Now Bhaal began to view the Darkwell differently than he had in the beginning. Now he sa w it as a temporary prison, not as the gate that had allowed him to leave Gehenna and project his self into the prime plane.
But, he reasoned, if the thread could be extended not just from Gehenna to the well, but from Gehenna through the well, could he not project himself beyond the limits of the Darkwell? In short, could he not free himself to walk unrestrained upon the Moonshaes, and indeed all of the Realms, not just enjoying the evil of his minions vicariously, but actually participating in that evil, commanding the minions at the point of battle?
In his black heart, Bhaal knew that he could. And so he set his energies toward strengthening the thread, giving him
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the physical form and the means that would allow him to move beyond the Darkweti. His power grew, aided by the retreat of the other gods and the corresponding enhancement of his own status.
Soon the Moonshaes would tremble, not only under the assault of Bhaal's legions, but also under the footsteps of Bhaal himself.
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Tristan awakened slowly, feeling the chill of his rocky backrest penetrating into his flesh. The heavy overcast remained overhead, eternal as ever. Dawn now lightened it from its impenetrable black to a smoky gray. Large, wet flakes of snow drifted slowly downward, melting as they touched his skin but gathering in an ever-thickening blanket on the ground.
Still sleepy, the king reached forth a hand to scratch Canthus's broad head, knowing that the dog would, as always, be curled beside him. Then the memory of the previous day doused him like icewater. He sat up in sudden grief, realizing that the moorhound would never again be there.
He saw Robyn lying motionless on the ground and gasped at the sheer whiteness of her skin. She looked drained of blood, and he wondered if the expenditure of magic that warmed them throughout the night had killed her.
Trying to restrain his alarm, he leaned over the druid and saw that she still breathed, though her breath came in short, shallow gasps. He took her up in his arms and held her close, frightened by the chill within her that seemed to drain the heat from his own body. But gradually, as he leaned back and wrapped her within his cape, her body warmed and her breathing grew deep and steady.
The king heard a stirring beside him and turned to see Tavish sitting up, blinking sleepily and stretching. Pawldo, too, arose, and even Yak's snoring began to sputter. A flurry of snow exploded from what had appeared to be a small
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rock, and Newt's head popped free from his powdery blanket. This morning the dragon's scales were a deep blue, almost purple.
"What's for breakfast?" he asked.
"The usual," groaned the bard, pointing to the only food satchel they had salvaged from the wreck of the boat. "Soggy bread, waterlogged cheese, or wet dried meat梐ll frozen, of course."
The dragon turned his nose up at the fare, but nevertheless he shook himself free of the snow and buzzed over to the pack to select a few morsels.
Robyn moaned softly, and her eyelids fluttered open as Tristan pulled her closer. She curled against his side, and his heart lifted in momentary elation. Finally she, too, sat up and stretched.
"Will you come with me to the top of the ridge?" Tristan asked. "We need to discuss our route."
She nodded and took the hand he offered as she climbed to her feet. The snow, more than a foot deep now across the barren landscape, crunched beneath their feet as they walked the short distance to the top of the gentle incline that had sheltered them from the worst of the wind.
They saw Myrloch, huge and close now, no more than a mile away to the north. The lake was unfrozen. The dull expanse of its gray surface seemed to absorb what little light filtered through the clouds. It stretched far to the west, and to the full limits of their vision to the north. Only to the right, the east, could they see the shoreline meandering away from them. The snow did not fall thickly enough to obscure their vision much but rather seemed to render the whole scene an image viewed through a foggy window.
"Where do we go from here?" Tristan asked.
Robyn pointed to the eastern shoreline. "Once we reach the lake, we follow as close to the water's edge as we can as we head north. You see those dead trees, there? That's the forest south of Genna's grove. Once we get through those trees, we'll reach a stream梡robably dry now, if the other streams and rivers are any indication梩hat marks the border of her grove itself. We should be there in less than two
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days' time."
They stood in silence, sharing the vista that had once been so pastoral, so clean. Now the evidence of pollution had become so pervasive that even the snow couldn't cover it. Indeed, the land seemed to dirty the snow, so that the win-tery blanket looked gray and muddy in the distance.
