[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.Remembering Gavin’s words, he looked at the scene with a renewed appreciation.Sadly, he wondered about Gavin and whether the smith would ever again be able to open his eyes to the beauty of the land.The summer solstice – Midsummer’s Eve – traditionally meant a festival and a celebration among his people.The druids held the night to be the time when the goddess’s power – the power of all life on earth – pulsed most strongly.Tristan wondered if the Midsummer Festival were being held this year at Caer Corwell.It seemed like years since he had last seen his home, although in reality it had been only weeks, but the prince who had left home seemed to be a different, unknown person.He wondered how much his father knew about what had befallen the eastern half of his kingdom.Had messengers reached Corwell with news of the raiders?His attention focused on the trees before him.Solstice, friends, home all fell forgotten from his mind as he stared keenly at the rustling branches of two giant spruces.He had just seen those branches rustle, and there was no wind to cause such a movement.Slowly, he slid from the rock to the ground, cursing to himself as his feet made a crunching noise in the pebbles.Why could he not move soundlessly when he needed to, like Daryth? The prince left the sword of Cymrych Hugh in its scabbard, worrying that its inherent light would attract attention if he should draw it.As he moved forward, he felt as if every footstep carried the snapping of dried twigs, or the rustling of dead leaves, echoing into the night air.Before he reached the spruces, the branches parted, and a huge shape stepped forward, glowing in the moonlight.At first, the prince thought the unicorn from the Firbolgs’ fortress had returned to them, for the satiny white shape, proud head, and graceful bearing all suggested that mighty creature.But a second look found no horn upon this creature, and Tristan realized that it was a little smaller than the unicorn.What he saw, in fact, was simply the most magnificent horse he had ever imagined.The stallion stood still, breathing slowly in the warm summer air, and looking at the prince with large, intelligent eyes.Its clean coat was an even white in color.Pink nostrils flared slightly as Tristan approached, curiously seeking his scent.When this was confirmed, the great horse stepped forward and nuzzled the prince’s shoulder.The prince stood still, awed, for several moments, and then looked more closely at the horse.It was larger than any of the steeds in his father’s stable, with a broad chest and long, muscular legs.The stallion had a flowing white mane and tail.Hesitantly, wondering if the horse would let him mount, Tristan gathered a handful of the silky mane.When this provoked no resistance, he leaped onto the broad back with a swift, fluid motion.Holding his breath for a second, he waited for the creature to rear or buck in objection.But the stallion stood still, breathing easily, as if waiting for a command.Grasping the mane firmly with both hands, Tristan nudged the great flanks with his heels, merely brushing the smooth fur.The horse reacted like a rocket, springing forward so quickly that the prince nearly lost his balance.The white horse galloped across the clearing and through the camp.Tristan saw Robyn sit up in surprise, and the dogs awaken, barking,With a tremendous leap, the steed cleared the pool and vanished into the woods.A whistling blur of trees, rocks, and meadows passed across the prince’s vision as the horse raced like the wind through the enclosing woods.How the steed managed to find a path, the prince could not imagine, but soon they rode even more swiftly along a narrow and winding trail.The prince rejoiced in the feeling of powerful horseflesh below him.Each time the steed leaped an obstacle, the prince held his breath, almost fearing that they were about to take to the air.He wondered, not yet concerned, where they were going.Only his desperate grip on the creature’s mane kept him on its back, for the horse turned so nimbly, and accelerated with such power, that he came within inches of falling to the ground many times.As far as Tristan could tell, from the confusing scene racing past his eyes, the horse galloped up a branching valley near their camp – not the one taken by the northmen’s army.Finally the magnificent horse slowed to a trot, carrying the prince through a spruce forest into a flower-filled clearing, high in the narrow valley.As the moonlight struck him, Tristan felt curiously exposed here in the middle of the clearing.His fears materialized then in the form of a rider emerging from the trees before him.He whirled the stallion about, but saw several more riders approaching from behind him.In another moment, a ring of proud knights, perhaps a score in number, had emerged from the trees to surround him.Brilliant moonlight reflected from the riders’ silvery helms and tall, metal lances.Proud pennants fluttered from the tips of these lances, but the weapons were now lowered to point at the prince’s heart.That heart almost burst as, slowly, the riders approached, their full attention focused on him alone.As the last of them stepped into the moonlight, Tristan saw that every one of these mysterious knights rode a mount as pure white and sleekly powerful as the one beneath him.*****Grunnarch began the journey with the Bloodriders, riding at the head of the column as was his right as king.Laric followed, and behind him came the rest of the fur-cloaked horsemen, as they began the arduous trek up the Dynloch Pass.Every fifty paces, as promised, they found the trail clearly marked with a cairn of rocks.These guideposts were essential, for the mountains here were so tangled and convoluted that the trail would otherwise have been invisible.Side valleys, box canyons, and sheer dropoffs all provided pitfalls for the ignorant traveler.Even with the markers, the Bloodriders found the pass tough going.The riders had to dismount for most of the way, leading their steeds through narrow niches among the rocks, or across treacherous ledges above roaring streams.The twisting passageways were often so narrow that the horses had to be physically pushed through the gaps.Grunnarch cursed with frustration as his army’s pace slowed to a crawl.Laric, meanwhile, remained strangely silent and aloof from his leader’s concerns.Grunnarch thought, stealing a glance at him, that Laric looked even more frightening than he had upon his arrival at Cantrev Macsheehan.The rider’s eye now glowed madly from sockets sunk deep within his skull, and his pasty skin had drawn more tightly across his face.The Red King also noticed that the horses of Laric, and all the Bloodriders, had grown gaunt and skeletal.Their ribs showed clearly against their black skins, and their eyes seemed clouded with some mysterious ailment.These signs of exhaustion, however, did not carry over into the mounts’ endurance.If anything, the black steeds of the Bloodriders seemed immune to fatigue, pain, and fear.They plodded stolidly along with their masters, seeming to care little for their surroundings or their condition.At last, Grunnarch could stand it no longer, and he paused by the trail as the file of Bloodriders slowly marched past
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]