The crunching of steel could be heard echoing through the narrow stone corridor. Four armour-clad knights surrounded the King, with Firmin at the head of the pack. The path leading to the meeting room would have been entirely consumed by the darkness if it wasn't for the scrawny, kilted clansman that held a single torch overhead.

"Nea much farther," the attendant timidly announced, pointing the flame in the direction of a closed door. Firmin was the first to reach it, immediately his eyes were drawn to the forbidding slash mark gouged into the door. He ran his hand over the hardwood frame and metal rivets, it seemed the beast had no preference for wood nor iron, it had torn through them both as a finger through soft butter.

He forcefully pushed the door open.

Not another druid? He shuddered as he recalled his last encounter at Carlyle castle. He felt the pain emanating from his shoulder, a healer had attended to it, but the agony remained fresh in his mind.

"What are you doing here in Siorrachd Rosbroig?" snarled a voice from the shadows.

The retinue that had entered were unable to identify the origin of the voice, the only light source still coming from the Scotsman behind them. A mahogany table dominated the landscape of the cramped chamber, finely decorated with two silver trident candlesticks at either side.

"H...h...how dare you bark at his majesty in such a tone," whimpered Godwin, one of the King's guards, back towards the unknown.

A calamitous figure emerged from the darkness and lurched across the table, "Do you forget where you are boy? Cessford Castle belongs to me, and on Kerr land yer in no position to be making demands."

The Knight, offended by these words lunged forward towards the table and grabbed for his sword. Before his hand had even grasped the hilt, four pairs of demonic crimson eyes drew forth from the blackness.

Godwin stammered backwards. "The... the wolves of Rosbroig," he stuttered, slowly retreating behind Firmin to the safety of the King's guard. Having only recently been promoted to Knight Lieutenant, this was the first time Godwin had laid eyes on the ferocious Wolves.

Towering over the men the wolves drew suffocatingly close, seething with murderous rage. Bearing their dagger-like fangs, they emitted rasping growls that rumbled the floor underfoot, sending shivers of agony through the Knights.

"Enough." Pushing his way past, the King confidently emerged arrayed in his signature golden armour and draped in bearskin. Thrusting his arm forward he roared an order towards the aggressor, "Kerr, stand your men down, we mean you no harm!"

"Aah Athelstan, sin thu a'choraid! An unexpected visit at this time of the night to be sure." The Clan Chief of Kerr--Micheil--extended his arms, appearing more approachable than he did moments ago. "Settle down lads, there'll be nae feasting on this lot tonight," he said in jest. The Knights looked at each other with uneasy eyes, unable to let their guard down after such a hostile introduction.

The wolves hunched over simultaneously and suddenly began to transform. The deafening cracking of bones filled the room as the Wolves painfully contorted and jerked. The Knights stood with wide eyes, unable to look away from the horror that was unfolding in front of them. The colour had drained from Godwin's face entirely as he began to feel his peripheral vision close in around him. The already cramped chamber began to feel a lot more claustrophobic causing a cold sweat to trickle down the inside of his armour.

"Godwin," said Firmin quietly out of the side of his mouth. "Godwin... pull yourself together man." He jabbed the petrified Knight with his elbow, breaking Godwin's trance, allowing him to glance downwards away from the wolves. Although unsteady he managed to stay on his feet, collapsing in front of the King would have almost certainly resulted in the young Knight's execution.

Knotted tufts of blackish-grey hair fell to the ground around the wolves as they began to resemble a more familiar shape, that of a human. The man to the right of Kerr arose first, a towering monstrosity of a man known as Sgreuch. A fearsome jawline protruded from his face almost as sharp as the fangs he bore in his beast form. He was unclothed from the waist up, a thick carpet of black hair dominated his burly chest, with tendrils of hair climbing over his shoulders and assimilating with his equally hairy back. His head was a complete juxtaposition of his chest, lacking a single hair, however, it only added to his intimidating presence.

Next was the pair of brothers on Kerr's left, Bòcan and Droch. Smaller in stature than Sgreuch, these men looked less brutish but more agile compared to their fellow Chieftain. Sporting identical straggly beards, it would have been hard to tell them apart if it wasn't for one glaring difference. Droch bore the remnants of a savage wound across the right side of his face. Starting at his forehead, it tore past his eye towards the mangled remains of where his ear used to be. No ordinary man would have been able to survive such a wound, but clearly, these were no ordinary men.

Lastly, Dealtag groaned as he struggled to his feet. He was the oldest of the Chieftains and not a single black hair was present on his body, instead, a sea of grey swelled over his physique. A lifetime of warmongering had taken its toll on Dealtag, evident as he stood hunched over wrapping himself in a black fur cloak.

They took their place behind their Chief. Four pairs of demonic eyes still burned a fiery red in the shadows, all fixated on Athelstan and his Knights.

"My four most revered Chieftains," Kerr proudly exclaimed.

"Sgreuch, Dealtag, Bòcan and Droch."

"A pleasure to meet such monstrous men." Athelstan was sincere with his reply, "The atrocities you have committed between you are quite magnificent, I only wish I possessed soldiers capable of such feats in the imperial army." Kerr's Chieftains were not easily impressed, and it seemed the King's attempt at flattery had failed as they continued to glare intently across the room towards the Knights.

Athelstan continued, "I have heard of your recent reaving South of the River Esk." He paused to deliberately lick his lips as if recalling tasting something sweet. "Killing without regard, plundering and pillaging wherever you see fit."

"So then, you are here to punish my Chieftains?" Kerr interjected with a snide grin on his face, glancing back slightly to meet the fanged smirk of his warriors.

"Those Lairds your men stole from are dead now.... by the hands of my men. What you have taken matters not." Athelstan's words wiped any remnants of a smile from Kerr's haggard face.

"What are ye saying Athelstan?" The Chief stood up to attention.

"I thought you would have kept a closer eye on a clan you shared such a bitter rivalry with Kerr... I hope you have not become incompetent with age." The air became stiff with Athelstan's remark.

"Caer-Luil and the lands surrounding it have been wiped of the Carlsyle stain. My imperial army fought valiantly against them only three days ago... the head of their beastly chief now on a spike."

"Aha, the Great Bull is dead!" exclaimed Kerr. "I wish ye had taken it with ye, would have made a cracking headpiece in the great hall!" He looked above the King momentarily as though he was imagining it, then immediately locked eyes with Athelstan once more.

"Am no complaining, the Bulls of Caer-Luil have made widows of many of our Clan's women... but wiping them out entirely?"

Walking up to the table, Athelstan slammed his fist down in front of Kerr, "Scotland has been left unruled for too long... this land is the most fertile in Europe, yet you squalor amongst yourselves, fighting each other for scraps." The conviction emanated from his tone. "Under my rule, this nation will thrive."

"I'm guessing Carlyle didnae share in your vision then... your majesty?" Kerr said bowing slightly in an insulting manner.

"He didn't, and now he and his men will fertilise the land my people will farm," he said ruthlessly. "You, however, are a far more reasonable man Kerr. Which is why I have come with a proposal."

Athelstan knew his fate may be decided by how Kerr responded to his proposition. His

mind flashed back to the terrifying truth he had learned at Carlyle Castle.