Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [138]
Nolan cleared his throat pointedly, and nodded at the window. Tristan walked over to it and looked out. As he had known, it was fifty feet up that wall of the keep which looked out over the courtyard within Caer Corwell’s walls.
“I fear for you, my child,” said the cleric. “We both know that there is something dark and unnatural about this enemy. I am not altogether certain that a high window is enough of a safeguard.
“If you’ll allow me.” The stout cleric crossed to the window. He muttered some mysterious phrases as he passed his hands along the frame.
“I will stay here with you,” Nolan announced, returning from the window to sit in a soft chair. Robyn seemed ready to object, but when she looked at the cleric’s face, she said nothing. If anything, thought the prince, she looked slightly relieved.
Tristan rose to leave, squeezing Robyn’s hand in a private gesture of farewell.
Leaving Robyn’s room, the prince suddenly became acutely aware of the great weariness that had crept into his body. Still, he had one last, unpleasant task to perform before retiring. He had already postponed it for too long. He would have to talk to his father, the king.
He walked ponderously to his father’s study, knocked once on the door, and entered. The great fire blazed on the hearth, and his father still lay upon the long couch. He looked up, expressionlessly, as the prince entered.
“I’m glad you could finally find the time to report,” said the king.
“I had to see Robyn.” The prince was determined not to let his father bully him.
“Indeed. From what I hear, you owe her your life.”
“I know that! Everyone in that town owes her their life!”
“If you had evacuated the place, like I ordered -”
“Dammit, Father, I tried! We lost one company – all of Dynnatt’s men – and the goddess knows how many more before the northmen cut us off!”
His father closed his eyes, as if struggling to regain his patience. Tristan seethed, but he kept his mouth shut.
“So what have you accomplished since returning to the castle?”
“Not one thing! I saw that the last of the column from the town had reached safety, then I went to Robyn. I will see to the defenses at first light.”
“My son! Listen to me!” His father spoke with a strange urgency. “Your presence on the walls and towers is very important! You must be seen, and you must be in command!”
“I will do this,” Tristan responded, trying unsuccessfully to suppress his irritation. “Now, I’m going to sleep.”
He left the study, slowly climbing the stairs to the family living quarters. He walked silently down the corridor toward his room, stopping outside of Robyn’s door and leaning his ear toward the portal.
Hearing nothing, he walked on. The opening of his own door brought awareness of an overwhelming tiredness. It was all he could do to think of leaving his door open a crack, and to place the Sword of Cymrych Hugh upon a chair near his bed.
In another minute, he slept.
*****
The serpent, tiny and black, slithered along the ground, keeping always to shadow. All around it, the rolling moor sparkled with the fires of the army of northmen, but the small reptilian thing avoided all contact with the raiders.
Soon it slipped through the picket line, leaving the lighted region behind, Here, with none to see, Kazgoroth grew and stood, stretching its flesh into a new form, uniquely suited to this purpose. The Beast sprouted great, leathery wings from its shoulders, and reached forth long, muscular arms, tipped with a multitude of taloned fingers.
The wide mouth gaped, displaying row upon row of wickedly curved teeth and a long, forked tongue. A flatnose, like a pig’s snout, separated two tiny but intensely glowing eyes of fiery crimson. The head was rounded and smooth, although the entire body – except for the wings – was protected by a layer of tiny scales.
The Beast flew toward Caer Corwell. The castle stood out from the pitch darkness of the night like an island of light. A hundred or more torches lined the parapet upon the wooden palisade ringing the fortress, and outlined the squat block