Black wizards - Douglas Niles [29]
"Here," she said to cover her nervousness. "Have an apple."
Acorn took the fruit and chomped greedily into it, ignoring the pieces that scattered in his beard or sprayed into the air. In seconds he had finished and reached forward to snatch another from the basket on Robyn's lap.
She thought wistfully of picnics she had shared with Tristan. They certainly weren't like this! What he was doing at that moment, she wondered. Did he think of her? Did he miss her? A terrible sense of depression seized her, and for a moment she toyed with the idea of renouncing her studies and racing home to Corwell to see him. But in the next moment she discarded the thought, knowing she could not forsake the calling of the goddess. But why did she have to be so lonely?
She ate absently, suddenly aware of Acorn's closeness. She felt uncomfortable, but didn't want to offend him by moving away. Turning to look at him, she was startled to see him staring intently at her face. His eyes were clear, but they seemed to burn with a frightening intensity.
"Lady… you like me? My friend?" Still that burning gaze.
"Yes, Acorn… of course I like you. Haven't I -"
"I mean, you -" he cut her off awkwardly. "Lady, you are my lady!" Suddenly his hand reached out to clasp her thigh. He leaned quickly forward to force her backward onto the ground, his mouth seeking hers.
"No! Get off me!" she screamed, pushing against him and rolling to the side.
"Mine!" he cried, scrambling forward on all fours to lunge at her before she could stand.
She punched him in the face, but he still tackled her, his eyes gleaming madly. He pinned her to the ground and grasped a handful of her gown.
Terror galvanized Robyn and once again she twisted free, but this time he ripped half her garment away. He paused, staring stupidly, and in that split second she recalled a piece of her training: a fast, simple spell.
"Stop!"
The command was a physical attack, slamming into the crazed man and holding him in place, poised to leap. Slowly, the light of madness died in his eyes.
She stared at him in hatred and anger. She wanted to strike him or kick him – to somehow cause him pain. But something, perhaps it was pity for his degraded state, stayed her hand. She was shaking with fright and tension and rage, and she didn't even want to look at him again.
Gasping, she gathered her gown about her and stumbled toward the cottage, leaving him bound by the spell.
* * * * *
"Come on!"
Tristan was propelling himself toward the castle even before Daryth spoke, too surprised to wonder if the grand structure was illusion or reality. Canthus and Pontswain swam beside them, their weariness forgotten. Soon the men and the dog reached the foot of the massive, smoothly hewn wall. The shining pink surface rose straight into the air above them and seemed to continue underwater as far as they could see.
"Rosy quartz," muttered the Calishite. "There'll be no climbing it here."
"Where -?" began the prince, dismayed at the thought of succor so close at hand yet possibly unreachable.
"Let's try the gate," suggested Daryth, swimming easily along the base of the wall. Pontswain followed, while Tristan and Canthus sputtered and splashed in the rear.
The Calishite reached the gate first. The prince watched him rise slowly from the water, pulling himself gradually up the wall. With a supple swing, the Calishite carried himself over the gate and out of Tristan's sight.
Tristan heard nothing for a few seconds, but then the portal began to drop with a steady creaking. In a moment, he could see his friend operating the smooth iron winch that patiently fed chain to the lowering gate. In another moment, Tristan, Pontswain, and Canthus had pulled themselves onto the flattened entryway and squirmed quickly into the castle proper.
"Is it real?" asked the lord.
"I don't know,"