Prophecy Of Kings: Volume 1 ✔️

Chapter 12 - A Change of Heart

Firmin awoke on the cold floor of the forest. A muffled voice rang in his ear as an out of focus hand entered his periphery. As his vision readjusted to the murky curtain of darkness that enveloped the woods, he recognised the hand belonging to one of his men.

"Commander?" said the young solider, now standing over him. "Are you alright?"

"What happened lad?" Firmin rightfully questioned as he was helped to his feet.

"I dunno Commander, but I ran up the hill and found a bloody Lynx on top of ya," he pointed behind Firmin to the beast that was strewn over the base of a nearby tree. "I'd recon you were a gonner if I hadn't found ya."

Something felt wrong. Firmin cast his head to the side as he heard the gentle whisp of the wind blowing through the canopy above. In fact, he was able to converse freely with the soldier; the racket of war had released its grip on Rannoch woods.

"Where has everyone gone?" said Firmin, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"As soon as the wolves arrived, we managed to repel the Lynx out of the forrest and back to Kinloch."

"Then what are you doing so near to the castle soldier? Shouldn't you be with the rest of the men?" Firmin strongly interjected.

The eyes of the solider welled with emotion "I can't lie to you I...I'm looking for my brother... He was part of the advance party, have you seen him?"

Firmin's features softened, "I'm sorry lad I haven't, the King ordered me after..."

He was interrupted by the horrifying scream of a woman off in the distance. Without hesitation he darted down the hill towards the source of the noise. Firmin stumbled over the exposed roots and crashed into the trunks of the trees like shoulders in a busy crowd. The scream continued to echo through the lifeless woods as Firmin hurried in its direction, unsheathing his sword as he ran.

The sharp hill began to flatten underfoot and the trees began to distance themselves. Up ahead, Firmin spotted a small clearing illuminated by pale moonlight reflecting off the loch. First he saw the ghostly white antlers of the stag hang in the air, as though they were trying to claim dominance over the night sky. His eyes followed their contours down to the shadow of where Tormod the Great Stag had chosen to make his stand. Two pairs of petrifying cardinal eyes encircled it, which could only belong to the Chieftain brothers Bocan and Droch. A panting growl followed the demonic orbs as they drew closer to their prey.

Firmin lurked in the shadows, following the fringes of the wood to get closer to the action.
Although the wolves outnumbered the stag two to one, he decided announcing his presence would not be wise. Firmin had questioned the loyalty of the wolves since their first encounter at Cessford Castle. If the brothers in their murderous rage could not discern ally from foe, then Firmin knew he would not hesitate to strike them down. His fielty lay with his King, Athelstan, not the savage Kerr beasts.

Firmin watched as the pair snapped at the heels of the monstrous stag. Lowering his head to the ground, Tormod used his antlers to provide a defence against the advances of the wolves; the tips of each of the protruding prongs were as sharp as a newly whetted knife and would easily end a life from a single blow. However, the bony shield only provided a limited area of protection, leaving the entirety of his hide vulnerable to attack. The Macleod Stag's were aggressive, opting for all-out charges and offensive maneuvers that relied heavily on brute force. They were not known for their ability for sustained defense, unless in a group of significant numbers: Tormod was isolated.

The Knight commander knew it was only a matter of time before one of the wolves managed to sink a fang or claw into the beast. A sudden flash shot through the night; only the sparse grey on the back of Droch gave his position away in the dim moonlight. The wolf fainted an attack on the left flank of the stag, causing it to whip its head to block the attack. Bocan was quick to exploit the opening, and sank his canines deep into the front leg of the stag.
Tormod barked in writhing agony, raising his head and hooves high in the air in an attempt to expel the embedded monster.

Droch's eyes were immediately drawn to the exposed neck of Tormod. He could not resist. It was time to satiate his desire to kill. He instinctively leapt with splayed jaws towards his doomed foe.

The wolf stopped short of its target. Multiple horns glistened with crimson gore as they penetrated the entire length of Droch's body. He howled a final chilling breath, as though cursing the moon. The single ear left on his head flopped limply as the fire in his eyes extinguished.

Bocan's eyes grew wide as he released his hold on the stag, "Grr... BROTHER... NO!" He took hold of the stag by the neck and clenched his jaws. The snapping of muscles and crushing of bones could be heard as Tormod the Great Stag crashed towards the unforgiving earth. A faint hiss of blood pouring from severed arteries filled the silence as the wolf Cheiftain Bocan, stood over the corpses of his enemy and brother.

Firmin stood frozen in the shadows of the forrest as he heard the whisper of a wolf torn by loss.
"Grr... You have died honerably...brother," said Bocan, pressing his head against the remains of his brothers mangled face.

The wolf lifted his head, sniffing violently, as though he had picked up an unmistakeable scent. Bocan darted off further into the woods, parting with Droch for the final time.

As the wolf disappeared, Firmin remembered why Athelstan had sent him off with the wolves in the first place. To kill Duncan's wife and child. The screams, he recalled. He snapped out of the trance of the battle he had just bore witness to. Unfortunately, Firmin's sense of smell paled in comparison to the Kerr wolves, but his intuition was strong from years of honing under the command of the King.

A thick haze began to float across the loch, weaving its misty tendrils through the thicket. It quickly closed around Firmin as he ran after the wolf, like the darkness consuming the last embers of a dying campfire. Adrenaline was no longer sufficient to keep the Knight focused, as his eyes grew heavy from the long night. Another scream echoed loudly, abruptly stopping as though forced. The cry of a baby replaced the screaming, leading Firmin to his target.

The Knight Commander laid his eyes on Cayla for the first time. Her beauty was ripped from her like the flesh in her chest. Bocan grinned maniacally, pleased with his act of vengeance. He turned slightly, having realised the presence of the knight.

"Ahh... Commander, how nice to see you... alive," said Bocan. The toll from the battle was evident as he struggled to speak, "Grr... Now it is time for my feast. I believe yer King asked for two heads?" The wolf moved forward, glaring at the baby clutched in the mother's dying arms, ready to kill again.

The screams of the baby intensified as the wolf drew near, sending a jolt of anguish through Firmin's chest. What is this feeling? His mind drew back to the cries of baby Mairi at Cessford Castle.

Her death.

The funeral.

The thoughts he had on the hillside, at the foot of her grave.

Something snapped in Firmin's mind. No More, he thought. Barabel's smile... her embrace... her kiss, flooded his mind.

He screamed as his heart set ablaze.

"SLASH... THUD..."

The head of the wolf Chieftain Bocan, lay between Cayla's splayed legs.

"What have I done? What HAVE I DONE?"

Silence fell once again upon the Rannoch Woods.

"Take him..." Cayla coughed blood as she whispered to the Knight.

"Please... Take him."

Firmin dropped his sword from his trembling hands, and fell to the floor. "To where," he said. "To where my Lady?"

"Home." She inhaled deeply, slowly releasing her last breath into the cold night.

Tears filled his eyes as he slowly lifted the sobbing baby from its mother's stiff embrace. Firmin had just committed treason: and he knew it.

He ran. Away from the castle. Away from Athelstan. Off into the night.