Black wizards - Douglas Niles [65]
For a time, the prince was ready to yield to the dark figure that rode beside him. The struggle to breathe was too exhausting to continue. The blessed relief promised by the one who held those arms outspread seemed the most pleasant recourse.
"Tristan. Look to me, my prince!"
For a second, he didn't react to the distant voice. When he did, it was as if his body was mired in thick mud; he couldn't open his eyes or turn without expending great effort. But finally, he saw.
An ocean of mist spread around him, muffling the sounds of the horse's hooves. The jolting gait became smooth, even comfortable. He could see that they were racing across this plain of fog, and then the mist parted to reveal a wide, smooth lake. It seemed to him that they were galloping along the shore, though he couldn't see any ground below him. In truth, he did not look down.
"Tristan."
The voice again reached seductively for his mind, and he struggled to see who was speaking. Then he saw the white figure, standing serenely on the waters of the lake. Her arms were spread wide, beckoning. Queen Allisynn stood some vague distance away. It seemed that she was very far, yet he could see tears welling in the corners of her eyes. He could hear her voice, though she spoke in the softest of whispers.
How beautiful she was! Her blond hair billowed like a flag in a gentle breeze, while her snowy gown seemed more like water than cloth as it flowed across her body. She looked very sad, and the prince wanted to hold her, to comfort her.
And then he understood her sadness.
His quest had failed! He had disappointed her. A black sense of despair grasped him, and once again he saw the specter of death seated beside him.
Desperately, he struggled to reach the queen, but his body would not move fast enough. A sob forced itself from his throat, and already her image grew dim.
"My queen!" he croaked. He struggled to hold out a hand to her so that she could pull him to her side.
"Stay there!" she cried, her voice growing stern. "Do not come to me. You must not come to me!"
He made no reply, but his throat choked with sorrow, and tears flooded his eyes. The agony of watching her slip away was more than he could bear. Yet somehow, though his ghostly horse raced like the wind and the queen stood still upon the water, she remained beside him.
"You must go on, my prince." Again he heard her. She began to fade from view, but her voice was stronger than ever. "Go to Caer Callidyrr. Only from the High King himself will you learn the secret of your destiny. And prince, beware his wizard. Beware Cyndre!" She had almost disappeared from his sight, and despair threatened to drown the prince in his well of self-pity.
"My lady…" he moaned softly.
"No," she said, and suddenly her image was clear again. "Your lady is another – a woman who needs you, and who can help you! Call to your lady, my prince, do not call to me!"
And then she was gone, and in her place stood a green-eyed druid with flowing black hair. Her beauty brought a lump to his throat. By the goddess, how he needed Robyn! He must see her again! He must live!
"Robyn," he croaked, quietly, and the sound became a sob.
But then his companions slowed the pace of their flight, as the black horses grew winded. The pain returned, lancing through his chest and throat in fiery agony. The taste of blood was bitter in his mouth.
But with the pain came awareness, an understanding that he did want to live, that he had a mission to perform. With this understanding he banished the specter of death from his side. The prince was unconscious to his surroundings; he did not feel his companions lift him from the saddle nor see them enter the battered door of a frail country chapel. But he was aware of his life.
And he was determined to keep it.
* * * * *
The courtier timidly approached the great throne, his powdered wig trembling as he walked.
"Your Majesty," the man began, his voice cracking. "The… um… the wizard