Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [80]
Several times he resolved to take his own life, before the nightmare could become real. But always he lacked the will. Driven by his fear, madness slowly took his mind from him. Always he kept moving, as if toward some unknown destiny that had been planted within him by Kazgoroth’s bite.
And every night the moon grew larger.
*****
“You know a lot, for a man who has trained hounds all of his life.” Keren’s comment was casual, but Daryth sat bolt upright, staring at the bard.
“Yeah – I’ve picked up a few skills here and there,” he said, shrugging.
The small fire created an island of warmth in the cool forest. The two men sat on either side of the blaze. Tristan and Robyn had gone for a walk, and Pawldo slumbered within a nearby mountain of furs.
“It’s almost as if you had been trained by masters in your craft – say, those masters who teach at the Academy of Stealth – the Pasha of Calimshan’s school for spies?”
Daryth was silent for a moment, Finally, he chuckled. “You are well-traveled, indeed.
“Yes, I attended the sultan’s ‘school’ – I was trained as a spy, or a thief, or assassin, however you choose to describe it. I have also,” he added, defensively, “trained desert racers and other dogs for many years!”
“Then, why are you here?” The bard studied Daryth’s eyes very carefully as he asked the question. For a moment, the Calishite looked away.
“I ran away from the Pasha, the school, everything, I got into some trouble with the Pasha over rights to… some property I had acquired, and became a sailor the same night. Corwell was the first port of call, and I jumped ship there.”
The bard leaned back again, satisfied. “You fight very well. You must have been a good student!”
Daryth laughed, and then grew serious. “You know, I’ve done a lot of fighting against things in my life, but I’ve never fought for anything before.”
“Indeed,” replied the bard. “Well, you’re fighting for Corwell now.”
*****
Tristan and Robyn walked slowly together in the cool night. Neither of them felt like sleeping – at least, not right now. As the moon illuminated her exquisite face, the prince wanted to take her in his arms, but his courage failed him.
“You did very well, back there,” said Robyn, quietly, “Your father would have been proud of you.”
Tristan froze, surprised by the compliment. He recovered his voice quickly, enough to say “Thank you,” then turned toward the maiden.
They stood together on a rocky lakeshore, gazing at a world that appeared to have never known violence or death. The moon, half full and followed by her glittering Tears, stood near the zenith. Thousands of stars – more than he had ever seen before – glittered from the black sky. Though their camp, and the small fire, was just a few steps away, the screening rocks hid it perfectly. It might have been very distant, as far as Caer Corwell, for all they could see of it.
Tristan reluctantly thought about his father. The king must now be bitterly disappointed in his son – leaving in the middle of the night, ignoring the command of the company his father had given him.
“We all did pretty well,” reflected the prince. “But if my father were here, I’m sure he’d point out a few mistakes.” He did not try to hide his bitterness.
“Don’t be so hard on him!” Robyn whirled, surprising him with her intensity. “Why do you two have to fight all the time? It’s not your fault – alone – but neither of you is willing to admit that the other has a point of view.”
“I don’t know why we do it. He’s always wanted me to be better at whatever I do – and, maybe, I do some things to annoy him. I will not be his servant!”
“I don’t think he wants that,” she said, a gentle smile softening her face, “I think he just wants his son to be a worthy prince of the Ffolk. And if he’d been with us today, he’d know that you are!”
The praise from Robyn overwhelmed all other emotions. Tristan felt that he would fight a Firbolg barehanded if she