Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [45]
“It is my wish that she be here,” replied the king. “Robyn may play an important role in our efforts to deal with the crisis. And now, sir?” he concluded, nodding to Keren.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” responded Keren, standing. “I only wish I bore happier news. “A little over a fortnight ago I left Alaron, following a council with the High King himself. Other messengers were dispatched to Moray and Snowdown – the portents indicate that all the lands of the Ffolk are in danger. But the missive of greatest importance is the one intended for Gwynneth.
“The High King’s council of sorcerers,” continued Keren, “became aware of dark magic growing in the land this winter, pointing toward a summer of turmoil and direst danger to the Ffolk. The danger includes the threat of the northmen, but this is not the paramount danger perceived by the council of mages.”
The cantrev lords exchanged uneasy looks. The council of mages earned no love from the Ffolk, who tended to be very superstitious about matters involving sorcery.
“At the time of the Spring Festivals, we learned more about this threat from the circle of druids. The druids have determined that the power afoot represents great danger to the goddess, and thus to our people. Whatever its nature and powers, we know only that it is a supreme menace, of mysterious nature – that it stalks the land even now…
“And we know that it is upon Gwynneth.”
Keren paused, letting his listeners absorb the impact of his words. The room was silent, until Dynnatt cleared his throat noisily. Tristan cast a sideways glance at Robyn, and saw that her gaze rested intently upon the bard. The sight did not please him.
“We now have confirmation,” continued the bard, “that the Firbolgs are abroad. This in itself is a portent of great evil, for the Firbolgs have not left the highlands of Myrloch Vale in over a century. Spies have also reported a great mustering among the northmen. Their fleets, apparently, sail to a rendezvous at Iron Bay, the kingdom of Thelgaar Ironhand.
This is perhaps a hopeful sign, for Ironhand has agreed to a peace treaty with the High King. His influence may be able to dissuade the northmen from all-out war, but we cannot count on this.
“Spies report that the northmen gather at Oman’s Isle, so Corwell becomes a very tempting target.”
For several moments, no one talked. Tristan, who had listened more closely to Keren than he usually did in official meetings, watched his father. He saw that the king looked older, more weary than the prince had ever seen him before. Finally, King Byron Kendrick looked around the council chamber, studying the eyes of each person seated at the table. Slowly, he rose to his feet.
“I had hoped that the rest of my life would be spent free from the scourge of war. I see now that this is not to be.
“Our course of action is simple, and obvious. My lords -” he spoke now directly to Dynnatt, Koart, and Nowll – “we must mobilize the cantrevs for war, spare only those laborers most essential to the tending of the flocks and crops. All others must be armed, and the militia units reformed.
“Be vigilant! Send patrols into the hills and forests, seeking signs of the Firbolgs. I shall send word to the farther cantrevs to do the same.” The three lords in attendance represented only the leaders of the cantrevs closest to Caer Corwell. Dozens more lay in the farther reaches of the kingdom. Though their lords could not reach Corwell in time for this council, the danger, they all knew, was shared by every community of Ffolk in Gwynneth.
The king turned to Keren again. “Can you stay with us for a while? Your presence is appreciated, and your advice would no doubt be of great aid in our preparations.”
“With regret, I cannot,” responded the bard. “Having delivered my message, I must return immediately to Caer Callidyrr and inform the High King that I have completed my mission. The fact that the Firbolgs are abroad is no doubt unknown to him.”
The king nodded solemnly in understanding. The bard’s mission, he