The Red King looked sternly at the youth. "Never think that way, lad! With such overconfidence comes arrogance, and with arrogance comes failure. Besides, the last time we fought the Ffolk, it is we who were defeated."
Koll looked down, abashed. "I am sorry, my lord. I wished to make amends for the embarrassment she caused on the docks when she refused to leave the warriors. I fear that it was bad luck to have her dragged away like that."
"Bad luck, good luck. These things mean little. It is the courage in our hearts that counts for much, and the skill in our minds and our hands when we meet the foe.
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"1b that end, tell me what you know of the enemy that ravaged your coast."
Koll described the battle at Codsbay as he had seen it, including the fish-man that had climbed into their boat. He told of the destruction of the Iron Keep and the horde that had emerged from the sea to pour through the breach.
"It is as I feared ... an enemy of great fighting strength coupled with supernatural might. We can only hope that the powers that watched over Corwell in the past retain their potency. If that can counter the supernatural, the blades of the North will surely overcome the fighting strength of the foe!"
Koll nodded, unsettled by the notion that they might need help to win this fight. He turned quietly and walked back to his bench in the open hull of the longship.
Neither he nor the Red King noticed the short, smooth-skinned sailor sitting quietly near the bow. The youth梖or such the warrior must have been, as no beard grew from his pink and slightly plump face條ooked down as Koll walked past. A soft hand, unusual for a man, went to the hilt of the sailor's shortsword, where its knuckles tightened in very warlike determination.
Ysalla swiveled her bulging fish-eyes to look at the vast army floating and marching around her. The gleam of gold caught her eyes, here and there marking the presence of her priestesses. They marched in great adornment now, for the sacking of the Iron Keep had yielded treasure beyond her wildest imaginings.
Now the ranks of the sahuagin, hundreds strong, swam easily through the middle reaches of the gray sea, a hundred feet below the surface and an equal distance from the bottom. Below them, in vast numbers, marched the Dead of the Sea in a dull, plodding pace.
They had fought well, those corpses, though she had known they would. Unburdened by any of the emotional baggage of living warriors, this army could know no fear, nor despair, nor fatigue. They would follow the commands
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of the priestesses梒ommands which were, of course, the orders of Bhaal himself梪nto and even beyond death. This made them an army mightier than any that could be mustered by the humans and other breathing creatures that would oppose them, for their power emanated from a dark and omnipresent god.
The army had marched through the Strait of the Leviathan in rapid time, never stopping for rest or sustenance. Now, as they entered the shallower regions of Corwell Firth, they turned their faces to the east. They would proceed along the bottom of the firth into gradually shallower water until they emerged from the sea on the very shore of Corwell Town.
There the cleric would be waiting to perform his magic, as he had at the Iron Keep. The human, Ysalla coldly acknowledged to herself, had proven most useful there. No doubt he would do so again.
And thus they would work the will of Bhaal.
The fire crackled as the dead wood slowly burned to coals, spreading welcome warmth among the companions gathered around it. The little blaze flickered like their own hopes, surrounded by an all-encompassing blackness but refusing to die.
The group had trampled the snow flat over a small space in the woods, and now they sat in uneasy exhaustion. The night closed about them, as black and forbidding as ever, and seemed to warn away sleep.
The sisters had spread their heavy furs on the snow a short distance from the fire. Brigit and Colleen, however, now sat before the low flames, lavish rested quietly opposite them, staring as if mesmerized at the dancing blaze. Yak squatted beside her, using her shortsword to carve a tree limb into a heavy, knob-ended club. Meanwhile, Pawldo worked arduously with his dagger and some long sticks, carving them into flat boards.
Robyn curled up on the far side of the blaze, with Newt sleeping on the druid's lap. Tristan sat beside her, using an
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old stump as a backrest. They all enjoyed each other's comradeship for a time without speaking.
The king remembered other fires, other camps during adventures that never, in retrospect, seemed so bleak and so painful as this one. He recalled the bristling fur of his great moorhound as Canthus slumbered beside a blaze, ignorant of the steaming hiss of his soaked fur. Or Daryth, leaning casually back in his bedroll, telling stories of Calim-shan.
