Two days prior...

Athelstan and his men faced very little resistance entering Carlyle Castle. They strode confidently over the small drawbridge that was left unmanned. The Clan Chief of Carlyle ordered any man or woman fit enough to fight to rally to the Clan's aid. There was no one left. A few worn wooden shacks were spread out around the inside of the outer curtain wall, the windows of each like watching eyes over the soldiers.

Firmin felt the sharp shiver of adrenaline spread throughout his body, causing his grip to tighten around the hilt of his sword. Too quiet, he thought to himself as they moved deeper into the castle grounds. He knew the force he led was enough to overpower any remaining resistance, but leading the advancing group left him in a vulnerable position.

They continued past the watchful windows to the second drawbridge, which led way to the inner ward. Three women gathered around a small fire in the shadow of the keep. The two on the left and right sat void of all expression, knowing that the arrival of the imperial army meant the ones they loved likely lay dead on the battlefield just outside of the castle. As Firmin got closer he noticed the young woman in the middle had a desperate look about her. She wore a floaty tartan dress, which she had pulled down on one side, an infant made suckling noises as it clung to her breast.

"Excuse me," said Firmin speaking up. "We're looking for a druid, have you seen one?"

As much as they didn't want to reply, the women knew they would soon be conscripted into a life of servitude under a new English master. It would not be wise to rouse their captors.

The young woman removed the infant from her slender breast, grimacing as she did. Firmin caught a flash of her perky nipple as she pulled up her dress and draped the heavy woollen shawl over her shoulders once more. He averted his eyes, but suddenly felt a fire ignite beneath his gambeson. He hopelessly tried to remain composed, after all he was the Knight Commander.

Clearing her throat, the beautiful young woman parted her flaxen blonde hair and met eyes with Firmin. She timidly replied to the Knight, "S...S...Sorry Sir, we haven't. He usually spends most of his time at the top of the Chief's tower... in the library."

Firmin's eyes widened and his heart thumped a little bit harder, however, this was a different jolt of adrenaline than moments ago. It felt warm and inviting, both of which he was unfamiliar with.

"Uhh, thank you Ms," he replied flustered. Before he had time to respond further, he was interrupted by the baby who began to scream inconsolably.

"Shhh Shhh Shhh." The woman bounced the baby on her lap in an attempt to comfort it, but she was unsuccessful. Her jaw whimpered violently as her eyes began to fill with tears. Her head dropped causing her hair to obscure her face, as the baby continued to cry.

"What is the matter my Lady?" said Firmin in an attempt to comfort her.

"Cannae you see she's in pain?" snapped the brunette sitting on her left, wrapping an arm around her. "She's been trying to feed the peer thing since its real mother died...nae thanks to you lot." She scowled at Firmin and continued, "Her breast has no milk, the baby will likely starve in another day or two."

The reality of the situation smacked Firmin like the dull end of a sword. The flutter in his heart turned sour and felt heavy in his chest. "W...What is your name?" he uncharacteristically blurted out.

"Oh uhh..." the young woman's face lit up like the colour of a crimson sunset.

"Leave us alone would you!" the brunette interrupted. "We've told you everything we know."

Firmin bowed his head, his facial features scrunching together conveying a sense of displeasure. He headed for the door which led to the Library.

"It's Barabel... My name is Barabel," her trembling voice barely registered above the whining of the child.

Firmin turned slightly, casting a kind smile in her direction.

When he reached the door of the tower, he leaned in close to one of the Knights stationed beside it, "Keep a close watch, these women mean us no harm, but there is still the possibility of a sudden attack." His tone changed suddenly becoming increasingly sombre, "if we do not return soon, send an entire order of Knights into the tower... show the Druid no mercy."

Three of the King's guards followed, with Athelstan in tow. A symphony of steel clanged the air as the group charged up the spiral stone steps towards their destination, the King securely at the back of the formation. Reaching the top of the stairs, Firmin wiped his brow before lifting the latch on the door and promptly entering.

The room was relatively large, with shelves of books clinging to the perimeter of three of the four walls. The fourth wall consisted mostly of large pains of glass, looking out towards the beautiful countryside below. A single well used Chesterfield chair sat snugly in the corner, a pile of books stacked beside it to the height of the armrest.

"The King of England has decided to pay me a visit." A cloaked figure rose from the chair as though expecting company.

Athelstan barged through the guards,
"I need to seek your counsel on the contents of a disturbing dream I had last night."

"And what if I refuse to oblige your request?"

"Death," said Athelstan. "I'm curious though, you could have left long ago, yet here you remain?"

