Free The Shadow of a King (Shadowland Book 2) by C.M. Gray

dirty cloth by Merlyn and then thrust once more deep into a block of stone to await another. The incredible jolt of bonding with the weapon was relived once again and evoked such a strong emotion that his body had jumped and twitched, scaring the nuns who had been praying at his side. Of course, he was unaware of the distress he had caused his carers and his body had calmed quickly as the dreams moved on so that once again, he was holding his newborn son up to the first light of dawn knowing he must give him up; the still body of Uther Pendragon wept.
    Laughter, tears, and screams of anger filled his mind. Flashes of colour, looming faces and flocks of crows, always there were crows. Sorrow and loss overwhelmed him as he learned of the death of his closest friend. How could it have happened? Once again he agonised over the mystery of his friend's death. Oh, Cal… He had found him lying on the pile of sleeping furs, Cal's body slick with blood, so much blood. It looked as if someone had entered the sleeping shelter and speared him where he lay, yet the guards at the door had not let anyone pass, and there was no way an enemy who was set upon murder could have entered unseen. It was one of the greatest mysteries of his time. Yet, only Uther had known of his friend's nocturnal life, when Cal's mind and spirit had travelled in the body of a wolf. It had been the wolf that had been killed, Uther knew that, but somehow the blow had also killed the body of Cal. Uther had never managed to get over Cal's death, even though it was just one death amongst so many that he had witnessed over the years.
    Strange hallucinations began to plague him. Evil spirits that laughed and teased him as they tried to pull him towards dark and forbidding places. Fear and panic overwhelmed him as he struggled desperately attempting to break free, and when he did and made to run it felt as if his legs were soft and weak and he found it impossible to place one foot in front of the other. This dream, of course, faded as all dreams eventually did, yet this was sleep not easy to awaken from, and another quickly replaced each wondrous, terrible or delirious dream.
    Once, he felt himself completely awake, high in the wooden watch tower of Tintagel fortress. Waves were pounding on the cliffs far below, and a breeze was strong and salty as he gazed out over the great expanse of the sea towards the distant land of Erin. He knew it was there, beyond where the moon shimmered and the clouds gathered low on the horizon. He could tell that Igraine wasn't here, knew she wasn't in Tintagel anymore, for some reason the remembrance of her passing came as a renewed shock, overwhelming him as the grief hit him like a solid hit to his chest and he felt himself fall, out of the window, down through the cold, dark, wet air towards rocks that rushed up to greet him. Yet before he met the ground, his mind turned itself inwards once more, and a Druid was squatting on a rock staring at him, cackling and pointing as Uther swayed upon weak, uncertain legs.
    'Thou art the Pendragon.' As the Druid spoke, Uther's gaze was drawn to his lips, wet and red, drawn back in a toothless mocking grin. Small flecks of spittle and acorns erupted with each word, and Uther felt himself step back, 'Thou art the Pendragon, tis true, yet for now, thou art but a half-dead King.' Cackling laughter faded into an uncertain distance as Uther sank away to be embraced once more by his sorrow and his grief.

    It was the rain that finally woke him. The soft sounds of it splashing and splattering onto the stones below the small window and echoing up into his cell. Once his mind had identified water, then it was the nagging thought of it, a drink of water so incredibly precious, because his neglected body was so, so thirsty that he was dragged up and out of his dreams.
    Returning, surfacing back into the world of man demanded that he had to claw and pull himself upwards as if from a deep, dark well. He struggled