The moorhound rebounded instantly from his leap and sprang forward to seize his master's arm in his jaws. As Tristan's body dropped into the pit, the dog tightened his grip and held the king back from certain death. Canthus's paws began to slip along the ground, and he growled savagely as he felt himself pulled toward the chasm. Suddenly he tumbled forward, unable to hold the king's weight, but even then he would not let go. The dog still clawed desperately for footing as both of them dropped over the edge.
Randolph stepped wearily down the long staircase at the
141*
DOUGLAS MILES
heart of Caer Corweil. Once again, another day drew to a close as he left unfinished the great majority of the tasks he had set for himself that day.
True, his duties as captain of the guard occupied him for many hours each day. But more significant was the burden of governing the kingdom in the absence of King Kendrick. He would not have believed the petty bickering causing strife among the populace were he not forced to hear the complaints himself!
Pontswain, of course, was no help whatever. The lord enjoyed the bounty of Tristan's cellar and pantry and the hospitality of his keep, but he did little to aid Randolph with the daily chores of office. Instead, Pontswain was more likely to sit brooding in the Great Hall, alone or with one of his favorite kitchen maids. The lord would glower at the Crown of the Isles, gleaming where Tristan had left it upon the great mantle, and declare to all and sundry that the real honors belonged to him.
Randolph passed beneath the wooden arch into the Great Hall and saw Pontswain sitting in his usual position. The lord sprang to his feet as the captain entered.
"What's the meaning of spying on me like this?" demanded Pontswain.
"Don't be ridiculous, my lord. I'm simply going to the kitchen on my way to check the stables梐nd by what right do you challenge me?" Randolph had grown tired of Pontswain's constant suspicions and accusations.
"By the words of our liege, who left responsibility for his kingdom entrusted to both you and me!"
Angrily the captain stomped through the hall, his appetite gone. He disliked Lord Pontswain heartily, and the man's every word seemed designed to irritate him further. He hated to place personal prejudice above his professional caution, but a conclusion was inescapable.
Lord Pontswain would bear watching.
Robyn absently stroked the back of the faerie dragon. Her mind dwelled on thoughts of Daryth, despite her attempts
142
DARKWELL
to remain alert to the possibility of danger around them. The devastation of the forest weighed heavily on her spirit, and she found it difficult to look at the bleak terrain. Thus, she strayed easily into reminiscence.
She thought of her first meeting with Daryth, when he had just stolen her prince's coin purse and Tristan had caught the thief after a long chase. She remembered the flashing humor in his black eyes, and the even match between the Calishite's skills and Tristan's, though even then, as the two men had formed their friendship, the prince had stood out clearly as the leader.
Tristan! How her anger flared whenever she thought of him. She did not blame him for Daryth's death, though it occurred to her that she could. But whenever the picture of Tristan's infidelity came again into her mind, the bitter ache of anger flared brightly within her. Coupled with the rage, and there was no other word for it, came a bleak sense of utter confusion. It seemed that all the things upon which the foundations of her life rested had begun to fall apart around her.
Desperately she sought an explanation for the absence of the goddess, for her deity's silence when the druid prayed. All the possible answers loomed as too frightful for contemplation. Had the goddess perished forever from the earth? Had Robyn unknowingly enraged her spiritual mother and thus cut herself off from her comfort and power?
And Tristan. Had the woman in Caer Corweil bewitched him? Or was his love so frail that he could be drawn from Robyn by a simple flirtation? She desperately hoped that the former explanation represented the truth, but even if it did, she wondered if she would ever be able to forgive him.
She whispered a soft prayer, but the words seemed to echo hollowly through the dead woods. Never had she felt so alone, so separated from her goddess. It was as if a great void had opened up, and neither her faith nor the mother's might was great enough to bridge it.
With a start, she came back to her surroundings, surprised as Newt jumped to his feet before her. The faerie dragon arched his back like an angry cat and stared around
143
DOUGLAS MILES
the mare's neck, straight at Tristan.
"Something woke me up!" he complained. "Hey, what's the matter with Canthus?"
