Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [90]
The Beast slipped into the water of the swamp, slithering along a trough six feet deep. Still, the crested plates of its scaly back broke the surface.
Finally, the channel flowed into a lake, and here the Beast dove. Its whiplike tail thrust from side to side, and its powerful hind legs kicked tirelessly.
Kazgoroth found a boat and attacked in a frenzy, killing and eating three fishermen. The feast did not serve to calm its unease, and, in fact, drove it to even greater restlessness. Finally, the Beast forced itself to lie still, lying in the cool mud of the lake bottom, restoring its energy.
Its agile mind swirled with plans and ambitions, and the Beast knew that it could not maintain its identity as the Iron King unless it brought these chaotic impulses under control. The northmen were a very important part of those ambitions and so it could not risk driving them away in panic. And this was sure to happen, should Kazgoroth’s base urges transform it into its true form before the eyes of the northmen.
For three days the monster lay below the surface of the lake. The massive heart slowed its tempo, and the great body cooled. Finally, it emerged. With great control, the body bent again into that of Thelgaar Ironhand. Kazgoroth retrieved its clothes, and returned to the fleet.
It arrived there at nightfall, to see that the work on the longships had progressed considerably. Many more days of labor would still be required to complete the job, however.
Resolved to retain control, the Beast went into its tent. Brusquely, Thelgaar called for wine, which was swiftly delivered. And Kazgoroth spoke no more that night.
*****
Gavin claimed one of the slain northmen’s swords, and raised the weapon over the body. He then dropped the weapon with a short, quick chop. The head rolled from the corpse, and he tossed it to the side where he had assembled a pile of heads. Grim and expressionless, the smith threw the sword aside and returned to the companions.
The party started out immediately, though night already was on them. No one felt any desire to spend the hours of darkness in the ruins of Gavin’s village. The smith accompanied them, silently marching behind.
They followed the path of the horsemen who had destroyed Myrrdale. A large body of riders had carved a swath of ruin across the face of the kingdom. Often, bodies that lay in their path showed signs of disfigurement or, slow, cruel torture which only death had ended.
The land that had fallen to these riders was devastated. Fields of crops had been trampled to mud, buildings smashed or burned. Any animal that had not been taken for food had been butchered and left for the crows.
The moon was nearly full, and they followed the plain trail throughout the night. Near dawn they stumbled upon another ruin.
“What town was this?” the prince asked the smith, biting down on the pain that had been growing with each scene of tragedy and destruction they had come across.
“Cantrev Macsheehan,”said the smith.
After scouting the area, Robyn and Daryth came riding back to the prince.
“Many northmen gathered here,” explained Robyn.
“The riders were joined by two, much larger, groups on foot.”
“When they left,” Daryth added, “many of them went southwest, toward the Corwell Road. That group took all the wagons and carts.”
“The others moved due west,” Robyn broke in, and the prince could hear the scarcely controlled rage in her voice. “This group included the riders that destroyed Myrrdale. They go toward Myrloch Vale.”
“I suggest we go west, after the riders that destroyed Myrrdale,” said Tristan. The others nodded, and the decision stood.
They paused only long enough to eat a meal and rest their tired mounts before again resuming the pursuit. The weeks of hard travel had toned Tristan’s muscles, and he felt no discomfort with the rapid pace. His companions seemed equally unaffected. Their provisions were nearly exhausted, but that was a secondary importance to not losing time.
For the length of the hot summer