Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [150]
Still blinking, he decided to have a look at the scene of his adventure – the stronghold of the Firbolgs. Buzzing low, under the drooping branches of willows, hovering above the brackish water, he suddenly noticed a trail.
He could not see, nor smell, nor otherwise identify how he followed the spoor, laid down weeks earlier in brackish water and clutching pools of mud.
Racing quickly, Newt vanished entirely from the sight of anyone who might have been nearby. He took notice of nothing but the spoor before him, winding through the fens until he finally entered the sunnier realms of forest.
In his darting speed, Newt traveled many miles in an hour, never flagging in his determination. And finally, near the end of the day, he came upon the source of the long trail.
XXI
A FORTRESS FALLEN
PAWLDO RECOVERED CONSCIOUSNESS as Tristan and Daryth carried him to the barracks, where the wounded were cared for as best as possible. Here they encountered Friar Nolan.
“How goes the fight?” asked the cleric, pulling a woolen blanket over the face of a blankly staring fighter. He stood and looked at the prince, and Tristan could barely hold back an expression of shock.
The formerly stout cleric had grown much thinner, and the skin seemed to sag upon his body. His face had an unhealthy pallor, with black circles under the eyes. He looked as if he had not slept for weeks.
“We’ve stopped them for the time being,” answered Tristan as he lay the halfling upon a relatively clean patch of straw.
“Let me up, I tell you!” shouted Pawldo, twisting away from the prince. “I’m going back out there and -”
“You’re staying right here!” stated the cleric, silencing the feisty halfling. A garish streak of blood ran down the side of Pawldo’s head, and he could not conceal the deep pain that shot through him when he moved. Meekly, Pawldo relaxed into the bed of straw and closed his eyes.
As Tristan and Daryth returned to the courtyard, a shower of sparks tumbled over the palisade beyond the stables, threatening to ignite the straw. Daryth joined a group of Ffolk rushing to extinguish the flames. Tristan, seeing the fire quickly under control, ran to look for Robyn.
He saw her, standing beside Gavin, on the far side of the courtyard. The two were peering down the slope of the knoll, toward the commons. The prince, starting toward them, noticed that the line of Ffolk at the wall seemed suddenly thrown backward as if in shock.
And then he saw the Bloodriders strike the courtyard.
*****
“What’s happening?” cried Robyn, as the Bloodriders became a blur of movement. She heard the horrifying lightning and thunder of the hooves, and saw the fire – blackened path behind them, but the horsemen themselves moved too fast for her mortal eyes.
Only Gavin seemed capable of reacting as the black horses climbed the knoll. The giant smith stepped before Robyn and lifted his huge hammer.
The woman saw a blur of red eyes, black skin, and grinning teeth, and then the horsemen were upon them. Robyn felt something massive – perhaps a horse’s shoulder – slam against her, and she fell to the ground.
Dimly, she saw Gavin’s hammer whirl and strike a Rider from his saddle with enough force to shatter his body into pieces. She saw a slashing blade cut a chunk of red from the smith’s shoulder as Gavin stepped backward, straddling Robyn’s body with his giant legs.
Sparks and chips of rock stung her exposed skin. But the smith stood firm, dividing the onrush of horsemen so that none of the crushing steeds could step on the druid.
Blood splashed onto her, and she saw weapons pass over her in a blur. The blades left deep red slashes all over Gavin’s body. His neck, chest, arms, and head all spurted blood, but somehow Gavin still stood, like some inexorable force of nature.
Then the horsemen were past, galloping unhindered into the courtyard, leaving the battered remnants of the company moaning and bleeding on the