The Druid Queen - Douglas Niles [66]
"Take up your arms, men!" he bellowed, hefting his own double-bitted axe. "We're going ashore!"
With strong strokes of the oars, his crewmen pushed the Princess of Moonshae straight toward the broad docks of Codscove.
* * * * *
Deirdre stalked the halls of the palace, more and more agitated by the enclosing walls, the deferential servants, and her solicitous family. By nightfall, she knew that she had had enough.
She returned to her apartments with the announcement that she intended to go to bed early. Then she barred the door, ostensibly so that no one would disturb her rest. She knew that her mother would no longer hear crying out in the night, nor any of the sounds of distress and agitation that had marked some earlier evenings.
Deirdre shuttered her window, lit several candles, and assumed a posture of meditation in the small parlor beside her bedroom. The princess grew more and more proficient at this ritual of faith. This time she rested in silence for only half an hour before she felt the world falling away from her.
Once again the infinite expanse of the void yawned around her. The Moonshae Islands sank to insignificance, and the words of the New Gods sang in her ears.
This time the songs of these gods called the princess to action. As Deirdre listened, she began to understand. She came to know that she was uniquely positioned to carry this word, this fresh doctrine, across the lands of her people. She was a High Princess of Moonshae, after all, and one of no little knowledge and power. The absorption of the mirror, she knew, was not a crippling thing-instead, it was a birth of power and might undreamed of in what she had come to remember as her mortal existence.
Yet at the same time she knew that she would meet tough, entrenched resistance. Much of that friction would come from the most potent enemy Deirdre had-the only one, in effect, who might be able to block her ambitions and desires.
That one was her mother, Robyn Kendrick-the druid queen of the isles.
* * * * *
"Go now and become the Wrath of Chaos!" The will of Talos passed through the ether, grasping the princess in a smoky but unbreakable embrace. Vigilant as ever, Helm looked on, pleased with the power he saw there.
And in the north, where he slumbered in his glacial vale, the demigod Grond Peaksmasher stirred. There was in existence only one key to his icy prison, but now-after all these centuries-he sensed that this key drew near.
8
A Princess in Defeat
"How long do we wait?" muttered Finellen as Brigit and Hanrald joined her around the breakfast fire. The dwarven column had marched the breadth of Winterglen, remaining a day or two behind the giants and trolls. The trail had been easy to follow. Several experienced dwarven woodsmen preceded the main body, probing the forest thoroughly in order to discover any potential ambush.
"It'll take a few days for the king's army to get here," Hanrald cautioned. "We have to hold off until we can unite our forces."
"Bah-caution!" exclaimed Finellen, making a curse of the word. "It doesn't become me. It doesn't become any dwarven warrior when there's a plain enemy before us, and a blood foe at that!"
"But think how much more damage you'll do to that enemy once you have the force to properly strike them!"
Finellen huffed, spitting into the coals of the fire. Yet she found it hard to argue with that point. The monsters' trail, a wide swath through Winterglen, bespoke of a large force, and several smaller paths had intersected it along the way. The latter led to speculation that the army of monsters had grown since the sacking of Cambro.
On the other hand, Finellen had merely her fifty veteran warriors. Even if they were motivated to glory by battle against a blood foe, the outcome