The Wyvern Gate: The Druid Stones Saga, #5

By J.F. Danskin

The fifth and final instalment of The Druid Stones Saga. Myth, magic and the battle to save a kingdom. The saga is complete.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Inkpot Books
• Release date: Jun 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201111144

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J. F. Danskin

The Wyvern Gate

The Druid Stones Saga Book 5

First published by Inkpot Books 2021

Copyright © 2021 by J. F. Danskin

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

J. F. Danskin asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

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Contents

1. In Dumbarton Castle

2. The Return

3. The Fleet

4. Parley

5. The Norse Kings

6. The Banquet

7. A Signal

8. Avenging Spirits

9. Ancient Stories

10. The Storm

11. The Rope

12. Loarn

13. The Way of the Forest

14. To the North

15. The Cave of Shadows

16. A Chilling Foe

17. The Gate

18. The Ruin

19. A Reunion

20. The Riders

21. Sinister Rumours

22. Burning Ships

23. The Rebels

24. March to the Bridge

25. Knights and Roads

26. Strategy

27. The Bloodshed

28. The Battle of the Gods

29. Aftermath

30. Return to Tùr

31. Samhain at Cardhu

1

In Dumbarton Castle

Donnell looked out over the clifftops below the north castle wall, part of the outermost wall of Dumbarton Castle that faced towards the mountains of the north.

He was feeling frustrated.

What had begun as a promise to return home within the day had turned into two days, and then a week. And the people of Tùr – the people whom he had helped away from Cardhu to a form of safety in the forest – were currently far beyond his help.

And as for Branwen…

Running his hands together against the cold, Donnell took a step back and turned, looking around at the interior of the castle. The seat of King Arthgal of Ystrad Clud was a sprawling structure atop enormous twin rocks. It stuck out into the River Clud where the river widened into an estuary. He was well below the highest point and even from here the outlook was magnificent, with the river and eventually the sea ahead and further mountains and lochs off to the north.

He stood at the upper gatehouse, the opposite side to the entrance. The main King’s Hall building was atop a rise to his left, and many smaller structures to his right stood on a flat esplanade. These included roundhouses as well as workshops, open at the front. Donnell could see potters at work, smiths, and other craftspeople; the area was busy due to the recent return of the King’s army. Currently, none of his companions were anywhere to be seen, though all of them had now been in the castle for several days.

Donnell turned back, leaning on the north wall of the castle again. Here, the rock was topped only with a low wall, easy for defenders to see or shoot over, but with a very long drop immediately below. Indeed, the rock was somewhat concave here, nearly perfectly smooth and vertical at this point.

The land all around was sparkling with frost in the early afternoon winter sunlight. Immediately to the north of the castle was the small village of Dumbarton and its surrounding grazing land. The area was flat and formed the shape of an inverted triangle, with its tip at the castle rock, widening towards the edge of the forest beyond. Several roundhouses sat near the middle of the area, and off to the left, the land westwards was bounded by a smaller river. The River Leven flowed southwards before passing the castle rock and feeding into the great River Clud.

Ahead and to the east beyond the first reaches of forest to the north, Donnell was able to make out the large green plains of Lennox, a land of rich hunting and fishing that had belonged to the kings of this area since the most ancient of times. Today, several nobles were out on horses upon this land, and were using hawks for their sport. Donnell watched for a moment as the creatures circled round and occasionally dived as they spotted the movement of a rabbit or other prey. He followed the line of the falcons as they flew; occasionally one circled round and flew across the sun to his back before diving, a tactic that reminded him of the monstrous wyvern.

He shuddered, then, at the thought of the beast swallowing up the old spellcaster Eochaid, though found it hard to feel as sorry for the man as he perhaps should. After all, the man had betrayed him and his companions, and had kidnapped the druidess Méabh, sparking a series of events that led to the woman’s untimely death.

Donnell turned and walked down towards the wide castle esplanade area. At the far end was a Christian chapel, a stone building that backed onto a much larger castle-like structure with a turret at each side overlooking the cliffs below.

Just then, he saw his close friend Sahar nearby. He waved, and she nodded and began to walk towards him.

