The Druid Queen - Douglas Niles [49]
"Of course," Tristan agreed, though he sounded vaguely distracted. "That's what I must do. However many of the villains there are, I can't imagine that we'll have trouble dispatching them."
The king turned back to the cleric, an expression of puzzlement on his face. "That's why I can't see where this could be the will of your god any more than of my own goddess."
"Perhaps there is a thing about your quest that you have not fully grasped… that we have not yet understood."
Tristan, his hand on the hilt of his sword, whirled in agitation. He seemed about to say something, but then angrily shut his mouth, half-drawing the sword from its elegant scabbard. Quickly he resheathed the weapon and resumed his furious pacing.
"We have no time!" Robyn interrupted in irritation. "It will take the better part of a day to muster your men, and who knows how long to march them to Winterglen! Why waste that time arguing which god is served by your duty?"
"That's just it!" Tristan said, turning to his wife with real anguish on his face. "I'm confused about that duty. What if I'm missing something… going about this the wrong way?" He raised his left arm, with its all-too-abrupt termination.
"Call up the men!" Robyn repeated in tight-lipped urgency. "At least you can gather them to-"
"No!" Tristan barked the word so sharply that the High Queen bit her lip, glowering at the patriarch in barely concealed fury. "That's too easy!" the king continued. "There must be more to it… something I don't understand!"
"What are you talking about?" demanded the queen.
"My quest, you called it." Tristan seemed to be speaking to himself. "And time-that's important, too. Both of you, I think, have given me the guidance I need."
"What do you mean?" asked Robyn, concerned with the stubborn set of her husband's chin.
"There is a way I can face these giants and do honor to the gods, and also a way to reach them in far less time than needed for a column of men."
"No!" Robyn gasped, sensing his intent.
"Yes!" declared Tristan, rising from his chair and standing like the High King that he was in the center of the room. He drew the sword from its scabbard, and the silvery steel gleamed like a beacon in the room. The righteous gleam of the blade challenged even the brilliance of full daylight.
"I ride at once to face these monsters, and I journey in a fashion that places my success or failure in the hands of the gods!"
"You can't mean-" the queen persisted, but her husband cut her off with a chop of his hand.
"Indeed I do-for I shall go alone!"
* * * * *
The image of her father's quest flamed in Deirdre's eyes as she settled into bed on the night following his departure. Tension had crackled through the library following his announcement, with her mother actually reduced to tears at one point by the king's single-minded determination. Alicia, too, had created a scene, declaring that she would ride at her father's side. She had been rudely silenced by the determined king.
Only Deirdre and the inquisitor, it seemed, had watched the scene with dispassion. And then, an hour later, Tristan had ridden through the gates of Caer Corwell on his most powerful war-horse, accompanied only by five of his veteran moorhounds and armed with the gleaming sword.
Now, in the darkness, Deirdre sensed the interest of the gods in the High King's quest. He served the goddess, in his defiance of those creatures who actively wracked the Balance. And he also served Helm, for he placed his faith in the arms of a warlike god and fought against great odds. Perhaps he served all the New Gods, for though his quest was sanctified by the blessing of the Exalted Inquisitor, that patriarch had blessed the endeavor in the names of a full pantheon of deities.
And certainly, Deirdre sensed in the dim recesses of her mind, he served at least one other god besides the goddess Earthmother and the All-Seeing Eye.