Black wizards - Douglas Niles [136]
"Well, find him!" cried O'Roarke. The lord was still for a moment, and then he took a deep breath and looked at Robyn. "You're right. We can defend ourselves – and we shall. I will summon my captains and form a plan. We shall fight them for every tree, every pathway of the forest!
"My prince. It seems I was wrong. Will you join our fight? I could use your skill and experience."
Tristan nodded.
* * * * *
Kryphon reflected bleakly on the prospect of returning to his bed, where Doric certainly awaited him. And then he thought of the druid. In an instant, he resolved to seek her out instead.
The flames had died down by the time he reached the Black Oak Inn, but he could tell that the druid's room had been, if not the source, very near the heart of the blaze. The fire had been a cruel coincidence, robbing him of his anticipated pleasure.
Fire. He thought again of Doric – whenever he saw fire he thought of the sorceress. She was like her fire magic in many ways – fickle, greedy, and dangerous. And now this fire, by odd coincidence, had robbed him of the pleasure he had hoped to take from the young druid.
Or was it a coincidence? He recalled Doric's sudden weariness. He hurried back to their room. By the time he reached it, he had guessed the truth. Doric's absence only confirmed his suspicions – the wench feared his wrath after she killed the druid. There was no telling where she might be hiding.
After stomping around the room in frustration, the black wizard at last yielded to his own weariness and slept for several hours. After he awakened, he spent several more hours immersed in the study of his spellbooks. He had used up much of his magic in the past few days, and the study helped to replenish arcane energies.
He thought bitterly about Doric. Her betrayal stung his pride and angered him. She did well to hide. Irritated, he summoned Razfallow.
"I am going to seek the cleric at his chapel. You will investigate other places – the inn where O'Roarke stays, for example. If you see him and you have a chance, kill him. If not, find me and take me to him."
The half-ore nodded. He did not like to walk among this town of men – half-ores were rare upon the Moonshaes – but he would do as he was told. The assassin left, and Kryphon closed his spellbooks and prepared to leave.
It was noon by the time he returned to the cleric's chapel. As he made his way through Doncastle, he noticed that the city bustled with preparations. Many people, mostly the very old, very young, or the infirm, were gathering belongings into backpacks, saddlebags, and carts. These Ffolk were leaving the city, apparently fleeing. For what?
He saw few pedestrians, but many armed men gathering into groups of a dozen, a score, or more. He caught a glimpse of a familiar face as a group of bowmen passed him.
"Evan!" he called, turning to step alongside the group. The bandit, still enamored by the charm spell, turned to him with a broad smile.
"We're off to the fight," he declared proudly.
"Fight?"
"Rumor has it the king's army is marching on Doncastle. My company is headin' into the woods. We'll skirmish them the whole way. They'll have a plenty bloody trek through Dernall Forest!"
"Your captain?" asked the sorcerer. "May I meet him first?"
"Captain Cassidy? He's right over there." Evan gestured to a large open area, a grass-covered city plaza. Kryphon saw more than a hundred bowmen gathered there.
"Tell him that I have important news for him," whispered the mage. "Have him meet me under that tree."
Kryphon stepped into the shadow of a broad, low-limbed oak. He watched the man hurry into the plaza, stopping to speak to a man on horseback. The officer trotted his steed toward the oak tree, an expression of annoyance on his face. He dismounted easily and