His friend, Moorish by birth but raised by Vikings, was something of a curiosity, even a celebrity, among the nobles of Dumbarton. She had several times been asked to demonstrate her prowess with the crossbow, and had also demonstrated feats of climbing that had made the local noblewoman gasp. Here apparently, unlike the more rural parts of the kingdom that Donnell and his friends were more accustomed to, most women did not fight, climb or ride horses, and many could not understand how the young Moorish woman was able to scale walls and cliffs with apparent ease.

Since their encounter with Eochaid and the Pictish Queen back at the river’s ford at Cathures, she had been carrying one of the legendary and secret artefacts of the kingdom, the druid stones. The purple stone, carved and set into a pendant, had been worn by the druidess Méabh, a friend of Fenella, who had been abducted and killed due to the machinations of her abductor, the spellcaster Eochaid. The stone had the power to freeze objects or even people, but as the companions were aware, it had to be used sparingly and with caution.

Donnell, said Sahar. I haven’t seen you all day. Are we leaving at last?

I wish we were, said Donnell, and then stood back a few steps to make way for some local folk who were carrying barrels of drinks and packing up crates of food. Unusually, rather than being carried into the King’s Hall where the feasting took place, these were being prepared in the open, and he peered curiously at the proceedings before looking back at his friend.

Her eyes flashed a dark look at him. I hope you aren’t going to say ‘one more day’ again, she said. I promised Edral that we would visit on the way back. How do I know that the Picts haven’t overrun his farm by now?

Mac Rath is sure that there is no need to worry on that front. With the Queen of the Picts dead, their realm is likely to fall increasingly under the influence of the two sons of Cináed mac Ailpín of Dal Riada. Besides, winter has come, and even the Picts will need to be returning home to look after their children and livestock.

Perhaps. But I can’t help worrying about Edral.

Edral was a handsome young man of Sahar’s own age, whose farm they had recently visited on their way north. Since the latest battle, Sahar had repeatedly said that he and his old blind grandmother, Ceitag, might be better off if they came back with the companions to Tùr. Although the two youngsters had formed an immediate bond, Donnell was less than convinced that the lad would be willing to leave the family farm… but he kept those thoughts to himself.

It honestly won’t be much longer, he replied. At least, I don’t think so. I know that Mac Rath has some other things that he wants to speak to the King about, and it is looking like there might be yet another feast tonight. But I am sure he is keen to get back to Castlecraik. I’ll speak to him again – I promise.

We could have left by now. He’s keeping us waiting day after day – and we aren’t all being fed on pork and wine in the King’s Hall.

Donnell shrugged with a wry smile. I know, Sahar. And I know it’s frustrating to wait until he is ready to leave, but we’ll be a lot safer travelling back with his knights. We can ride with them down the coast.

I desperately miss Branwen and the children, she said. But Edral’s home is…

I know, he interrupted, holding his hands up. I’ve thought of that. You and I can take two horses, and I will come with you to Edral and Ceitag’s farm. Fenella and the others can ride south with Mac Rath’s men. All right?

She nodded, narrowing her eyes in thought.

We’ll see.

***

The companions were woken the next morning by the sound of soldiers on the march.

Donnell hurried out of the roundhouse where he had been accommodated, and was soon standing beside Malcolm and Erik, watching proceedings. Local soldiers from the recent battle at Cathures had lined up and were making their way out from the castle esplanade and filing through the upper gatehouse.

They were leaving. Many of the crates and barrels that Donnell had seen being prepared the day before were being carried down, too, and it was clear that these were being moved out of the castle complex.

What’s going on? asked Sahar, hurrying over, with Fenella just behind her. Why are these soldiers on the march?

I suppose they are going home, said Donnell. There have been no further attacks, and it seems that the Pictish army has retreated. He tried to sound calm, but in truth he was also concerned, and felt a strange hollowness in his stomach as he observed the proceedings.

No attacks, Sahar echoed cynically.

However, if she was going to say anything else, she was interrupted by the arrival of Mac Rath himself. Their friend, a knight and nobleman, was dressed in full battle armour. Donnell turned and greeted their patron.

