Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [107]
Many of Arlen’s lessons had drilled home the importance of a reserve, and the prince had determined with the creation of his plan that one of every three volunteers would form such a unit.
On the far side of the hill rested another group of Ffolk that Tristan had been happy to recruit. About two score in number – mostly woodsmen and hunters – each of them carried a longbow and several dozen arrows. The prince kept his archers out of sight for the time being, the desirability of surprise being another of Arlen’s oft-repeated tactical lessons.
A file of white shapes emerged from the trees, and Tristan then heard the sound of dwarven axes biting into timber. The sound had been a common one all afternoon, as Robyn and the dwarves had worked to make the forest a difficult passage for the army of raiders. Two final crashes completed the task, and Robyn and several dwarves followed the sisters from the woods.
*****
The tangled maze of felled trees created a nearly impassable obstacle for Grunnarch’s force. The northmen had to chop and hack their way through the forest like a band of woodsmen – ignominious work indeed for proud seafarers. Drawn and dispirited, the army’s pace slowed to a crawl. Ranks of men in the forefront took ten-minute shifts with axes, striking at the broad trunks until they collapsed with exhaustion.
“This is the work of a druid,” Trahern remarked, observing the tightly woven branches that blocked their path.
“A druid, eh? Well, that one’ll die like all the rest,” observed Grunnarch.
“Perhaps,” commented the druid, turning his dull eyes to look about the forest. “The work is crude, amateurish. Still, there is a ‘strength’ here that disturbs me.”
“Druids give me no cause for alarm,” grunted the king, “At least they are human enemies, and can be slain!”
The axemen maintained their chopping rhythm. The Red King sensed the toll that Myrloch Vale had taken on his army. Now, with the vale behind them, the men displayed a palpable eagerness to press on. Yet they did so more out of fear for what lay behind them than any willingness to strike ahead.
“Your Highness!” Another messenger ran up, clumping heavily in his leather boots, “We have broken through the woods, There is a line of Ffolk – peasants, I think – that would block our way!” The messenger seemed more surprised than alarmed.
Word spread quickly through the army of the northmen, and morale improved noticeably. The king heard joking and cursing again. Raiders strained to get a look forward through the tangled forest.
Finally, the axemen opened several passages into the clearing for the raiders.
Grunnarch strode forward, glancing at the sun. It was low in the western sky, offering perhaps two hours of fighting time. Then he looked across the field. In the distance he could see the thin ribbon of Corwell Road. Between him and it stood a rank of peasant rabble.
It was time to set the plan in motion.
*****
Like a growing tumor, the Darkwell burned the goddess. Each outrage seemed to inflame the thing, adding weight and venom to its poison. The cruel theft of the Pack cut deeply after the loss of the leviathan.
Kamerynn the unicorn, now the only child remaining, heard the summons as he restlessly patrolled the wild places of Myrloch Vale. He sensed that the mission was a hopeless one, and he felt the depths of the Mother’s sorrow. Nevertheless, he obeyed.
Galloping once again with a clear goal in mind, the unicorn turned back toward the fens of the Firbolgs. The smoldering coal fire still marked the Firbolg building, sending aloft a permanent smudge over Myrloch Vale.
The goddess thought again of the Pack, but she could not speak to them. The power of the Beast held them firmly in its grip.
She knew that the true might of the Pack had never been truly revealed. It, of all the children, would perhaps prove to be the mightiest. In the service of the Balance, the Pack might provide the strength needed to hold the cause.
But if the Pack were allowed to serve an evil end, the goddess knew that the cause of the Balance