Black wizards - Douglas Niles [87]
A sudden bolt of alarm shot through him. Was she relaxing? Or was she, too, beset by the danger that seemed to pervade the kingdoms of the Ffolk? He tried to convince himself that Myrloch Vale was the safest place on the isles, the most secure from external depredations. But his worry clung to him like a looming vulture, bearing down heavily upon his shoulders. Distracted, he barely heard O'Roarke speak to them from across the room.
"Join me, please," called the red-bearded bandit.
Two other men were already seated with O'Roarke. He nodded at one, a clean-shaven muscular man with deeply tanned skin. "This is Annuwyn. You may not remember him, but he cast the spell that brightened your night so well the other evening!" Hugh chuckled at his joke while Tristan nodded to the magic-user. Annuwyn nodded back, a thin smile creasing his lips.
"And this is Vaughn Burne, our high cleric," said O'Roarke, and the other man rose and bowed. Vaughn Burne was a slight, pale man with a clean-shaven pate. He wore a plain robe, and his thin face betrayed little emotion – except for his eyes. They shined with interest and energy as he waited for the men to be seated.
"The reason I asked you here," O'Roarke said at last, "is to tell you that I would like you to stay with us in Doncastle."
Tristan's heart thumped in his chest, and he tried to display no emotion. Still, this was the worst thing the bandit could have said to start out their conversation.
"I need brave men," continued Hugh. "And such I know you are – most travelers flinch and wail when they are accosted by us. None of you betrayed any fear.
"I will offer you places within' my militia. It is not large, but my men are stalwart, and they fight well. You could earn positions of command – I can use men with battle experience.
"And you would be safe here. You are outlaws, fugitives from the king's troops. There is no place upon Alaron where you will be safer." O'Roarke's voice grew more strained as he saw that his guests were not eagerly jumping up to accept his offer.
"My Lord Roarke," began Tristan, carefully choosing his words. "I'm sure I speak for my companions in saying that we are honored by your offer – by the trust you have shown. But perhaps we could offer you a better way of honoring that trust – that we could perform an even greater service for you than leading a company of your men into combat."
Hugh O'Roarke sat impassively, waiting for the prince to continue. Only the slight lowering of his bushy eyebrows betrayed his emotions.
"We have embarked to Caer Callidyrr upon a mission – a mission that could aid not only ourselves, but all of the Ffolk," Tristan continued.
Hugh waved impatiently for him to go on.
"I am a prince of the Ffolk – Tristan Kendrick, of Corwell."
"You are the one who stayed the Darkwalker?" asked the lord. Tristan nodded and sensed the cleric across the table staring intently at him as he did so. Vaughn Burne then turned to his lord and gave an almost imperceptible nod.
"But how did you come to be an outlaw?"
"My father, King Kendrick, was slain by assassins. The Council of Lords ruled that the High King should choose either Lord Pontswain or myself as his successor. We began our journey to Callidyrr to petition the king for this decision, but we were attacked on the way and arrested by the king's troops as we landed at Llewellyn.
"Our mission changed, obviously, after this development. I still intend to gain an audience with the High King. He will give me a satisfactory explanation of these events – and I doubt that there is such an explanation – for he will die by my sword!"
O'Roarke's jaw dropped. "You're mad!" he hissed.
Tristan flushed. "I believe we can do it with your