Black wizards - Douglas Niles [130]
O'Roarke and Pontswain were seated together at a long table laden with meats and breads and cheeses. "Welcome," said the red-bearded outlaw.
Pontswain nodded coolly, his raised eyebrows revealing his surprise at their return. "The halfling?" he asked as they all sat.
Tristan told of their entry into the city and fortress, and of their capture and escape – and of Pawldo, left behind out of necessity. He introduced Alexei, explaining how he had joined them.
"A wizard from the council?" scowled the bandit. "How did you come to be in the dungeon?"
Alexei met his gaze. "My former master and I had a parting of the ways." he said tersely. "I have vowed to do everything I can to destroy him – perhaps I might be of some use to you."
"We would not have escaped without him," said the prince. "He knew the secret tunnel that let us out of the castle, and his flying spell saved us in the cave when -" Tristan paused in shock, though no one seemed to notice. His own words reverberated through his mind as he methodically raised food to his mouth.
He shall fly above the earth, even as he delves its depths!
The prophecy of Queen Allisynn came back to him, every word. Could the prophecy mean him? No, he reminded himself, for she said his name will be Cymrych. Still, the coincidence was a strange one, deeply disturbing. Forcing his mind back to the present, he heard O'Roarke sending a messenger to get the cleric, Vaughn Burne.
"And so, what is the word from the High King?" asked Hugh. "Other than his presumed distress at your escape."
"He fears for his crown," offered the prince. "In fact, he has been told that I have come here to claim it!"
"Have you?" O'Roarke asked bluntly.
"Of course not!" Tristan's denial was a little forced.
"What are you going to do now?" asked Pontswain.
"The Ffolk cannot survive with such men as their leaders. I will end the reign of this king – kill him, if necessary!"
"I knew you were mad," snorted Lord Pontswain,
"What choice do we have – go back to Caer Corwell and wait for the next group of assassins? Or stay here, waiting for the king to get tired of our presence and send the guard and his wizards down upon us?"
"We've fought them before – and we'll drive them off again!" snarled the outlaw lord.
"Don't deceive yourself," said the prince. "If a concerted attack came against this place, you would be doomed!"
"Our chances are still better than yours. Revolt against the king? With what?" O'Roarke sputtered.
"With your help," said the prince, lowering his voice but holding his tone firm. "Pontswain, if you will return to Corwell and gather the lords, we can have an army here by early autumn. Lord Roarke, muster your men and challenge the king! I promise you, you will be joined by other lords."
"By what right do you order my men to war?" roared the lord, leaping to his feet. "I shall not do this thing!" The prince saw an odd emotion in the lord's face. It was not anger, nor was it betrayal. It was fear.
"Nor shall I," said Pontswain, turning to face the prince directly. Tristan saw no fear in his eyes – just a cool sense of accomplishment as the lord thwarted the prince's plan.
They stopped talking, then, for they were joined by a small, gray-haired man in a plain robe. The top of his head was as clean-shaven as his face.
"This is our cleric, Vaughn Burne," explained O'Roarke to Alexei before turning to the cleric himself. "I was hoping. Patriarch, that you could help this man. He has done my friends a great service, and as you can see he has suffered greatly at the hands of our enemies."
"I shall do my best," said the cleric with a smile. "The power of Chauntea is mightiest for acts of healing."
"Oh, and how fares our other guest?" asked the lord.
"She is resting.