Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [171]
The harp was gone.
*****
The travelers rode wearily toward Corwell, trailing an empty horse – a forlorn reminder that their mission had been not without cost. But they rode, at last, without urgency.
Behind, the wilderness of Myrloch Vale harbored a tiny sentry, perched upon the horn of a gallant and proud unicorn. The watcher, a small dragon, wept unashamedly at the departure of his friends. Then, the unicorn turned into the woods and the little dragon once again showed him the path.
Daryth and Pawldo in the lead followed Canthus as the moorhound raced through the countryside. Tristan rode slowly beside Robyn, holding the hand of his lady.
*****
The goddess smiled, and her smile was the warmth of the late summer sun. Her breath was the smooth caress of the wind that cleansed the countryside. She saw the fleet of northmen sail from the shores of Corwell, and she ignored them for she had no need for vengeance.
She wept for the deaths of her people, and for the destruction that had been wrought upon her lands. But she knew that the Ffolk were strong, and would soon restore their homes and fields, and their heritage would be renewed.
And she thought of the bard, whose songs had so soothed her. The wind spread throughout the lands of the Moonshaes, carrying the enchanted memories of the great Keren’s harp. And wherever there were bards, a new song was learned – a song of evils, and heroes, and lovers, and death. It was a song of rare beauty, a song that would be sung for many centuries.
It was a song by the greatest bard of them all. And though Keren no longer lived, his legacy of song rode the wind across the Moonshaes, and all the bards of the land shared in its sweet refrain.
*****
The trees at the edge of the Moonwell parted shortly after sunset, and a hooded figure advanced cautiously to the muddy shore. Slowly it probed the pond with a long staff, hesitantly stepping into the water.
Trahern of Oakvale had suffered much, this summer, because of the enchantment of the Beast. The blessings of the goddess had been stripped from him, and he no longer had the protection of his master. But now he had nothing else to turn to, and so he sought any tiny fragment of his master to hold and cherish.
The staff clicked against something hard, and the corrupted druid pulled a black chunk from the bowels of the pond. Gratified, he clasped the skull-sized object – black, like a lump of coal – to his breast.
Cackling and gibbering, Trahern turned from the pond and lurched into the forest. He was completely mad. The nearness of the goddess he had formerly served had driven the last vestiges of sanity from his shattered mind. Clutching his dark possession, the old man stumbled into the forest.
And with him he carried the heart of Kazgoroth.
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Table of Contents
PRELUDE
BOOK I
II
III
IV
V
BOOK II
VII
VIII
IX
X
BOOK III
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
BOOK IV
XVII
XVIII
XIX
BOOK V
XXI
XXII
XXIII