Prophet of Moonshae

own. You must hold the limb still overnight. I shall return in the morning.'

'My thanks, good Pryat,' said the dark-bearded earl, his voice unusually husky. 'Your efforts shall not go unrewarded!'

'The earl's generosity is well known, to the gods and to men alike,' said the priest with a tight smile. 'Though of course the deed would have been done from loyalty alone.'

'Of course. Now I am told my other son brings news. Enter Hanrald, and speak!'

'One more thing, if I may be so bold. .' The cleric spoke hesitantly, but the earl gestured him to proceed.

'It is this former Moonwell, the pond which the lady's consort has ensorcelled, creating the illusion of a miracle.'

'It's a good illusion,' countered the earl skeptically. He pointed to the corner of the hall, where a great cedar trunk, freshly cut, lay. The mastlike beam stretched a good fifty feet. 'The tallest tree up there was less than half that height yesterday. My men brought me this timber and told me the whole place has sprouted at once.

'Still,' Blackstone continued thoughtfully, 'perhaps it is sorcery. Indeed, there would be no other explanation, would there?'

The cleric nodded in agreement. 'But, my lord, there is the matter of the people. They would not understand, perhaps, the power of a spell that could work such a transformation. Word is that a file of pilgrims has already started for the vale-only, of course, to face certain disillusionment.'

'This I had not heard.' The earl scowled. 'What do you suggest?'

'The valley must be burned,' said the cleric. 'The trees destroyed, the grass trampled. It must be eradicated before the tale spreads and the people begin to believe in a cruel lie!'

'You are correct,' Blackstone said, pointedly ignoring Hanrald's expression of shock. 'It shall be done in the morning.'

The cleric bowed his way from the room as the younger son approached the fire where sat his father and brother.

'Surely you aren't serious,' Hanrald protested. 'It is a miracle-at least, the princess and the bard believe it to be so!'

'We will conclude the matter in the morning.' Blackstone brushed his son's objections away.

'But-' Hanrald persisted.

'Enough!' barked the earl. 'Now, what is this news you bring?'

The knight took a deep breath. 'A strange tale, Father-more mysterious, perhaps, than anything.' Hanrald bit back his objections, telling his father of the ambush and how it had been thwarted by the hounds. Then, with some chagrin, he related the tale of their flight from what had proved to be a faerie dragon. Finally he told of his experiences evading the patrols that had scattered across the highlands after he turned back alone for the pass. His own conclusions, once suspicious of impending invasion, had begun to soften.

'They followed the northward trail of the four of us before I left the princess and her companions. I don't know what they did when they found the parting of our trails. Most, if not all, would have continued north, I suspect.'

'Indeed,' Blackstone said with a scowl. Only a glint in his eye showed his delight with the news. 'So it seems they do not intend to attack us, then.'

'That's only a guess, Father,' Hanrald countered. 'We must be prepared. It is a warlike force!'

'But there's an odd part to this tale, Father,' Gwyeth interrupted. 'They're not numerous enough to be an invasion army, unless there were many more troops hidden beyond my brother's view.'

'Whatever the reason, I suspect they march to Callidyrr for a purpose other than war.' The earl decided this point firmly.

Hanrald sat silently, surprised by his father's vehemence. After a moment, he spoke again. 'Brother, what of your wound? I'm glad it will mend, but how did you come by it?'

Gwyeth cast a furtive glance at the earl but said nothing. Instead, Blackstone made the gruff reply. 'An unfortunate and stupid accident-a careless hunter has already been punished. But we must speak of this crisis.'

'Messengers must be sent-I hope within the hour-to Callidyrr,' Hanrald urged, surprised his father hadn't already acted upon this point.

'But wait,' said the earl slowly, choosing his words with great care. 'Perhaps it is premature to trouble the High King with a local matter such as this. It could well be that this is not the prelude to war. Or if it is, it is a matter that we can handle ourselves.'

'Surely you're not serious?' objected Hanrald. 'This could be a threat to the whole kingdom!'

'Perhaps father is right,' Gwyeth said, his voice purring. 'It is a thing that, done well here, can do nothing but bring credit to the great name of Blackstone!'

Hanrald looked from his father to his brother, watching them as their eyes met furtively. Suspicions surged within him, but for now he would keep quiet. He would watch and he would observe, but he would brook no treachery to his king… or to his princess.

From the Log of Sinioth:

The seeds of chaos have been planted, and already they flourish. The voyage of one longship, my Vulture, sends frightened Ffolk scattering inland. Panic-stricken messengers ride to Callidyrr with urgent missives for the king. They do not know that he is gone and that his wife lies unknowing, nestled against the bosom of Talos.

My riders cross into Gnarhelm after a hard crossing of the mountains. They are tardy, but I am certain that Larth shall make up in vigor what his company lacks in timing.

All the cogs are in place, and now we only wait for the wheels to turn.

12

A Contest of Strength

Their captors herded Alicia, Keane, and Tavish roughly down the winding trail, quickly leaving the barrow behind. The rain poured down, obscuring their surroundings and adding to the prisoners' misery. The horses trailed the column, led by northmen. Newt had disappeared when they were captured.

The gods curse me for a fool! Alicia rebuked herself. She should have scouted the entrance! In the tight confines of the doorway to the barrow, with Keane's power to back her up, the princess could have held off the attackers for a long time. Indeed, her diminutive size would have proved an advantage against the looming men of Gnarhelm!

Yet instead they had blundered into the open as if they had no enemies in all the Realms. Now the treasures-her bracers, Keane's ring, and Tavish's harp-had been put at risk, for surely these plundering raiders would steal them as soon as they noticed their value.

Indeed, the harp, as well as the Staff of the White Well, were now carried by one of the men of Gnarhelm. They hadn't bothered to remove Keane's ring, if in fact they had even noticed it, nor had they taken the silver bracers from her wrists. She had seen several of the long-haired warriors admiring the gleaming coils, however, and suspected that they coveted them.

None of the captors spoke, but a grim anger seemed to pervade them. Once Alicia paused to remove a stone from her heel, and a tall northman cuffed her forward with brutal violence. Sniffling loudly, his huge, flat nose clogged, the giant figure looked at her with narrow, bloodshot eyes when she turned to object. His dirty beard gapped to reveal a sneer, and he loomed high above the princess. The man's size and demeanor frightened her, and she tried to keep well ahead of him on the trail.

Finally they reached the valley floor, where pines covered the flat, fertile ground, and here the northmen made camp in a wide clearing beside a stream. The three captives were rudely shoved to the ground, their hands