Good morning, my friends, said Mac Rath. I hope you are all well, and comfortable in the roundhouses.

And to you, replied Donnell. While the companions had been accommodated in a pair of roundhouses, Mac Rath was staying in the main castle building.

Mac Rath took a step closer to the others. I have just been speaking to the King.

And what news? asked Donnell.

The young noble shook his head, a look of disgust written across his face. As you can see, Arthgal is sending most of the troops home, against my better advice.

But what of the Norse? asked Sahar. It is only a matter of days since they landed ten ships nearby. Shame at their defeat will not keep them away for ever.

Mac Rath sighed and clasped his hands together. I know, and I agree entirely. He shook his head again, then stepped even closer. The bulk of the troops are leaving, including the Laird of Partick’s forces, which is the largest army in the realm. However, there are still many knights here, as well as the castle guards, who are well trained.

It still seems reckless, said Donnell. With all respect to the King, we have all seen first-hand how dangerous the Norse can be. They are strong and merciless.

Mac Rath sighed. Yes. The King believes that the Norse will be settling down to overwinter by now, as they always do. They are a seafaring people, after all, and when Cailleach Bheur comes cold and fierce, it is not the time for sea voyages or conquests. He’s right to say that this is the pattern we have seen time and again – it’s how they take over new territories. Brilliant, really. They attack and loot over summer, and then in the wintertime they hold, preparing for the next campaign.

Donnell shook his head slightly, looking around at the busy courtyard. Let’s hope the King is right, and the people of this area will be safe until springtime. It seems to me that it would be a good time to build up stocks of food and wine, not send them away to the lairds. War is surely coming, sooner or later.

Correct. Friends, walk with me a while, said Mac Rath, and the five companions followed him. The young nobleman was still walking with a slight limp, having been wounded in battle just a few days before, but he appeared otherwise well.

I hear your worries, and I agree, said Mac Rath as he walked. "But don’t forget, this is the most defensible place I have been in my life. I’ve never even read about a better fortification, and you know how many military books are in my library."

That’s true, said Malcolm. The former smith was also a keen reader.

What’s more, it dominates the entrance to the River Clud, continued Mac Rath. No attacking army can leave it behind and move inland, and neither can they capture it.

The companions paused and stood back as another company of soldiers made their way past them, heading for the upper gatehouse. The castle was slowly emptying.

The six then proceeded towards the upper rock and stopped outside the main castle building, where a quartet of local castle guards were standing and chatting. On the other hand, said Donnell, looking around as he spoke, this place has a lot of ways in. The three of us have been all over the rock. In many ways, Castlecraik seems more well contained, better designed – and it has a moat.

But look, said Mac Rath, gesturing down towards the river far below. The walls there may not be huge, but these cliffs are very difficult to scale. A small number could climb them, one at a time, but a whole army couldn’t enter that way. They would arrive in small numbers and be easily overwhelmed. And no battering ram could come close to the upper gatehouse, either. How would it get up the stairs? As long as there are a few dozen sturdy men guarding these walls, we are entirely safe. You can sleep peacefully at night.

He stopped, looking at each of them in turn. Anyhow, I must leave you now and return to the King’s court. I have much to discuss with the prince, Rhun ab Arthgal. And Fenella… His gaze lingered on the druidess for a moment.

Yes, Giric? she asked. Unlike the others, Fenella usually referred to the young nobleman directly by his given name.

The King is interested in gaining a broader perspective in his household. He would like you to sit in court, if you would be willing.

Me?

Of course. It’s not often that the people of Dumbarton see a real Mor-Druid, like the days of old, arriving in their midst! And you would be accommodated accordingly, – he glanced briefly around at the others, and then back at the druidess – in the finest guest quarters, that’s to say. It will be very comfortable.

She frowned. There are still some wounded warriors to treat, she said. And besides, I don’t like to be too far from my friends.

Donnell stepped forward. Take the moment to enjoy some comfort, Fenella, he said. We’ll all be moving on very soon, so why not enjoy the chance to share the wisdom of the old gods with our monarch?

She hesitated, looking from one face to another, and then nodded. Very well. I will do as the King requests.

