The Druid Queen - Douglas Niles [77]
Alicia smiled, albeit wanly. "Thanks, old friend. I don't know if I could do this without you here to help."
"Sure you could," he assured her. But he was privately glad she didn't have to, because he didn't want to be anywhere else.
Keane's silent addenda must have shown on his face, for the princess reached over and clasped one of his hands in hers. "How about the inquisitor?" she asked. "Did you see him settled in?"
The young wizard chuckled ruefully. "As usual, he's pitched that palace of his off to the side. Trampled a good-sized meadow to do it"
Though the patriarch of Helm had accompanied them every step of the way, he remained a distant and mysterious figure. He camped in a manner completely unlike any other member of the expedition. Each night he produced a small square of canvas from his voluminous saddlebags. Casting the object on the ground, he spoke a short incantation, and the thing quickly expanded into the structure the Ffolkmen had immediately dubbed the "palace." In truth, it was merely a tent, but the structure included several rooms and covered more ground than a typical house. Colorful silk adorned its many panels, and from three sharp peaks-one atop each of the main chambers-flagpoles extended upward. Three identical banners, each portraying the All-Seeing Eye in vivid detail, outlined in a gold border with highlights of silver thread, streamed from these shafts, proudly proclaiming the faith of the tent's sole inhabitant.
"I've told him not to do that!" Alicia objected. "Everyone else sleeps on a small patch of ground. Why does he need a full hectare?"
Keane ignored the obvious reply concerning the huge cleric's girth and addressed the more pertinent issue. "To him, the whole concept of Myrloch Vale is superstition, or perhaps even blasphemy, and he's persistent, to say the least, in maintaining his own way of doing things."
"There's something more there," Alicia said quietly. Something in her voice drew Keane's eyes to hers, and he saw that the princess was actually afraid of Parell Hyath. "It's not just that he's of a different faith. It's as if he thinks of the goddess as an enemy!"
"If he shows any kind of threat," Keane vowed, "you can be sure that I'll be there to stop him!"
"I know." The pressure of her hand increased, and the wizard's heart swelled with joy. He wanted to wrap her in his arms, to pull her against his chest and shelter her from the world. But this he couldn't do, nor was such protection, he sensed, what she needed or desired.
For a time, they watched the fire in silence, seeing the dry aspen slowly turn to coal, the pieces falling away from their individual limbs to form a soft bed of embers. The gentle glow within, of deep and iridescent orange, made a pleasant companion to the darkness and to each other.
"How much longer until we're out of Myrloch Vale?" Alicia wondered.
"We could cross into Winterglen tomorrow," Keane noted. They followed a course to the west of Codsrun Creek, and five days' march must certainly have carried them out of the wide valley.
"I wish there'd been some sign of Father."
Keane shook his head, trying to hide his own concern. "This is a big place. The chance of us crossing his trail anywhere along the way is pretty remote."
"Then what if he has caught up with this army of firbolgs and trolls? Is that any better?" Alicia demanded.
"There's always the dwarves," Keane reminded her. "Finellen's likely to spot him just as she did with Hanrald and Brigit. And she's not about to let him charge off on any suicidal attacks."
"I wish I could believe that. But it seemed so shocking, so sudden. One minute he's standing there talking to us, and the next he's astride Shallot, pounding across the moors! If he hasn't come to his senses, who knows what could have happened to him!"
"That bothers me, too," Keane admitted. "It was too sudden.