Robyn saw the dog leap, felt the ground shake as the fissure exploded below the king, and instantly kicked her mare into a gallop. She saw Tristan fall to the ground. Yellow and red clouds of gas burst from the hole, seething through the woods. Her heart rose into her throat as she saw the king, apparently unconscious, slip into the crevasse.
Newt buzzed into the air, his gossamer wings invisible with the speed of their flapping. Like an arrow, he darted toward the fissure.
A fear like none she had known gripped her as she saw Tristan disappear from sight. The struggling Canthus slipped closer to the edge, and then his forefeet dropped away. She was too far away to reach them, and she could see that even Newt would not get there until they had plummeted to whatever fate awaited them.
"Glorus, vih-tali essathaf
Robyn cried the words to a desperate spell, an enchantment that offered minimal hope of arresting their fall, but it was the only action she could think of that might help. She cast her spell of plant growth.
The casting of a druid spell summons the power of the Earthmother directly, using that might for the working of the magic, but the power for this spell came from Robyn's heart, and for a moment, she felt dizzy and weakened.
Even as her vision blurred and she swayed in the saddle, she saw the roots and brush at the fringe of the fissure begin to spurt upward. Canthus disappeared from her view as the growing tangle of vegetation sprouted around him. The thicket continuing to grow, writhing constantly, along the edge of the fissure. She could not see whether its tendrils extended down the inside of the pit.
In another moment, she had reached the gap. Quickly she leaped to the ground, though she staggered unsteadily and had to grip the reins of the mare for support. The awful terror she felt held her back, and she could not bring herself to look into the fissure.
144
DARKWELL
Newt, appearing and disappearing rapidly in his agitation, buzzed around the fissure. "They're here! You saved 'em! Come on, you guys. Get out of there! Hey, Tristan, wake up!"
Weakly she stumbled to the lip of the gaping pit, gagging on the stench of the gas that rose from the wound in the earth. Though the tangle created a weblike mass of branches, she slipped among them with the druid's natural ease. Then she saw the king, clutched firmly in the grip of the young branches, held motionless against the dirt wall. Can-thus was caught in the bushes as well, but the moorhound squirmed his way upward as Robyn reached down for the king.
Newt continued to buzz overhead until a whiff of gas swirled around him. The dragon turned instantly from green to orange, sneezing loudly. With a sudden bolt, he darted to the side of the pit and landed, coughing and gasping.
Tristan's face was blue. Though the gas had thinned out somewhat, Robyn suspected that he had breathed it heavily. Had it already killed him? She banished the thought, somewhere finding the energy to heave upward on his limp body. It wouldn't budge.
"I've got you, honey. Let's pull!" She heard Tavish's voice as she felt the bard grab her waist, but even pulling together, the two could not free the king. Horrified, Robyn watched Tristan's lips grow black.
"G/orus, desitor ehahyl" cried the druid, once again summoning a spell. She felt herself grow dizzy, but she forced herself to retain her grip on the king. All around her, she could feel the plant growth recoiling, twisting free and pulling away from her.
And from Tristan. The king fell free from the plants, with Robyn barely managing to keep a grip on his arms. Then Tavish heaved mightily and they pulled Tristan's limp form onto the lip of the fissure. Weakly she pressed her mouth to his, forcing air from her lungs into the king's. She pressed downward against his chest to force out the bad air, then blew inward again. Over and over she repeated the process, with Tavish taking over when the druid collapsed from
145
DOUGLAS NILES
exhaustion.
Desperately she watched the king's face, begging for a sign of life, but his color remained that awful blue.
"It梚t's the p-poison!" stammered Yazilliclick, slumping mournfully beside the druid. "He gets the air梩he air, but the poison takes his 1-life."
Robyn sat up weakly. Of course .. . the poison of the gas! Why hadn't she realized that? She leaned over the limp form and pushed lavish aside.
"Banlie, venali!" she gasped frantically, pressing her hands firmly to his lips. Once more she felt the magic flow from her body as she called upon a potent spell of druidic healing. It would work only to relieve the effects of venom. Devoutly she prayed that the poison was the real menace to Tristan's life.
