Tristan started toward the melee, but then he saw Robyn starting to get up, apparently unhurt. Another deathbird soared at his face, and he quickly crouched into a defensive position.
"Get him, Canthus! Yippee!" shouted a shrill voice above the noise. The great moorhound raced across the field. Above him soared a tiny orange figure, shooting like an arrow toward the fight. "C'mon, you guys! Bite him! Chew his tail off!"
Canthus and Newt slashed into the fray, and suddenly the displacer beast whirled and lashed out from the center
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of the melee. Tristan saw the moorhound leap and snarl at the image of the beast, striking at the empty air. The blink dogs, conversely, snapped at no apparent foe, their teeth apparently closing on empty space, but as they pulled back, the image of the displacer beast snarled and shrieked in rage. The other-dimensional ability of the blink dogs apparently allowed them to see the displacer beast in its actual location.
As the fight raged, scarcely feet away from her, Robyn rose to her feet. She caught sight of the weapon that had fallen from the displacer beast's wound and picked it up. While she had at first thought it to be a spear, she now saw that it was an ivory horn.
With a dull feeling of shock, she recognized it. Kamerynn! Had he, too, succumbed to this savage presence? Was this horn all that remained of the proud unicorn that had saved her life, that had carried her into battle with the Beast? This shock, the proof of the death of the proudest child of the goddess Earthmother, now only strengthened Robyn's resolve. Grimly she tucked the horn into her belt and turned again to face the well.
lavish at last found her glasses and stood beside Brigit and Maura. The two sisters had driven the flying predators back from the bard while she searched. Now lavish again took up her lute,
A deathbird flapped toward Tristan, its antlers lowered. The sword of his ancestors surged forward, sinking into the monster's throat. The king flipped the limp creature to one side and started toward the melee again, only to see Robyn running toward him.
"The scroll! I've got to get to the statues!"
"Come with me!" He spun beside her and started toward the well. Yak and the sister knights continued to strike at the remaining deathbirds. Behind them, they could hear the roaring of the displacer beast, then the painful yelp of an injured blink dog.
Before them, Genna stood before the well, ignoring the battle raging behind her. She stood between two of the druid statues, staring at the black water. When Tristan and
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Robyn joined her, she looked up suddenly, an expression of passionate hatred burning on her face. Robyn imagined the revulsion she must feel, confronted by this ultimate devastation,
"The scroll!" Genna demanded. "Now is the time!"
Robyn fumbled with the container as Tristan looked around frantically. The statue beside him was a white stone image of a middle-aged man. An uncanny look of brutal determination, etched in the stone, glared from his frozen face. In his hand was an upraised sickle.
Beyond him were others, men and woman, all dressed in the practical garb of the druids, all locked in positions of deadly combat. Armed with scythes, knives, staffs, poles, and a few heavy clubs, these druids had faced a nightmare army only to be imprisoned thus. He remembered Robyn's description of the miraculous white foam that had risen from the Moonwell, saving the druids from the disastrous climax of their battle.
If the scroll worked, if these statues once again became living druids, they would find themselves in the midst of another battle梐gainst, Tristan suspected, an even mightier foe.
But could they save them now? He saw Robyn unroll the parchment, her hands shaking. Tristan saw the golden circlet, the Rose-in-Sun Medallion, glowing with an eager, hopeful aura.
Genna put out her hand, as if to steady Robyn's grip. The Great Druid's hand touched the scroll, and suddenly a blue light crackled through the air. Robyn recoiled from the druid's touch, her mouth wide in a soundless scream. Genna looked at her, her wrinkled face barren once again of any emotion.
Still the blue flame crackled and sizzled around them. Robyn remained immobile, her mouth wide, her eyes panic-stricken, full of disbelief and pain.
The parchment of the scroll burst into flame, and even Tristan could feel the heat from the fire. Now Robyn broke from her spell, screaming in terror, tumbling back against one of the statues to fall, sobbing, onto the ground. The
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flames consuming the parchment slowly faded, and the last of the Scrolls of Arcanus fluttered in useless ashes through the air, drifting on an eddy of wind to land in the black waters of the Darkwell.
