The Beast lashed out toward Tristan with one bony claw, and again the sword snicked forward. Kazgoroth reared up to its full height, pulling away from the deadly blade. Then its red eyes fell upon Robyn, still staring upward in shock and horror.
"Run!" Tristan cried a warning and leaped at the monster as it reached for Robyn with its foreclaws. The young druid finally stood, her back against one of the statues, and now she held her staff up before her. "Run!" he shouted again, lunging toward the beast to attack with his sword.
"Die!" she said quietly and threw the staff on the ground at Kazgoroth's feet.
The sudden explosion of crackling flame threw Tristan violently backward, knocking him to the ground. Robyn stumbled to his side and lifted him up. He saw that she was sobbing.
The flames exploded from the ground, a wall of fire such as the goddess granted to her faithful. But this spell came not from the power of the Earthmother, for that power was no more. It came instead from the plain ashwood staff. The shaft consumed itself in calling forth the heat from the bowels of the earth, the cleansing tongue of earthfire.
Kazgoroth felt the fire and shrieked, the explosion of sound carrying the agonies of a thousand planes of hell. The explosion of flames engulfed the creature to the top of its head, feeding on the Beast's flesh and bone. It was a flame of purity and light, and it blossomed in stark contrast to the darkness of the vale. For a long time, it held its shape, blazing against the sky, and when it faded, Kazgoroth the Beast was gone.
Behind Tristan, the cadence of Tavish's song reached a new crescendo. The bard struck chords of triumph and joy, with a martial beat that matched the pounding of the king's own heart.
"Mother!" Colleen's cry jerked Tristan's attention from the Darkwell. He saw the sister knight standing over the corpse of the last of the deathbirds, but her gaze was directed out over the field, to the shattered wood beyond the well.
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"What is that?" cried Robyn, shocked and horrified at the apparition that emerged from those woods. It was quickly followed by two more.
"By the goddess, no!" Colleen shrieked her heartbreak in a cry that pierced straight to Tristan's heart, for now he understood. The three creatures had once been Sisters of Synnoria. That much was obvious from the scant wisps of blond hair that still clung to their torn and rotting scalps, and from their petite bodies. But now they shuffled forward with the mindless gait of the walking dead.
These were no zombies, however, no mere animated corpses that stumbled stupidly in obedience to a master's command. These were undead creatures of purpose. Their eyes glowed a charcoal red, hellishly fixed upon the sister knight who had once been sister or daughter in blood. But now Colleen was merely a potential victim, and the death knights advanced to the kill.
And at the same time, in the center of the Darkwell, the true horror began.
"Tb the shore!" Grunnarch's cry echoed throughout the fleet, and the longships veered sharply away from the battle at Corwell Town. In moments, they slid onto the sandy shore below Caer Corwell itself. The northmen leaped from their boats into the shallow water, then hurriedly pulled their longships high onto the shore.
The men of Norland surged along the gravelly beach, following the Red King toward the battle. Grunnarch had landed them some distance away from the fight to prevent the sahuagin from attacking his ships in the water, where the fish-men would have a decided advantage.
Now the northmen formed into a long line of hardened warriors, their axes raised high, spears thrust forward, helms gleaming even under the overcast skies. A roaring challenge rose from their throats as they thundered across the field.
Near Grunnarch, the slender and beardless Koll raised his voice in what he hoped was a fearful yell. This was a battle
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he would not run away from, he resolved. Nearby, but still unnoticed, the smooth-skinned warrior who had quietly joined the Red King's crew also advanced with the charge.
A lumbering mass of bloated ogres met the first rush of the northmen's assault. Their heavy clubs rose and fell, but they could withstand neither the ferocity nor the numbers of the determined attackers. As the ogres fell under the rush, a solid rank of sahuagin, more than a thousand strong and supported by a great marching mass of undead, turned to meet the charge.
The clash of metal against metal grew to a thunderous din, and the war cries of the northmen mingled with the hisses and shrieks of the sahuagin. Beside them, the Ffolk surged forward to join the fray, but the numbers of the living dead were simply too great. Gradually the armies of evil began to spread around the flanks of their human foes. Fighting bravely, among ever-growing piles of dead, Grunnarch and Randolph and the warriors who stood with them slowly fell back.
