim its head. Rising, it hugged the shaggy, bloody head against its expansive chest, the face staring outward while blood ran in glistening rivers down from the stump of the severed neck and gore dripped from where its life's essence had so recently flowed. The creature turned and marched through the silent hall towards the great doors, carrying its blood-soaked baggage, the eyes turning within their sockets from side to side offering a look of glowering disdain for all present who had borne witness to this terrible event.

  'My father… he would never have…'

  Uther's attention was snapped back to the present, and he looked across to Morgana, who had her hand against her mouth. She looked ill. Never one to have much colour, she still appeared whiter than usual, even in the gloomy light of the cell her skin was in stark contrast to the black of her hair and robes.

  'Was this all real, or a dream?'

  Uther's glanced up to see Maude staring down at him.

  'The Druids, they could have placed a spell, poisoned the food… they could have tricked…' Maude's words trailed off.

  'Did he come back?' Morgana reached out and clutched at Uther's arm. 'This Stranger… did he return? I don't understand. My father returned with the boats, with you, didn't he? This awful Stranger must not have returned.' She offered a hopeful smile, her grip upon his arm tightening.

  Uther sighed, once again feeling the burdens of his life and the need to sleep. He closed his eyes and as he did he heard liquid being poured and caught the familiar smell of the infusion. The bowl was pressed to his lips, and he sipped, it lent him strength, enough at least to answer.

  'He came back.' Uther glanced from Morgana to Maude, who was now crouching beside the Abbess. 'He came back as he promised he would, and he was no illusion or figment of our imaginations, Uath the Stranger was very, very real.'

  Chapter 12

  An Oath of Blood

  The door to the great hall opened and Duc Gerlois forced his way in past groups of animated warriors fighting, laughing and fooling. As he pushed through towards Uther, the crowd began to quieten and part as they realised it was he who had entered. Every eye turning upon him, every warrior in the hall glad that they were not walking in Gerlois' boots, dead man's boots at the hands of a giant arrived from the deepest of nightmares.

  Every man and woman there had witnessed the spectacle of the night before, yet few could still believe what their eyes claimed to have seen. For most, the night had been sleepless and most of the day had been spent talking about and recalling the events that had possibly taken place. Possibly, because how could it have happened? How could a man lose his head and then pick it up and walk away? Yet, it must have taken place because, as was constantly b
eing pointed out, there was a very large log and a huge sticky pool of blood in the centre of the hall. They had thrown down dirt and swept it as best they could, yet the evidence remained as proof that the giant had entered and issued his challenge. Proof that the incredible drama of his decapitation had taken place, and if that was to be believed then it was also proof they had seen the giant pick up his head and walk from the hall. A bridge between worlds had been crossed and it was Gerlois who stood alone upon the other side peering into the Shadowland, and so they stared.

  'I walked to the path,' Gerlois hissed as he rounded the great central fire and sank down beside Uther. 'The Druids did not stop me; we can leave.' He glanced up, saw that every tribesman in the hall was still watching him, and then he put his face in his hands. 'He will be back, he will return and he will take my head,' he mumbled, and then he turned to face Uther. 'He will take my head, what do I do?'

  Uther reached out and took the Duc's arm. 'What about the Druid trickery? You said it yourself and I agree, this is just a trial, Duc Gerlois. To take the stones, the Druids want to know that they are going to a people who are worthy, who have honour. I do not believe that when the giant returns, that he will cut your head off,' - he shook his own head - 'you started this because you are brave, and so you have to go through with it. You have to play this Druid game. When he walks through that door, you…'

  'All so easy for you to say, my King,' hissed Gerlois through clenched teeth, he was sweating, his eyes darting about. He fumbled with a knife and stabbed it into the table angrily. 'You are not the one who is going to have to put his head on that stump and… I know that I was the one, but…' he left the sentence unfinished.

  'You will prove we have both honour and courage in abundance, my friend. I do not believe the Druids would hold with this for long, allowing this Stranger to enter their sacred place and murder their guests, it is too incredible to be believed. I say again, you were right when you said that this was just a Druid trick, they are playing with us once more. Hold to this Gerlois, and you will get through this and we will return triumphantly with the stones.' Uther clasped him by the shoulder and after a moment, the Duc, somewhat reluctantly, nodded.