Prophecy Of Kings: Volume 1 ✔️

Chapter 9 - Uninvited Guests

The celebration had well and truly begun. A rabble of Donnachaidh Clansmen and women filled the great hall. Upon arriving, each couple walked up to the head table to pay their respects to the Clan's new heir.

Each family presented a small gift they had made for the child. Baltair the blacksmith had fashioned a small Sgian Dubh, the serrated iron blade was fused to a leather-wrapped hilt which had a small red gemstone implanted in it. Eoghan's wife, Curstag, had knitted the baby a set of warm clothing from the wool of their sheep to help him sleep soundly through the frigid Scottish nights. An assortment of fine delicacies had been baked for the young heir by Mary the baker, however, Duncan would likely have devoured those before the night was through. A wooden lynx, wolf and bear had been meticulously carved by Horas the carpenter as child's toys. These were all gifts of thankful people, great time and effort had been spent preparing these for the celebration. It was clear that the Clansfolk loved their Chief and he his people.

The great hall had been intentionally designed to convey the power of the Donnachaidh Clan to those who entered it. Perched on soaring pillars stood the menacing stone statues of past Clan Chiefs in their beast form, eyes fixed on the room below them. Intricate tapestries retelling past victories hung from the lofty ceiling, intertwining with wall mounted weapons that held significance in the wars detailed in the woven art. Above Duncan's table in the centre of the room rested three wolves' heads belonging to the father of the current Chief of Clan Kerr and his two Chieftains. The heads were severed and framed in the great hall as a stark reminder of the Donnachaidh's victory over the wolves 19 years ago.

Already, laughter and conversation filled the air as the servants began to carry out the feast for the evening and roll out the wooden barrels of specially imported wine. Duncan sat proudly at the head of the table with Cayla and two of his Chieftains to his right. His son Finn was sleeping in a woven rattan basket alongside an empty seat on the left. One of the servants (Blair) placed a heaping plate of honey roasted hog down in front of Duncan, his favourite. The plate exploded with colour, filled with an array of seasonal vegetables, haggis, and the sticky glazed pork. The Chief held out his chalice, Blair hesitated slightly before filling it to the brim with the full-bodied crimson wine.

"Slainte mhath!" said Duncan sipping a small amount of the wine.

"Good health my Chief, may yer lum aye reek!" Blair responded before moving on to serve the other guests.

A voice bellowed out from the back of the hall, "Duncan! My good friend!" A colossal man emerged from the crowd and strode towards the head table with open arms. The patterned dark green, navy blue, red, and yellow of his kilt gave him away to those who did not know him personally. He was a Macleod of Harris. It was obvious to see who he was related to, the flash of auburn hair that dominated his head was a giveaway of the Scotious folk.

"Tormod, it has been too long!" said Cayla standing up and running around the table. She hopped gleefully into his embrace, "I'm overjoyed to see you alive and well brother!"

His bold eyebrows softened as she nestled into his arms, "aye it has been a while Cay, we have so much to catch up on!"

Duncan leaned on his sceptre and pulled himself up to greet his esteemed guest. The Clach-na-Bratach gleamed on the top of the staff, as pure as Highland water. Tormod exchanged a firm handshake with Duncan and filled the empty seat to the Chief's left.

Duncan repeatedly struck his knife against the lip of his chalice, causing the conversation to fade to silence. The guests took their seats in anticipation of Duncan's speech.

"Welcome to everyone here tonight... My family, my people, to celebrate the birth of our son Fionnlagh!"

The crowd cheered ecstatically raising their glasses high.

"Firstly though I would like to introduce my guest for this evening and brother to my beautiful wife, Tormod!" he said triumphantly. "The Donnachaidhs and Macleods have fought side-by-side for many generations, and nineteen years ago, Tormod marched his men south to help us successfully repel the scourge of Clan Kerr." Duncan looked to his left, raising his cup, "We are forever indebted to the Macleods, may our Clan's prosper together under the God's protection... Slainte mhath!"

The room quietened once more as the guests drained their cups, repeating Duncan's chant. A feverish pain suddenly swelled over Duncan's body. Sweat began to form on his brow as his vision clouded over and his senses dulled. "Surely nae the Whiskey?" he thought to himself reaching for his sceptre. He fell in and out of consciousness as he reached for his staff, managing to grab it before he passed out entirely. The instant he put his hands on the orb, he felt the pain dissipate and the hazy veil lift from his senses. A familiar, putrid smell hit the back of his nose... "Wolves... impossible."

"Duncan... Duncan... are ye alright?" said Tormod shaking the Chief out of his trance. "Your men... what has happened?"

Duncan looked up to see half of his men face down on their tables or slumped in their chairs. In a panic he darted a glance at Cayla...she was in shock but okay, his son, still sleeping soundly in the basket... then to the Clach-na-Bratach. The pure crystal had clouded over a deathly grey like an ominous storm cloud moments from unleashing it's wrath.

"We are under attack... We are under atta..." Suddenly a knife was stabbed into Duncan's neck from behind. The assailant immediately turned to flee but was stopped dead by Tormod's sword which burst through the traitor's chest. Tormod ripped the sword out between the man's shoulder blades, kicking him over to reveal his identity... it was Blair.

Cayla screamed wildly as Duncan sank to the floor. Blood spilt violently from the wound which painted his shirt and jacket the colour of his kilt. In a blind panic, she searched for her husband's sceptre, finding it under the table. She smashed it off the ground, freeing the orb contained within it.

"My love," she said trying to steady her tremor and stem her tears. Cayla thrust the crystal ball into his clammy hands, folding his unresponsive fingers tightly over it. "You'll be alright Duncan... come on... get up!"

A deafening howl suddenly filled the great hall. "Where is the Lynx Chief?" the voice shrilled. An army of cloaked figures draped in menacing black wolfskin appeared in the massive doorway. The leader of the pack cast aside his cloak, it was Sgreuch. "Where is he? Where is Duncan?" he barked ruthlessly.

The Kerr Chieftain barely finished his sentence when an explosion of golden light burst from the head table, sending debris flying in every direction. The remaining Donnachaidh clansmen and woman hit the deck instantly. The force ripped the clothes clean off the Kerr men that stood in the wake of the blast. Sgreuch braced himself holding his hands in a cross formation in front of his face. He looked behind to his men, three had already been impaled to the wooden door by the decorative weaponry that once hung from the walls of the great hall. Through squinted eyes, Sgreuch could see a monstrous shadow materialising from the ground up in the piercing light. A final supersonic burst boomed from the centre of the room, knocking all but the Kerr Chieftain to the ground. The light faded, revealing the Great Lynx standing in its place. Although the size of a Campbell bear, it leapt over the table as gracefully as a Macleod deer. The crunching of stone rattled the ears of the wolves as it landed.

Duncan lifted his head and discharged an almighty roar, "Who dares challenge the might of Clan Donnachaidh!" At the bellowing sound of his call, the clansmen awoke from their blackout, prepared to die for their Clan. Those who had swords drew them, whilst others hunched over to transform. Suddenly a legion of luminescent eyes lit up the smoke that shrouded the hall.

A maniacal grin grew on Sgreuch's face, lurching over he smashed his fist into the cobbled floor. A sinister black presence spewed from his body as a claw grew where his hand once was. The black hair that sprouted from it grew rapidly up his arm and devoured his body. He howled as the cracking and wrenching began, in an instant his humanity had disappeared, leaving only the menacing wolf in its place. An army of red eyes stared back through the smog towards the Lynx.

The fight for Dunalastair Castle had begun.