Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [163]
*****
Tristan and his companions rode steadily along the path of the Beast. As darkness fell, they were forced to dismount, since the trail left by Kazgoroth was much less obvious than that left by the Bloodrider.
Still, Canthus had no difficulty following the spoor. The moorhound loped ahead, disappearing into the mist, and then stopped and waited for the men and horses to catch up. When they did, the dog bounded forward again, quickly swallowed by the fog.
A deep and hollow sense of loneliness gripped Tristan.
“Did I make the right choice?” he asked the bard, miserably. Yet he already knew the answer: It was not the right choice for the heart.
“She’ll be all right,” said Keren, in a quietly comforting tone. “The druid spoke the truth – she carries the divine blessing of the goddess.”
“But I turned from her trail!” The prince heard his own voice take on a wail of grief.
“But you are doing the right thing, all the same.”
Little comforted, the prince rode in silence. Darkness soon surrounded them, and the mist grew even thicker, if that were possible. Faintly, they could make out the patch of light where the full moon – a moon of dire omen, Tristan felt certain – rose into the late summer sky.
“Should we stop and sleep for a bit?” the prince asked his companions, though he did not feel tired.
”I don’t think I can sleep,” declared Daryth, peering forward to keep Canthus in sight.
“Me either,” added Pawldo.
Keren remained silent, but his eyes, like the Calishite’s, stared resolutely ahead. Silently, they continued forward through the cold and oppressive night.
*****
The Bloodrider laughed harshly at Robyn’s futile gesture of defiance, and suddenly his eyes grew white hot with bloodlust. The image changed so quickly, and so frightfully, that she could not suppress a shriek of terror.
A skeletal hand grasped her ankle. She kicked at Laric’s frail-looking chest, but her foot was deflected by an invisible force as from a stone wall. Twisting, she tried to escape, but her hands were bound tight, and he held her fast.
Now Laric held her flat on her back, against the stone, with one clawlike hand pressing hard against her chest. She could barely breathe, she could not move, she was helpless. With the other hand, the ghoulish creature lifted his sword high. The sinister weapon rested directly above her neck.
Brown spittle leaked from Laric’s cracked lips, as he drooled in anticipation of his feast. He began to lower the blade.
Suddenly brilliant flashes of light exploded through the mist. Laric’s black stallion screamed and reared in panic, flailing the air with his deadly hooves.
The explosions of light sent barbs of color arcing in the sky, lighting the scene first in red, then blue, then green.
A white shape galloped from the mist, snorting in anger, and her heart filled with hope.
“Kamerynn!” she called, immediately recognizing the mighty creature. “Look out!”
The black stallion lunged forward, breaking his tether, and driving his forehooves into the unicorn’s flank. Kamerynn turned clumsily, striking with his horn but missing the stallion by a wide margin. Suddenly, next to the fighting steeds, Robyn saw the little figure of the faerie dragon, Newt, blinking in and out of sight in agitation.
A shadowy image appeared next to the stallion, mimicking the black horse in appearance and movement.
Now Kamerynn struck more surely, the ivory horn cutting a deep gash in the steed’s flank.
Laric turned toward the fight, momentarily forgetting the maiden stretched on the rock. He crept toward the unicorn, raising his longsword.
“Kamerynn! Newt! Look out!” shouted Robyn, as the Bloodrider hurled himself into the fray. But her warning came too late, and the flickering blade caught the dragon unawares. With a tiny, highpitched scream of pain, Newt dropped to the earth.
Immediately, the colored lights and the illusionary vision of the black horse vanished. Kamerynn was blind once again. The unicorn stepped backward, as if confused, and the stallion charged him savagely.
Laric,