Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [140]
*****
Tristan awoke, slowly, as always. He shook his head and sat up in bed, wondering why he no longer slept. Vaguely, he recalled some sense of purpose when he went to bed, as if there was something he was supposed to remember.
He suddenly heard a groan from the hallway, and his body tensed with energy as he suddenly recalled the threat to Robyn.
Suddenly he felt the Sword of Cymrych Hugh calling to him from its position on the chair. The sword, always bright against a dark night, now glowed with an intensity that shone brilliantly through the leather scabbard. Tristan saw, or imagined he saw, the sword vibrating with excitement, calling him to battle with a voice that tugged inaudibly at his will.
Instantly he sprang from the bed. The sword seemed to leap from the scabbard into his hand. He burst into the hall, and the sword tugged him toward Robyn’s bedchamber. Only with great difficulty did he retain his grip on the smooth hilt.
Together, Tristan and the Sword of Cymrych Hugh crashed through the door of Robyn’s room. The blazing white light from the weapon threw the entire room into a stark contrast of light and shadow. As the door fell inward, the prince saw the broken form of Friar Nolan, and he saw Robyn’s staff glowing on the floor amid the rubble blasted away from a gaping hole in the wall.
Then, in the far corner, he saw the hideous body of the Beast crouching over a shapeless form on the floor. Tristan saw the barbed tip of the monster’s tail lashing toward the motionless Robyn.
In a blur of movement the sword pulled him across the room and sliced unerringly downward, through the scaly surface and bony frame of the serpentine tail. The Beast howled in pain and stumbled backward, clutching at the stump of its mangled tail.
Robyn shrieked instinctively as the dismembered tip dropped onto the floor, twitching reflexively. Overcome with shock, she collapsed in the corner.
The prince turned to face the snarling monster, and for the first time saw the grotesque features of the Beast. But even as he watched, the monster’s great rage seemed to cause its face and body to bend and shift, changing shape before Tristan’s astonished eyes.
He thrust with the gleaming sword, and saw that the monster recoiled in fear. The blade, on the other hand, compelled the prince to attack the creature mercilessly, driving it ever backward.
Finally, with a parting snarl, the Beast leaped through the hole in the wall and soared into the night. Though the sword nearly pulled the prince through the same aperture in an attempt to pursue, Tristan could not see the black shape for more than a second after it had escaped into the darkness.
He sprang to Robyn’s side and lifted her head from the floor as Keren carried a torch through the broken door. With relief, he saw that the maiden breathed, although all of the color had left her skin.
“Help me carry her to the bed,” he asked, as the bard knelt beside him. Together, they made the druid as comfortable as possible, then turned toward the unconscious cleric. Streaks of blood ran from the deep claw marks across the cleric’s face, but at least the attack had missed his eyes. His left leg jutted sideways at an odd angle, and the prince knew that the bone was broken.
The bard splashed a little water upon the cleric’s brow, and his eyes flickered open. Wincing in pain, the wounded cleric reached downward and adjusted the bone of the broken leg, muttering a mysterious prayer to his gods. Then, to the astonishment of Tristan and Keren, he stood and walked solidly to Robyn’s bed. Her long black eyelashes fluttered upward as his strong palm rested upon her forehead.
“There, my child,” he said softly. “Your strength prevailed when it was most crucial. Now sleep.”
Robyn stared at the cleric, and the prince, and the bard, and shrunk more deeply into her quilt. The prince laid the Staff of the White Well beside her, and then selected