Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [159]
“Good dog,” sighed Tristan, scratching the hound’s wooly neck. Canthus wagged his tail wildly.
“Quite a hound!” Daryth, kneeling beside them and hugging the dog’s neck, choked back tears. “I could never bring myself to believe that he was dead!”
Canthus turned and licked the Calishite’s face. Then he broke free and his head swiveled around the courtyard and castle, cocked to the side, as if looking for someone else. Knowing the dog could understand, Tristan spoke to Canthus.
“She’s not here,” he said tightly, again mounting the white stallion. “Let’s go get her back!”
*****
The fiery, magic-driven hooves of the black horse carried Laric and his prisoner for many miles before the enchantment wore away. Even then, the powerful steed raced forward with impressive speed. Moving at a steady canter, the mount and his two riders moved farther and farther from Caer Corwell.
Laric knew that there would be pursuit. In fact, he suspected that both the druid’s friends and his own former master would be vengefully inflamed. Neither of these pursuers would be a match for him, though, thought the ghoulish Rider.
The pale moon rose into the evening sky. Two more nights, guessed Laric, and the moon would be full. That did not seem like an impossibly long time.
Robyn moaned and stirred. Pleased, the Rider looked down at his prisoner, roughly pulling her shoulder back so that he could see her face. The maiden’s skin had a ghostly pallor, and her left arm was streaked with dried blood from the wounds inflicted when Laric grabbed her. She winced in pain, holding her eyes tightly closed.
Although the flesh and skin had rotted away from most of his face, crimson lips still outlined Laric’s mouth, and he spoke with a swollen, festering tongue.
“You are mine, now, druid.” His skeletal claws stroked her long black tresses, almost tenderly. He ran a cracked fingernail, extending from a bony and grotesque finger, along Robyn’s cheek, chuckling as she winced and shuddered.
Feeling her muscles tense, he was ready when she suddenly squirmed, trying to break free from his grasp. Mercilessly, Laric the Bloodrider tightened his grip upon her hair and forced her harshly down upon the withers of the horse.
“Very nice,” he chortled, lisping thickly. He squeezed his claws together on the back of her neck, feeling warm blood break from her skin and flow across his fingers. Robyn lay very still.
“Do not try to leave me, my dear,” he continued. A thick, gurgling laugh bubbled in his rotted chest. “We shall be together now, forever.”
He pulled Robyn’s hands behind her and bound them tightly with a leather thong, hoisting her to a sitting position in front of him on the steed.
“Ride with me, my… love.” He chuckled, his breath hissing against her ear.
Laughing again, Laric spurred the gaunt horse. The moon, nearly full, had risen higher now. White mist had begun to condense in the evening air, and the outline of the moon and its tears became hazy and indistinct.
For two days, Laric knew, he must keep her alive, avoiding the dogged pursuit. Two more nights, before the moon rose full and powerful into the sky.
Then, under the baneful eye of that moon, her power would become his. Her life would end, as his truly begin. And after he had drunk of her power, he would need flee from nothing in the world again.
On, into the mist that slowly turned to a cool rainfall, rode the Bloodrider and his helpless captive.
*****
Genna Moonsinger turned her round and wrinkled face toward the sky. The lines of age deepened into a frown of anxiety. The moon was visible only as a white outline against the fog.
The Great Druid stood poised for several minutes, listening. Once, she jerked slightly, in agitation. A watcher who could have moved close to her would have seen pools of salty moisture collect at the corners of her eyes.
“I understand,” she whispered finally.
In seconds Genna assumed one of her favorite forms – that