Darkwell - Douglas Niles [61]
* * * * *
Randolph stepped wearily down the long staircase at the heart of Caer Corweil. Once again, another day drew to a close as he left unfinished the great majority of the tasks he had set for himself that day.
True, his duties as captain of the guard occupied him for many hours each day. But more significant was the burden of governing the kingdom in the absence of King Kendrick. He would not have believed the petty bickering causing strife among the populace were he not forced to hear the complaints himself!
Pontswain, of course, was no help whatever. The lord enjoyed the bounty of Tristan's cellar and pantry and the hospitality of his keep, but he did little to aid Randolph with the daily chores of office. Instead, Pontswain was more likely to sit brooding in the Great Hall, alone or with one of his favorite kitchen maids. The lord would glower at the Crown of the Isles, gleaming where Tristan had left it upon the great mantle, and declare to all and sundry that the real honors belonged to him.
Randolph passed beneath the wooden arch into the Great Hall and saw Pontswain sitting in his usual position. The lord sprang to his feet as the captain entered.
"What's the meaning of spying on me like this?" demanded Pontswain.
"Don't be ridiculous, my lord. I'm simply going to the kitchen on my way to check the stables – and by what right do you challenge me?" Randolph had grown tired of Pontswain's constant suspicions and accusations.
"By the words of our liege, who left responsibility for his kingdom entrusted to both you and me!"
Angrily the captain stomped through the hall, his appetite gone. He disliked Lord Pontswain heartily, and the man's every word seemed designed to irritate him further. He hated to place personal prejudice above his professional caution, but a conclusion was inescapable.
Lord Pontswain would bear watching.
* * * * *
Robyn absently stroked the back of the faerie dragon. Her mind dwelled on thoughts of Daryth, despite her attempts to remain alert to the possibility of danger around them. The devastation of the forest weighed heavily on her spirit, and she found it difficult to look at the bleak terrain. Thus, she strayed easily into reminiscence.
She thought of her first meeting with Daryth, when he had just stolen her prince's coin purse and Tristan had caught the thief after a long chase. She remembered the flashing humor in his black eyes, and the even match between the Calishite's skills and Tristan's, though even then, as the two men had formed their friendship, the prince had stood out clearly as the leader.
Tristan! How her anger flared whenever she thought of him. She did not blame him for Daryth's death, though it occurred to her that she could. But whenever the picture of Tristan's infidelity came again into her mind, the bitter ache of anger flared brightly within her. Coupled with the rage, and there was no other word for it, came a bleak sense of utter confusion. It seemed that all the things upon which the foundations of her life rested had begun to fall apart around her.
Desperately she sought an explanation for the absence of the goddess, for her deity's silence when the druid prayed. All the possible answers loomed as too frightful for contemplation. Had the goddess perished forever from the earth? Had Robyn unknowingly enraged her spiritual mother and thus cut herself off from her comfort and power?
And Tristan. Had the woman in Caer Corwell bewitched him? Or was his love so frail that he could be drawn from Robyn by a simple flirtation? She desperately hoped that the former explanation represented the truth, but even if it did, she wondered if she would ever be able to forgive him.
She whispered a soft prayer, but the words seemed to echo hollowly