Prophet of Moonshae - Douglas Niles [43]
"The guy gave me the spooks," admitted Kaffa, reflecting on the robed priest who had collected them, given them their orders, and then paid them. "But he's got his organization down pat. He had everything here we could possibly need!"
"Aye," agreed Larth. "And not poor horseflesh, either." The veteran rider had just completed an inspection of his war-horses. "These steeds would do a king's guard proud!"
"All right, then!" Kaffa chortled. "We'll sail with the dawn to make war on the Ffolk!"
"And we ride at the same time to invade the north!" added Larth with a grin.
Then the two men bellowed their laughter, delighted, as if they had just made a great joke.
* * * * *
From the Log of Sinioth:
It is with a feeling approaching disbelief that I speak the command words. Breathlessly I await the results, watching. And then it moves! It rises!
It is the child of five years' labor, but now the child looms high over the parent. Like a gargantuan of destruction, it leaves this lair-this sheltered cave where I have so carefully crafted it over this half decade-and marches into the night.
Go now, mighty slave, and do the bidding of your master! Stalk your royal prey beside the once-sacred pool. There you shall slake your thirst-and there will Talos begin his climb to ultimate mastery!
7
A Golem of Iron
"Gather the tribes!"
"War-there must be war!"
The cries of hatred and rage resounded through the lodge of King Svenyird Olafsson as the northmen decried the treacherous attack on the island of their kin. None questioned the perpetrators as other than the Ffolk.
Finally, however, the king raised a hand. The rumbling in the great, smoke-filled lodge died away as these savage seamen waited to hear what their monarch would say.
"Know you all, as do I-for most of our history, the Ffolk have been our implacable enemies. In the wars between us, quarter has not been asked nor given. I myself earned my first battle scars in raids against the west coast of Alaron!"
A chorus of assenting cries, muttered in unison, echoed the king's words.
"But for these past two decades, there has been no war between northman and Ffolk. Their king seemed to my father an honorable man." All knew it had been King Olaf himself who had represented Gnarhelm in the treaty talks with the new High King within a year after Tristan had assumed the mantle of rulership over his people.
"And King Kendrick still reigns, and reigns well. What cause should he have now to break this accord-an accord which he labored so hard, together with my kinsman Grunnarch the Red, King of Norland, to bring about?"
No man could supply a satisfactory answer.
"But the proof!" cried one.
"A talisman of the Ffolk, found at the scene of butchery!" Brandon, son of King Svenyird, shouted his own accusation. "There is no other explanation!"
"Ah, my son. As always, you are ready to lead my men to war. This is as it should be. But first you must gain the blessings of old men such as myself, and I am not yet prepared to concede that the High King of Moonshae has done us wrong."
"But would you have us absorb the hurts like old women?" Brandon demanded, angry.
"Do not forget yourself in your rage," his father admonished, and the strapping war leader bowed his head in apology.
"Forgive me, sire."
"You are forgiven. But this matter needs debate and investigation, not unproven accusations and wild plans for vengeance."
"But how?" Another gray-bearded veteran, known as Knaff the Elder, now shouted his objection. "What more proof can we gain? Do we ask our enemies for explanation?"
"Our former enemies!" barked King Svenyird. "I remind you all that most of the warriors in this council today were but beardless youths when our last war with the Ffolk reached its conclusion."
"What, then?" cried another warrior, hulking Wultha, who, like Knaff and the king, was old enough to remember those wars. Wultha's nose, broken in battle, was flattened across his face. "Surely we must do something."
"Indeed we shall.