leader, a man named Coenwulf, took a few steps forward, probing out with his foot in search of the water's surface. It was hard to distinguish where the water began, and the grass of the glade ended. Even to their night trained eyes, everything was shrouded in near complete darkness, the mist obscuring any features they might have been able to see. The approaching dawn was delayed in this holy place by the surrounding trees, trees which the more they looked seemed to be reaching out across the mist-shrouded surface of the pool as if trying to protect the deep and sacred waters beneath.
'Get this done brother,' muttered the walker closest to Coenwulf. 'Let us leave this place for something sits wrongly with me here. It may be that we offend the Gods with this task, I…' The man shivered and glanced about him. 'I don't like being here. Just throw the potion. Throw the whole bottle in and we can leave.' He watched the shadowed figure of Coenwulf unwrap the small bottle that he had been carrying ever since being entrusted with it by Octa. As he drew back his arm to throw, a noise caused both men to hiss and crouch. Their two companions who had stayed on the approach path to guard against being disturbed dashed in looking for the source of the sound. It had been a low reverberating tone as if a large bell had been softly struck. For a few moments they said nothing, waiting for the bell-like sound to return or something to happen, but nothing did.
'What was that?'
'Shhhh.' Coenwulf held up a hand for his men to be silent, then crouched down to pat the ground around him.
'What are you… you dropped it?'
'I dropped it, yes.' Locating the bottle he held it up to the night sky, moving it around trying to see the liquid inside. He shook it by his ear. 'The top fell out, but most of the liquid remains.' Turning, he threw the bottle out into the centre of the mist and was rewarded with a 'plop' as it hit the surface.
'Most of the liquid remained? Little dropped out? If the top wasn't in there then…'
Another tone filled the glade, and without another word, the four shadow-walkers backed towards the edge of the trees and melted into the gloom of the forest.
Moments later, three Druids rose from the mist and walked to where the bottle had been dropped. They were older men, bearded with long untidy hair and dressed in long faded robes. They moved with an unhurried ease, the mist parting with a wave of a hand to reveal the stopper from the glass bottle, a bunched piece of leather still wet from its former contents. Popping the leather into his mouth, one of the Druid chewed it, washing it around making his cheeks bulge as he tried to identify what had been the contents of the bottle and then spat it out. The three huddled together and after a few moments talking in low murmurs they began to chant. The deep chime sounded once more, just as the first rays of sunlight lit the topmost branches of the trees above them.
Chapter 5
A Return to Glastening
'The King returns… the King is coming back… the King, the King, the King!' A flock of nuns ran in, to gather around the gates at Glastening Abbey, eager for a glimpse of the small procession as it approached across the rolling hills. There appeared to be almost a hundred horsemen in the assemblage, along with several carts, chariots, and fluttering pennons. The larger part of the group was stopping to gather some way off while a smaller contingent and one of the carts continued on up towards the Abbey and were just passing the sentinel elm and its cloud of angry crows. The day was grey and cold, a stiff wind causing the riders to hunch in their saddles.
'Do you see him? Does he ride or is he stricken?' The nuns craned their necks, seeking for some further detail to brighten an otherwise dreary day and a dull, monotonous life.
The lead riders carried banners, which could now be seen as white dragons on a dark red background that, as they got closer, appeared to be spitting their
'Get this done brother,' muttered the walker closest to Coenwulf. 'Let us leave this place for something sits wrongly with me here. It may be that we offend the Gods with this task, I…' The man shivered and glanced about him. 'I don't like being here. Just throw the potion. Throw the whole bottle in and we can leave.' He watched the shadowed figure of Coenwulf unwrap the small bottle that he had been carrying ever since being entrusted with it by Octa. As he drew back his arm to throw, a noise caused both men to hiss and crouch. Their two companions who had stayed on the approach path to guard against being disturbed dashed in looking for the source of the sound. It had been a low reverberating tone as if a large bell had been softly struck. For a few moments they said nothing, waiting for the bell-like sound to return or something to happen, but nothing did.
'What was that?'
'Shhhh.' Coenwulf held up a hand for his men to be silent, then crouched down to pat the ground around him.
'What are you… you dropped it?'
'I dropped it, yes.' Locating the bottle he held it up to the night sky, moving it around trying to see the liquid inside. He shook it by his ear. 'The top fell out, but most of the liquid remains.' Turning, he threw the bottle out into the centre of the mist and was rewarded with a 'plop' as it hit the surface.
'Most of the liquid remained? Little dropped out? If the top wasn't in there then…'
Another tone filled the glade, and without another word, the four shadow-walkers backed towards the edge of the trees and melted into the gloom of the forest.
Moments later, three Druids rose from the mist and walked to where the bottle had been dropped. They were older men, bearded with long untidy hair and dressed in long faded robes. They moved with an unhurried ease, the mist parting with a wave of a hand to reveal the stopper from the glass bottle, a bunched piece of leather still wet from its former contents. Popping the leather into his mouth, one of the Druid chewed it, washing it around making his cheeks bulge as he tried to identify what had been the contents of the bottle and then spat it out. The three huddled together and after a few moments talking in low murmurs they began to chant. The deep chime sounded once more, just as the first rays of sunlight lit the topmost branches of the trees above them.
Chapter 5
A Return to Glastening
'The King returns… the King is coming back… the King, the King, the King!' A flock of nuns ran in, to gather around the gates at Glastening Abbey, eager for a glimpse of the small procession as it approached across the rolling hills. There appeared to be almost a hundred horsemen in the assemblage, along with several carts, chariots, and fluttering pennons. The larger part of the group was stopping to gather some way off while a smaller contingent and one of the carts continued on up towards the Abbey and were just passing the sentinel elm and its cloud of angry crows. The day was grey and cold, a stiff wind causing the riders to hunch in their saddles.
'Do you see him? Does he ride or is he stricken?' The nuns craned their necks, seeking for some further detail to brighten an otherwise dreary day and a dull, monotonous life.
The lead riders carried banners, which could now be seen as white dragons on a dark red background that, as they got closer, appeared to be spitting their
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