Black wizards - Douglas Niles [149]
"Where's that? I thought they would gather here."
"The king's army pursued swiftly," explained Alexei, shaking his head. "Most of the men were forced southward. I think Cyndre wishes to push them out of the forest, where they can be found more easily."
"Where will they flee?" asked Robyn.
"Who knows?" responded the mage. "Southward across the plain, or west to the coast."
"But the island is only so large," Tristan said. "The king's army will corner them eventually. They'll be slaughtered like sheep! We have to bring them together again – make a stand somewhere."
Tristan turned to the assembly of stragglers. Many of them had been following the discussion with interest, but Tristan couldn't read their faces. Would they follow him?
"Men of Alaron!" he began. "Our cause is not lost. The goddess is with us, and the might of the king has been damaged. One of his most powerful sorcerers has joined our cause.
"Rally with me! We'll gather the forces of Doncastle together and create a plan. We will meet and defeat this king. It is not too late!"
"Who are you, someone who wants to get us lulled?" asked one man.
"I am Tristan Kendrick, Prince of Corwell!" he proclaimed. He saw surprise and interest in all too few faces.
"Corwell?" snorted the speaker. "By what claim would you command men of Callidyrr?"
"A claim valid for all of the Ffolk. A symbol of our past and future greatness – the Sword of Cymrych Hugh!" He drew the weapon swiftly and held it above his head. Rays of sunlight reflected from the silvery blade, flickering across the assembled men.
A few more looked interested, but most still wore expressions of skepticism or distrust. The original speaker replied for them.
"The stories are true, then – you carry the weapon of our greatest king. But still, we have no hope of standing against the Scarlet Guard!"
"You – and I – stood against them well at the King's Gate! It was only another man's mistake that led to our defeat!"
He wanted to rail against the men, threaten them – but he knew that tactic would only drive them away. Yet the defeat and exhaustion on their faces signified more than words how hopeless his task really was.
"Look!" cried one of the men, leaping to his feet. They all turned to the north, and Tristan saw it too: a flash of crimson among the dead trees. More and more of the color appeared, and the prince instantly understood what was happening. A company of the Scarlet Guard had moved in an arc around the retreating humans and now moved toward Hickorydale to seal off this escape route.
"The guard! Flee for your lives!" someone screamed hysterically, and the battered survivors stared in disbelief at their approaching nemesis. Several started for the woods.
"Wait!" Robyn's voice, strong and commanding, rang through the clearing. A gentle breeze ruffled her long hair, and she planted her hands on her hips.
"I offer you a challenge – a chance to avenge your defeat!"
"How?" demanded a burly swordsman. Dried blood was crusted on his shirt and arms.
"If I can stop the king's mercenaries – those," she said, pointing to the approaching red line, "will you join us?"
The swordsman laughed. "Sure." Other men nodded, certain they couldn't lose.
Robyn turned and strode across the pasture just north of Hickorydale, until she reached the edge of the dead wood. The troops of the guard were several hundred yards away, advancing steadily in a neat, unbroken line. They pointed their spears before them – a bristling wall of steel death.
The druid took the runestick from her beltpouch and ran her fingers across a portion of the shaft. She touched the runes reverently, holding the stick before her at arm's length. Then she gestured broadly with it, as if marking a line along the edge of the trees.
Tristan watched her, awestruck by her poise and confidence. The group of men stared as well. The prince watched their faces and saw looks ranging from disbelief and skepticism to blind faith and humble prayer.
Then Robyn shouted. The sound carried clearly to the men, though the word she