The Shadow of a King (Shadowland Book 2) (15 page)

The wind was gusting hard. Uther could feel it pushing at him as if invisible hands were trying to turn him and send him walking back down, which, if he weren't so exhausted, he might be tempted to do. After finally seeing the stones that he had heard so much about, and for so long, he now realised that this whole ordeal was just another pointless exercise dreamt up by the Druids so they could laugh at them all. He didn't know whether he should also laugh, although he felt he could certainly weep, or possibly have his men hang Merlyn up by the ankles from one of the impossibly large stones they were all staring at and then head back down to the boats. It was tempting, but he was just too tired.

'Merlyn, what by the spirits are we doing here?' Uther pointed at the stones. 'I suppose you thought that we might each sling one of these upon each shoulder, and then run with them back to the boats?' He slumped down onto grass cropped short by the numerous sheep that were ignoring them, aside from an occasional curious glance while chewing mouthfuls of grass. The sheep were grazing around the really big… in fact, impossibly huge was a better description, grey stones, each of which was taller than if a man were to stand upon another's shoulders, and with surely even more of the stone buried beneath the soil.

'Merlyn, have the spirits robbed you of all your senses? How could you imagine we might move just one of these stones, even just a little bit? This is all nonsense, isn't it? A great Druid game that you have played with us?'

Merlyn shook his head in denial, 'Oh come, Uther. You give up on things far too easily. The stones are what they are, and they are… perfect. Let us look at them, come…' He reached down and pulled on Uther's arm trying to raise him. All around them the warriors were in different attitudes of rest, happy to let their King and his Druid discuss the impossible while they napped or drank from skins of weak ale.

Uther pulled his arm away. 'Leave me alone, Merlyn. This is utter nonsense and I want no more part of it. There is no possible way we could bring these stones down to the boats, and even if, with the greatest stretch of my faith in you, I was to think that we might possibly be able to do it, then the boats would sink. Those stones are very, very big.' He lay back on the grass and closed his eyes. 'We will rest here and then return to the hall. At sunrise we leave for the boats and sail for home, we are done here.' He felt rather than saw Merlyn turn and walk away. The Druid was muttering something, but he didn't care what it was, he smiled, the stones were set in a circle, some upright and others were laying horizontally on top. They were ridiculously big, vast grey lumps. Mottled with greens, browns, and livid orange growths of moss and lichens; really quite beautiful. They had obviously been there an eternity and they would surely stay there for another eternity. All that talk about a race of giants, the Fir Bolg putting them there thousands of years ago, was obviously true, if he had ever had a doubt about the legend before, then he didn't have one now.

After a short rest, they left, Uther glanced back and saw that Merlyn was still preoccupied with walking around the stones, muttering and pacing; he looked to be measuring them. Uther shook his head and began the walk back down to the hall; it was relatively pleasant now that most of his stress and the hurt in his head had left him. The sun was trying to shine between the clouds and it was all quite agreeable. It was a relief to be past the excitement and tension of the quest; it would soon be over and he would be happy to return to Britain. He wasn't looking forward to sailing again, his brow creased at the thought of it, but he would chew Merlyn's magical gingiber and no doubt it would soon pass.

Warriors were laughing, probably at Merlyn's idea of taking the stones away. Uther smiled again, what was that crazy old Druid thinking? He may as well have suggested plucking the sun from the sky, it was equally impossible.

It was far easier walking downhill rather than uphill, and Uther's mind was soon wandering on its own amongst the bigger questions that faced him, of continuing to unite his people and turning back the Saxons, one thing was for sure, it was time to leave the Isle of Erin.

It was dark, some time before daybreak, when the warriors, led by Uther made their way out of their lodgings and through the Druid's strange cave. Despite the darkness, many of the Druids were awake. As the warriors came from the hall and began to file out, the Druids turned towards them and began a low chant that reverberated throughout the confines of the cave. Firelight flickered, offering just enough light to make their way through the smoky haze until they emerged into the darkness of the early morning, the chanting still faint and haunting behind them. They carried torches and walked in single file, and by the time they had passed the first growth of woodland and were travelling the path across the lower slopes towards the main forest, a bleak dawn was breaking and they no longer needed burning brands to light their way.

'It is good that we are leaving.' Sir Ector was walking at Uther's side. He was rubbing at his naked arms keeping the early morning chill from his flesh. 'I look forward to setting sail and looking back at this mountain, and then I hope we never have to lay eyes upon it again.'

'I feel the same; this was a waste of time, just a Druid game.' Uther looked across at his old friend. 'It is true that the Gods play with us, but it is the Druids who do their bidding. Even with the test of Uath the Stranger, even after we passed it, after Gerlois was humbled, and poor Cunobelin died, there was still no prize, because it was always unattainable. An impossible dream that we could touch, but we could never grasp. I am sure the Druid bards are already putting the verses together for their next epic, and I am almost sure that Merlyn and his friends spent all of the night laughing and congratulating each other about how clever they were. I wonder what next they have in store for us, for we are truly just the rune bones in their great game of life.'