He thought of Yazillieiick, picturing the sprite arguing with Newt about some point of camping protocol. Always on those quests, those adventures, it seemed that hope had been high. Always the mission had been clear, the challenge clearly surmountable.
At least such was the way with his memory. But never before had they endured a cost such as this, and never had their hopes been so vague.
Gradually the moaning of the wind became more audible as it forced its way among the trees and across the snowy ground. The snowflakes that had been fluttering to earth all day began to fly in a diagonal direction, angling toward the south, until soon they raced past with the howling wind in an almost horizontal path.
Robyn shivered as she leaned back against Tristan's legs. He was grateful for the fur cape that Brigit had loaned them.
"What are you doing?" Robyn's question, to Pawldo, had an amused, lazy quality that reminded the king of a warm summer afternoon.
"I've been tromping around in this snow for too long, and I'm going to do something about it! I heard about these things once on a trip to Gnarhelm. They called 'em 'skis.' Well, I'm going to make me a pair, and I'll be the envy of all of us!"
Robyn laughed and Tristan looked on with interest. "What are they?" he asked.
"You put them on your feet, and they let you slide across the surface of the snow. They're like snowshoes, only better, because they slide."
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"Yes, the Llewyrr have used skis." Brigit was watching the proceedings with interest. "But we prefer snowshoes for walking through a forest, though you will doubtless enjoy those if we have to go downhill!"
"I fear we'll have plenty of snow in either case," said Tris-tan. "I wonder how far we'll have to go."
"And I wonder what we'll find when we reach the grove." Robyn shivered again, perhaps not entirely from the cold. She had earlier explained to the sisters the waning of the goddess's powers and her fears that the Earthmother may already have expired.
"I accompanied a small band of the sisters there several weeks ago/' said Colleen. "It was horribly scarred and changed."
"Like the vale?" Robyn gestured around them.
"Even worse. The trees here are dead, but there they have been split asunder by some terrible force. Even the high druid arches were smashed. Not a one was left standing."
Tristan wondered at Robyn's reaction to the news, remembering her earlier despair, but she sat up to question the knight further.
"What about the dead? There was a legion of skeletons and zombies, walking dead, attacking the place when 1 last saw it."
"There was no sign of them. Only the awful dark water at the heart of the grove, and the statues, like frozen people, around the well. I did not approach the water, though my three companions did. From where I stood, I could see that it was black, completely lifeless...." Colleen paused, shaken by the memory. "The three sisters approached the pond, and there was a flash of blue light, like an explosion. And they were gone."
"I fled," the young Llewyrr woman admitted. She hung her head in shame as Brigit put a comforting hand upon her shoulder. "I ran until I could run no more." Colleen raised her head and looked square into Robyn's eyes.
"That is why I insisted upon coming along this time ... to atone for my failure, my flight."
"You have nothing to atone for!" said the druid. "Because
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you lived, you have provided us with news about what we may find there. It would have been foolish to sacrifice your life as well!"
"As I have told you also," said Brigit quietly, but Colleen angrily shook her head.
"The leader of our group, the one who took the others to the well, was my own mother! And the other two were my sisters!"
Tristan wondered how she could discuss the deaths of her family thus, with such apparent lack of emotion, but he sensed the rage and shame that burned within her. It was something that even the stoicism of her race could not completely hide. Now it blazed like fire from the depths of her wide brown eyes.
"What do you plan to do when we reach the well?" asked Brigit.
Robyn described the Scrolls of Arcanus, explaining how she had held back the mastery of stone spell to use in changing the statues back to flesh. "With all the druids of the grove free again, we will combine to drive back the darkness from the well."
"But if, as you fear, the goddess has perished, how will the druids accomplish this?" Brigit asked.
"Genna will know what to do. She is the key to all of this! I know that she still lives, if only we can reach her!"
"Yes, child, she does . . . and you have."
