Darkwell - Douglas Niles [128]
Randolph nodded quickly in thanks as he turned his speedy black gelding away from the lord's house. The horse sprang into the face of the storm, surefootedly trotting through the drifts that filled the streets leading out of Corwell Town.
"May the goddess watch over us all!" the captain murmured fervently to himself. He had a feeling they needed all the help they could get.
* * * * *
Only four of the thirty longships remained visible. The others lay somewhere in the gray distance, obscured by the storm – or sunk. The full fury of the gale roared from the port beam now as the fleet made its sweeping turn to the east.
"We'll make the firth in another hour!" declared the Red King angrily, as if shouting at the storm would curb its fury. He knew that the sheltered waters of Corwell Firth would protect them from the raging storm, but how many of his ships would make it that far?
Even the vast form of the castle, riding beside them, could no longer quell the mountainous waves. Grunnarch never ceased to wonder at the sight. The huge structure did not bob or roll with the swell. Instead it rumbled implacidly forward, crashing through each wave with a force greater than the eternal ocean's.
There was one benefit of the storm: They had made the voyage from Norland to Gwynneth in record time. The longships had raced before the wind, riding the mountainous swells like ducklings in a torrent. Only the inherited skill and vast experience of the northern sailors had kept the entire fleet from destruction.
Finally the rough headlands of Corwell appeared off the port bow, and the mountainous waves shrank to the size of large hills. The snow continued to blow and the wind to howl, but the worst of the storm was past.
The longships closed ranks in these safer waters, and Grunnarch's spirits rose as more and more of the colored sails emerged from the haze.
The Northwind was soon surrounded by twenty-eight of her sisters, and the Red King saw with a mixture of relief and sorrow that the storm had claimed one of his vessels. But only one.
And the morrow would bring them to the shores of Corwell itself.
* * * * *
Pontswain had figured his plan carefully. He took into account the full night's start he would get by leaving in the evening, after the castle had retired. He carefully selected the fastest horse in the stable, to insure that even when pursuit developed, he could outdistance it. And he figured that, with a little luck, the disappearance of the crown would not be noticed immediately.
But he hadn't figured on this accursed storm raging off of the firth and making travel all but impossible. The wind rose and the snow assaulted him in the darkest hours of the night, well beyond Corwell Town but far from the protection of any settlement, or even farm, on the barren coastal moor.
The only shelter he could locate was this massive haystack that some herdsman had piled near the coast for the winter feeding of his stock. Now the weather forced him to take shelter here, staking the sleek mare to the leeward side of the stack while he himself burrowed into its depths to conserve what warmth he could.
At least, he consoled himself, the storm would make pursuit all but impossible. Besides, he had wandered far from the road in his efforts to find this makeshift shelter, and anyone who followed him would undoubtedly travel down the coast road. Pontswain reassured himself that he was perfectly safe.
In the darkness, he took the crown from the burlap sack where he had hidden it. Its diamond points seemed to shed sparkles of light, and the golden circlet felt warm to the touch. Thus comforted, clutching the crown to his breast, Pontswain fell asleep and waited for the storm to run its course.
* * * * *
"More gates? We see most all gates already! Time to rest!" Honkah plopped onto a huge log, his arms crossed and a sullen expression darkening his features. His huge, hooked nose drooped forlornly, and even Yazilliclick could sense his fatigue.
"J-Just one more! Then we can r-rest some more – more. B-But if we f-find my friends, you