Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [152]
Howling their victory cry, the Bloodriders pursued the fleeing knights. The white horses were swift, however, and the sisters outdistanced nearly all of the Bloodriders in their short spurt across the courtyard.
All but one.
The captain of the Bloodriders hurled his black stallion forward with lightning speed, and the powerful horse carried him to the very heels of the sisters.
The knights, trailed closely by Laric, galloped past Robyn as she stepped from the doorway onto the paving stones of the courtyard. Her oaken staff pounded sharply on the ground, once and then again. She uttered words of arcane power, a call upon the benevolence of the goddess.
And the goddess heard.
The goddess split the ground asunder, along the line Robyn had marked with the staff. The goddess called upon the wells of heat lying deep within her bowels – vast pools of liquid rock glowing with white hot fire. And the goddess gave this power to Robyn.
A wall of fire exploded from the ground, stretching across the path of the charging Bloodriders. Paving stones flew upward as the fires of the earthmother reached toward the sky, creating a barrier of intense heat.
The Bloodriders struck the wall of white fire. Their horses turned instantly skeletal, mutilated and black as they fell to the ground. The goddess’s fire took hold of the body of each Bloodrider and scoured the force of the Darkwell from his bones. Only ashes emerged from the fire.
*****
Like a gray brown wave, the wolves of the Pack followed their leader across the moors, hills, and forests of Gwynneth. Canthus took them quickly from the highlands, through the sparse settlements of the northern cantrevs, closer and closer to his home and his master.
For more than a week, the mass of animals maintained their steady course, resting only for a few hours in the darkest hours of the night. Before dawn they were off again, always rolling forward with that steady lope.
Finally, Canthus sensed the nearness of his home, for he passed through fields where Tristan and Daryth had taken him during the training. Ahead lay his castle and his beloved master.
The great black column towering into the sky marked the location of Caer Corwell. The hound loped steadily on, his long tongue hanging limply from his jaws. His shaggy flanks were tangled and matted with burrs, and his ragged breathing panted from his huge chest.
Now his nostrils picked up scents of home – scents ominously mingled with the more powerful aromas of threat and danger. He could smell the salty waters of the firth, and the musty dankness of the stables, but these odors were far overshadowed by the smells of fire, death, and decay.
Like a brown legion, the followers of Canthus raced to Caer Corwell. But even as they ran, warriors died, and the castle burned.
*****
In a brief second, Laric saw the towering wall of fire, and he sensed that the long line of debris – bones of horses and ashes of Riders – represented all that remained of his company. He felt no sadness at the loss of his companions, for he was no longer capable of such an emotion – only anger.
The black stallion veered from the sisters, for the odds no longer favored Laric here. He noticed, dimly, that Thelgaar Ironhand now led a large band of raiders through the breach in the lines created by the Bloodriders – the battle was far from over.
And always his decayed nostrils searched the smoking, swirling air of the courtyard for the scent of her whom he sought. The druid, he knew, must be responsible for the destruction of his company. That only made his longing for her deeper.
Suddenly, a delicious scent floated past his nostrils, and the smoke parted enough for the Bloodrider to see his quarry. She lay motionless against the stone walls of the keep. Before her stood that arrogant human, the one with the mighty sword. The human would be a powerful enemy, Laric knew, but his lust for the druid compelled him to attack.
His skeletal jaws clenched