Prophet of Moonshae - Douglas Niles [71]
At times, as he wandered toward the lowlands, he imagined that he had lost his mind. Was it madness to follow the whim of a dream? He couldn't answer the question, but he never wavered from his path.
And now he reached his goal. He approached the great stone arch beside the vast water with trepidation, but also with a feeling of slowly building joy. Around this one arch were scattered other great blocks of stone. These had fallen and were now half buried by lichen and moss. Within the ring lay a brackish pool of water, covered all over by scum and algae. Beyond, the smooth, flat expanse of the Myrloch stretched almost to the horizon, the surface barely disturbed by a breath of wind. As he watched, a steady rain began to fall, clouding Danrak's vision and closing in his world.
Something moved behind one of the stones and Danrak spun, his hand clutching for the stout cudgel that always, even in sleep, remained tied to his waist. He relaxed slightly when he saw that the form was human, an old woman, clad in tattered leathers and leaning heavily upon a staff.
"Danrak?" she asked. Her voice seemed faintly familiar.
"Meghan?" Remembrance and joy came to him in a warm burst. He reached for her and wrapped her in a hug, recalling an apprentice he had known two decades past. The woman hadn't taken up the mantle of druidhood until after her thirtieth birthday, following the death of her husband in war. Though she seemed ancient now, he knew that she would be little more than a half century old.
"Did you feel it, too?" asked the woman, holding him with soft tenderness. "Did something call you here?"
"Yes!" he exclaimed. "You, too? It must have been real, then-not, as I feared, the onset of madness!"
"Oh, to be mad," Meghan sighed sadly. "It has come and gone with me, these past score of years. But, no, my friend, we are not mad now."
Others came forth from the woods-those who had been young druids, who had sworn their oaths and then been hidden away by their masters. Now they sensed the calling of some great portent, expressed to each in a dream.
The druids hoped and believed that the cycle of the Balance was about to begin again.
* * * * *
"Well?" Newt said expectantly. "Aren't you going to take something?"
Alicia looked at the faerie dragon in astonishment. "You mean loot the tomb of our people's greatest king? I'm surprised you would even suggest such a thing!"
The aura of Keane's light spell still glowed around them. The three humans stood before the massive treasure trove of Cymrych Hugh's burial mound, while the mummified body of the illustrious ruler lay regally on the high, flat bier. Alicia looked at it nervously, as if she expected the form of the deceased king to rise from the dead and expel them from the barrow. Though he was her family ancestor-"Cymrych" was the word for "Kendrick" in the Old Tongue-the princess felt like an invader nonetheless.
"It's rather amazing that it hasn't been looted before," Keane noted. "I suppose the location explains that, but why would they build him a barrow in these remote heights?"
"Cymrych Hugh's resting place has been a mystery for centuries," Tavish explained. She looked around, smiling dazedly. "After his death, a band of his most faithful followers disappeared with the body. None of them was ever seen again. Rumors said that he had been buried at sea or in the Myrloch, but no one-not even the bards-knew the truth."
"Until now," Alicia said, feeling a sense of reverence slowly overcome her discomfort.
"I knew!" Newt said impatiently. "Most of the Faerie Folk do! After all, he was our king too, and we've never come here to loot his tomb!"
"So why do you tell us to take things?" asked Keane skeptically.
"Not things! Something! Each of you should take something! That's why I've been waiting here for so long-to tell you that!" The dragon blinked in and out of sight for a moment, and then, as if