Bhaal seethed and twisted below the surface of the Darkwell. He felt the death of Shantu, a cruel lance that pricked his pride. He knew the agony of Kazgoroth as the Beast died in consummate pain, consumed by the earth power it had sought so long to destroy.
Nevertheless, these setbacks only served to anger the murderous god, and in his rage, he became even more terrible. His body coalesced around him into a physical tool, though his soul remained encased in the protection of the well. Bhaal erupted upward, spilling the foul black water from his body as he rose higher and still higher into the air, feeling for the first time the air of the Forgotten Realms upon the flesh of his body.
First came the head, with its long, manelike shag of hair. The face, marked by a grimace of supernatural hatred, came next, followed by the monstrous torso with its muscular arms and legs. The god loomed higher and higher, towering over the humans and the firbolg, the broken druid
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arches, and eventually over the blackened trees themselves.
As Bhaal exploded out of the water, towering above the combatants around the well, he strode to the shore and emerged from the water with the ease of a child splashing through a wading pool.
Bhaal's eyes glowed, hot coals sparking with the flames of hell itself. His fists, mountainous clubs of rocklike flesh, reached forth, eager to squeeze mortal bodies to death. His voice was the cry of primal evil, a thunderous bellow that resounded across the Realms, smashing trees, scattering birds, and sending shivers of fear down the spines of all who heard.
And then Bhaal moved to attack.
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Robyn recoiled instinctively, the sight of the god striking her like an explosion, driving her to her knees. She stared dumbstruck, frozen by a primeval, nameless terror. The ground shook, and she fell onto her face, helplessly quivering.
Colleen, next to the well, looked away from the undead creatures that had once been her family. She stared at the god rising above her, and then she, too, collapsed, lying senseless in the dark mud.
Yak bellowed plaintively, a cry of deep, primitive panic, then turned and lumbered off toward the woods, fleeing as rapidly as his trunklike legs could carry him. The blink dogs also ran, one by one blinking out of sight as they streaked toward the relative safety of the woods.
Even Canthus cringed, but the courageous moorhound would not desert his master. Instead, he crept forward, leaving the torn body of the displacer beast, and slinked toward Tristan's side.
Brigit and Maura had been advancing toward the well when the might of Bhaal exploded into reality. Brigit dropped her sword and stood staring in shock and fear. Maura, with a soft moan of despair, turned and fled toward the woods.
The pace of Tavish's ballad wavered as the bard struck her first discordant note. Then the song faded away entirely as lavish stared, awestruck and disbelieving, at the abomination that reared before them.
Only Tristan moved of his own will, backing slowly away
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from the well but holding his sword upraised before him like a shield. He stared at the god, feeling a deep and slow-burning rage, but he filtered his anger through a haze of calm detachment. This was the enemy. This was the goal they had expended so much to reach. Now he glared at the monstrous apparition, understanding the risks of attacking it but needing desperately to see this thing slain.
The power of the Sword of Cymrych Hugh surrounded him like an aura. The dark god seemed to recognize this power, for the giant's steps took it straight toward the king. Tristan knew that his atonement, and perhaps his death, was at hand.
The High King stared upward. He saw two horns protruding from the vast forehead, each longer than himself. With strange detachment, he looked full into the hate-wrenched face, distorted and leering. The giant form lumbered closer, splashing itself dry, and still the young king awaited it. Now Tristan felt ready for the fight to begin!
"Hey, Yaz! Get a look at this guy! I've never梇az? Where are you? Hey, come on back here! We've got more battling to do!" Newt buzzed above Shantu's body, calling to his friend, but the sprite, like so many others, had been overcome by terror at the dark god's appearance. Newt shrugged and buzzed toward the well, wondering what all the fuss was about. Sure, this fellow was big, but wasn't there a proverb about that, or something?
"K籾T The voice of the god was a rumble like the deepest torment of a dying earth, shaking the ground and causing the very flesh to shiver. Tristan, sensing that the god spoke directly to him, paused as Bhaal advanced.
