Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [57]
And still Laric had not returned from the Iron Keep.
Grunnarch made his way to a large bonfire at nightfall, for there Thelgaar had summoned the kings of the northmen for a last council of war. He found Raag Hammerstaad and the other kings present.
Laric, too, stood beside the great blaze, but he ignored his liege lord. His attention remained fixed upon the person of the Iron King.
Thelgaar stood before the fire, flames casting orange and red flashes of light over him. As Grunnarch reached the circle of kings, Thelgaar fixed him with an intent gaze. Grunnarch suppressed a shudder, thinking that the bonfire paled in comparison to the raging intensity of the Iron King’s stare.
“You, King of Norland,” began Thelgaar, “have a most important task in this undertaking.”
Grunnarch noticed that Thelgaar spoke to him as he would speak to a vassal, not a peer. He nevertheless listened quietly, for something about the Iron King’s manner forbade resistance.
“Here is Gwynneth,” announced Thelgaar. Grunnarch saw that he had sketched a crude map into the sand at his feet. “The men of Norland and Norheim shall sail here,” he ordered, pointing to a spot on the eastern coast of the island.
“You will land here, and here, and here – ravaging all of the communities of the Ffolk along that shore. This will certainly send a crowd of refugees fleeing west, along the road.” Now Thelgaar drew a line across the waist of the island, from the eastern coast to Caer Corwell itself.
“You will send enough warriors to maintain the pursuit. The rest of your force will circle around to the north, passing through the mountains to get before the refugees, trapping them here.”
Grunnarch’s mouth went suddenly dry. The path Thelgaar had indicated passed through Myrloch Vale – a fell place indeed for an army of northmen. His protest was anticipated.
“There will be no danger!” Thelgaar’s voice rang triumphantly. “In fact, as you enter the Vale, you shall be joined by an army of Firbolgs. I have arranged for a spy to show you the hidden pathways of Myrloch. With his aid, you will pass safely.”
Grunnarch’s superstitious nature prickled with alarm, but he suppressed the urge to object. Thelgaar continued.
“All the Ffolk of eastern Gwynneth will be caught in this trap. You will slay the men and old Ffolk. The rest you shall take as slaves.”
All the kings gathered around the fire stood in shocked silence. The wars with the Ffolk had been bloody, savage affairs, yet never had they set out with the objective of annihilating a population. Still, Thelgaar’s commanding presence brooked no argument, nor was any made.
With a grim half-smile, the Iron King looked around before continuing. Grunnarch had trouble believing that this was the same king who had counseled peace less than a fortnight earlier.
“You will then resume the march, joining me here, at Caer Corwell. If we have succeeded in reducing the fortress, our task will be completed at this point. If not, your forces will join with mine in the destruction of the last stronghold of the Ffolk upon Gwynneth!”
The plan was exceedingly bold – far beyond the scope of the usual raiding expedition. Yet it seemed solid, in so far as Grunnarch could see, try though he may to spot a flaw.
“Who is this spy?” he asked, for this was the weakest part of the plan.
“He is… a druid.”
Gasps of astonishment arose from the group. “How can you expect us to trust one of that sinister circle?” Grunnarch expressed their doubts. “The druids are the very heart of the Ffolk’s strength!”
Thelgaar Ironhand smiled – a cold, cruel grimace that bore no hint of humor. “That is why this one makes such an excellent spy. And, I assure you, he is quite worthy of your trust.”
Grunnarch now had serious misgivings, but a look from the Iron King silenced him before he could speak. Again the Iron King went on.
“He is called Trahern, and you need not worry about his loyalty. He is quite devoted… to me, personally. He will place a series of cairns along the trail