Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [116]
“There’s an enchantment laid on those Riders on the black horses,” grunted Pawldo. “I can smell magic a mile away! We should have wiped ’em out when we had the chance.”
“All too soon we’ll get another chance.” Tristan suddenly felt very weary. He climbed to his feet. “Is Robyn riding with the wounded?” he asked.
“Yes,” replied Daryth. “She’s in the wagon with Aileen. I was up there most of the morning – that’s an evil wound she’s suffered!”
“Sorcery!” interjected Pawldo. “I told you!”
“I’m quite sure that you’re right,” answered the prince as he mounted Avalon. “I saw the eyes of the creature that struck her. Whatever it was, it was not human!”
Now Tristan let Avalon amble down the road. He wanted to see Robyn, to talk to her, but he wanted some time to sort out his thoughts. He did, indeed, want to confront the ghoulish horsemen again. The Sword of Cymrych Hugh felt light against his thigh, as if the weapon too had the desire to renew the attack.
Instead, he turned at the sound of another rider, and saw Keren riding up to join him. The bard’s harp was slung over his shoulder, but as usual he was absently humming a tune.
“Are you still writing that song?” asked Tristan.
“And nothing else! You’ve given me several splendid verses over the last few days, I must say. You handled yourself and the rest of us very well indeed!” The bard’s bantering tone could not mask the genuine respect in his eyes.
“I am honored by your words,” responded the prince. “But there is no measuring the spirit you gave to our troops with the music of your harp. Without it, I doubt the battle would have been won.”
“The spirit was not mine to give, but perhaps to awaken. Nevertheless, I thank you.”
“Awakened it enough to give us a smashing victory!” said the prince.
“Hardly!” disagreed Keren, sharply. “We met a small, demoralized army at the end of a hard march, and held it up for a few hours. We did that, and we did it well! But this enemy is far from smashed, my prince. And you endanger us terribly,” he continued, “if you think otherwise!”
*****
The waters of Corwell Firth placidly guided the narrow hulls. After the rolling swells on the Sea of Moonshae, the smooth bay might have been a pond for all the challenge it presented to the veteran sailors. To the north and south of the fleet, the green hills of Corwell climbed into the hazy sky. Sea birds soared behind the ships, dipping toward the fish churned up in the wakes.
Thelgaar Ironhand stood in the bow of the leading longship. His gaze locked to the east, he searched the horizon for the first sign of the town and castle of Corwell. The Iron King had been unusually patient in the last few days, but his men sensed their leader’s tension.
The steady stroking of the oars drove the longships forward. The air had remained still since the fleet had taken to sea following the enforced stop for repairs. Consequently, the northmen had been forced to row much of the distance. Now, as they approached their destination, the time for rowing would soon be over.
But, as the fleet pushed its way through the long, sheltered neck of Corwell Firth, a fickle offshore breeze arose, as if attempting to drive the northmen away. The sailors leaned into their oars and the ships tacked back and forth, but the wind fluctuated in its course from northwest to southwest, delaying passage through the Firth for several days more.
Then the fleet approached close enough for Thelgaar to see Caer Corwell, high on its rocky knoll. Soon afterward, the raiders could discern the town sprawled along the shore below the castle. Crouched behind its low wall, the town seemed to cower in fear before the approach of the raiders. And they were cheered by the sight.
But as the fleet drew closer, the winds sprang even more strongly from the shore. The raiders strained at the oars, the longships advancing slowly against the growing force of the breeze. Steadily, though, they inched closer and closer to the port.
*****
“More wind!” The King of