The god rose higher from the well, black water hissing around his waist and massive thighs. His legs, with more girth than the most monstrous tree, carried him in long, powerful strides toward the shore of the pond.
Tbward Tristan Kendrick.
The Sword of Cymrych Hugh glowed with a silvery light, shining with a brilliance clearly visible even in the daylight. Unlike during the battles with the deathbirds and the owtbear, the sword did not compel the king-to attack.
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Instead, it floated easily in his hand, ready to respond to Tristan's own will.
Tristan looked up at the body of his foe, towering fully five times his own height. His highest blow could strike no farther than the giant's thigh, but the sword of his ancestor seemed to raise the young king's own stature, reinforcing his arm and his will. Yet how could human will match the might of this awesome and terrible god?
The giant form suddenly lunged, striking with a fist the size of a haystack. Instinctively Tristan raised his blade, knowing he would be crushed beneath that terrible blow should it strike him.
The god's fist met the Sword of Cymrych Hugh with a sound like a thunderclap. The king reeled back from the force of the blow, dazed by the blast of sound, but he still stood! And Bhaal, too, staggered back, shaking his massive head in shock and confusion.
Once again the giant form advanced. Tristan raised the sword high over his head, poised to parry another blow. A surge of hope flowed through him.
Robyn threw her hands over her ears as the thunder crashed beside her once more. She pressed her face flat against the soft mud as if she could burrow away from her fright. Ever so gradually she drove back the paralysis of fear that gripped her. Finally she twisted around to face the sky, and then her head spun dizzily as she sat up again.
Robyn's vision focused, and she saw, not the god battling the king, but the three undead Sisters of Synnoria advancing toward Colleen, who still lay prostrate in the mud. The ghastly forms, whose rotted flesh and strawlike tendrils of hair mocked the beauty of their victim, were almost upon her.
Robyn was unaware of the golden medallion, glowing with the pure light of divine power, as she started toward the three death knights. The nearest reached for Colleen's hair, sprawled like golden straw in the mud, as Robyn approached. Unconsciously guided by some deep and potent instinct, her hand went to the medallion. She felt the warmth of the talisman flow through her body, carrying
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words to her mouth.
"Go! I banish thee, in the name of Chauntea!"
She held the medallion high before her, and the golden light spilled like the rays of the midsummer sun, shining over the ghastly, rotten faces of the undead. It struck their eyes as a potent lance of virtue, searing their dead nerves and forcing them back.
The three dead knights raised their clawlike hands out before them, but they shrank away from the medallion and the woman who carried it. Robyn slowed to a walk, concentrating on the force of the medallion, using it to turn the undead from their intended victim. For each step she advanced, the death knights shrank back farther, until at last she reached Colleen's side.
Some distant part of Robyn's mind watched in amazement as she called upon the power of a new god. She knew that she had performed an act sacred to clerics of the new gods, for no druid could exert such a power over death itself! Genna herself had told her this.
Her mind balked at the implications as another thunderclap shook the clearing. She turned to see Tristan stagger beneath yet another blow from Bhaal's fist. The giant threw back his head and bellowed his own pain, for this time his blow had cost him a deep gash in his finger.
Robyn helped Colleen to her feet as the undead knights continued to back away from her. The young sister leaned weakly against her shoulder, trembling, and Robyn began to half-lead, half-carry her away from the black water.
Chauntea blossomed to her full height and sang a song of hope and promise. Her plane, Elysium, the realm of ultimate good, resounded with the chorus, and power at last flowed freely from the goddess to her newest devotee. For Robyn had opened the floodgates of devotion with her use of the Rose-in-Sun Medallion. Chauntea's love flowed like a benign enchantment into the body of the young woman, once a druid but now forevermore a cleric.
Chauntea felt the warmth of Robyn's own love flowing
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back to her in return, for the woman sensed the kinship between the goddess Earthmother, patron of nature and the wilds, and the goddess Chauntea, patron of growth and agriculture.
This goddess could not replace the druid spells that the great mother had given to Robyn. Those were gone forever. But in their place, she sent the divine blessing of clerical might: the power to turn away the dark forces of the walking dead, the power to cure grievous wounds, the power to bless her companions.
