The Druid Queen - Douglas Niles [97]
"Enough for a couple days yet, Your Highness," replied the bowlegged veteran.
"Aye, a few more fine meals of beans and dry bread!" added Parsallas with a hearty chuckle. The lanky warrior seemed to remain cheerful about whatever irritating setbacks they encountered.
"We've got to start up in five minutes," she said quickly. "I'll lead the way. We need to find a path around this swamp."
Each of the sergeants saluted smartly and proceeded to gather the troops into column. They started to march exactly a minute earlier than Alicia had ordered.
Mounted upon Brittany, the princess scouted ahead for the best path through the tangle of underbrush. Keane rode behind her, not wanting to slow her up with his own clumsy horsemanship but ensuring that she remained within sight so that he could reach her side in seconds if need be.
Soon Brittany broke through a tangle of vines onto a narrow game trail, and Alicia guided the eager mare along the relatively straight pathway. Keane followed, and then came Sands leading the first company of Corwell. The spirits and step of the men picked up noticeably now that they had a trail to follow.
Keane prodded his old gelding into a trot, and the nag hastened to catch up to Brittany and the princess. Behind him, he heard the approach of other hooves and turned to see the Exalted Inquisitor also riding ahead of the footmen. It seemed that the open trail had infused them all with energy and enthusiasm.
Then Alicia reined in, uttering a crude sailor's curse. Keane galloped to her side, though he recognized frustration, not danger, in her tone. In another moment, he saw why.
The trail suddenly dropped away, dipping into a pool of fetid water and disappearing. All around them here, to the front and to both sides, stretched a seemingly endless expanse of rank swamp.
* * * * *
Sir Koll was a large knight, broad in the shoulders and the waist. Though he was probably twice the Prince of Gnarhelm's age, Brandon found in him a kindred warrior spirit. He was surprised to learn, however, that the knight's parents had been people of the north, originally settling upon Gwynneth after a successful raiding voyage. Only when Koll had been knighted by High King Kendrick had he fully adopted the manners and customs of the Ffolk.
"Lately, of course, there hasn't been much need for my sword," explained the hearty warrior. His horse had been slain in the final moments of battle. Now he walked along at a steady pace, accompanying Brandon and some two dozen men-at-arms, both northmen and Ffolk, as a rear guard for the fleeing townspeople of Codscove. "But I'm glad I had the sense to keep the thing sharpened!"
"I've had plenty of need for my ship," Brandon countered glumly. "You'd think I would have learned to keep a better watch on her."
"I'm the fool who lost her for you!" Knaff interrupted dejectedly. The helmsman bore the responsibility for the capture heavily. His shoulders slumped, and his footsteps were more of a shuffle than a march.
"No, old friend. Stop beating yourself with that!" Brandon countered, clapping Knaff on the shoulder. "The responsibility is mine. I came in to shore without scouting, without even considering the possibilities. The blame is mine."
"Pah-bad luck! Could happen to anyone," Koll allowed. "And, besides, we'll get her back!"
The prince wished he could share his companion's enthusiasm, but his current prospects looked less than ideal.
They had spent the afternoon after their defeat in steady flight, attempting to put as much space between themselves and the monstrous invaders as possible. Now, another day later, the women and children had been given time to find shelter in the secluded grottoes and groves of the woodlands. There they would await news.
The warriors, meanwhile, had debated what they should do. Most of the townsmen had no interest in trying to fight the monsters again. After all, they had already lost their property and many of their neighbors or kin, so unless their families' lives were at stake, they didn't