"I felt a curious presence last night after the battle... one of significant power. I knew if I waited something would present itself to me, and... here you stand."

"Indeed..." Athelstan went on to explain what had happened the night previously after he had gone to sleep. His terrible dream. The undead hag. The flag on the hillside. I must know what this all means.

"So...that was your dream eh?" The hooded figure turned and purposely reached for a large leather-bound book on the shelf behind him. After perusing the sooty pages, the Druid let out an affirmative grunt and placed it down for Athelstan to see. Images of the skulled crow, the decrepit hag and the horse of battle lay in front of him.

"It seems you have been visited by Mór-Rioghain, O' great King. She has imparted to you a vision... of things that may be."

Athelstan was frozen stiff, waiting for the Druid to continue. His guards stood at the door ill at ease, prepared to defend their King from the danger he stood in front of.

"The Phantom Queen is an ancient Celtic deity that first set foot on these shores a millennia ago. She is a trinity of three forms, all sharing the same consciousness. Badhb the crow is drawn by war, she carries the souls of those who have fallen to the other world." The Druid paused and extended his finger towards the bottom of the page.

"You however were visited by Nemain, the hag of fate and prophecy... and by cleaning your armour has brought a dark omen of your impending death." He looked up towards the King with a venomous sneer.

Fear consumed Athelstan's heart, spreading outwards to the far reaches of his body.
"And what of the three wolves heads?" He gripped his hand into a tight fist in an attempt to control the violent shaking.

"That would belong to Clan Donnachaidh, used since their victory over the Kerrs at Rannoch Moor nineteen years prior. The heads are of the current Chief's father, William Kerr, and his two most trusted Chieftains. Severed at the neck, and hanging in Dunalistair Castle."

Athelstan knew immediately what needed to be done. A desperate desire to murder ignited once again in the Butcher King. He knew that an army of men alone would not be capable of taking on the Donnachaidhs, but a scheme had already begun to take shape in his mind's eye. Although known for his wickedness above all else, Athelstan's ability to manipulate others was unrivalled in the known world.

Having absorbed all of the information he required, the King wasted no time in commanding his men, "Execute the Druid... he has served his purpose." Without hesitation the soldiers began to encircle the cloaked figure.

The druid pulled down his hood, revealing the face of an old man. Silvery wired hair protruded from his head and slightly obscured his sank in narrowed eyes.

"How unfortunate," he muttered whilst raising his hands in the air. In an instant a crack filled the air as loud as a whip of lightning, paralysing the soldiers.

A monstrous black bear materialised in the spot where the Druid once stood, twice the height of the tallest man in the room. Standing on its hind legs, the bear let out a mighty roar bearing its lacerating claws. Athelstan had made a grave error.

Falling backwards, it seemed the King might meet his end before the Morrigan had suggested. The enraged bear violently charged at Athelstan, swinging its paw of certain death in his direction.

"My King!!!" a voice rallied from behind.

"AAAAHH."

Athelstan had already closed his eyes hearing a loud painful screech that sounded like a blade scraping along steel. The knight that had stepped in the way of the beast's advance was torn in two, his legs still planted where they stood. His torso smashed against the stone wall from the force of the slash, slumping to the ground in an amalgamation of entrails and blood. The death rattle of the soldier echoed in the library, his wide eyes fixated on Athelstan like a brooding tapestry. A small sliver of blood trickled down his chin as his existence was snuffed from the earth. The other world beckoned.

Not a second had passed when an arrow flew over Athelstan's head and planted itself in the bear's chest, causing it to writhe in agony.

"Firmin now!" screamed Godwin who had just fired the crossbow.

Whilst it was distracted, Firmin attacked the left flank of the bear, thrusting his sword through its thick pileous hide, and into the fleshy organs beneath.

The black grizzly retaliated, sinking its teeth into Firmin's right shoulder and causing him to recoil backwards in excruciating pain.

Having sustained a serious injury the Druid used this opportunity to transform once more, the enormous bear giving way to an elegant Great Eagle.

Stunned, the remaining two guards watched as the Eagle spread its mighty wings and darted for the window, blowing shards of glass outwards like the ocean spray hitting the rocks in a howling gale.

It had escaped. Only a splatter of blood was left in the wake of its exit.

"Fools! You let it escape," hissed Athelstan from the floor of the library.

Firmin collapsed to the ground, blood oozing from the puncture wounds in his shoulder.

It is over, he thought as he slipped out of consciousness.

*****

Did you like the Druid? Transform that vote button from white to orange if you did!