The others moved off back towards the roundhouses, leaving Donnell and Mac Rath alone together, still looking around at the fortifications. As a childhood friend of the King, Mac Rath was very familiar with the surroundings, which were still new to Donnell.

I haven’t been into that building at the far western end there, said Donnell, pointing towards the west, the one with the two towers. What is it?

That’s what they call the Druids’ Keep, said Mac Rath. Although, as I just said, it is a long time since there have been any druids in residence. Once, they were advisors to the king, and he would come to treat with them, rather than the reverse. There were books and scrolls in there, and scholars of all kinds would visit. In truth, it was a seat of learning like we have long since lost, and the druids alone would be willing to speak truth to power without fear.

And battle strategy, too, perhaps?

Oh, yes. Sadly we have descended to a simpler approach – numbers and weapons. But the great kings of the Old North knew that military power was much more than that. Most of all, it is about having your warriors working together as a unit.

I saw you lead your cavalry against the Pictish queen, said Donnell with a nod. It was spectacular.

Thank you, my friend. Such things play their part. But at the same time, controlling a kingdom is so much more than just seeing off barbarous invaders. It’s the identity you forge, the sense of community. Kings lead their people into battle not to win power, but to show that we are all together as one. Mac Rath looked around, rubbing sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm. Anyway, I must go, woodsman. The King and I still have much to discuss.

I’m sure I don’t need to tell you, said Donnell, but the others are keen to leave. We have been away from the village for long enough already.

I know. As am I – Castlecraik is calling me. But there is still some negotiation with the King that I must complete. It is for the good of the realm in the long run. Please believe me. And for now, feel free to look around this castle some more. Perhaps you’d like to explore yonder Druids’ Keep, or visit some of the local crafters.

Thanks. Perhaps I will.

Mac Rath moved off towards the entrance to the King’s Hall, and Donnell’s eyes followed the young man. Then he turned and moved across the esplanade. But rather than exploring the Druids’ Keep or any of the other buildings, he walked forward towards a section of outer wall just to the left of that building, leaning on a chest-height area of wall that stretched across around five yards between the Druid’s Keep and the haunch of the castle rock. From there, he looked out over the kingdom once again, this time looking to the west – towards home.

Much to discuss.

Had they not done enough talking already? Their wounds had healed, they were rested and fed. It was time to be leaving.

2

The Return

It was another bright winter afternoon.

Another day had passed, and then another, since the departure of the bulk of the army. Donnell had seen little of Mac Rath and Fenella during this time – both had been occupied with business at the King’s court. His other friends, too, always seemed to be occupied with one task or another. Malcolm, in particular, willingly lent his skills to some of the local crafters – the smiths and stonemasons especially.

Donnell had frequently found himself circling the castle complex alone, deep in thought as he scrutinised the fortifications. And whether due to the will of the amber druid stone that he wore at his chest or for some other reason, he had increasingly found himself drawn to the chest-height area of wall that stretched alongside the Druids’ Keep.

As he rested his hands on the rough stone of the wall, he looked down over the edge of the rock. This area was wide enough for a group of archers to be positioned, he realised, or – perhaps more effectively – for defenders to hurl down rocks and other projectiles upon any possible attackers.

It was also lower and less steep than most of the castle rock. Indeed, Donnell was fairly certain that he could lower himself down and climb down the cliffs at this point within just a few minutes, though it was undoubtedly treacherous in places, and on arrival on the ground, he would be stranded on a small strip of land between the River Leven and the lower gatehouse.

He then wondered about how long it would take an enemy to climb up. In armour, he supposed, it would be a difficult and slow climb – and that was not accounting for the spears and arrows of the defenders. Certainly the castle had been held by the kings of Ystrad Clud for as long as… well, how long had it been? He resolved to ask Fenella or Malcolm about exactly how and when the kingdom had been established, and their ancestors had assumed and fortified this seat. It was the sort of thing that more people ought to know.

As he looked down to the right, below where the Druids’ Keep topped the wall, he spotted two children, a boy and a girl, playing on the cliffs around twenty feet up from the ground. Both were richly dressed – the children of an important knight or local laird, perhaps. The lad had thrown a stick up high onto the rock, and the lass was hoisting him up on her shoulders so that he could try to reach it.

