Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [151]
*****
The body of Thelgaar Ironhand seemed like an inefficient vehicle for climbing the steep slope, but the Beast forced itself to retain the bothersome shape. Now, with the fall of the fortress so near at hand, it could not afford to distract the northmen from their task.
Grasping chunks of sod or outcrops of rock with its hands, Kazgoroth moved upward at the head of a thousand northmen. The breach in the palisade, formerly held by a company of Ffolk, was empty once more.
For the charge of the Bloodriders had passed here. Not a single defender along that line still stood to meet the advancing raiders. The charge had cut like a scythe through the Ffolk, and now the men of the Iron King reached the crest of the knoll and rushed through the opening.
*****
“In the name of the goddess…” Robyn whispered.
When she saw Gavin, dust-covered and bleeding, she sobbed uncontrollably. Kneeling beside the man who had died to protect her, she gently closed his sightless eyes. For the first time since they had seen his village in flames, she thought that he looked peaceful. He had joined his family in death.
She stood and carefully took the staff from behind her back, holding it close before her. Its smooth surface, so warm against her hands, calmed and strengthened her. She felt very old, but as if that age had weathered and toughened her.
“Thank the goddess you’re all right,” said the bard, as he ran to her.
“The smith saved my life,” she said simply, and then turned away.
She saw the Bloodriders sweep through the courtyard of the castle, her home, Now they moved at a more normal speed, killing anyone who stood in their path until they were galloping through a courtyard empty except for themselves and their dead victims.
“Are you all right?” From somewhere, Tristan appeared next to the druid, touching her shoulder with concern. She looked at him, and the sight of his tired, careworn face made her nearly burst into tears again.
“I’m fine,” she replied, gulping. She knew that she could not yet let go.
“Come on, let’s get away from here!” Willingly, she grabbed the prince’s arm and ran. They raced through the choking, swirling smoke until they reached the stables. Here, as he had hoped, Tristan found that the sister knights had begun to mount their white horses.
Brigit opened the stable doors to let them slip in, and they turned and watched the Bloodriders wreak havoc in the courtyard.
Heartsick, Tristan counted eleven white horses, and eleven silvery knights. How these valiant warriors had suffered in his service! Yet now they mounted again, prepared as always to charge a foe that outnumbered them five to one.
“Wait,” cried Robyn, as a man-at-arms prepared to throw open the stable doors. “Give me time to get out there near the doors to the keep!
“Tristan, I need you to come with me,” she said, and he could not refuse.
Robyn turned again toward the eleven knights. “When the doors open, charge across the courtyard once, and then return this way. You must lead the Bloodriders past me!
“And please -” Robyn’s voice was low, her tone grave, “all of you must pass before they reach me – you must be certain!”
Brigit looked slightly puzzled, but nodded.
Robyn and Tristan slipped through the stable doors and sprinted toward the keep, under cover of the acrid smoke. Soon they reach a position near the great oaken doors.
Suddenly the stable doors burst open, and the Sisters of Synnoria charged into the embattled courtyard.
The silver plate made of the sisters gleamed in the afternoon sun, and the colorful pennants, proud as ever, trailed from the silvery lances. Those lances now leveled at the circling mass of the Bloodriders, as the two groups of riders came together with brutal impact.
The Bloodriders swerved from the path of the advancing knights. But before the black