Randolph spurred his panting mount over the last rise before Corwell Town, thankful that the storm had diminished somewhat. A strong sense of urgency gripped him, and as he crested the low hill, he knew why.
He saw immediately that Corwell was under attack, and the attackers had come from the sea. He kicked the horse into a desperate gallop, and the animal gave its last strength to streak over the snow-covered moor, pounding frantically toward the town.
The captain could see a black haze, almost like smoke, hanging over the town. He saw warriors and women and children梚ndeed, the entire populace梖leeing from the city through its gates, or even over the walls. Then he heard the droning of the smoke, though he could still not believe its nature.
But as the horse staggered up to the town's south gate, he saw the tiny creatures that made up the cloud, and he instantly realized that powerful sorcery was at work.
"Rally 'round me, men of Corwell!" he cried, brandishing his sword among the crowd of fleeing warriors. He pulled hard on the reins, and somehow the tired horse found the strength to rear, pawing the air with its forehooves in a brazen challenge.
"Tb the attack!" Randolph leaped to the ground and started toward the narrow gate.
"Wait! You'll be killed!" Lord Mayor Dinsmore, among the fleeing warriors, pushed himself forward to the captain's side. "They have powerful sorcery! The enemy are not even alive! They're walking dead! Flight is the only hope!"
"Nonsense!" growled the captain. "We'll just have to kill them again! Follow me!"
He charged through the gate, heartened by the score or so of men who followed. More and more of the Ffolk saw his
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solitary advance and feli into rank, until the course of the rout had been reversed.
Randolph still carried the Crown of the Isles in the burlap sack, tied securely around his waist, but he gave the artifact no thought as he plunged into combat with a sea-bloated zombie. Nevertheless, the crown had a most pronounced effect as he moved onto the battlefield.
As the captain pushed into the city, the buzzing and biting insects of the plague began to fall dead in droves. A circle of immunity, with the captain at its heart, broke the effect of the spell in an ever-growing ring around him. Within minutes, not a single of the conjured insects remained in the air.
But the dead of the sea continued to advance. Even without the aid of dark magic, they far outnumbered the fighters of Corwell. Behind them, entering the town and spreading across the moors, came the horrible shapes of the sahuagin, merciless in their killing frenzy, savage in their pursuit of any human foe.
The Ffolk fought bravely, and their captain fed them well. The men of Koart's and Dynnatt's companies rallied with the men of the town, but even together the humans were pushed back, and the dead and their masters claimed the town.
Hobarth cursed the cruel fates that had given him the incompetent aid of Pontswain, for he understood exactly what had happened as his insect plague died away. Somehow the Crown of the Isles was back in Corwell. His powerful enchantments would be useless.
But that certainly did not mean the battle was lost. From his high vantage point, he watched the battle in the streets and saw the Ffolk driven from their town by the combined forces of the undead and the sahuagin. As the humans spilled onto the open moor, still more sahuagin emerged from the sea, seeking to cut them off from finding refuge in the castle.
As the cleric's gaze drifted across the waters of the firth, his jaw dropped in astonishment. What was that? For a
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moment, he thought he saw a mountain moving through the water.... Slowly the shape of a great castle became visible in the mist.
By all the dark gods, what could this mean? In another moment, the fleet of longships became clearly recognizable, gathered around the base of the floating fortress like ducklings around their mother. How was it possible that an edifice of stone and mortar, clearly a mass of tremendous weight, could move thus?
The castle seemed to ride lightly upon the waters of the firth. For a moment, the cleric felt a flash of panic as he imagined he saw a rank of supernatural archers or fire-spitting war machines arrayed along the floating parapet. But as the edifice drew closer, he saw that, to the best of his knowledge, the fortress was abandoned.
The cleric watched the fleet approach for several more minutes, counting more than two dozen ships, plus that mysterious fortress. Reinforcements for the Ffolk, to be sure, though he wondered why they would come from the men of the North.
But still the servant of Bhaal did not worry. Certainly their crews numbered little more than a thousand men or so, and that, he knew, would be insufficient to turn the tide. Even as he watched, a rank of sahuagin warriors turned to face the fresh attack from the sea. The battle would still be won.
