The Shadow of a King (Shadowland Book 2) (14 page)

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.

'
Cunobelin!
' The cry went up as warriors moved cautiously to the edge of the cliff and peered over.

Gerlois dropped his spear and sank to the ground. A moment later someone was trying to pull him up, trying to lead him away. 'Oh spirits, I killed …' Panic returned and began to overwhelm him, he looked up into the face of the warrior who was desperately trying to drag him away. 'I killed him; I killed Cunobelin.'

'Yes, Lord, and if we do not leave you may well have killed us all.'

 Chapter 13 
The Oaken Log

Warriors sat about their fires in restrained silence. There was no drinking or feasting this evening. There were no wrestling bouts nor games of dice being played. One of their greatest champions had fallen, and there was not a man nor a woman present who did not bitterly feel the loss. When the great doors crashed back to shiver the timbers of the hall and Uath the Stranger entered, he stopped and glanced about him. A puzzled expression crossed his face, he hugged the great axe to his body and rasped his thumb across its blade. Slowly, he walked on to the fire across from which Uther sat with his closest warriors. Uath turned a full circle and stared at the silent gathering, his big cold face finally becoming a grin until his laughter bellowed out loud, the sound of it booming throughout the hall sending motes of dust to dance down from the roof and float in the air.

'So… now two of your bravest and best have failed in their promises with me, great warriors of Britain. Their honour and courage turned to piss and whimpers when the time came to lay their heads upon the log.'

'Your contract is a bargain for fools, Uath the Stranger.' Uther rose from beside Sir Ector and pushed aside the hands that urged him to remain seated. 'You may keep your bargain, for it is an agreement only for the simple minded. We have seen the manner of your contract, where through some Druid trickery your head is struck yet you return remade and unharmed. Do you think us of so little wit? We are mortal men. Any one of us would die and not return if our head was removed, and so I repeat myself… your contract is for fools.'

'Scared are you, Uther Pendragon? Lily-livered like your champions?' The giant threw back his head and laughed once more. 'You are like a spineless child.' He lowered his head until it was at the same level as Uther. 'A spineless, gutless child… and a coward, like your men and all these cowardly warriors who watch us now, yet say nothing.'

Uther felt a rage build within him as angry calls and hissing filled the room. Seeing the axe in the giant's hands, he snatched it, wrenching it from the other's grasp. He was vaguely aware of Sir Ector rising and shouting
'Nooooo!'
Then without waiting for the giant to set his head upon the block, Uther swung with all his might and the blade whistled as it sliced through the air, severing the giant's head from his neck in one explosive strike. The head leapt, spinning from the shoulders up towards the rafters above, spraying blood about the hall as it turned. Beneath it, the body slowly buckled and collapsed to the floor with a crash, just as the head hit the stones with a dull crack.

He was aware of hot blood as it splashed across him, yet cared nothing for it as he stepped after the rolling head and smashed it repeatedly with the flat of the axe until it was nothing more than a bloody mess. He stood there, breathing heavily amid an awed silence as his vision swam. A moment later, he turned as the body of Uath the Stranger slowly pushed itself up and stood. Uther staggered back and then watched dispassionately as the giant scooped up the remains of its head in its arms, and then walked slowly from the hall.

The following day was spent preparing weapons. Grim expressions spoke of dissatisfaction with the way they had been treated by their hosts that were far louder than any voices of complaint. The sound of stones rasping against metal as blades were honed and tempers were given an edge, rang loud and continuously about the hall. The Druids had now included their King in their games, which meant that every man and woman there was preparing for war, to die alongside him should the giant take his head. It was never mentioned to leave and walk the hills. There were no games nor contests to test their strengths, nor was there drinking, gaming or feasting. The mood was as sombre as the time before battle when every warrior communed with their innermost thoughts and prepared their path to the gates of the Shadowland. This was the place where their journey would begin should they die and seek to pass the gates into the Shadowland. They would follow their King should he fall, but the giant, Uath the Stranger would also die and then, quite possibly, all and every Druid and native of Erin that could be hunted down, for that would be the way of it.

Uther spent his day in silent contemplation. Seated at the low table set by the biggest fire, he stared into the dancing flames; his eyes lost to the hot coals as he prepared himself to meet the Stranger. In his heart, in his soul, he did not believe that he would lose his head. He still held Excalibur. He had always known that he would somehow pass the sword on or that Merlyn would demand he relinquish it; he simply couldn't die like this. He wasn't afraid to die. However, this wasn't the time; he knew that. But still, the thought of kneeling down and placing his neck upon that sticky log of oak, regardless of his disbelief in the outcome being his death, was not an easy one to envisage. He now knew what Gerlois had gone through, the thoughts and the doubts… and the fear that he could feel trying to rise up from where it shivered in his belly in its attempt to overcome him. Yet stay he must, and face this Druid game he must, there was no possible thought of doing anything else, and so he watched his warriors prepare to die in full knowledge of their intent, for he knew it would not happen.

At the appointed time, the doors crashed back and every warrior silently rose from where they had been sitting and waiting, and stood to glare and finger their blades and spears as the giant, once more whole without any scar nor cut to suggest its head had so recently been separated from its body, took its slow walk towards the fire and their King.

