Darkwell - Douglas Niles [70]
Had he done the right thing? His action in fleeing the massacre at Codsbay had been too instinctive to question at the time, but now uncertainty writhed within him. The vilest of afflictions that could strike a man of the north was cowardice, and he feared that it was cowardice that had spurred his flight.
Rationally he knew that his presence in the doomed village would have made no difference to the outcome of the fight. The monsters that had swarmed from the sea would have, in all likelihood, dragged the Starling under the waves before he even reached shore. But should that have been his only concern?
He looked at the maid before him, her tear-streaked face finally peaceful in sleep. Koll had no family in Codscove, but the village had been Gwen's lifelong home. She couldn't know if her parents even lived. Yet they could not have saved them even if they had made it to the village! The thought was only slight consolation.
He looked at the wicked dagger he had tucked into his belt, the prize from the fish-man that had climbed into their boat. The creature must have been some kind of scout for the army, Koll had decided, since they had seen no more of the monsters near them. He had dumped the body overboard but kept its weapon.
They had no food and very little water in the boat, but this did not concern him greatly. The crossing of the Strait of Oman was a voyage he had made many times and required but a single day – or night, as the case may be. By dawn, they would be in sight of Ramshorn, the village on Oman's Isle closest to Codscove. There they would recruit help and spread the alarm. Certainly the hot-tempered northmen would flock to the rescue of their kin on Gwynneth.
His certainty died as the dawn's light showed more than that he had been true to his course. The village of Ramshorn lay directly before him, visible from far out at sea. That visibility killed his hopes, for the village was marked by a tall, oily column of black smoke.
"What's that?" asked Gwen sleepily, staring before them. Koll hadn't realized that she had awakened.
"Ramshorn. It's been razed as well. The attack is far more broad than I feared."
"What can we do?" she asked anxiously, turning to him.
The pleading look in her eyes banished all thoughts of cowardice. Koll had a responsibility, he realized, to keep this woman alive and safe – as safe as they could be on the surface of an ocean teeming with enemies.
"We can sail to Iron Keep. There will be a gathering of warriors there, I'm certain, and there we'll be safe from this scourge."
* * * * *
"Daryth always told me that a trap could often be more effective than a weapon," explained Robyn, "and since I didn't have a weapon that would be of any use against that abomination, I tried to think of a way we could trap it."
She stopped speaking suddenly as a shadow fell across her face. Closing her eyes, she turned away from the others. Tristan took her hand gently, understanding her pain. The mention of Daryth had brought his grief to the forefront as well.
"As a trap, it was well done – very well done!" exclaimed Tavish, hastily strumming another chord as the firbolg stirred restlessly. "I don't mind telling you that the beast had me a little worried!"
"Worried?" Newt scoffed. "It was a great fight! I haven't had so much fun since we burned down the firbolg lair!"
"B-But Tristan, Tavish – they could have been killed – killed!" Yazilliclick glared at the faerie dragon. "Our arrows were helpless against it!"
"But not my magic! That was the best illusion I ever thought of, I'm sure!"
"Who thought of it?" The bard grinned mischievously at the dragon.
"Well, maybe it was Robyn's idea, but I added the yellow feathers! That was my idea!"
They sat at rest finally, watching the descent of another inky night. The gray clouds had dropped even lower as the day progressed and would certainly block out any trace of moonlight or starlight. Robyn had discovered a small grotto, surrounded with high limestone walls, where they could take shelter from the wind. The companions