Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [89]
Suddenly, speaking in a strange language, her voice cut through the air. Tristan’s heart nearly stopped as he saw her step from swirling smoke into the path of the fleeing northmen. She stood before them and repeated the strange phrase. Tristan, his heart in his throat, gasped at her power and beauty.
The raiders, as one man, screamed and threw down their weapons. The prince could see the blades smoldering, glowing cherry red and shedding sparks, as they struck the ground. Howling in complete and abject panic, the northmen scattered and disappeared into the distance.
Tristan rode up to the girl, looking at her in amazement, wondering what she was. “Are you crazy? They could have killed you – or worse!”
“I would not let them kill me,” she replied, coldly.
“And now they have no weapons to kill with!”
“Yes, I see,” answered the prince. “What… what did you do to them?”
“I heated them. It’s something I have done for fun, when no one else was around. I have never tried it on so much metal at once.” Her brows narrowed. “I think my anger gave me the strength.”
“Indeed,” said the bard as he joined them. “The Balance has been badly disrupted. Evil has grown very powerful, and power for evil must be balanced by power for good.”
The bard studied Robyn curiously. “All that is needed is a vessel capable of wielding that power.”
*****
The goddess tried to marshall her strength, but the Beast had grown so strong, that she feared this time her utmost efforts would be to no avail.
It was time to intervene directly.
She called, softly, to a favorite of her creatures. High in the Synnorian Mountains of Myrloch Vale, her call was heard. A great white stallion perked his ears, and stared into the night around his corral. The goddess spoke slowly, and the horse understood.
With a terrific burst of speed, the stallion hurled himself into the gate. Though the barrier was Llewyrr-crafted, of supple but strong vines and branches, it crashed apart before the heaving white breast. With a kick of his heels, the stallion galloped into the night.
XII
AVALON
GRAY DAWN SPREAD across the sea. Kazgoroth, through the eyes of Thelgaar Ironhand, surveyed the fleet as it crawled toward the protected beach of a sheltered cove. Fully a third of the longships had gone down during the battle with the leviathan. Half of those remaining had suffered enough damage to make every additional mile fraught with peril.
Precious time would be lost as the crews repaired the damaged vessels, but the only other choice was to leave behind much of his strength.
This Kazgoroth would not do. Forcefully, the Beast restrained a more violent display of its emotions. For the dead northmen, thousands of whom now floated in the Sea of Moonshae, the creature had no regard.
They, like all humans, were tools who either served the Beast’s purpose, or attempted to thwart it. The former were used, the latter destroyed, with equal dispassion.
The death of the leviathan provided a great boost to the Beast. The limitations of the body of Thelgaar made a prison as this new power begged for release.
Kazgoroth stalked the deck of the longship, fighting for control.
Finally the fleet reached the beaches, and sailors dragged each vessel onto the sand, beyond the reach of the highest tide.
The figure of the king strode angrily about the beach. “Begin the repairs at once!” He watched the sailors leap to the damage, eager to avoid Thelgaar’s wrath.
“Remove the rams,” he added. “They have served their purpose.”
As soon as the work began, Kazgoroth stalked into the forest surrounding the beach. Inland, it found a stagnant swamp, surrounded by flat marshes. Here it removed the clothes of Thelgaar, and allowed its skin to assume a more comfortable form.
The Beast lay upon the ground and stretched, reveling in its freedom. Scales began to form and soon coated the body that grew longer, and more serpentine. Kazgoroth stretched its jaw, and felt an almost sensual pleasure in the forked tongue stroking hundreds of sharp teeth. It reached forward with