And then the dizziness rose within her again, as once more the power of her spell was drawn directly from her soul. The void between herself and her goddess remained vast, so she could only draw upon her own, suddenly depleted, reserves of magic. Her vision blurred, but she saw Tristan's eyes flicker open and heard his lungs gasp great, sweet breaths of air before she lost consciousness and slumped motionless across him.
lavish lifted the druid gently and laid her beside the king, checking to see that her heart still beat and her breathing remained regular. Pawldo had galloped to the fissure and dismounted. Now he knelt beside Tristan, taking the king's large hand in both of his own. Tristan coughed and gagged, drawing deep and raspy breaths. The halfling's eyes, however, never ceased darting about the woods as he watched for an attack from that quarter at any moment.
But the scene remained, for the moment, quiet. A great oval had been ripped in the earth beside them. The bottom lurked in the invisible depths, where seethed a riotous mixture of yellow, green, and orange gases. A powerful odor, sulphurous in nature, with a stinging bite of even more sinister and unnatural substances, rose from the pit and filled the air around them.
Tristan sat up, still groggy, and his eyes widened with
146
DARK WELL
alarm at the sight of Robyn's motionless body.
"She'll be all right," said the bard softly. "She used her magic to save you. It seemed to take a lot out of her."
"I'm getting lightheaded," said Pawldo suddenly. "Let's get away from this hole."
"Good idea," said lavish, lifting Hobyn easily in her broad arms. Tristan climbed awkwardly to his feet, while Newt and Yazilliclick darted into the air, ready to look for a suitable resting place. Pawldo, aided by Canthus, gathered the mounts that had drifted away from the noxious site.
"The cloud drifted toward the fen in the lowlands," observed the bard. "Let's make our way upslope."
By the time they reached the crest of a low hill beside the trail, Robyn had regained enough strength to walk slowly, aided by Tavish. They collapsed on the first level patch of ground they could find, and Robyn looked at them all with a tentative, fearful gaze.
"What is it?" asked Tristan, reaching for the druid's hand. She let him take it, but she looked past him as she replied.
"They're goner she whispered, frightened. "The spells I cast... they come to me through prayer. And when I cast, the power of the enchantment is the power of the goddess herself.
"But the goddess gave me no power for the spells I cast today. It's as if each was torn from my memory, whole. There's nothing left!"
"But can't you pray to the goddess to get them back again?" asked Tristan.
"I can no longer hear her. I don't know if she speaks or even lives. It's as if we've entered another place or a different plane梠ne where my goddess has no presence."
"You must conserve your strength," said Tavish. "Use your magic only if it's absolutely necessary." They were all aware, but none mentioned it, of how necessary her magic had already proven that day.
"I'm ready to go now," the druid announced. "We must keep moving!"
"I'll take the lead this time," offered the bard.
"And me!" piped Newt.
147
DOUGLAS NILES
"Yaz and I will bring up the rear," added Pawldo. This left Tristan and Robyn riding in the center of the group. For a time, the king followed the druid, riding in silence, but when they reached a place where the woods opened into broad clearings, he pushed Avalon gently forward to her side.
"Tavish told me what you did," he started out awkwardly. "I owe you my life..,." He trailed off, unable to express his gratitude and his love.
She turned, and for a moment she smiled at him like the maiden he had fallen in love with. Only her eyes, dark and somber, betrayed her maturity and purposefulness. "The land of Corwell needs you," she said simply.
"And what of the druid Robyn?" asked Tristan, his heart pounding. "Does she need me?"
"I... need to serve my goddess, to the whole of my being." Robyn's voice carried firm resolve. "That is the most important thing in all the Realms to me." A door slammed shut before the king, and he was left shivering in the cold.
"Hey, you guys, get up here!" Newt darted from the trees to hover before them, his tiny mouth split in a toothy grin. "You've never seen anything like it before, I'll bet! C'mon .,. hurry!" The faerie dragon dashed away, dodging like a hummingbird among the tree trunks.
The pair called to Pawldo and urged their horses into a run. In moments, they broke from the woods to gaze upon the bleak shore of something the like of which, to be sure, neither of them had ever seen before. It was the size of a small lake, with a smooth surface of glistening black.
