Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [148]
But her store of magic had to be conserved, and again she picked up a heavy bucket and poured its contents over a smoldering section of the palisade.
She had tied a thong to her staff and slung it across her back. Now it lay there, and she could feel the energy of its power through her sweatsoaked blouse. Still, she dared not use the staff yet – its power, too, was limited.
The springs below Caer Corwell were deep, and many pumps had been placed throughout the castle to reach the water in the event of attack, but the fires were spreading now. Already, great sections of the palisade had begun to crackle and roar as they were consumed by hungry flames. The druid looked around her in horror.
Suddenly the strains of a peaceful ballad caressed her ears, overcoming the surrounding cacophony. Like a ray of sunshine through storm, the music of the bard’s harp penetrated the air of the courtyard, and the defenders took heart.
Keren walked calmly through the ranks of the desperate Ffolk, strumming his instrument and softly singing a tale of tragic love. His cape was battle-stained, and he favored his right leg slightly, but war seemed to be the farthest thing from his mind. Robyn instinctively looked up to see the black falcon, circling above the defenders.
With a wry smile, Robyn imagined her appearance. Soot and dirt coated her skin. Her hands were chapped and sore.
“Have you seen Tristan?” she asked Keren.
“He led the defense of the gatehouse!” exclaimed the bard, and then added soberly, “Pawldo was hurt, but I don’t think it’s serious.”
“And the fight?”
“The gatehouse is secured,” replied the bard. “The Firbolgs have fled, and now the great threat lies to the walls themselves. How do they stand?”
Robyn’s despair rose to the surface and her voice cracked. “We cannot contain the fires much longer, I fear.”
As if in taunting mockery of her words, a great section of the wall suddenly collapsed in a cloud of smoke and sparks.
Immediately, northmen appeared in the gap, crossing the ruins of the wall and charging into the courtyard.
“To arms!” Gavin’s bellowed command thundered through the courtyard, and the warriors of his company dropped buckets and pumps, reaching instead for sword and shield. Keren slung his harp over his shoulder in favor of his sword and joined the line, anchoring the far flank. But Robyn knew that a hundred or more northmen would enter the courtyard before Gavin’s company could organize.
Again, she called upon the knowledge gained from her mother’s book, chanting an arcane command and drawing the power of the goddess from the earth. With a sharp, chopping gesture, she waved at the northmen scrambling across the wreckage of the fallen wall.
Immediately, the ground below their feet split and twisted, as an eruption of plants burst upward.
Bushes, vines, creepers, and thorns crawled forth, snakelike, grasping the legs and waists of the raiders. Caught by the druid’s spell, the attackers hacked and slashed frantically at the writhing plants.
But the stalks and branches would not slow the attack for long. However, the plants gave Gavin and the Ffolk of the Eastern Cantrevs time to form a long line, three ranks deep, in preparation for a savage charge. The northmen who did not fall instantly began to retreat. Breathing heavily from the exertion and excitement, Robyn shouted in triumph as she saw the attacking force broken. Gavin and his company now patrolled the entire length of the breach.
“We did it! “ Robyn cried, running up to the smith and seizing him excitedly. “They ran away! We stopped them!”
Gently, Gavin removed her arms from his neck, nodding, his head toward the moor a hundred feet below. “But,” cautioned the smith, “the enemy is not quite finished.”
*****
Laric’s skull-face split into a ghastly caricature of a grin as the dozens of prisoners were prodded toward the Bloodriders. For a moment, the captain’s thoughts turned toward the druid who was somewhere up there, in the castle. The lust