Black wizards - Douglas Niles [95]
"She'll just run you along the coast," explained O'Roarke, as if sensing his uneasiness.
Following a day and a half of hard riding, they had reached the shore of this vast bay. Somehow, Hugh had arranged a rendezvous, for this little craft and her young captain were waiting for them here. Two men and a halfiing had left the boat, to be replaced by Tristan, Daryth, and Pawldo. The fishermen had even brought a moorhound with them, and the dog left with the trio so that Canthus could enter the port with the companions.
"They keep track of the number of Ffolk sailing out in the morning. As long as the same number come back at night, the Scarlet Guard won't pay any attention," explained the youthful captain.
"We will return to Doncastle when our mission is completed," said Tristan, offering Hugh O'Roarke his hand.
The bandit appeared surprised, but took the prince's hand. "I'm sure your friend, Pontswain, hopes so."
Tristan nodded curtly. He had spent a lot of time wondering about Pontswain's motives. The only conclusion he could reach was that the lord hoped that he would be killed, leaving him with no rival for the throne. Tristan felt a sense of loathing, but also of betrayal. The notion bothered him more than he had thought it would.
They sailed swiftly northward along the coast of Alaron. The land, to the west, was green and rolling – more fertile than Gwynneth, and always more populous. The water below them was also green, and it stretched to the east far beyond the horizon. Tristan drew a strange thrill from the knowledge that the nearest land in that direction was the Sword Coast, many days' travel away. Pawldo and Daryth slept comfortably, for the ride had been exhausting, but Tristan stood eagerly in the bow, staring in awe at the land and sea around him. Canthus stood at his side, sensing his master's excitement.
In a few hours they rounded the wide point that marked the entrance to Whitefish Bay. Now their course swerved to the southwest, and Tristan stared intently forward. Very gradually, their destination appeared in the distance.
Finally, he could see the vast harbor, protected by a strong, druid-raised breakwater. Beyond it was the largest city of the Ffolk, teeming with activity, commerce, and life. A white stone wall surrounded it, snaking beside the buildings and streets as they climbed the hills beyond the shore. A pall of smoke hung over the city just above the waterfront, but the sun shone unimpeded over the rest of the city.
Tristan saw proud stone buildings, and manors with columns before them. He imagined the gardens and fountains that must lie between them. But his eyes swept up even higher, past the manor houses and beyond the rambling wall of the city.
For now the prince had eyes only for the structure high on the hilltop above the city.
A lifetime of description and imagining had not prepared him for the splendor of Caer Callidyrr. The fortress sprawled across three hilltops, in itself bigger than many a town. The high stone walls, accented by lofty towers, gleamed brightly in the afternoon sun. They seemed impossibly smooth, as if they had been polished only that morning. Crenellated battlements lined the top, and several tall gates provided access through the walls. Each of these was shielded by a drawbridge and guarded by a high gatehouse.
Colorful banners streamed from the highest towers, proclaiming the lineage of the High King, while lower flags denoted the lords who had pledged allegiance to the throne. Several blood-red banners fluttered in one corner of the castle.
As the boat approached the breakwater, Tristan noticed one tower that was made of darker stone than the rest of the castle. This one was long and slender, standing alone at the far end of the castle. Though the late afternoon sun cast brilliant rays along the entire length of the fortress, this tower seemed to linger under some kind of inherent shadow. Whether its walls were not as clean as the rest of the castle, or were made from a different color stone,