continued . . . || @thatrudeengineer
Breaths were held as all six knights began to narrow their eyes around the perimeter, waiting for an ambush. Howard himself reached for his sword's hilt. For a brief moment, the world was dead to them all, save for the soft gust of wind that drifted through the forest. It was so silent that Tristain's bowstring sounded terrifyingly loud as he pulled an arrow through it taut, aiming just in front of Howard.
Avaloc raised a hand for Tristain to stand at the ready. He turned his head to gesture at Mathurin, who then leaned in to tell the witchfire ward Fallard to be on the ready as well. Fallard, this being his first tour with Sir Avaloc, tilted his head and questioned Mathurin's direction with furrowed eyebrows. "Ready for what?"
-- Light the witchfire on Melialoc's torch. -- From here? How? -- You're the witchfire ward. Find a way or this will be the last time you ride with knight-errants.
Fallard swallowed hard. The folks back home would make a mockery of him should he fail such a simple order from the Champion himself. He muttered the prayers low under his breath, and a small blue-green spark swirled on his palm. It galloped from torch to torch, almost missing Melialoc's, and settled in the heart of the squire's torchfire with a soft hiss.
Avaloc nodded and quietly whistled. Melialoc threw the torch as high as he could into the night sky above Howard's head, and Tristain's arrow shuttled sharply through the wind. The iron head pierced the heart of the witchflame, sending a blinding white light in front of them.
Then, just as he did so, a large cormorant flew from the bushes, honking in fear.
"What is that?" Avaloc asked.
"A cormorant," Tristain narrowed his eyes. He aimed with yet another arrow, the tip following the cormorant's flight.
"We're in a pine forest, in late autumn, Sir Tristain," Guibert commented.
"Exactly," he sighed, lowering his bow. "Are you quite alright, Sir Ashecroft?"
"I am. My apologies, my lords." Howard wore his helmet briskly. "What a silly horse, my darling Isabeau, afraid of a bird in the dark."
"I would not be so sure of that, Sir Ashecroft." Tristain clicked his tongue for his mare to trot forward. "It was right for her to be scared of something that ought not to be where it was."
"Meaning?" Howard glanced up at the knight, who bowed his head instead.
"Never you mind, my lord. You are injured. You must be tended to immediately. Is Isabeau calmer now?"
Melialoc nodded, handing Howard her rein. "Sir Tristain is right, my lord. Let us hurry."
✦✦✦ ─────── THE CAMP tonight was silent. No rowdy drinking nor singing, and if the knights did seek to have a conversation with one another during their supper, it was hushed. A bad omen had befallen them. Sir Tristain's knowledge of nature was second to none, and if it was a cormorant that he saw, a cormorant it must have been. With Howard thrown off his horse, it could only mean nothing but trouble ahead of their journey.
Finishing his prayers, Howard decided to guard the camp in favour of sleep. He had asked for all the squires to rest early, and for the first half of the night he would be accompanied by one other knight, Sir Malger, who also admitted to finding it hard to sleep that night after what they had encountered.
Not much to do but to idly stroll around the camp in the dead of night, counting the stars above in the clear night sky. He still wondered what Tristain meant by what he'd said, but thought there must be a reason why he was hesitant to speak of it in the night. People of Avallan were more superstitious than in Caean or Prydein, after all. He could but respect their lifestyle, being an outsider that he was.
Quietly he sang to himself a song he had learned from a tavern, a crude song about a lonely knight and a beautiful maiden, who fell into one another's arms in the dead of night such as this, wading through the darkness by the river with his torch.
