Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [141]
For the rest of the night, Robyn slept while the three men stayed restlessly awake and guarded her. They held sword, circlet, and harp, ready to drive back the darkness again.
But it did not return that night.
*****
Canthus turned curiously, watching the thousands of wolfish eyes return his stare from every point of vantage within a mile. The wolves made no move to attack, however, so the moorhound ignored them.
His task done, the dog had little remembrance of it. The fight had been hard, but the enemy was slain, and the wound in his shoulder had already begun to heal. His thoughts returned to his people, and his home. He grew lonely for the men, and the woman, who were his.
He sniffed the air, ignoring the scent of the ravaged farm, and of the gathering crows and other scavengers. He sought the scent of his home. For long minutes he studied the horizon.
Finally, served by some mysterious animal instinct that pointed him in the right direction, he walked slowly toward the south. The journey, he felt, would be a long one, and his shoulder had not healed entirely, so the hound would travel slowly, only breaking into his patient lope when he felt stronger.
A thousand wolves watched their new leader walk from the desolation of the farm. The animals dropped the meat and bones they had been gnawing, and moved from the surrounding hills. As one column, they fell in behind Canthus.
*****
For a week, the army of the northmen bustled about in the town, and across the moor below the castle. Much to Tristan’s surprise, they did not burn Corwell Town as they had the eastern cantrevs. Apparently the raiders preferred instead to usurp the buildings of the town as quarters during the siege.
At night, the enemy’s campfires spread across the moors in all directions, for the town was large enough to shelter only a small fraction of the army. During the day, the defenders could see tall frameworks take shape, out of range of bowfire from the castle walls, and they knew that the attackers were building huge siege engines.
The Ffolk, meanwhile, prepared Caer Corwell as best they could for defense. Huge pots of oil were gathered in the gatehouse, and on the walls. Arrows by the hundred were made and collected for the six or seven score archers in the garrison. Food was rationed at a rate that would allow for many months of siege.
Tristan spent much time with Robyn. Her strength slowly returned, but she stayed in bed most of the time. They had moved her to a safer room, near the center of the keep, and she was never unattended. The prince, Friar Nolan, the bard, and Daryth alternately stayed with her, so that one or two of them was always present. No additional attack materialized, however.
Several days passed before the prince had a chance to be alone with her, but one evening he arrived to keep her company as Keren, who had been there, was ready to retire for the night. When the door closed behind the bard, Tristan knelt beside Robyn’s bed and took her hand.
“I’ve been thinking about you,” she admitted, with a frankness that had nothing of the coy in it. “You stayed away too long!”
“I know. I’m sorry. There’s a lot to do in the castle, but everything seems unimportant compared to being with you.”
She pulled him to her, and he felt the cares of the castle fall from him.
They remained awake throughout the night, talking or simply sitting beside each other. Near dawn, the prince finally fell asleep in his chair, and Robyn cradled his head and wondered what he dreamed that made him shiver in his sleep. She was too content to waste a moment in sleep.
At times when Tristan could not be with Robyn, he stood upon the palisade, or climbed the gatehouse or high tower, to observe the northmen. Each day he looked out, expecting to see an attack, but time passed and still the raiders labored upon the moor.
The prince saw them build a series of gargantuan catapults, rising like ungainly insects from broad,