Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [142]
“We’ll stop them, you know,” said the Calishite with easy confidence. He laughed, quietly, and said reflectively, “You know, I never thought I’d be one to fight for any kind of cause – a grand purpose that I would champion. I’m too proud to think that, after all this trouble to find a cause, my cause might fail!” Daryth smiled at Tristan’s worried expression.
Another time he discovered Keren reclining against the parapet of the high tower, gently strumming his harp. Sable perched on the stone rampart, higher than anything within his field of vision, and preened his inky feathers.
The bard looked quite pleased with himself as he set the harp aside and greeted the prince. He saw Tristan nod at the instrument, and understood his question.
“Yes, indeed, the song is coming along quite well,” the bard said, grinning. “I hope you’ll be able to hear it very soon.”
Life began to feel almost normal within the castle, crowded though it was with the citizens of the town and nearby cantrevs. Food was plentiful, if not terribly varied, and the position on the little knoll seemed very secure. But always, the besieged had the knowledge that, beyond their palisade, an implacable foe awaited – an enemy that would not hesitate to slay or enslave them all.
And then, eight days after the fall of Corwell Town, the army of the northmen surged forward again. Great engines of war trundled across the moors, leaving traces of black smoke in the clear morning air. From the smoke emerged a monstrous column, and the prince recognized the Firbolgs of Myrloch. The creatures marched in a long file, and Tristan could see the massive log they carried as a ram.
Tristan stood with Daryth and Pawldo on the ramparts of the gatehouse, overlooking Castle Road. The two men stood against the stone rampart, while Pawldo scrambled onto a box to look over the wall.
“What’s that?” cried the halfling, squinting into the distance at the giants’ ram.
“It’s a knocker for the door,” said Daryth. “I think they want to come in.”
*****
Kamerynn lay in the stinking mud. Waves of pain assaulted him, again and again, until he no longer noticed them. The pain had faded into the background as simply another fact of life.
Suddenly Kamerynn heard a rustling of leaves, and froze, straining to hear the approach of a possible enemy. Then he felt a warm wetness upon his face, and his back, and the rustling increased to a steady patter.
Rain.
At first the water was only warm, driving the deepseated chill from the unicorn’s bones and bringing his shiver under control. The balmy liquid washed over the huge, soiled body, driving the acid sludge from the Darkwell off what remained of Kamerynn’s snowy coat.
Then the water cleansed the wounds of the unicorn, soothing like a fine salve, mending shattered bones. The goddess wept for the suffering of her child, but her tears healed and restored and replenished.
Eventually, the great unicorn managed to stand and shake himself, sending a clear spray of water through the air. His eyes remained shut, damaged such that even the tears of the goddess could not restore them.
The rain spattered upon what was left of the Darkwell, washing more oily sludge through the wreckage of the Firbolgs’ dam. The water cleansed the ground, and healed it, nearly everywhere it fell. Slowly, Kamerynn lurched away.
Only in the center of the Darkwell, where still lingered a potent mixture of pollution and earthen enchantment, did the dark power resist the balm of the Mother. Here the water swirled and bubbled very darkly indeed.
BOOK V
XX
A CONTEST OF MIGHT
COMPELLED BY A mysterious sense of urgency, Canthus broke into the patient lope that he could maintain for many days. The great moorhound felt a need to return to his home, without understanding why.
Behind, the wolves of the Pack matched their leader’s pace. No longer did the wolves strike at animals protected by fence or barn, nor did they molest the humans they saw in passing. Canthus, in his