Now he had wasted many times more than that on this frivolous chase!
No, he chastised himself, it was worse than frivolous. When he looked at the proud stag, which still stood before him even though it had recovered its breath, it occurred to him that slaying the beast might be as great a crime, in its own right, as was the firbolg sacking of Cambro.
'Who are you?' he asked again.
This time, he felt certain that the wolf's long, narrow jaws curled upward into a smile. 'A friend,' came the reply. Then, in a flash of movement, the wolf whirled and sprang away, followed by the others of his pack. In seconds, they had disappeared into the woods.
The stag remained standing on the hummock before Tristan, facing the five hounds. The dogs sat attentively, eyes fixed upon the stag but hindquarters planted firmly on the ground. Then, as if dismissing the interlopers gathered around him, the great animal lowered its muzzle to the fresh grass and began to graze.
'Come,' the High King said firmly, and the dogs fell into file behind Shallot. The war-horse plodded back through the marsh, the hounds bounding along behind as they struggled to keep up. Finally they reached open woods and dry land, and Tristan urged the stallion into a lumbering trot.
He had a good deal of time to make up.
Even the shelter of the narrow strait did not improve Brandon's mood. The blasting of the storm and the lashing of the wind had diminished remarkably, but gray clouds scudded quickly across the sky. For its part, the sea remained angry, too, as a series of long, rolling crests swept against the Princess of Moonshae's hull from the north.
The vessel heeled to starboard, plunging steadily eastward between the islands of Gwynneth and Oman. Despite the smoother waters near the Oman shore, Brandon ordered the ship to follow the southern coast of the strait, for there the wind was stronger and the longship's speed correspondingly improved.
'By Tempus!' muttered Brand, in his usual post beside Knaff at the stern. 'Might as well have left it to the whimsy of the gods. I'm sure we could have sailed to the south and met a storm coming from that way as well!'
'As sure as the sunrise,' Knaff agreed. 'Best to hold steady on a nice, easy course.'
Not sharing the young prince's urgency, the old helmsman didn't see any particular problem with their change of course. In fact, he felt that his captain could use a little calming down on that point, and Knaff was the only member of the crew who would dare make even a gentle insinuation along those lines. Even as he reflected, the thickest of the clouds blew past the sun, and bursts of illumination began to break through. Where it struck the water, the sea turned from ominous gray to a dark but powerfully beautiful azure.
'I like the change in the weather, myself!' Tavish announced, coming to the stern to join the two men. 'Though you did a nice job of riding it out,' she added.
'Those are the squalls that give the Sea of Moonshae its character,' Knaff joked. The bard was forced to smile. Weeks earlier, before the rescue of King Kendrick, the old helmsman had been appalled at the thought of a female sailing on his ship. Now he welcomed her with easy grace and humor.
'It had quite enough character for me,' she replied. 'And personally I think that sunlight does a lot to improve the look of the waves.'
'Aye-sparkle like diamonds, they do,' Knaff said, resting his elbows on the transom with a sigh. Tavish leaned against the stern beside him, and the two of them watched the wake trail across the rolling blue waters of the strait.
'Well, someone's got to pilot this ship!' grumbled Brandon, annoyed that the two found it so easy to relax.
The prince cursed softly, then stalked through the hull, irritated that Knaff could be so calming when the prince didn't want to be calmed. He didn't want his tension soothed, and he wasn't even certain that his anger was caused by the diversion in their voyage. When he thought about it, he didn't want to be in Gnarhelm now, either.
No. Instead, he wanted to be with Alicia Kendrick.
'Smoke, Captain-off the starboard bow!'
The cry came from a lookout perched near the longship's sweeping figurehead as the Princess of Moonshae rushed along the shore of Gwynneth. With one arm wrapped around the proud and beautiful image carved from dark hardwood, the sailor at the bow shielded his eyes against the bright morning sun and then pointed to shore.
They all saw it then: a thin black plume rising a dozen or more miles away. As they watched, the column seemed to thicken, as if more and more tinder was added to the blaze.
'It's coming from the shore, inside a small bay,' the lookout amplified.
'Codscove!' Brandon immediately guessed. There were only a few towns along these remote coasts, and though he had never been there, as a good captain he had learned of every possible haven and landfall in the Moonshae Islands.
'Take her into the bay,' he commanded without a moment's hesitation. He was propelled mainly by curiosity, but the volume of smoke in the air indicated that they might have come upon a scene of real trouble.
'Hop to those oars, you laggards!' barked Knaff, wheeling on the rudder to send the ship running in toward the shoreline. The sail still bulged from the wind, but the experienced helmsman knew that the crew would likely have to row once they entered the sheltered bay.
Soon the Princess of Moonshae swept between the out-flung peninsulas that bracketed Codsbay and protected the cozy town along the shore-protected it, at least, from the ravages of impersonal nature.
Now that community was anything but cozy, however, and it was obviously in need of more practical protection. Brandon saw numerous buildings ablaze and struggling figures on the wide commons in the center of the town. Riders dashed back and forth, and hulking attackers loomed beyond. They swiftly drew closer, and more details became apparent. The attackers were large and green-colored, with wiry limbs and beaklike noses, readily identifiable even from half a mile at sea.
'Trolls!' shouted the lookout, for the benefit of his less keen-eyed crewmates.
Once again the men looked to their captain for orders, and again Brandon didn't hesitate. This wasn't their fight. Most of the inhabitants of Codscove were Ffolk, although a few northmen had settled here in centuries past. Nevertheless, the frustration that had nagged at him, plus the knowledge that these were King Kendrick's subjects-Alicia's subjects-gave him no room for consideration or doubt.
'Take up your arms, men!' he bellowed, hefting his own double-bitted axe. 'We're going ashore!'
With strong strokes of the oars, his crewmen pushed the Princess of Moonshae straight toward the broad docks of Codscove.
Deirdre stalked the halls of the palace, more and more agitated by the enclosing walls, the deferential servants, and her solicitous family. By nightfall, she knew that she had had enough.
She returned to her apartments with the announcement that she intended to go to bed early. Then she barred the door, ostensibly so that no one would disturb her rest. She knew that her mother would no longer hear crying out in the night, nor any of the sounds of distress and agitation that had marked some earlier evenings.
Deirdre shuttered her window, lit several candles, and assumed a posture of meditation in the small parlor beside her bedroom. The princess grew more and more proficient at this ritual of faith. This time she rested in silence for only half an hour before she felt the world falling away from her.
Once again the infinite expanse of the void yawned around her. The Moonshae Islands sank to insignificance, and the words of the New Gods sang in her ears.
This time the songs of these gods called the princess to action. As Deirdre listened, she began to understand. She came to know that she was uniquely positioned to carry this word, this fresh doctrine, across the lands of her people. She was a High Princess of Moonshae, after all, and one of no little knowledge and power. The absorption of the mirror, she knew, was not a crippling thing-instead, it was a birth of power and might undreamed of in what she had come to remember as her mortal existence.
Yet at the same time she knew that she would meet tough, entrenched resistance. Much of that friction would come from the most potent enemy Deirdre had-the only one, in effect, who might be able to block her ambitions and desires.
That one was her mother, Robyn Kendrick-the druid queen of the isles.