They had clearly climbed higher than was safe, and their current position looked so precarious that Donnell suddenly pictured the two falling, their bodies dashed and crumpled on the rocks below. He should help them. But how long would it take to make his way to the upper guardhouse, down the stairs, out of the entrance, and round to where they were climbing? Perhaps long enough for one or both of the children to get seriously injured.

He sighed, and hoisted himself up onto the wall, and then let himself down from the edge, landing on a small rocky area below the wall itself. Leaping nimbly from rock to rock, he began to make his way down the solid granite mound toward the children.

He wasn’t a moment too soon, for the boy teetered on his friend’s shoulders and then overbalanced, grappling out desperately with his hands. He briefly steadied himself on a clump of grass, but this then came away from the smooth rock, and the boy fell again, this time landing on a tiny outcropping of rock, and managing to clutch onto a thin stump of a tree, several feet along from his friend. In contrast to where the girl stood, he now found himself on a tiny area of rock above a sheer drop, with only the stump to hold on to. He was stranded.

A few dozen yards away still, Donnell called out from above them. Don’t move, young miss, he shouted to the girl. Let me climb down and help him.

Manoeuvring to an area just above the helpless boy, Donnell lowered his cloak – a smart grey travel cloak that he had been given by Mac Rath in the aftermath of their recent battle, after passing his own white cloak on to Sahar. Using it in lieu of a rope, he let it down until the boy was able to catch hold of the hem of the garment, whereupon he started to twist the fabric around both of his fists.

Soon the boy was up beside Donnell on a more secure ledge, and together they made their way diagonally down to reunite with the relieved girl, collecting the prized stick as they did so.

That was fortunate, said Donnell, with a relieved grin. What are your names?

Mona, said the girl.

And the boy – perhaps half of her age – replied, I am Eochaid. And thanks for helping me, sir, although I think I would have made the jump all right.

I’m certainly glad you didn’t try.

Donnell looked at the pair. The girl had straight red hair, brown eyes, and a freckled face, not unlike Fenella. She looked to be about ten summers in age – just a little younger than Kit and Rana from Cardhu. The boy, a namesake of the disgraced spellcaster, was more like a miniature version of Mac Rath in appearance – pale skin and gemlike blue eyes, though his dark hair was very curly. He couldn’t be more than five.

Come, said Donnell simply, and began to lead the pair on a safe route down and round the rock.

A few minutes later, Donnell and the two children rounded the walls that ringed the top of the enormous castle rock, and reached the entranceway. The building known as the lower gatehouse was a double tower, and it had a huge oaken double doorway set inside. Even this minor building was larger than many of the smaller castles and keeps around the kingdom.

The doors currently stood open, guarded by two local men who were armoured and holding spears. Donnell spied the familiar face of Erik in between them, too, and smiled and waved as he approached. Erik, however, was scowling, and didn’t appear to notice his companion at first. Donnell quickly realised that his friend was engaged in a heated argument with one of the pair of local guardsmen, a stocky, red-bearded soldier.

If you are a Norseman, the guard was saying, how do we know we can trust you? You could be a spy for Ímar’s men.

Don’t be ridiculous, Erik replied, his fist clenching on the handle of his axe – which, fortunately, remained hanging from his belt. I am here with Mac Rath of Castlecraik and other loyal citizens, and if they trust me, what business is it of yours to say otherwise, with no evidence of any kind? The truth is, I never served Ímar in the first place. His people are ancient enemies of my own folk. Yes, as you know, I hail from the Kingdom of Norway, and came over here with the Norsemen. But I have long since renounced any allegiance to that people. I am a man of Ystrad Clud now, heart and soul.

You find your allegiance easily changed, then, it seems, said the guard’s partner, a taller man with a thin-face and curly dark hair.

Enough, good soldiers, said Donnell, stepping in and putting an arm on Erik’s hand before his friend could think about raising an axe against his tormentors. I believe I know Erik here better than any of you do. He has protected the people of my home village and fought against the Norse more bravely than anyone I know.

The men at