"It used to be so beautiful. When I first came to study with Genna, these hills were bursting with every kind of wild-flower, and the lake gleamed with such a light that it hurt your eyes to look at it."
"Perhaps it will again, when we are through."
"I don't know. . . ." Robyn turned to look at Tristan, her eyes somber. "I can't help but think that something very profound is happening, something that will change the nature of these isles forever. I doubt that they will ever be the same again."
"We have to try!"
"I know that, and we will try梬e are trying! And if we triumph, this will not be the place of evil that it is right now. I just feel that it will never again be the Myrloch Vale of the past."
Tristan didn't understand exactly what Robyn felt, but that fact did not surprise him. He had always been rather mystified by the intricacies of her faith.
"We should get started soon," he suggested, "before those damned birds catch up with us again."
"You're right, though we did lose them rather handily yesterday."
" You lost them, you mean." Tristan took Robyn's shoulders in his hands and looked full into her green eyes. She started to turn away, then met his gaze, though he could not read her expression. He continued. "You gave us the river that allowed us to escape. You kept us alive last night, when we would all have frozen. You have even given me a reason for living, when it seems as if everything around me is dying because of my own shortcomings!"
"You cannot blame yourself! We have all blundered our way through this quest, and we're lucky to still have some hope of reaching the well! But you can't feel sorry for your-
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self because of the cost." Robyn's tone softened.
"Tristan, you're a good leader. People follow you. You are High King of the Ffolk, and you are the finest fighter I have ever seen. This quest is yours as much as it is mine.
"It may be that things between us will never be the same. I don't know. I do know that the most important thing in the world to me is reaching the well and excising the power that holds the druids in stone. I need you to help me get there. Will you do that?"
He looked at her with a new clarity. Her words about the change in her feelings sent a cold knife into his belly, but he understood the task before them, and knew that he had to try. He nodded and answered.
"Let's get started."
"Wh-where's the next gate?"
"I is tired! Rest now!"
"C-Come on, Honkah! Just one more gate, then we rest?we rest!" Yazilliclick's urging finally lifted the troll from the mossy log he had collapsed onto. The sprite buzzed into the air, hovering on his gossamer wings, as the troll lumbered along beside him.
"Yer friends gots wine?"
"Oh, yes! L-Lots of wine!" Yazilliclick exaggerated slightly, but hoped that his companion would overlook this slight indiscretion.
The creature, who had confessed to the name of Honkah-Fah-Snooei, reluctantly started across yet another flower-bestrewn meadow, amid clouds of hummingbirds and fat honeybees.
"Dis way."
The sprite flew joyfully above, beside, and around him, delighted to be back among the pastoral reaches of Faerie. Overhead beamed the never-setting, gently warm sun that gave this realm a constant springlike air. Faerie was a small realm, not even as large as a single of the Moonshae Islands. It was enclosed in a bubble of magic that held it safe from the intrusions of more violent and brutal planes.
DARKWELL
Yazilliclick saw that it hadn't changed much, if at all, since he had departed through a gate to the Forgotten Realms. They came upon a band of satyrs梞anlike creatures with tiny horns on their foreheads, and the hind legs and tails of goats梡laying their pipes and dancing in the sunshine. A beautiful wood nymph appeared, her silken gown shimmering in the soft sunlight. She glanced coyly at Yazilliclick, and he blushed and looked away from her tiny, alluring eyes. Then the satyrs spied her and took up the chase, calling and crying to the nymph to stop and please them.
She giggled, her voice a trill like a tiny brook, and flew through the woods, leading the satyrs on a long and delightful chase. The sprite knew that they would never catch her. After all, they never had before, and things in Faerie never changed.
They saw other creatures of Faerie, kin to Yazilliclick's own folk, such as pixies, dryads, and leprechauns. These dwellers called and beckoned to the odd pair, but the sprite kept the troll directed on his mission.
"How did you g-get your name, anyway梐nyway?" asked Yazilliclick. "D-Does it mean anything?"
"Honkah-Fah-Snooie good name. It mean 'He-whose-nose-casts-shadow-over-ten-thousand-blossoms.'" Honkah proudly gestured to his impressive proboscis. "My nose great nose, even for troll, eh?"
