"Wait! What if it doesn't hold us?" Tristan stalled for a moment, not trusting the druid and fearful of a trap. He imagined Genna commanding the thing to dump them all into the pit as they crossed.
"It will. Hurry! We must reach the well."
Robyn stepped forward onto one of the thing's broad feet. She looked back in annoyance as the king reached out to grab her arm. "Let's at least use a rope for security!" He stared at the Great Druid as he made the suggestion. She merely shrugged and looked away.
"Here, Yak. Take this rope." Tristan uncoiled his line, binding one end firmly around his waist and handing the other to the firbolg. "Catch me if I fall!"
The king stepped onto the earth elemental, feeling his foot sink easily into the moist dirt of the creature's leg. He pulled it free and set down his other foot. The monstrous bridge seemed to be solid enough. It didn't sway perceptibly beneath his weight.
Tristan made the mistake of looking down once, and the yawning depth of the fissure, with the green gases writhing in its deepest reaches, caused a wave of dizziness to rush over him. He looked ahead and steadied himself, carefully
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taking the last few steps across the gap.
Once he stepped onto the other side of the fissure, he secured his line to the trunk of a dead oak, and the others followed in short order. Genna waited impatiently as the king untied and recoiled his rope.
"Now, forward!" Genna demanded. "Hurry!"
Lord Mayor Dinsmore blinked wearily at the agitated rider outside his door. "What it is? Why did you awaken me?"
"Listen, man!" Randolph had precious little time for explanations. "The crown is gone. Pontswain has taken it. I've got to get it back before he reaches his own cantrev. Otherwise it'll take a battle to drive him out, and that's the last thing we need."
"Huh?" The mayor reluctantly came wide awake.
"I need you to continue the preparations in the town. Koart and Dynnatt should arrive today with their companies. Bivouac them in the town, as close together as possible. Remember, the threat is from the sea!" A sudden gust of wind swirled around him, driving snow down the back of his neck, and he pulled his cape tighter.
"Very well." The Lord Mayor looked at the storm, which had grown nearly to blizzard intensity. "Surely there can be no attack in this weather!"
"We cannot take that chance! You must do as I say. The kingdom depends on us! I don't know if this theft has anything to do with the menace to Corwell, but I suspect some kind of connection. Pontswain isn't fool enough to do something like this simply so he could keep the crown for a little while."
"Where can he have gone?"
"I suspect he's headed for his own cantrev. That's the only assumption I can make, though he could have gone anywhere. I intend to pursue him along the coast road."
"Good luck to you, Captain. May the goddess ride with you!"
Randolph nodded quickly in thanks as he turned his
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speedy black gelding away from the lord's house. The horse sprang into the face of the storm, surefootedly trotting through the drifts that filled the streets leading out of Cor-well Town.
"May the goddess watch over us all!" the captain murmured fervently to himself. He had a feeling they needed all the help they could get.
Only four of the thirty longships remained visible. The others lay somewhere in the gray distance, obscured by the storm梠r sunk. The full fury of the gale roared from the port beam now as the fleet made its sweeping turn to the
east.
"We'll make the firth in another hour!" declared the Red King angrily, as if shouting at the storm would curb its fury. He knew that the sheltered waters of Corwell Firth would protect them from the raging storm, but how many of his ships would make it that far?
Even the vast form of the castle, riding beside them, could no longer quell the mountainous waves. Grunnarch never ceased to wonder at the sight. The huge structure did not bob or roll with the swell. Instead it rumbled implacidly forward, crashing through each wave with a force greater than the eternal ocean's.
There was one benefit of the storm: They had made the voyage from Norland to Gwynneth in record time. The long-ships had raced before the wind, riding the mountainous swells like ducklings in a torrent. Only the inherited skill and vast experience of the northern sailors had kept the entire fleet from destruction.
Finally the rough headlands of Corwell appeared off the port bow, and the mountainous waves shrank to the size of large hills. The snow continued to blow and the wind to howl, but the worst of the storm was past.
The longships closed ranks in these safer waters, and Grunnarch's spirits rose as more and more of the colored sails emerged from the haze.
