Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [94]
He considered turning the giant horse and leaping away through the ring of riders. But one of them, the one who had silenced Carina, moved from the ring toward Tristan. She held her lance aloft, unthreateningly. The prince looked at her, and with a corner of his mind, noted the exquisite workmanship of her smooth plate armor. She carried a slim sword at her side, and wore a tall helm that exaggerated the unusual narrowness of her face. Her horse stood a full hand shorter than the stallion, but was equally sleek and well-muscled. Breast and faceplates of the same silvery metal as the rider’s armor protected vital areas of the horse. The prince saw that the saddle was deep and heavy, providing a secure seat for the rider, as well as sturdy flank protection for the horse.
The narrow visor in the helm was open, and he looked at the rider’s face with interest. Exceptionally slender and fine-boned, it was accented by a pair of huge, luminous brown eyes. Tendrils of golden hair framed her face, emerging haphazardly from the confining helmet.
“How came you to be riding Avalon?” she asked in an accusing voice.
“He came to me by my camp in the forest. I mounted him, and we rode up the valley to this spot. Now, why do you accost me?”
“He let you mount him, then?” she asked.
“Yes, he did.”
“What is your name, please?” asked the female knight, visibly shaken.
“I am Tristan Kendrick, Prince of Corwell.”
The reaction this statement drew from the riders was not what Tristan expected. All of the knights, their movement fluid despite the heavy armor, lowered their pennants and dismounted. The prince noticed that the one called Carina, unlike the others, seemed to hesitate before dismounting.
Suddenly, the knight before him drew her sword and knelt at his feet. She held the blade before him and spoke. “My lord, I am Brigit. I present my company, the Sisters of Synnoria. We are warriors of the Llewyrr, and we are at your service.”
*****
Pawldo nearly drowsed while holding the last watch before dawn. Suddenly, he jerked upright, astonished at the figures that emerged from the darkness.
“He’s back! And he’s still got the horse! And -!”
Pawldo’s announcement choked away in his astonishment as a file of riders emerged from the forest behind the prince and collected in the small clearing.
“- and he’s brought an army,” he finished lamely, as Robyn and Keren gathered around. Daryth held the dogs silent, although their hackles bristled at the approach of the strangers. Even Gavin looked up alertly at their approach.
The prince dismounted before his companions. Smiling, he gestured toward the female knights and said simply, “This is Brigit, and her lieutenants, Carina and Maura.”
Carina still scowled suspiciously, regarding the companions with disdain, but the other two greeted them with apparent sincerity.
“They are knights of the Llewyrr, from Synnoria. They will aid us against the northmen.”
“Not bad,” muttered Pawldo, impressed. Indeed, the knights looked battle-worthy. Their armor was both beautifully crafted and fully protective. Their slim lances and long, narrow swords looked almost fragile, but again master craftsmanship suggested inner strength in the metal.
The knights took off their helmets as they started to make camp, and Tristan for the first time got a look at their features. To a person their hair was long and golden, framing slender faces and huge, brown or green eyes. The tips of pointed ears broke through the tresses of many of the knights. They were almost childlike and beautiful to gaze upon.
Tristan had not fully digested the events of this midsummer’s eve. Brigit, her manner cool and polite but every inch the resolute warrior, had explained things on the ride back to camp. She had told him that the company became pledged for a year’s service to a person of royal birth who rode the stallion. The great horse was called Avalon, and had crashed through the gate to his stall two nights earlier. The knights had ridden in pursuit of him.
The prince, it seemed,