Darkwell - Douglas Niles [113]
"N-No, Canthus! I c-can't play now – now. I'm helping Honkah g-guard the g-gate!"
Across the meadow, the branches of a thick bush parted, and the head of a blink dog poked through, staring with interest at the trio. The dog, like all of its kind, had smooth brown fur, a pointed muzzle, and floppy ears that perked upward when, as now, the creature was attentive. The blink dog was about half the size of the moorhound.
The faerie dog suddenly teleported itself across the meadow, popping into sight right in front of Canthus. The moorhound barked sharply and leaped backward in surprise, then leaned toward the blink dog. The two canines sniffed each other tentatively, and then the blink dog popped out of sight, only to reappear across the meadow, with another of its kind beside it.
Canthus barked again, confused, then raced across the meadow to once again sniff the other canines' noses, followed by a more intimate examination of each other. Abruptly both dogs of Faerie popped out of sight.
This time four of them appeared near the center of the meadow, and Canthus leaped over to them, his tail wagging playfully. The blink dogs, too, frolicked and rolled about the moorhound, and soon six of them had Canthus racing and chasing about the meadow.
Yazilliclick whooped with laughter at the dogs' antics, and even Honkah chuckled a bit before climbing gruffly to his feet. "'Nuff rest! Show next gate now."
"O-Okay. C-C'mon, Canthus!" The moorhound ran to the sprite as Yazilliclick hovered in the air. They started off along a winding Faerie trail, following Honkah, the six blink dogs bounding and blinking along beside them.
* * * * *
"This is the sign! The prophecy! Listen to me, men of the North, if you would heed your own salvation!" Taggar, aged cleric of Tempus, sprang onto the table like a young man. He banged a large serving spoon against a huge golden platter, ignoring the dents his blows inflicted on the precious plate.
The northmen in Grunnarch's great lodge, stunned by the events of the last few hours, looked on quietly, as if this uncharacteristic display was merely another piece of evidence that their world was falling to pieces around them.
And in a sense, perhaps it was. First there had been Grunnarch's declaration of a peace with one of their oldest and most bitter enemies. Then a great gleaming castle had sailed into the very harbor of the town, witnessed by all of them as they had poured forth to behold the miracle. It was a building finer than any existing in Norland, yet it sailed upon the water with the grace and speed of a sleek longship.
Third had come the message of the two people who had ridden the castle to Norland, the tall, proud young man and the plump, pretty maid. The Iron Keep had fallen! The settlements on the coast of Gwynneth had been razed!
And finally the message from the lips of the maid, who claimed to have heard it from a fire that had blazed even as the castle emerged from the sea. The next target of the army that had laid waste to Oman was Corwell, the very kingdom Grunnarch had so recently sworn to aid and defend!
Now the cleric stood atop a table and banged a spoon against a plate. Well, why not?
"Men of my lands, brave warriors of Norland, listen to me!" Grunnarch stood, his red hair seeming to blaze in the firelight. His eyes, too, blazed, and he fixed each of his followers with a commanding gaze. Taggar climbed stiffly down from the table and sat, satisfied that the king would explain the significance of the sign.
This same cleric came to me two nights ago, in the presence of two chiefs, Urk Bearstooth and Eric Graybeard, who will vouch for my words, and gave me a prophecy. It was a prophecy direct from the lips of Tempus!" He held the rapt attention of every man in the room