They reached the protective cover of the woods, and as the first drops of rain began to fall they made their way through the dim, still twilight of the interior. It was as if the forest had held its breath it was so still, just the sound of dripping water descending, drop by drop, leaf to leaf, from all around. It was cold amongst the trees, and a thin mist was rising from the rich earth and fallen leaves of the forest floor accompanied by the rich, earthy smell of life and decay. The warriors passed through in silence, aware they were walking close to the veil between this realm and the Shadowland and they were fearful of disturbing the fragile balance.

When they emerged, it was still raining. They quickened their steps, happy to be through the trees, anticipating the shelter by the boats and fires to warm themselves and dry what could be dried. As they came into sight of the camp where the boats were anchored by the bank of the river, they saw the warriors left there to guard the vessels had constructed several small communal huts and shelters. Smoke was rising through the loose thatch. The small community held the promise of warmth and shelter, so they quickened their pace once more, running and laughing towards it through the long grass when cries rang out from the sentries, and a horn was blown announcing that the King had returned.

Unfortunately, the huts quickly became cramped with the return of the King and his party. They were draughty and the thatch let in streams of water in several places, but this was to be a swift halt upon their homeward journey, so for the short time expected they settled in. Woollen and hemp tunics, cloaks and britches were draped close to fires to dry and soon the draughts were beaten back, and each hut became hot, stuffy and noisy. The ground both within the huts and paths outside between them were churned to a sticky mud as warriors walked between them, and supplies were taken out to the boats to be stored below deck as they made ready to depart.

One of the female warriors pushed through and caught Uther's attention, raising her voice over the noise. 'The Druid, Merlyn, is by the boats, King Uther. He had me come request your presence so that you might prepare with him.' She shrugged her shoulders. 'He has some rafts he wants tied behind the boats, or so he says…'

'He has rafts with him? Uther stood. 'So I, the King, am to come at the call of the Druid, Merlyn? I think not, not this time. I am still not best pleased with him; he can wait.' Sitting down once more, he returned to the map he was trying to make with the help of Sir Ector and several others. Although he had no intention of ever returning to the Isle of Erin, he had thought it wise to record all the details he and the others could remember should the need some day arise. It may possibly be a wasted effort, but should Arthur or one of his descendants ever have need to come this way, then they might be a little more prepared than this quest had been. They were discussing the coastline that they had sailed past before sighting the high peak of Mount Killaraus, the settlements, cliffs, and estuaries when an extremely wet and bedraggled Druid pushed his way through the crush of warriors and crouched down beside Uther.

'We leave soon?'

'Uther turned around and smiled when he saw how wet the Druid was. Somehow it made him feel better seeing that Merlyn was suffering a little. His beard hung in wet clumps, and his woollen robe lay soaked and heavy upon his skinny frame. However, for some reason, he seemed far too happy for the way he appeared.

'Yes, Merlyn, we are leaving as soon as the boats are loaded.'

'Good, good.' Merlyn used his staff to heave himself up. 'The stones are ready. It will be a quick and simple task to…'

'What do you mean the stones are ready?' Uther rose and put a hand on the Druid's shoulder, turning him around before he could walk away. 'You got the stones? How can you possibly have brought the stones down from the mountain?' But it was Merlyn, so he decided it may be so… 'Are they in the boats? And they haven't sunk yet! This is ridiculous, if you have managed to get them in the boats there won't be any room for us. Merlyn, did you think at all that…?'

Merlyn was giggling, it was annoying, his shoulders were rocking, and his face creased up in delight.

'Uther, I told you we would bring the stones and we are doing just that. It was a simple enough task,' - he winked and held up a bony finger - 'simple enough that is if you are a Druid.' He started to walk off again but turned once more. 'Simple anyway, for a very special Druid.' He pushed back into the throng of warriors cackling in delight.

'Oh, spirits. What has he done?' Uther followed as the old man passed through the hall, out into the cold rain, and then down to where the boats were moored. It was getting darker, despite still being early in the day, and the rain seemed to be falling even harder. Uther glanced up at the greyness above him and shivered; it would be better to stay in the overcrowded hall than risk setting sail in this.

Close to the boats, a few miserable warriors were standing sentry huddled under a temporary thatch, he raised a hand to them and then glanced about for Merlyn. The Druid had clambered up onto the deck of the closest and was now peering down into the water to the other side. He turned as Uther approached and pointed down into the water, jabbing his finger in different directions.

'One hundred and sixty-two of them,' he did a little dance, 'one hundred and sixty-two and all brought down by a little old Druid!'

Uther grabbed hold of the wet timbers of the boat, hauled himself up and went to join Merlyn on the other side of the vessel. The river beyond the boats was filled with what appeared to be shallow rafts just breaking the surface. They were tied together with stout rope, the waves of the river breaking gently on their sides with the occasional larger wave rolling over them.

'But… Merlyn, stones don't float. They just don't.'

'Shhh, not so loud. The stones don't know they aren't meant to be floating.'

Uther looked down at Merlyn's smiling face and shook his head.

Morgana's growing exasperation forced her to break her silence. 'But stones really don't float… are you trying to tell us that you just pulled the stones behind you, and they floated across the sea?'