Darkwell - Douglas Niles [112]
Yak lunged forward with a loud bellow, seizing a flying deathbird by its claws. The firbolg swung the creature around in a circle before smashing its skull against the frozen ground. Tristan, Pawldo, and Robyn joined in the charge, disrupting the flock with a sudden attack. Then the strangers followed their lead and rushed forward. The entire flight of monsters lurched into the air, beating their ungainly wings in an attempt to evade the deadly swords.
Tristan lunged at one that passed high overhead, and the Sword of Cymrych Hugh seemed to pull him upward, striking the creature's belly at the height of the king's prodigious leap. In moments, the horrid creatures had risen too high for their blades, flapping their great wings with unseemly urgency as they fled the scene of battle.
The newcomers threw back their hoods and unslung their bows. The king saw, with instant recognition, the shocks of golden hair, the slender and serious faces, the breathtaking beauty of each of the warriors. He stood, amazed and exhilarated, watching the silver arrows dart into the sky, bringing down more and more of the monsters until at last the survivors, no more than a dozen or so, had flown out of range to the north.
Tristan did not speak until the last of the bows had been lowered and the leader of the band of warriors turned to regard him with her wide brown eyes.
"Brigit, your arrival could not have been better timed! I feared that we faced the end of our quest right here on this snowy field."
The sister knight's face lightened with the barest suggestion of a smile. "Your quest is the hope and prayer of more than you realize, Tristan. We could not stand by when we had the power to aid you."
He stepped forward and embraced the petite warrior, a gesture which she shyly returned. He looked around and recognized Maura, the tiniest of the sister knights, and Colleen, and several others, the remnants of the brave company that had served him during the Darkwalker War. These female fighters of the Llewyrr had ridden chargers and carried silver lances then. Now they fought in furs and snow-shoes, with longbow and sword. But always they battled with courage and consummate skill.
"My Lord King," said Brigit, bending at the waist in the slightest of bows. "The Sisters of Synnoria are at your service once again."
* * * * *
The moorhound bounded in an ever-growing circle around Yazilliclick and Honkah-Fah-Snooei, stopping every several moments to shake more droplets of water from his shaggy coat.
"Why you know wolf?" asked the troll, looking suspiciously at the sprite.
"W-Wolf? He's no wolf. He's a dog – a dog! Like a blink dog, kind of, only he's b-bigger and he d-doesn't blink." Yazilliclick laughed at the notion of Canthus as a wolf. "He's m-my friend, and the f-friend of my friends, t-too!"
"Dog-friend?" The troll slowly absorbed the thought, and then his face brightened. "Dog-friend gots wine?"
"N-No! People gots – people have wine. The d-dog just g-goes with them – with them."
"Crud. We rest now." Honkah plopped himself on a fallen tree trunk and looked wistfully at Canthus and the gate. "I gots to go back to my guard gate."
"B-But we're g-guarding a g-gate here, aren't we – aren't we? You're still a g-guardian troll. You j-just moved to a d-different gate, that's all!"
"Not my gate!"
"H-How often does anyone use y-your gate? Do people g-go through it a Mot – a lot?"
"Sure! Just now, you did."
"I – I know. But how long before m-me?"
Honkah scratched his head, squinting his tiny eyes with the effort of his concentration. "Never."
"Well, someone j-just came through this g-gate, too. I bet it's even busier that yours. M-Maybe we should rest here and guard it – guard it! Then we can go find another g-gate, one that's even b-busier!"
The troll looked at him suspiciously but apparently could think of no effective rebuttal. He grunted and turned to stare at the earthen bank, as if expecting an invading army to pour through it in the next instant.
Canthus