I have pierced my fangs deeper than any flesh wound. Like the rotting trunk of a dying tree, my poison will leave you nothing but a husk. Hollow. Lifeless.

🕷🕷🕷

Robert spied his friend, William Irving, peering from the tallest window of Dunskellie Castle. William would not be expecting to see his friend walking up the main path towards the portcullis in broad daylight; it had been three months since he had dared venture outside of the cave.

"I need ten men," said Robert, as he strode with wide steps towards the Laird who had come down to greet him.

"Aye, nice to see ye too, Rob." The pair chuckled as wide smiles grew on their bearded faces.

"Your loyalty will never be forgotten as long as a Bruce sits on a throne."

William put his hand around Robert and turned for his castle.

"I can't stay, I need those men," said Robert, removing the hand on his shoulder.

"Where are ye headed? You ken that Longshanks men are looking for ye all over?"

"I'm headed to Dumfries. I must meet with Comyn. After my defeat, his claim to the throne has been gathering support. Striking a deal with him is the only way, we cannot risk revolt with the English breathing down our necks. Scotland will fall.

Yes, yes, meet with Comyn, whispered the voice in his head. Kill.

"Robert. Robert? Are ye alright?"

"Huh?" His mind cleared as his vision returned to normal. "Ach, a cave does funny things to a man, I'm alright." He brushed off the incident with a broken grin, what is happening to me? He thought, as he looked down again at his wrists. Nothing?

"I will have yer horse and the men ready within the hour, please come inside and have a drink?"

Kill. Kill.

"Yes, of course," he said, shaking his head in an attempt to silence the voice in his head.

Two plush chairs sat facing the great fire that roared in the drawing room. It was February, and without the dancing flames from the hearth, the cosy room would have been steeped in darkness. William pointed to the lesser worn chair, gesturing for Robert to take a seat. It was clear that the Laird spent many mornings nestled in front of the fire, by the indentation in the cushion that perfectly matched his rear as he sat.

"I have heard news of Elizabeth, the wee one inside of her is doing well. Apparently, she has grown quite a size."

You know what will happen to them. Your wife. Your unborn child.

"It warms my heart to hear news of my Elizabeth. With God's grace, hopefully soon we shall be reunited."

"Hear hear!" William poured two glasses of amber whiskey, handing one over to Robert before sharing a drink. The voice dulled as the alcohol burned the back of his throat, and fired in his stomach.

"When I return from Dumfries, I will head to Kildrummy and meet with my brother. We must start driving the English from our Castles, it is no use meeting Longshanks on the field, he has too many men, too many Knights, and too many horses."

"Aye, we've learned that the hard way. Far too many good men have died. Far fewer good men are left."

"We will start in the North, calling on you when we reach Stirling. Every man who can hold a pike must do so. It is imperative that we defeat them this time. Scotland does not have the strength to rise for an eighth time. I'm not certain we are able to rise a seventh."

"Have faith Robert. You are King. King of a nation, one great battle away from victory; on the precipace of soveringty."

They sat in silence; only the crackling of the fire and the distant noise of livestock filled the void. Robert watched the flames flicker, lost in thought as he swirled the whiskey in his glass.

"You're right, my friend. You're always right." He said after an eternity of contemplation. Putting his hand on William, he drained the last of his drink. "My horse?"

"Ready when you are, my King."

Kill. Kill. Kill him. The voice bellowed from the depths of his mind, as the blaze of whiskey settled in his stomach.

Ten men and a King rode for Greyfriars...