Douglas Niles - The Druid Queen

Baatlrap stared at the gleaming axe blade. In it, he saw all the wonders of the world, the most glorious beauties and the grandest achievements … and the vision of utmost, terrifying power.

A dim stirring tickled the base of the troll's primitive brain. The coarse, wiry body thrilled to the ecstasy of victory and celebration. The scent of blood still pulsed in his nostrils. His mind lingered on the memories of dying dwarves, squirming desperately in Baatlrap's crushing talons until, very gradually, the wriggling bodies grew still.

But now the sight of the Silverhaft Axe awakened within him an overwhelming craving, and at the same time a reverent sense of of awe. All his dull feeling came together then in a single and compelling urge.

One day that axe would be his.

As a girl, Robyn had spent many hours atop the high tower of Caer Corwell. These had been times of delight and disappointment, of joy and sorrow. Whatever her mood, however, the vista of green moor and gray-blue firth beneath glowering clouds or skies of limitless blue had never failed to soothe her anxieties and focus her mind.

Now, though she was High Queen of the isles, she found that the lofty perch had the same soothing and spiritual effect. Since her return to Corwell, she had spent parts of each day up here, sometimes accompanied by her husband or oldest daughter but more often, as now, alone.

The tower wasn't an eminent structure compared to grand Caer Callidyrr, where the royal family made their permanent home. It loomed high above this small castle, however, and when its height was added to the crowning knob of rock that served as Caer Corwell's foundation, it created a vantage almost impossibly remote from the sweeping grass and water below.

Today the clouds were friendly, clean and white, floating gently through the field of blue far overhead. Their shadows gave the limitless moor a dappled effect as patches of sunlight brightened the grass to an almost luminescent brilliance between darker shadows.

Some intuition that she couldn't identify drew her attention to the east, where the long line of the King's Road faded into the high distance. There, high above the ground, she detected a gleaming pinpoint of light. At first she thought that a shooting star, bright enough to flare in the daylight, crackled through the sky at the limits of her vision. But the thing didn't seem to move-at least not perceptibly. Instead, it remained fixed in place, if anything growing slowly brighter. She observed it for several minutes, far longer than any shooting star could last even if it found a way to stay in one place for the duration of its spectacular life.

Then the High Queen understood: The flare appeared to stand still because it approached her! Growing steadily brighter, it passed beneath the clouds, and as it neared Caer Corwell, it slowly began to descend. Now she saw sparks of light falling away from the thing in a stream, like embers dropping from a blacksmith's forge in the wake of his shaping hammer.

A sense of foreboding slowly closed about the queen. Vaguely she heard castle guards shouting an alarm, heard trampling feet as men raced onto the walls and lower towers to gape at the approaching phenomenon.

By this time, she could see that the spot of light was actually an object, and slowly it became more detailed, sweeping into a long curve to approach the courtyard itself. She saw a chariot of crackling flame, pulled through the air by two blazing horses and swooping downward with ever-increasing speed. It looked more like a diving hawk than a galloping horse.

Finally she saw the passengers, two men standing in the box of the chariot, one holding the flaming reins and the other, a tall, slender fellow whose trousers flapped around his long, sticklike legs, standing alertly beside the driver.

"Keane!" she shouted, recognizing the tall man at last.

And then the fact of his arrival struck home. This wasn't Bakar Dalsoritan returning with the magic-user to the Moonshaes.

Immediately her foreboding flared into a full sense of alarm. She wasted no time with the tower stairs. Instead, she pitched herself from the rim of the parapet, immediately altering her features into those of another creature favored by the goddess. As a white hawk, she spiraled through a descent into the courtyard of the humble castle, returning to her human body in the instant before her claws touched the paving stones of the wide enclosure.

The flaming chariot swooped over the castle wall. Keane waving frantically to deter dozens of archers who seemed ready to let fly even without the command of their captain. Fortunately the tall mage was a familiar figure to these men, and they lowered their weapons to stare in astonishment at the enchanted transport.

The chariot finally came to rest in the courtyard just as King Kendrick himself emerged from the great hall. His daughter Alicia trailed close behind.

"Keane!" he shouted in delight, stepping forward to clasp the young mage around the shoulders with his good arm and hand.

"Your Majesty …. may I present Parell Hyath, Exalted Inquisitor of Helm!"

The patriarch stepped out of the chariot with remarkable agility for a man of his bulk and bowed deeply to the king. If Tristan felt any surprise at the appearance of a priest other than Bakar Dalsoritan, he gave no indication, instead warmly welcoming the huge cleric. The High King graciously apologized for the humble nature of Caer Corwell's surroundings, at the same time announcing that he held a real affection for this, his boyhood home.

By the time they concluded the formalities, the flaming chariot had faded into nothingness. Robyn stood silent, back from the throng that had started to gather. She knew of Helm's worship, knew that this cleric could not be an evil man and still remain true to his faith, yet she couldn't dispel a nagging sense of unease. After all, life was much more than a simple matter of good and evil struggling for prominence. The central tenet of her own faith remained the Balance, the equilibrium of all things. She couldn't bring herself to trust this man who, she knew, would be dedicated to toppling that equilibrium toward his own desires.

Robyn saw her daughter approach the mage and began to feel more comfortable as the king led the cleric toward the widespread doors of the keep.

"Welcome home," Alicia said to Keane as the priest and king entered the great hall. "That was quite an entrance!"

"It was quite a journey," Keane agreed with a wry grin. "Somehow it's a lot more nerve-racking to fly over an ocean than it is to teleport past it. Anyway, I'm glad I've got solid ground under my feet again."

"So am I," the princess said quietly, but with enough meaning to draw her mother's attention. Keane, too, heard the hidden warmth in the words. He looked at the princess sharply, as if he wanted to say something. Instead, he allowed her to take his arm and lead him toward the castle.

"A moment, please," Robyn said as they passed. She had to know something. "Bakar Dalsoritan…?"

The shadow on Keane's face answered her question before he spoke. "He's … dead-murdered, as it happened, before I had a chance to speak with him. I'm sorry, my queen. I know he tutored you well and wisely."

Nodding absently, Robyn felt the news flow right through her. She wasn't surprised, had even prepared herself subconsciously to hear this. Instead, her mind focused on questions and answers.

"That's terrible!" Alicia exclaimed, shaking her head sadly. "I haven't seem him since I was a little girl, but he always seemed like a nice man. How did it happen?"

"There'll be time for details later," Robyn interjected, knowing that the story would do little to soothe her apprehensions. "Let's go inside with your father."

They found the king and the inquisitor engaged in a frank discussion beside the sweeping fieldstone hearth of the keep. No fire glowed there now during the heat of summer, but it was still a place where Tristan liked to go for discussion and contemplation. Attendants and servants stood some distance back in the great hall, allowing the two men their privacy.