Darkwell - Douglas Niles [39]
"Laughter? She could be dead right now, or in the gravest peril, and all because you drove her away! And now you talk of laughter!"
"Get out of here!" shouted the king. "Leave me alone! I don't want your help or your presence! If this is the loyalty you offer -" He stopped, jealous heat choking off any further words.
Daryth spun on his heel and stalked into the night, away from the camp. After two steps, he disappeared from sight, and Tristan realized that the twilight had passed.
"Wait!" The king cried out once, softly, though he knew Daryth would not stop. In truth, Tristan realized that he was relieved the confrontation was over. Daryth had awakened too much guilt within him, and each of the Calishite's words had seemed to drive another wicked dagger home.
The darkness grew thick, a blanket of night that fell in an almost physical cloak around them. The clouds above, and the gaunt trees around them had all vanished into the utter darkness. Tristan stumbled back to his companions, stifling an angry curse as he tripped over a root. He sat against a tree trunk, some distance away from Pawldo, Tavish, and the two faeries.
The king noticed that his hands shook. Tension boiled within him, and he wanted to lash out against something. But he forced himself to remain still, and eventually heard the deep breathing of his companions. Canthus came to him and, with a soft whine, curled up at his feet.
He lifted the half-empty wineskin, but suddenly the wine tasted bitter, nearly gagging him. Spitting it out, he leaned back in disgust. So Daryth loved Robyn… How could his friend have kept a secret like that? How painful had it been for him to see Tristan and Robyn together?
As he reflected, he began to remember a look he had seen on the Calishite's face occasionally at unguarded moments. He thought of the attentive way Daryth listened to Robyn speak, the way he laughed when she laughed. I could have noticed it any time I wanted! I just never paid attention.
And then Canthus growled, very softly, and every fiber of Tristan's being was jolted back to the present. He stood quickly, soundlessly, and listened, trying to project his senses into the surrounding night.
Something was out there!
Tristan heard a soft scuffling sound, and he felt Canthus grow tense beside him. The noise came again, from the direction of the trail behind them. For a moment, he wondered if it was Daryth returning, but he remembered that the Calishite had gone to the north, in the opposite direction. Even Daryth could not have circled the camp that quickly and soundlessly.
Tristan let the Sword of Cymrych Hugh rest in its scabbard, safe at his side. The brilliant blade would illuminate their camp if he drew it, but that would only serve to help whatever was out there to spot them.
He felt Canthus drop into a fighting crouch and slink forward. Tristan stepped carefully beside the great moorhound, trying to move silently and cursing the rasping of each footstep against the dry ground. The feeling that something approached them grew stronger.
Once again he froze at full attention, desperately seeking any clue from the still, dark night. He thought of waking his companions, but for what? He still couldn't be certain there was anything out there. Only his keyed nerves, and the suspicious Canthus, led him to suspect a threat.
But then he heard a clear sound, a footfall, and he knew that something approached their camp. The sword, almost of its own will, leaped into his palm, and the clearing stood stark, washed in the magical light of the enchanted blade. With a low bark, Canthus sprang forward.
Pawldo sat up in his bedroll as Newt darted into the air, buzzing anxiously toward the prince. Even Yazilliclick popped his head out of the saddlebag he had chosen for a bed. "Wh-what is it – is it?"
Tristan saw the shape emerge from the darkness. He watched Canthus stop in shock, then bound ahead with a yelp of greeting. The great moorhound nearly knocked Robyn off her feet