The Shadow of a King (Shadowland Book 2) (10 page)

'Where is it, Merlyn?' mumbled Uther as they stood leaning on the rail watching the coast pass them.

'Patience, Uther. We will arrive very soon, I think. We are watching for a peak, some way inland from the coast that rises high above the rest and has a peculiar shape. I thought it resembled a ram's horn the last time I observed it from the sea.' Merlyn rubbed a hand over his face to wipe the accumulation of rain and spray from his beard and then screwed up his eyes, peering out at the distant hills. 'I have seen it on two past occasions. There will be no confusion for us when we arrive, but we are not there as yet.'

Behind Uther, the tribesmen took up the oars and began rowing to the songs of the oar master whose job it was to keep the rowers in pace with each other. His singing of familiar rhythmic songs that the rowers joined in with had quickly become a natural part of the boat, with favourites called for and often repeated. Uther saw that Sir Ector had taken a seat at the oar-bench. He was aware that the old warrior and also Cunobelin had spent much of the voyage either sitting their turn at the oars, encouraging others as they rowed or aiding those that had just sat back from their turn, nursing sore muscles and strained backs. Throughout his period of sickness, Uther had given little regard to anyone else on the vessel and he was suddenly glad that not everyone had suffered as he had and especially pleased that Sir Ector had been able to take command in his place. He spat the remains of his gingiber over the side and watched it float back to be swallowed by the sea. Then he took another small strip from inside his tunic and put it under his tongue, hoping that Merlyn had a good supply for the return trip.

'It works well, does it not?' Uther turned to see Merlyn grinning at him again.

'It has returned me to life, old friend,' said Uther breathing deeply. 'I trust that the casket I saw brought on board for you, contains a goodly supply?'

'It does, but your sickness is now past, Uther. You are well enough to begin preparing for when we land.'

'Preparing in what way? What are we likely to encounter, Merlyn? Do you know something of what awaits us? Will the tribes attack us as soon as we land… or are you taking us into Saxon territory?'

Merlyn leant on the ship's side and stared into the water for a moment, apparently choosing his words with care before replying. 'It is not the Saxon we need fear on this quest, Uther, nor the local tribes, not really, although they may not be too happy that we plan to remove their sacred stones. No, the true danger of our quest will be borne by just one of us and we have no idea who that man might be.'

'Riddles, Druid. You always speak in riddles. Will you not tell me something of the nature of this danger? Must we fight some terrible monster? Or scale an impossible cliff? I will gladly take this challenge myself if needs be, yet I would dearly like to know the challenge to which I must submit.'

'It may be you, Uther, but then it may not, we shall see. For when we make camp at the base of Mount Killaraus, we shall meet with the Druids who dwell there, and if they are to allow us to remove the stones, they will undoubtedly have a task to show we are worthy. It is not a task that I have foreknowledge of, so it makes it a bit difficult to be ready… doesn't it?'

'More Druids? Why is it you Druids make things so complicated? I would rather just fight, get the stones, and move on.'

Merlyn smiled. 'Oh, but Uther, when was life ever easy and uncomplicated? I am sure we shall prevail. Anyway, it does make life a bit more interesting, doesn't it… and I know you like a challenge.' Merlyn looked up and pointed before Uther could reply. 'Our journey by sea is almost over. I believe we are getting close now. Look, just beyond that headland… there,' - Merlyn pointed - 'I think that may well be Mount Killaraus peeking out of the clouds there. Does that look like a mountain to you?'

Uther stared ahead through the thin misty cloud to where Merlyn was waving his hand and saw what appeared to be a tall cloud formation amongst the wispy grey layers, but then the more he stared, it did start to look more solid, and he realised that Merlyn was right, it was indeed a mountain.

It was late in the day when the first warriors jumped down from the silent boats onto the marshy land that bordered the river estuary and quickly formed up into a shield wall. They marched steadily towards the encroaching woodland while others jumped down behind them and drove huge stakes into the soft earth to tether the boats. A short while later runners returned to report that nobody native to Erin was waiting to meet them, neither in friendship nor in ambush. Uther had them set up watches and patrols while small trees were cut and a simple stockade erected for those being left to guard the boats.

