The Druid Queen - Douglas Niles [48]
"Did you sleep without dreams last night?" inquired the patriarch.
"I don't know," Deirdre replied with a bemused shake of her head. "I certainly felt well rested in the morning, and Father tells me he didn't hear anything during the night."
"Splendid news," the cleric said benignly. "Tell me, did you have a chance to think about our conversation of last night?"
"Yes, I did. It's true that there's a lot of good land in Myrloch Vale, as you pointed out. Yet for some reason none of the Ffolk have ever farmed there."
"Superstitions perhaps?" supplied the Exalted Inquisitor.
"Yes-ancient fears of the goddess. It's as I told you. Many of the Ffolk don't realize that there are other gods who will watch and protect them."
"The spreading of this message is a great, even an historical, task-one that must be undertaken without any further delay."
For a long time, Deirdre kept silent. The implications of the patriarch's suggestions were not lost upon her. She found them strangely disturbing, but also motivating, in a sense that she couldn't quite identify.
"In any event, dear child, I'm delighted to see that your strength returns with such youthful vigor. If only your father would respond as well…"
"He seems robust enough," Deirdre noted.
"In the flesh, to be sure," the cleric explained. "But it is the wasting of the spirit wherein lies his danger. By refusing to accept the requirements of Helm, he denies the aid of a very powerful ally, one who could surely heal his wound and raise him to undreamed of greatness!"
Deirdre shook her head. "My father is a king of the Ffolk, and he holds the goddess in nearly the same reverence as does my mother. It's a thrall that I admit I can't understand. After all, he's shown a willingness to accept many other new concepts during his rule. Yet-for now at least-if Helm requires him to reject the worship of the Earthmother, I don't believe he will do so."
" 'Reject'-such a strong word," the Exalted Inquisitor soothed. "There only need be an implicit acknowledgment of the rights and places of other gods-an equal standing with the Earthmother, no more."
Deirdre sighed. It sounded so simple, so right when the patriarch explained things. Yet she knew that in her own life, the situation was a great deal more confused. She sensed an expanse of power and potential that dwarfed anything she had previously known, and she was reluctant, even unwilling, to abandon the spark that had been ignited.
A cry from the castle guards roused her from her meditation. At first she thought that an alarm had been sounded, but as she threw open the windows, she heard the joy and relief in the guardsman's voice.
"The High Queen returns!" he cried as other guards joined in the welcome. Deirdre saw the familiar form of the white hawk circling the castle, settling quickly toward the ground.
* * * * *
"A small army of firbolgs and trolls is on the march. They've sacked Cambro, and now they move to the north, toward the shoreline and the Strait of Oman."
Robyn spoke bluntly, standing before the hearth of the library while Tristan, her daughters, Keane, and the inquisitor listened to her report.
"Have they attacked any humans-any Ffolk?" asked Tristan grimly. The High King paced in agitation, his new sword swinging easily at his side and his gold circlet crown resting atop the fullness of his long, gray-brown hair.
"Yes-isolated villages… little more than groups of farmsteads. Codscove lies in their line of march, though they must be a few days away from there still."
"Thus is the prophecy of Helm fulfilled!" crowed the Exalted Inquisitor. He turned to face Tristan. "Your Majesty! This is the evil indicated by my god. Wipe it from the isles, and you will earn the blessings of his power."
"I can do no less, in any event," said Tristan. "Yet I fail to see how this makes any great service for Helm."
"Indeed," Robyn agreed. "The dwarves already march against