Prophet of Moonshae

But she smacked her lips and cackled, relishing the delight of a secret shared. Danrak offered her his arm, leading her to the Moonwell, and when she washed her feet there, they no longer bled.

'What charges are these?' Alicia demanded, storming toward King Olafsson's throne. 'Who claims that the Ffolk have attacked you?'

The great lodge had fallen silent when the princess, flanked by Tavish and Keane, entered the building. Nevertheless, the trio had heard the furor from well beyond the walls. Keane had tried to hold Alicia back, but she had insisted on confronting the situation before it got out of hand. Her arguments had prevailed.

'Serious charges.' The King of Gnarhelm spoke with great solemnity. 'Made by my cousin, King Dagus of Olafstaad.'

Alicia's eyes flicked to Brandon, who stood on the king's left. The prince's mental anguish showed plainly, but his chin was set in a line of stone. Next she turned to the king's right.

There, she guessed, stood King Dagus. The grizzled warrior was older and larger than his cousin from Gnarhelm. The visiting king's face was covered with scars, his posture crooked. He glared at Alicia with ice-blue eyes over a frost-colored beard, and she had to suppress a shiver. She noticed that the monarch's left arm ended at the elbow.

Rumbles of anger rose from the packed lodge of northmen. Feeling a sense of growing helplessness, Alicia saw Knaff the Elder's face twist in fury. King Svenyird himself regarded her with hostility.

'An army of knights, flying the standard of the Great Bear, attacked northward along the west coast of Alaron!' shouted King Dagus, his tone full of accusation.

'From where?' Alicia demanded.

'They march north from Callidyrr, sacking and looting as they go. They butchered an entire village in the dark of the night, another in the gray haze of dawn! They burn and they rape and they kill! Aye, and I fought them myself-killed one and watched another slay my son! They spoke your language, they wielded your weapons! Do you dare to say they were other than the Ffolk?'

'I dare to say they did not fly my father's flag in his name!' Alicia declared, unflinching before the northman's anger. 'They are my enemies as surely as they are yours!'

'Too many lies!' bellowed Knaff the Elder. 'My son dead. . good people slain in their beds. . how long do we delay our vengeance?'

'Don't you see?' cried Alicia. 'Someone wants us to do this-to fight, to turn on each other!'

'Words-where is the proof?' demanded King Svenyird, his face flushed with anger.

'Wait!'

The single word, barked by the Prince of Gnarhelm, somehow penetrated the great lodge, and the bellicose northmen settled back to listen amid continuing rumbles of discontent.

'Sire! My people! Face this enemy with your minds as well as your might! Listen to the princess and think: Why should the Ffolk make war upon us? If they do, for some reason we cannot guess, we'll fight them. But if they don't, and we've been deceived, then we'll hurl ourselves into a war without cause!'

'But where is proof either way?' asked Brandon's father. Alicia noticed, with relief, that the king's face had returned to its normal ruddy complexion.

'I will sail tomorrow, in the Gullwing, to confront these knights. They are near Olafstaad, on the coast. I hope to bring them to battle within two days. And when I do, we'll get the answers we seek.'

'I sail with you!'

'And I!'

A chorus of cries greeted the prince's declaration, but he gestured with both hands, calling for silence. Slowly the boisterous northmen quieted.

'When I return, I suspect that the outcome will not be war between the Ffolk and ourselves. No! Instead, I shall sail the lady princess to Callidyrr and meet with the High King of the Ffolk. There I will gain a peace that will continue for many years ahead-years of profound happiness and joy.' Brandon's eyes, shining with emotion, came to rest upon the princess. He continued, speaking loudly, but Alicia sensed that he was talking directly to her.

'For when I meet him, I intend to ask King Kendrick to grant me the greatest treasure in his realm-the hand of his daughter in marriage! Let Gnarhelm and Callidyrr be linked by the blood of their king and queen!'

Great shouts, bellowing accolades and frenzied whoops thundered around Alicia, but somehow the noise seemed to be very faint, as if it came from someplace far away. Her mind tried to shake itself, to think, but she could not.

And then, as the noise began to intrude, driving against her temples and threatening to press her to the ground, her temper flared. It began with disbelief, and then shock, and quickly progressed to outrage. How dare he! She looked at him, furious, as he smiled back at her, somehow oblivious to the emotion contorting her expression.

The princess stepped forward, anger sweeping through her body, tensing her muscles and bringing fiery words into her throat. Alicia barely sensed Keane's hand on her arm, restraining her, and she whirled on her tutor.

But at the look on his face, she paused, her fury slowly cooling. Keane's expression was shocked, his skin pale. He glared at Brandon, his face twitching with ill-concealed hatred, but still he held the princess back from verbally attacking the Prince of Gnarhelm. Abruptly she shook him, off but the interval had been enough. Harsh words against the prince's arrogant self-assurance that would certainly have ended hopes of peaceful cooperation, remained unspoken.

For a moment, the entire lodge seemed to whirl about Alicia, a mass of confusing noises and sights. Knaff the Elder still railed about treachery, while many of the younger northmen shouted approval of Brandon's brave words and cast envious eyes over the princess's face and body. Alicia felt Tavish's arm around her shoulders and leaned against the older woman, grateful for her strength.

Then the tumult settled for a moment as the lodge door burst open with an implosion of wind and rain. A bedraggled warrior stood, sopping wet from his post on the waterfront. He raced toward the throne and cast himself on the floor.

'Sire!' he cried, raising his face to his king. 'Firbolgs! They attack Gnarhelm even as I speak!'

'The giant-kin!' cursed Svenyird, leaping to his feet. 'Do they come from the highlands or along the shore?'

'Neither, Your Majesty! I swear on the honor of my father, they do not march by land! Nay, lord-these firbolgs attack us by sea!'

Musings of the Harpist

This is one of those times when the gentle bard must sit back and quietly reflect upon the pace of events around her.

First we shall have a war, then we will not-at least, not for now. I never tire of the lively debate around a strong monarch's throne, but this matter is too confusing for easy settlement.

Next a royal marriage, proposed for the dear child of my king and queen! Alicia's face flushed at the announcement-the strong-willed young woman is indeed her mother's daughter! Though the proposal wasn't made in the most romantic of fashions, I still wonder if the princess objects more to the manner of the question than to its substance.

And finally an invasion of firbolgs! Firbolgs? By sea? Very strange indeed! The next thing you know, it will stop raining and the sun will shine again!

15

A Knight and a Champion