'Most strange, Uther.' Merlyn was staring towards the trees and then up along the wide estuary towards the distant mountain that now stood tall and foreboding, just a short way distant. 'I am sure that our landing must have been noted. I would have expected a delegation of some kind to have approached us by now. I'm sure they will arrive soon. The settlement of Difelyn is just a short walk along the banks of this river, and I know that there are Druids here, both up on the mountain and also close to the village. If we remain without contact until morning, then I would suggest that we approach with a just a small group, no more than one hundred warriors would be correct until we know how we are to be received.'

'We shall do as you suggest, Merlyn.' Uther was about to turn away when he noticed several men leave the forest some distance away to stand watching, leaning on long spears. A few, large shaggy dogs ran about them sniffing at the ground, tails wagging.

'I think our presence has been noticed,' said Uther.

After a few moments and several words exchanged, one of the spearmen began walking towards them through the long grass. Others in Uther's party had noticed them then, and several came up to stand beside him, including Sir Ector and Duc Gerlois. Merlyn took a step forward and raised a hand in welcome, yet the walking man continued to stride on and did not respond.

'He doesn't look too pleased to see us,' said Sir Ector as he fingered the sword belted at his waist. 'He's not one of your Druids then, Merlyn?'

'No, Sir Ector, he is no Druid. He is a warrior from Difelyn, and I am sure he comes to find out why we have visited their shores. Imagine if you were close to your settlement and you came across several hundred armed warriors, what would you be thinking? What would you do?' Merlyn turned his attention back to the new arrivals. 'His friends are still watching, let us see how welcoming our hosts wish to be.'

'Whatever his intentions, he is somewhat courageous to be walking alone towards the likes of us,' rumbled Gerlois, 'very brave, or possibly he could simply be incredibly foolish?'

The man was getting closer now, wading through the long grass. The way he swung his spear, planting it in front of himself with every stride made it seem that he was propelling himself forward upon a boat pushing through the waves of a lush green sea. His short robe was flapping about bare knees, and as he got closer, they could see that a scowl was set upon his grim face while upon his head, he wore a flat hat of some kind. As he neared, he called out in a strange guttural tongue and waved his arms in the air to emphasise some point or other as he pointed across towards the river and the boats clustered there.

Everyone looked at Merlyn. 'What, by the spirits, is he saying?' asked Uther. 'Do you speak whatever tongue that is?' The man halted some twenty paces from them, hands on his hips, the breeze blowing the fringe of hair about his face. He still showed an absence of fear at being so close to so many armed and warlike strangers.

'You speak our tongue, do you not, my friend?' Merlyn smiled at the man, then took a step towards him, made a sign in the air, and bowed deeply. 'We come to your land in peace. We are visitors from across the sea, and this man is our leader, King Uther Pendragon of the Britons.'

The man glanced from Merlyn to Uther and then copied the sign Merlyn had made before bowing. 'I speak yer tongue, right well. You may call me Dara. Will it be this man, yer King, who shall make the challenge of me?'

'Challenge? Must we challenge you to gain passage through this land?' Uther glanced across at Merlyn and then back to Dara.

'We have exchanged names, and now it is only fitting that your champion should cross blades or staff with me,' Dara tilted his head as if questioning the concept of a challenge. 'It is our way.'

'And you are the champion of your people?' asked Uther. He glanced across to the other warriors who still waited, far back, close to the woodland. 'We have no need to fight with anyone. We have said, we come with only peaceful intentions.'

'Well, yer still have a need to fight with me,' Dara grinned and turned his spear in the air, spinning it around and swooping it from side to side, it disappeared around his back, and then came back in front to a juddering halt, the end vibrating with the shock of it and the point aimed squarely at Uther's face. 'I stand in your path, and I am indeed a …a… champion of my people, one of them anyway, we have many.' He raised the spear, leant on it, then standing upon one leg he lifted his foot and rested it on the calf of the other; he was still grinning.

Several of Uther's men started to speak at the same time, each either begging or demanding the opportunity to wipe the smile off the spearman's face. Uther placed a hand upon Sir Ector's shoulder but then pointed at Cunobelin.

'Very well. I name the warrior, Cunobelin, as our champion.'