The Northwind was soon surrounded by twenty-eight of
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her sisters, and the Red King saw with a mixture of relief and sorrow that the storm had claimed one of his vessels. But only one.
And the morrow would bring them to the shores of Corwell itself.
Pontswain had figured his plan carefully. He took into account the full night's start he would get by leaving in the evening, after the castle had retired. He carefully selected the fastest horse in the stable, to insure that even when pursuit developed, he could outdistance it. And he figured that, with a little luck, the disappearance of the crown would not be noticed immediately.
But he hadn't figured on this accursed storm raging off of the firth and making travel all but impossible. The wind rose and the snow assaulted him in the darkest hours of the night, well beyond Corwell Tbwn but far from the protection of any settlement, or even farm, on the barren coastal moor.
The only shelter he could locate was this massive haystack that some herdsman had piled near the coast for the winter feeding of his stock. Now the weather forced him to take shelter here, staking the sleek mare to the leeward side of the stack while he himself burrowed into its depths to conserve what warmth he could.
At least, he consoled himself, the storm would make pursuit all but impossible. Besides, he had wandered far from the road in his efforts to find this makeshift shelter, and anyone who followed him would undoubtedly travel down the coast road. Pontswain reassured himself that he was perfectly safe.
In the darkness, he took the crown from the burlap sack where he had hidden it. Its diamond points seemed to shed sparkles of light, and the golden circlet felt warm to the touch. Thus comforted, clutching the crown to his breast, Pontswain fell asleep and waited for the storm to run its course.
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"More gates? We see most all gates already! Time to rest!" Honkah plopped onto a huge log, his arms crossed and a sullen expression darkening his features. His huge, hooked nose drooped forlornly, and even Yazilliclick could sense his fatigue.
"J-Just one more! Then we can r-rest some more梞ore. B-But if we f-find my friends, you can have wine when you r-rest!"
"No want wine. Want rest."
"P-Please? Just one more梠ne more?"
Canthus and the blink dogs lay on the ground panting, their pink tongues lolling downward from widespread, drooling jaws. Yazilliclick had to admit that the pace was grueling, but he felt that they were so close!
"Where's the n-next gate? I'll g-go myself梞yself!"
Honkah looked down at the little sprite with a mixture of annoyance and surprise. With a groan, he lurched to his feet and started again through the pastoral woods of Faerie. "I show you. Alone, you just get lost."
The troll lumbered through yet another flower-studded meadow, his long limbs wobbling from his awkward gait. Once again Yazilliclick had to take to the air to keep up, while the dogs trotted along beside them. Every so often one or two of the blink dogs would teleport ahead of them and then lie down, panting easily as they waited for the others to catch up.
The troll reached the high bank of a crystalline brook and slid down the mossy embankment to splash into the water. It was only a foot or so deep, and Honkah made a great show of soaking each of his huge feet in the coo! liquid, grunting with pleasure.
"Here gate." He chucked a thumb at the muddy bank, where an overhang of roots and bushes kept the dirt in perpetual shade. Here was the ubiquitous moss frame that the sprite was beginning to recognize as the distinguishing mark of the gates, or at least those gates that led to Myrloch Vale.
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Canthus and the blink dogs leaped down the bank behind them, eagerly lapping up the sweet water and then collapsing on the bank of the little stream.
"W-Wait here." Yazilliclick ducked through the bank, feeling a momentary tingle as he stepped across the boundary between the planes.
A blast of frigid wind struck his face, and a swirling eddy of snow surrounded him. The howling of the storm drowned his voice as he called out, as loudly as he could, for his companions. He stayed for several minutes beside the huge snowdrift that marked the gate on the vale side, calling to Tristan, Robyn, and Newt, but he received no answer. Finally, dejected, he stepped back through the gate, unmindful of the sudden heat that washed over the gate in the second after he departed. Nor did he see the wind die or the snow begin to melt as the warmth grew to a sweltering heat.
"It's no use!" He sat on the edge of the stream, kicking the water with his feet in dejection, while Honkah looked at him sadly.
Canthus suddenly sprang to his feet, cocking his head to the side and staring at the gate. With a quick bark, he sprang at the embankment and passed through. Yapping in excitement, the blink dogs followed.
