The Druid Queen - Douglas Niles [64]
"An interesting tactic," murmured the wolf, the golden eyes taking on a sly cast. "This stag, for instance-he represents a great threat to the Balance, does he?"
Tristan flushed. "No! I was hunting. I grew tired of trail fare and desired fresh meat."
The wolf cast an amused, skeptical eye at the great deer.
The animal stood nearly as tall as Shallot, with a rack of antlers spreading farther to the sides than a tall man's armspan. Finally the barrel chest had ceased its heaving, and the stag seemed to listen attentively, watching the exchange between the wolf and the rider.
"You must be very hungry," noted the great lupine, after completing his comparison.
Shaking his head in annoyance, Tristan was about to retort that he didn't intend to eat the whole stag when a cautious voice urged him to hold his tongue. Suddenly he understood the wolf's point. "My hounds must eat as well," he finished lamely.
"Of course-all things must eat! This is the way of the Balance. But I will tell you something, King of the Ffolk: You were chasing a lord of Myrloch Vale, one who has ruled over his domain for as long as you have held sway in your own. It is a domain that has been free from humans, except for such as honor the vale and its life. Now, is it the purpose of this great animal's life, the purpose of the Balance, that he should feed a human trespasser and his dogs?"
Suddenly Tristan felt an appalling sense of sadness. The wolf was right, of course-the wolf, or whoever this was speaking to him.
Consumed by the force, the magic, of the hunt, he had all but forgotten the threat of the firbolg army, the monsters that even now menaced his subjects to the north. For a moment, he remembered the urgency that had seized him upon the first notion of his grand quest. He had delayed no more than an hour before taking to the trail. Now he had wasted many times more than that on this frivolous chase!
No, he chastised himself, it was worse than frivolous. When he looked at the proud stag, which still stood before him even though it had recovered its breath, it occurred to him that slaying the beast might be as great a crime, in its own right, as was the firbolg sacking of Cambro.
"Who are you?" he asked again.
This time, he felt certain that the wolf's long, narrow jaws curled upward into a smile. "A friend," came the reply. Then, in a flash of movement, the wolf whirled and sprang away, followed by the others of his pack. In seconds, they had disappeared into the woods.
The stag remained standing on the hummock before Tristan, facing the five hounds. The dogs sat attentively, eyes fixed upon the stag but hindquarters planted firmly on the ground. Then, as if dismissing the interlopers gathered around him, the great animal lowered its muzzle to the fresh grass and began to graze.
"Come," the High King said firmly, and the dogs fell into file behind Shallot. The war-horse plodded back through the marsh, the hounds bounding along behind as they struggled to keep up. Finally they reached open woods and dry land, and Tristan urged the stallion into a lumbering trot.
He had a good deal of time to make up.
* * * * *
Even the shelter of the narrow strait did not improve Brandon's mood. The blasting of the storm and the lashing of the wind had diminished remarkably, but gray clouds scudded quickly across the sky. For its part, the sea remained angry, too, as a series of long, rolling crests swept against the Princess of Moonshae's hull from the north.
The vessel heeled to starboard, plunging steadily eastward between the islands of Gwynneth and Oman. Despite the smoother waters near the Oman shore, Brandon ordered the ship to follow the southern coast of the strait, for there the wind was stronger and the longship's speed correspondingly improved.
"By Tempus!" muttered Brand, in his usual post beside Knaff at the stern. "Might as well have left it to the whimsy of the gods. I'm sure we could have sailed to the south and met a storm coming from that way as well!"