Uath the Stranger walked unhurriedly, regarding the watching men and women with interest, noting the blades and spears levelled towards him with dispassionate interest, and then he turned to see if Uther was there and smiled and said in his deep rumbling voice, 'Uther Pendragon, you have not fled.' His big craggy face split into a mocking grin and he hopped and danced the last few steps to stand beside the log. 'Your fear must be eating you from deep inside like a worm devouring an apple. I am quite sure that your bowels are about to empty upon the floor.' He bent down and peered below the table expectantly.

Three old Druids entered and stood beside the doorway and Uath turned and bowed to them, before returning to sneer at Uther.

'Did you think to flee like your so called champions? Did you not wet your britches at the thought of…?'

'Silence.' Uther stood, placed Excalibur upon the table, and walked around by the fire to stare up into the giant's ugly face which towered above him. 'Save your breath and cease your taunting… for you are not real.' He turned and bowed his head to the Druids, finally acknowledging their presence, and then walked around the fire and knelt beside the log. Trembling only slightly, he placed his neck upon the bloody wood and pulled the cloth of his tunic down, exposing his neck so that the axe might find its mark and cut true. He felt the giant move beside him and saw the shadow of the axe as it was heaved up and raised to the top of its swing. There was not a sound in the room, yet the tension was deafening. Holding his breath; Uther Pendragon's nerves tingling in anticipation. Yet with nostrils filled with the stench of the blood staining the floor around him, he did not feel the bite of the axe nor the welcoming embrace of his ancestors. Hesitantly, he turned his head to glance up at the giant.

Uath grinned. 'You need to stretch out your neck a little better if I am to strike cleanly, King Uther. Your neck is so thin and scrawny, like a little bird, that…'

'Hush, Uath the Stranger,' Uther returned his neck to the log and stared at the floor, 'strike me swiftly, as I struck you, and be done with this game. We are warriors gathered here and we thirst. We will drink the Druid's ale this night and take their stones tomorrow… finish this game, for my knees are pained crouching here. I would like to return to my seat.'

He heard the giant 'humph' as he lifted the blade. Saw the shadow of the axe rise once more and then, as warriors drew breath around him anticipating the execution of their King, he saw the shadow of the blade fall.

It struck with an almighty crash, shattering the stone upon which Uther knelt, just a hand's width from his face. He felt the breath of it passing to kiss his cheek and for a heartbeat, Uther's mind raced to make sense of what had happened. Then he pushed himself up on shaking legs and turned to confront the giant, yet it was not the giant, Uath the Stranger that stood smiling at him happily, it was Merlyn.

The three Druids walked through the ranks of stunned warriors and silently bowed before Uther.

'Uther Pendragon. The Druid Merlyn has long counselled that you are the leader that our people have long foretold would walk the land for time without end. That you are the man who would prevail when others, the bravest, would or could not stand. Two of your champions stood to meet the challenge of, Uath the Stranger, yet it was only you who was able to live and judge and understand within your rage, that all was not as it seemed. You met the challenge of, Uath the Stranger, and survived. We, the Druids of Erin, salute you and condone your movement of the holy stones.' With that, the three Druids left, leaving Uther glaring at Merlyn.

'Did I ever mention to you, old man, that I hate the games you Druids play?'

'I do remember you mentioning that a few times, Uther,' Merlyn laughed and nodded his head happily, 'yes, you said it a few times, but doesn't it make life far more interesting?'

The next morning was a late start.

As soon as the old Druids had left the hall the evening before, other Druids had entered bearing jugs of mead and ale and platters of venison and boar and the warriors had feasted and celebrated. Uther had felt such a weight lift from his shoulders that he had joined in, accepting both the calls of congratulations and support, as well as horns filled to overflowing with frothing ale and strong, dark mead.

Now, as he stumbled along behind Merlyn, the songs and noise of the celebration still pounding his skull, Uther was again regretting the ill effects of drinking too much, and he wasn't the only one. Beside him strode Sir Ector, who wasn't talking, and behind them strung out downhill along the winding path were his sullen, suffering warriors. At least, it wasn't raining, not yet, anyway. Grey cloud once again covered the sky and when Uther raised his head to squint up towards the peak as it rose above the green cloak of grass and trees, he saw it was almost lost in cloud and looked desolate and cold. A strong wind buffeted them, but Uther barely registered it, he was simply forcing himself to climb and hoping that they would soon arrive at the site of the holy stones. With his breath echoing and rasping in his ears and his head feeling fit to burst, it was all he could do to force himself to put one foot in front of the other, and to avoid the tufts of grass and little hillocks left by countless travellers before him that might otherwise send him stumbling. All he could think of was pushing on, get Merlyn's stones, and leaving, but as with most things to do with Druids, and Merlyn in particular, it wasn't quite as simple as that.

Uther finally reached the top part of the path where Merlyn stood waiting for him, a big excited grin upon the Druid's face. As Uther took the final steps up and looked up at the Druid, with his robes flapping in the wind and wispy beard floating about his head, he had the strangest notion that if Merlyn were a dog, his tail would be wagging from side to side. Finally, with legs shaking slightly from the climb and his breathing still laboured, Uther gazed past Merlyn and stared at the stones. The tribesmen were arriving, gathering behind him, strangely silent as they also took sight of the stones that they were to remove and bring down to the boats.