The voice, emerging from the blackness, shocked them into action. Tristan leaped to his feet, his sword a gleaming challenge in his hand. Brigit, too, whirled away from the fire and drew her weapon. Yak bellowed in surprise, dumping Tavish unceremoniously to the ground as he heaved himself to his feet.
Only Robyn remained calm, rising slowly and turning to the woods, an expression of bright hope on her face. "Genna? Is that you?"
The stocky figure of the Great Druid emerged from the darkness, and slowly Tristan relaxed. Genna's face, lined with wrinkles, regarded them from beneath a gray mop of unkempt hair. Robyn ran to her teacher and embraced her.
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Then the young druid pulled back in surprise, searching Genna's face with concern.
"What is it, teacher? What's wrong?"
The Great Druid walked easily to the fireside and-sat down. "I am sorry. I am not myself, and this awful darkness oppresses me. But it is good to find you, my dear. I knew you would not be far away?'
A strange light gleamed in the Great Druid's eyes, but Robyn ascribed it to the reflection of the firelight. She sat beside Genna, suddenly alive with hope and optimism.
"Teacher, I have feared so! The goddess has been silent. My spells vanish, my powers are faint梐nd the earth itself seems to have died."
"The goddess lives, girl. My spells, my powers remain unaffected. Could it be that you have not been true to your faith?"
Robyn hung her head. "I have known doubt, and perhaps my will has been weak. I am sorry, teacher." Robyn took a deep breath and again looked at Genna. "But how did you escape? Are the other druids safe?"
"The tale of my escape is long, dark, and painful. It is best left for another time. The others are still... imprisoned. It is toward their succor that we must strive."
"Yes!" Robyn grew animated. "That is what we have been working toward! We have struggled against the darkness but always grow closer to the well. Now that you have joined us, I'm sure our mission will be successful!"
Genna asked about their experiences, nodding somberly as they described the desecration of the vale. She displayed no reaction as Robyn told her of the Scrolls of Arcanus and her hopes for the fourth scroll, the mastery of stone.
Tristan felt the party's spirits buoyed by the talk, enjoying the fact that none of them talked about their frustrations and sorrows. Instead, they focused on their hopes for a rapid conclusion to the quest. One by one, however, the companions fell silent. At last there was only the presence of the black night falling heavily and bearing their spirits down with it.
Genna looked away from the group, into the darkness of
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the woods. Newt stirred restlessly and crawled onto Tristan's lap. He looked up at the Great Druid but said nothing. And the stormy winds howled and the snowdrifts climbed higher.
Randolph awakened uneasily, sitting up in his bed and staring nervously around his tiny room in Caer Corwell. Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs of sleep from his mind, he concluded that he was merely nervous.
The shutter banged in the window, and he heard the force of the winter storm raging outside. An omen? He wondered if this was the beginning of a storm of the same magnitude that had apparently ravaged the settlements to the north.
Wearily the captain of the guard stepped into his boots and threw a woolen shirt over his shoulders. It was still dark outside, but he knew that Gretta would already be at work in the kitchen.
He became more alert as he stepped into the corridor and descended the stairs into the Great Hall. Already the delightful aroma of frying bacon wafted forth from the kitchen, and he stepped through the door to find the plump cook tending a crowded cookstove.
"Good morning, sir!"
"How can you be so cheerful, Gretta? The sun hasn't even come up yet, and it's a beastly day outside to boot!" He tried to be gruff but couldn't help smiling in the face of her own robust good humor.
"Oh, and it'll be gettin' considerable colder, too, I'll wager. But my work keeps me in here by the warm fire, feedin' those more foolish types who walk the walls and stand in the gatehouse!"
"That explains it. Well, how about some food for one of those fools?"
She served him his usual massive plate of eggs and bacon, together with fresh cream, and he sat and ate very slowly, relishing each bite ... or perhaps postponing the moment when he would have to go out into the weather.
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"Odd about Lord Pontswain leaving like that," mentioned the cook as she brought him several slices of fresh bread.
His spoon stopped halfway to his mouth, and he looked at her in shock. "Leaving? Like what?"
