Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [91]
They selected a secluded grove of evergreens surrounding a placid pool, and sprawled wearily to the ground. As they unpacked their horse, a panicked deer suddenly burst into the grove, pursued by the five hounds. Keren, who never let his bow get very far from him, put an arrow into the unfortunate creature, and they ate well that night.
Because of the nearness of the northern army, they built only a small fire, its glow shielded carefully by tall boulders. Still, it served to smoke the rest of the meat sufficiently for them to carry it along with them. Robyn gathered some nuts and an assortment of huge mushrooms, so they again had enough food for a few days.
Tristan, having drawn the middle watch, slept gratefully for several hours, until Pawldo awakened him for his shift. The prince climbed the great boulder they had selected as their watchpoint, leaning into the shadow of another huge rock so that he could not easily be seen, and settled down to watch. Periodically, he shifted around, stretched, and even pinched himself to stay awake.
The full moon rose high above him, its silvery beams pouring straight down, and lighting up the forest like daylight. Tristan calculated quickly, realizing that this was the first full moon since the spring festival. No wonder it seemed so bright tonight – this was the summer solstice, the brightest moon of the year.
For an hour he let his gaze wander across the towering crags of rock to either side, or to the lush blanket of evergreens that filled the valleys, or to the silvery ribbon of water that fed the pool beside their camp. Remembering Gavin’s words, he looked at the scene with a renewed appreciation. Sadly, he wondered about Gavin and whether the smith would ever again be able to open his eyes to the beauty of the land.
The summer solstice – Midsummer’s Eve – traditionally meant a festival and a celebration among his people. The druids held the night to be the time when the goddess’s power – the power of all life on earth – pulsed most strongly. Tristan wondered if the Midsummer Festival were being held this year at Caer Corwell. It seemed like years since he had last seen his home, although in reality it had been only weeks, but the prince who had left home seemed to be a different, unknown person.
He wondered how much his father knew about what had befallen the eastern half of his kingdom. Had messengers reached Corwell with news of the raiders?
His attention focused on the trees before him. Solstice, friends, home all fell forgotten from his mind as he stared keenly at the rustling branches of two giant spruces. He had just seen those branches rustle, and there was no wind to cause such a movement.
Slowly, he slid from the rock to the ground, cursing to himself as his feet made a crunching noise in the pebbles. Why could he not move soundlessly when he needed to, like Daryth? The prince left the sword of Cymrych Hugh in its scabbard, worrying that its inherent light would attract attention if he should draw it.
As he moved forward, he felt as if every footstep carried the snapping of dried twigs, or the rustling of dead leaves, echoing into the night air.
Before he reached the spruces, the branches parted, and a huge shape stepped forward, glowing in the moonlight. At first, the prince thought the unicorn from the Firbolgs’ fortress had returned to them, for the satiny white shape, proud head, and graceful bearing all suggested that mighty creature.
But a second look found no horn upon this creature, and Tristan realized that it was a little smaller than the unicorn.
What he saw, in fact, was simply the most magnificent horse he had ever imagined. The stallion stood still, breathing slowly in the warm summer air, and looking at the prince with large, intelligent eyes. Its clean