"Hey, w-wait梬ait for me!" The sprite flew after the dogs, fearing he would lose his one link with his human companions.
Yazilliclick stopped short as he burst through the gate. Could this be the same place he had visited a scant minute earlier? Oppressive heat sweltered around him. Steam rose from the blanket of snow that incongruously covered the ground. The blink dogs stood together in a pack, confused, but Canthus leaped ahead, barking loudly.
The sprite heard a shout of joy and buzzed after the hound. He came around a huge tree trunk and bumped into a massive form. Looking up, he squealed in terror. "Help! Firbolg!"
Then he recognized the giant as the creature they had pulled from the tar pit. In the same instant, he saw Robyn
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and lavish. Tristan, buried under the joyous bundle of fur that was his moorhound, rolled on the ground beside them.
"Yaz!" Newt buzzed to the sprite and gave him a toothy kiss. "I knew you were around somewhere! And you found Canthus! You're back! But where were you? How come you didn't take me along? What's the big idea, anyway? If this was supposed to be a joke, I don't think?
"N-No, Newt, it wasn't a j-joke梐 joke! I g-got lost, and this is the f-first time I could f-find you guys! And I f-found Can-thus, and he f-found the b-blink dogs! Where are they, anyway?"
The sprite looked around, realizing that the faerie dogs had not followed Canthus to the companions. He saw one furry face poking around a tree trunk and gestured to the creature. Slowly the animal walked up to the sprite, but when Robyn made a move toward it, the dog blinked out of sight.
"They're always d-doing that梩hat! They're r-really nice dogs, though, and I think they 1-like Canthus a 1-lot. Maybe they'll c-come up to you in a minute." As he turned back to Robyn, Yazilliclick caught sight of another member of the party.
"G-Genna! How did y-you梔id you get here? I'm so g-glad梥o glad to see you! We th-thought something horrible had happened t-to you!"
"Yes, I know. Now we must be going!" urged Genna. "It is time to move on again!"
Tristan stood, clapping the sprite on the shoulder in greeting, his own eyes wet with tears. "You'll have to tell me how you did this," he said. "But thank you!"
"W-Wait!" cried Yazilliclick as the party turned again to their trail. "I'll be b-back in a minute, b-but I have to do something first梖irst. Does anyone have a b-bottle of wine?"
Randolph slouched low in the saddle, wrapping his thick woolen cape as tightly around himself as possible. The storm howled off the firth with a vengeance, covering the
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moors and the road with snow. Indeed, as the drifts mounted and the horizon became a featureless white of blowing snow, the wind gave the captain his only bearing for direction.
The road had vanished beneath the snow, and the ground was a smooth surface of white. By keeping the storm to his right side, he hoped to maintain his southwesterly heading.
He lost track of how long he had been on the trail. The hour might have been early morning or noon. There was no way to tell from the bleak gray illumination.
Perhaps his course was laid by mere good fortune, or perhaps some benign power steered his hand through the blinding blizzard, hi any event, the captain blinked his eyes and wiped the frost from his brow as he tried to identify the hulking shape emerging from the storm before him.
He judged correctly that it was just a haystack, but it was not until he passed it that he saw the dark form of a horse tethered beside the mound. In that instant, he knew that his search had ended.
Randolph leaped to the ground, drawing his longsword as he stepped into the scant shelter of the leeward side of the pile. He saw the cape of his quarry extending from beneath the straw, and for a moment, he wrestled with the temptation to drive his keen blade into the hay above it. He settled instead for a sharp kick.
Pontswain stumbled out into the storm, a look of utter shock on his handsome features. Before Randolph could speak, the lord drew his own sword, and only the captain's instinctive parry saved his throat from a deadly cut.
"Why?" grunted Randolph, striking aside Pontswain's thrust and settling back on guard. His eyes expressed a legion of scorn that could not be phrased into words.
"Don't be such a fool!" sneered the lord. Pontswain slashed savagely once, twice, and both times his blade clashed against the captain's steel.
"Your arrogance would be amusing, if you weren't so treacherous." Randolph held steady, watching his foe. "Did you really think you could steal the Crown of the Isles and escape like a thief in the night?"
