Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [127]
The Beast took note of defensive preparations, watching the two companies march into position to defend the road. Kazgoroth felt little concern, recalling the slaughter those same companies had just suffered in their first encounter with the northmen of Thelgaar Ironhand.
Smiling, Kazgoroth thought of the killing still to come.
*****
Daryth and Keren each embraced the prince heartily. They stood before the north gate of the town – the key link between castle and community.
The long stretch of road leading to the castle gatehouse seemed a tenuous link indeed.
Where’s Pawldo?” asked Tristan, pausing in the maddening pace of preparations.
Daryth nodded at the company of halflings forming before the road. “He’s joined up with some of his kin. What do you want me to do?”
“Can you stay with me? Both of you? I would welcome your counsel.”
“We are at your service,” said the bard.
A huge gray horse galloped toward them. Behind it marched a long column of troops – the Ffolk of the Eastern Cantrevs. Tristan recognized Gavin astride the horse.
The giant smith slowed to a trot, and then stopped before the gate, swinging heavily to the ground. His face was covered with dust, which lines of sweat had turned into muddy rivers running into the tangled thicket of his massive beard.
“What is the plan, my prince?” he asked brusquely.
“We are beginning to evacuate the town,” explained Tristan. “I have two companies of Ffolk and the dwarves and halflings protecting the road. I would like to hold you and the sisters in reserve. I think the northmen will attack as soon as they realize what we’re trying to do.”
“Very well,” said Gavin. “I shall assemble my company before the gate.”
“Good!” exclaimed the prince. “We’ll start the evacuation within the hour.”
*****
Robyn’s door remained tightly shut, although a glimmer of faint candlelight flickered through the keyhole and underneath the door throughout the long night. Even with the arrival of dawn, the door did not open, nor did any voice respond when Gretta called to the maiden, inviting her to breakfast.
Finally, the old housekeeper burst into the room with a tray of hot tea and bread. The young woman sat at her reading table, staring at the opened book before her. She did not acknowledge the interruption. Sniffing indignantly, Gretta set the tray noisily on the dressing table and stomped out.
Robyn did not even notice the door close behind her old friend. The book held her firmly to its pages, compelling her to turn one after the other, as she carefully devoured each word of every sentence.
The Staff of the White Well lay comfortably across her lap. The wood seemed to glow with an unnatural, positive warmth. Each page of the book that she read seemed to create for her a new vista onto the world, a new point of view.
The book contained her mother’s thoughts. The inscription stated that it was written to “Robyn, my only child.” The pages of the book told of Erianna Moonsinger’s life as a druid, and of the importance of the druids to the Ffolk, the goddess, and the Moonshaes.
But her mother wrote as well about the land, and she wrote about the goddess with a special reverence that brought tears to Robyn’s eyes. She savored each page, spending many minutes reading and rereading every phrase. The long day passed again into night, and Gretta entered again, quietly this time. She set fresh candles in the holders, and saw that the room was well lit, before she tiptoed out.
Through another night Robyn read the book, unmindful of the battle menacing the town. Her vision blurred with weariness, and her head nodded occasionally from fatigue, causing her to jolt upward and begin reading with renewed interest.
Finally, she read the secrets of her mother’s craft. And now her eyes widened, and the need for sleep vanished. The book drew her attention even more deeply, quickening her pulse and sending vibrant ripples of energy through her body. She now read the last part of her mother’s book. She had passed the words