The Trinovantes warrior unclasped his cloak, allowed it to fall from his shoulders and reached out to take the spear one of his men was offering. Scowling, and with his eyes firmly clasped upon his opponent's, Cunobelin walked forward, whirling the spear in his own display of proficiency.

There were calls of encouragement from many as warriors gathered around, others coming from near the ships, laughing and shouting to one another, excited by the diversion. They moved to form a large ring around the two men leaving them plenty of room to fight.

Dara was grinning still, dancing around the edge of the circle, spinning and jumping as if in great delight like some maiden at her first Beltane dance. Uther glanced across to the trees, but the spearman's companions seemed unconcerned by what was happening, but now there were only two. They were just watching, standing as Dara had, each upon one leg, leaning on their spears.

The fighters circled each other, Cunobelin side stepping while Dara continued to dance as if it were all just so much fun. A few exploratory thrusts and slashes were made by each man, but for some time there was little real contact as each took the measure of the other. The crowd of warriors began to weary of the wait for blood.

'Get him, Cunobelin.'

'Knock that silly smile from his face.'

'Stop playing with him and…'

Cunobelin struck. The two men had been circling, oblivious to the noise and distractions about them, but now, after a lifetime of fighting the warlike Saxon, Cunobelin had already taken the measure of his opponent and made his attack. The spearman, Dara, was dancing and hopping all over the place, but there was a rhythm to it, and Cunobelin had obviously measured it. Feinting with the top of his spear as if about to strike Dara's head, Cunobelin reversed and swept the bottom of the spear around to take out the man's legs. Shock registered on Dara's face as he fell heavily. The watching warriors became silent, before roaring their approval.

Walking to the far side of the circle, Cunobelin waited for his opponent to rise, which he did, quickly. The smile was gone, as was the hat, it now lay crumpled on the grass. The spear twisted in the air again, and Dara nodded to Cunobelin, possibly in acknowledgement of a worthy opponent. Then the two combatants took a moment to assess one another again, and then the fight was back on.

The two men rushed to the centre, and the clash of wood meeting wood rang loud again and again. Dara was definitely more focused now, and Cunobelin took several hits to his body. The dancing had stopped, and he was altering the blows that he threw, quickly pressing Cunobelin hard, but the Trinovante had spent too much time on the battlefield to trade blows for long. On the field of battle, when the world turned to madness, the life of a fight was measured in heartbeats. There was no time for style or technique, no time to wait around and see what the murderous whoreson that was trying to kill you might do. It was kill or be killed and be on to the next enemy, the other one, two, or more bastards who were running towards you, screaming out their hatred as they brought blood-splattered blades and spears down to cleave and stab into your flesh and bone.

The two fighters traded a flurry of heavy blows as they circled, and then Cunobelin, launched a wicked overhand thrust that almost struck home, forcing Dara to duck low and step backwards, almost tripping as he did. Cunobelin leapt after him and knocked his opponent's spear upward, kicking out at the exposed knee as he did. He felt his blow strike true, and the man cried out and fell.

For the briefest moment, Cunobelin stood over the fallen man with the point of his spear at the other's throat, and then he stepped back and allowed Merlyn to move in and tend him.

After a few moments probing, Merlyn looked up. 'The leg is not broken.' He looked relieved. He glanced back at Cunobelin, and then at Uther, as he crouched down beside the fallen spearman.

'You fought well, friend Dara,' said Uther, 'but we have come to your land in the spirit of peace. You gave your friends back there enough time to get away and warn the settlement that we had landed. That's why you made your challenge to us, isn't it?'

Dara looked up at him, the grin now back on his face despite the pain he must be feeling.

'Aye, I looked to delay yer for sure. We thought you, Saxon when first we took sight of yer, and we find the Saxon to be a most disagreeable people.'

'We are no friend of the Saxon, and we wish no ill upon your people.' Uther glanced across at Merlyn and then continued. 'We journey upon a quest, charged to us by the Druids upon the Isle of Mona, Ynys Mon. We are looking to correct a great wrong that was brought upon our people by the Saxons. The same invaders have also entered our lands. We came here seeking the stones that stand upon the great mountain.'