Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [122]
The skeletal hulks of several ships jutted from the waters of the harbor, and wreckage floated among the hulks. Then, as they came around a low hill, they saw the longships of the northmen, drawn onto the beach a mile beyond the town. Like a creeping plague of insects, the raiding army was swarming across the moor toward Corwell.
The refugees from the Eastern Cantrevs bypassed the town and castle entirely, moving on to the north and west, toward more remote sections of the kingdom. As long as Caer Corwell held out, the raiders would not be able to risk a force in pursuit.
Seemingly tireless, Avalon increased his speed as they approached. Now the prince could see encampments around Caer Corwell. From them fluttered the pennants of lords Dynnatt and Koart. Still, the fighters of the Ffolk were vastly outnumbered by the horde of raiders.
Finally, the stallion rode under the very shadow of Caer Corwell, and Tristan guided him onto the long, climbing road toward the gatehouse. The exertion of the long run now took its toll, and Avalon slowed to a trot. He carried them steadily upward until they passed through the open gatehouse. Several guards, shouting cries of welcome to their prince, ran to spread the word of his arrival.
A young stableboy ran forward to take the white stallion’s reins. “Welcome home, my prince, Miss Robyn,” he cried.
Robyn swung to the ground, followed by the prince as the boy led Avalon away. For the first time, Tristan noticed how fatigued the horse was – he held his head low, and his flanks were covered with lather.
“It’s good to see you, my prince,” said Randolph, one of the officers of the guard, as Tristan dusted himself off and turned toward the great hall. The guard’s manner was hesitant, welcoming, and relieved.
“It’s the king,” continued the man. “He was wounded during the fight on the docks. He is in his study now. My prince, you must see him!”
“Of course,” replied Tristan. He felt a flash of fear for his father’s welfare that surprised him with its depth.
*****
Bobbing like a corpse in the rush of water, the unicorn’s body disappeared into the oily liquid, then popped to the surface again. Kamerynn’s snowy coat had vanished. In most places, black and sticky mire covered the broad body in grotesque patterns.
In other, uglier places, the caustic water of the Darkwell had burned away the hair and some of the skin. Great pink wounds lay exposed to the poisonous and stinging touch of the unleashed torrent.
The waters of the Darkwell flooded far beyond the banks of the little stream as they erupted from the crumbling dam. Hissing poisonously, they destroyed all vegetation in their path. The ground they flowed across blackened – it would be lifeless for many years.
Yet even as the water flowed, the power of the Darkwell waned. The poison lost its potency as the flood dissipated across a broad marsh, and the unicorn’s body floated to rest against a broad oak tree. As the waters drained away, Kamerynn lay still upon a muddy bed of dead grass.
For a full day the unicorn did not move. Kamerynn’s eyes, burned to senselessness by the Darkwell, could see no glimmer of light, even from the direct rays of the sun. The useless forelegs throbbed with pain, and slowly Kamerynn’s awareness drifted away.
XVII
IDENTITY
BE VERY QUIET!” warned Friar Nolan. “You must not agitate him!”
Tristan paused outside his father’s study and took a deep breath. “Well, let’s go,” he said to Robyn. Nodding, the maiden quietly opened the door into a firelit room.
Hesitantly, Robyn approached the huge couch where the king lay nearly buried beneath a pile of quilts. Large blue-black bruises marked his face, and one eye was swollen shut. His lips were cracked and bloody.
Tristan, disbelieving the sight of the vulnerability of his father, stood awkwardly behind Robyn.
The good eye fluttered open as the woman moved closer, and the king held out a bandaged hand. “My child, come here,