"What have you done?" shouted the king, advancing toward the form of the Great Druid. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Robyn, sprawled in the mud beside the Darkwell, look at her teacher with dull and horrified understanding. "You have betrayed us!"
"Betrayed?" Genna spoke in a flat tone, utterly devoid of feeling. "I serve my master faithfully."
Before Tristan's dumbfounded eyes, the sturdy figure of the middle-aged woman suddenly shifted, stretching and curving into the shape of a hulking bird. Its drooping head, bloodshot eyes gleaming, hung suspended from a crooked
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and malformed neck. A vulturelike beak snapped at him, and he stumbled back, almost too stunned to avoid the blow. Great black wings spread from the creature's sides, flapping slowly in an ominous gesture. Then the body shifted and wavered once more, becoming a shape burned into Tristan's memory at the homecoming feast. The king heard Robyn cry out in shock and pain as she, too, recognized the woman.
"You!" he gasped, seeing the spill of red hair and the fiery gleam in her eyes.
"It was you!" Robyn cried out beside him. Tristan couldn't tell whether it was in pain or in anger.
The young woman stared in shock at the metamorphosis of her teacher's body. Any semblance to Genna Moonsinger had completely disappeared. Slowly Robyn began to comprehend the corruption that had taken the Great Druid, culminating in the destruction of her scroll. Helplessly she looked to the ashes, already disappearing in the dark water, and then back to the red-haired face on the body before her.
That face twisted into the familiar sneer that had been the focus of Robyn's thoughts for so long. Once again hot rage burned within her, but this time the heat of her anger blazed toward this woman rather than Tristan.
And then the form shifted again, growing larger, looming over them and losing all semblance of humanity. The image of the redheaded woman vanished entirely, masked by a visage of black scales and red, gleaming eyes. It became a thing reptilian in nature, gigantic in stature. It became an enemy the king had slain once before.
"Kazgoroth!" The Sword of Cymrych Hugh sang a killing song in his hands... or was that the bard? He heard Tavish's ballad again, and his heart filled with hope, but it was a hope powered by an all-consuming rage.
"This time you wili die!" he cried, advancing grimly toward the Beast. Its great tail lashed around the massive body, a heavy limb that could crush a human frame in an instant.
Tristan turned toward the tail, anticipating the source of the Beast's attack. His blade slashed out, and Kazgoroth
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reared backward, splashing into the water of the well and screaming its pain in an earthshaking bellow. The monster crouched now, hunching back. Good! It had learned to fear the sword! As the combatants paused momentarily, Tristan heard the fury of the fight behind him.
In the field, the blink dogs and Canthus still snapped at the displacer beast. Shantu bounded this way and that to avoid the sharp fangs of its attackers. Two of the blink dogs lay dead, paying the supreme price for their bravery, but the others, led by the huge moorhound, pursued the attack with increased savagery.
The blink dogs tore skin from the beast's flanks with each attack. One sank his teeth into a horned tentacle, and though the monster lashed the dog back and forth like a fish on a line, the tenacious canine held its grip. At that moment, one of the remaining dogs grabbed the other tentacle.
Canthus attacked savagely, like a creature born to kill. Often the great moorhound was confused by the monster's apparent location, but when the blink dogs managed to hold the creature at bay, the hound made a shrewd guess and lunged in, clamping his jaws over a place that seemed to be in midair.
Sharp fangs sank through skin, and Canthus felt the blood pounding through the monster's neck. And now the moorhound's jaws began to close more tightly.
Shantu twisted and writhed in the grip of the dogs. The monster slashed with its rear claws, disemboweling one blink dog. Its sharp front claws sank into the moorhound's flanks, raking the skin and the ribs underneath it. Still Can-thus retained his grip, gradually closing off the air to the monster's brain. He felt something snap, then felt the spurt of warm blood as his jaws closed tighter. Slowly the struggles of the displacer beast lessened in intensity, and finally the creature lay still.
Tristan turned his full attention back to Kazgoroth as the Beast lumbered out of the well, lowering its head to charge. Robyn rolled away from the water, still on the muddy ground. She looked up at the creature, pleading with her eyes, seeking some sign of the existence of the druid she had
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revered, but there was nothing.
