The Druid Queen - Douglas Niles [85]
These were rude dwellings, for the most part, the shacks of hunters and trappers or the small cottages of poor homesteaders. None of the places showed any sign of damage, but the absence of the residents was eerie and disturbing.
The king and the faerie dragon finally reached a larger house, several spacious rooms encircled by well-built wooden walls. A neat barn stood nearby, and Tristan heard the sounds of lowing cattle. The beasts sounded hungry, but not desperately so. Several lush grainfields and pastures were visible among the stands of oak and maple.
Here Tristan dismounted and climbed the steps, knocking heavily against the door. He was astounded when the portal swung easily open beneath his fist.
"Hello! Is anyone here?" he shouted. No answer reached his ears.
"Let's get going!" Newt urged, curled up in the saddle now that the king had left it vacant. "I'm hungry for fish."
"Why don't you throw those cows some hay while I go look around?" the king suggested. "It sounds like they're as hungry as you are."
"I'm not hungry for hay!" Newt protested. Nevertheless, after he listened to the bellowing for a moment, he popped into the air and flew off toward the barn.
Finally, still hearing nothing from within the house, the High King stepped through the door and looked around a simple but comfortably furnished room. A stone fireplace occupied most of one wall, with a pair of wooden benches facing away from the hearth-a summer rearrangement, no doubt. But what most intrigued him was the table.
He saw dirty plates scattered among half-full goblets and hastily scattered eating knives. One plate had fallen to the floor and shattered, the pieces left where they lay in the family's haste to depart. Crossing to the cookstove, he placed his hand carefully against the burners. Cold.
Feeling a growing sense of urgency, Tristan stalked from the house, taking only the time to latch the door behind him.
"Newt!" he called. "Let's go!" Looking toward the barn, the king saw a number of brown shapes lumbering eagerly into a pasture.
"The hay was too heavy," Newt explained, "so I let them into the grass instead."
"Good idea." Tristan praised him sincerely. "It doesn't look like these folks are going to be back anytime soon." In fact, the hastily abandoned house had sent a real jolt of alarm through him. For the first time, the fact became glaringly apparent-something was terribly amiss in his kingdom. His bemused reaction thus far now struck him as a shameful lapse of rulership.
Climbing back into the saddle, he cursed the awkwardness caused by his missing hand. Quickly the High King urged Shallot into a trot, and the horse paced like an eager colt along a path through the increasingly open woodland. The hounds coursed nearby, no longer ranging through the woods. They, too, sensed their master's tension, responding protectively.
Only Newt remained unaffected. "I don't smell any fish yet," he discoursed petulantly. "How much farther do you think it is, anyway?"
When Tristan continued to ignore his prattle, however, even the flighty serpent began to sense that something had changed. He ceased his noisemaking and raised himself high on the pommel, sniffing the air and peering around like a watchful sentinel.
Then they reached another farmstead, like the previous settlement except that this one was more than abandoned. It was destroyed. Grim fury took hold of Tristan as Shallot cantered past a smoking ruin that had once been a large house. Dead cattle, many cruelly gutted, lay outside what had once been a barn. That structure, like the house, was now a smoking pile of charred timbers.
Yet the heat was not so great that it held Tristan or the dogs at bay, so he deduced that the damage had been done the previous day.
"Go!" the king cried suddenly, kicking Shallot sharply in the ribs. Anything he could do now, he knew, he couldn't do here.
The great