Certainly she must be suffering even more from the total devastation and desecration of the vale. If the presence of a simple artifact had altered her personality, then it seemed quite logical that the destruction of all she considered sacred and holy would have an even greater effect.
But the power of this spell! Here, at least, was proof that Genna’s faith sustained her, for only the imminent presence of a mighty deity could cause such a change in the natural order. The goddess must be alive!
Robyn noticed that their course took them across ground that was again covered with deep snow, though it was rapidly melting. Behind them swirled a bluster of wet fog as cold air rolled across a patch of suddenly warmed ground. The magic, Robyn saw, created a bubble of warmth around them—around Genna, actually. It moved as she moved, and vanished as she left.
Soon the fissure yawned before them, and they turned to the east, following the edge of the crevasse in hopes of finding its end. They marched in silence. Tristan felt as though they walked through another world, a strange place of warm snow and ever-present death.
Suddenly the Great Druid halted. Robyn noticed that the fissure had narrowed to perhaps thirty feet in width, though farther along it soon widened again to the impassable barrier they had skirted for so long.
Tristan came up behind them. “What is it?”
“I don’t know.” Robyn turned to Genna. “Why did you stop here?”
“Be silent.” The Great Druid held up her hand, an expression of intense concentration on her face. Robyn thought she saw something frightening in that look, but in another moment, Genna spoke. “We can cross here.”
“How?” Tristan looked at the gap, its bottom lost somewhere in the depths, obscured by writhing gases.
“Wait here.” Genna walked away from the group, continuing along the lip of the crevasse until she was nearly out of sight. Robyn could barely see her through the many tree trunks as the Great Druid turned toward the north and raised her arms.
Tristan stepped to Robyn’s side and lowered his voice as the Great Druid stepped away from them. “Are you sure this is the same Genna Moonsinger you knew before?” he asked softly.
“Of course! Don’t you think I’d recognize her?”
“Newt’s worried. He told me he thinks she’s changed somehow.”
Robyn quickly explained her hypothesis explaining her teacher’s cold nature. “Surely she’s suffered enough! The least we can do is offer her our trust and support!”
The king persisted. “We have to be careful, that’s all. We don’t know what we’re—”
“She doesn’t need me to betray her now!” Robyn whirled on the king, her face growing white, her voice an intense whisper. “My doubts have already weakened my own faith! Don’t ask me to challenge hers!”
Meanwhile, Genna chanted the words to her spell, ignoring the rest of the party. They watched expectantly, fearful and anxious about the result.
Suddenly the earth began to tremble, and two huge oaks toppled into the crevasse, their dead limbs straining skyward like fingers desperate to arrest the fall. Tristan seized Robyn’s arm and pulled her back from the edge of the fissure. For a moment, he thought Genna had precipitated an earthquake that would dump them all to their doom, but the temblor eased quickly, except in the area directly before Genna Moonsinger.
The king watched in awe as the ground there twisted and bulged into an odd, misshapen mound of earth. The blob oozed slowly upward into a great pillar of soft mud. The pile loomed high over the druid’s head, growing into a solid column of dirt.
An unnatural groaning rumbled through the air. The column shook and trembled as armlike appendages ripped themselves outward from the sides. Then one massive foot stepped free of the crater around it, and another leg pushed upward, twisting and stretching slowly as does a body kept too long in one position. When it was completely formed, it began to lumber toward the companions.
“What … is … it?” gasped Tavish. Yak growled in superstitious fear, brandishing the great club he carried.
“Wait! It’s an elemental—an earth elemental.” Robyn’s voice was hushed. “Though I have never seen one so large or misshapen!”
The thing towered over the druid, more than twice the size of a large firbolg. Though it had humanlike limbs, at least in terms of their location, it bore little resemblance to any living creature. Its “face” was a mass of clumpy dirt, marred by roots and sticks that emerged from it in all directions. Likewise its body and limbs were earthen, and pieces of it dropped away with each lumbering footstep. Each of its legs was as broad as a massive tree trunk.
The elemental stumbled like a hunchbacked giant as it approached, and the companions instinctively backed away. Meanwhile, Genna ignored them, walking briskly to the edge of the fissure. Then she gestured to the huge mass of earth, and slowly it returned to her side and bent over the chasm.
Tristan and Robyn watched in silent amazement as the monster leaned far over the lip, until slowly it toppled forward. With surprising alacrity, it reached out with its massive clublike hands and caught the other side of the fissure. finally it lay still, like a gigantic log stretching across the width of the gap.
“We can cross here,” Genna gestured impatiently toward the elemental.
“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 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 is it? 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 c
antrev. 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 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 Corwell 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—or 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 placidly 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 longships 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 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 Town 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.
“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—more. 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—one 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—myself!”
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 cool 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.
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—wait 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 and Tavish. 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—a joke! I g-got lost, and this is the f-first time I could f-find you guys! And I f-found Canthus, and he ffound 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—that! They’re r-really nice dogs, though, and I think they l-like Canthus a l-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—did you get here? I’m so g-glad—so 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—first. 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 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. In 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.
Darkwell Page 29