"Oh, yes, it is梚t is! I桰 have never seen such a wonderful n-nose!"
Pleased, Honkah picked up the pace a bit, stepping across a crystalline stream on a series of strategically located stones. Dozens of fat trout looked up at them from the water as they crossed.
Yazilliclick turned suddenly as the bushes beside him rustled. He saw a brown canine face, topped by perky upraised ears, looking at him. A pink tongue lolled from a wide mouth as the creature seemed to smile at him.
"A b-blink dog梔og! Hi there!" The sprite hovered lower to pat the dog on the head, but suddenly it disappeared from view. Yazilliclick looked around and saw it grinning at him from behind a tree several dozen feet away. He darted
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over to it, but it blinked again, this time teleporting itself to the far side of the stream they had just crossed, where it was joined by a half-dozen of its fellows.
"! give up," the sprite said with a laugh. "Y-\bu just can't catch those guys梘uys!" But the chase delighted him as had little else in recent years.
He buzzed back to Honkah's side, for the troll had begun tapping his foot impatiently. A feeling of warm well-being grew within the sprite, making him want to remain in Faerie forever. This was such a delightful, pleasant place. He found it hard to remember why he had ever left in the first place.
But then he remembered his friends and his mission. In truth, his companions were becoming a blurry memory to him already. He even had a hard time picturing Newt in his mind, unless he concentrated very hard. But he felt certain that they needed his help, and were in terrible danger, and some driving force within him compelled him to go to their aid. Perhaps he had been changed by his years in the Realms, for such a compulsion could certainly never have affected a creature who had spent all his life in Faerie.
"Here gate," grunted Honkah, pointing to a bank of earth exposed at the bottom of the steep hillside.
The sprite saw that this gate, like the half-dozen they had already visited, was framed by a thick layer of green moss and lay in a shady part of a lightly forested area. There was nothing about it to tell the unaware explorer that this was anything other than a bare patch of ground.
He realized how fortunate they were that the gates in Faerie were much closer together than their connecting points in the other worlds. This had enabled them to investigate a variety of locations in a few hours, covering distances that would have taken several days to reach had they been traveling through Myrloch Vale.
"T-Tb Myrloch Vale?"
"Yup, to vale. Lotsa gates to Myrloch Vale."
"Well, I'll see if I can find some sign of my friends," said the sprite. He stepped up to the bank of dirt and put his hands out, feeling the moist earth until he discovered a place
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where he met no resistance. Boldly he stepped through.
He popped back out in a second, sputtering and soaking wet. "It's under w-water! I c-couldn't see anything?anything! Wh-what kind of a g-gate is this that goes to the b-bottom of a lake or a river or s-something?"
Honkah looked puzzled, scratching his flat head. "Not under water last time. Must be wrong place."
"I foJdyou things have ch-changed! Oh, I g-give up! I桰 don't th-think I'll ever find them梖ind them!"
"What that?" asked Honkah, cocking his head to the side and listening.
"Wh-what's what? I didn't hear?
"Shhh!" The troll lifted a warty finger to his mouth, still listening. Yazilliclick, too, concentrated, and then he heard the sound from the gate.
"Something's howling! Wh-what can it be梚t be?"
"Honkah look." The troll stood up and leaned through the gate. It looked to the sprite as if the top half of the troll was buried in a hole in the ground, and only his lower torso and legs remained visible. Then Honkah reappeared, clutching a squirming shape in his broad arms.
The newcomer sprang free and leaped to the ground. In the same instant that Yazilliclick recognized him, he shook his body from head to tail, spraying both of them with cold water.
"Canthus! How are you梐re you? Wh-what were you d-doing in the water? Wh-where're Robyn and Tristan and N-Newt? Are they all right梐ll right?" He stopped suddenly, feeling a little foolish as he realized that the dog could not understand him.
The dog greeted him with a slurping lick across his face that knocked him down, then turned to regard Honkah suspiciously. Yazilliclick stood and patted the dog's head, meanwhile taking Honkah's large hand. This apparently convinced the moorhound that the troll was no threat, and he began to sniff the air and look around curiously.
