Black wizards - Douglas Niles [106]
Robyn's weariness and despair were forgotten as she saw a shape rising in the water. No ripple was disturbed as a silver helmet broke the surface. Robyn's breath caught in her throat as the image of a beautiful woman rose slowly from the center of the pool. Her hair was silky blond, flowing past her shoulders, and she wore a silver breastplate that showed dents from many blows. But her skin was clear, like ivory – untouched by age, or trouble, or hurt.
The woman finally seemed to stand on top of the water, though she was not wet. Her commanding gaze forced Robyn's eyes upward to meet her own. Robyn found herself wondering if this was some kind of trick, but she immediately discarded the notion. The sight of the woman brought a feeling of deep reverence to her heart. She did not feel that such an emotion could be caused by deceit.
"Who are you?" Robyn asked, climbing to her feet and stepping toward the pool. Kamerynn turned to watch the woman impassively, Newt still perched on his horn. Yazilliclick had blinked into invisibility at the first sign of her.
"I am one who cares for you, and your prince, and your land," said the woman, in a longing tone that brought an ache to the druid's heart. "I am the spirit of one long dead, who hopes that her life will gain meaning through your acts."
"But…"
"Druid of the Vale," said the woman. Her voice was serene yet commanding. "Your prince is in danger. He awaits his death upon Alaron, but you can help him."
"Tristan? Awaits his death? What do you mean?" Robyn gasped, fear choking her throat.
"You must go to him. He needs you."
"Where? Where can I find him?"
"Seek him in Dernall Forest, in the living heart of that wood. Now fly, if you would reach him in time!" With these words, the woman slowly sank into the pond, disappearing from sight in a few moments.
"But how can I find him?" she cried.
Her only answer was the slow swirling of the water, and then the whirling died away and the pool was still and mirrorlike once again.
* * * * *
The vastness of Dernall Forest was a maze of trails and tracks, any of which could have been taken by their quarry. Yet Kryphon trusted to Razfallow's tracking skills for the most part, and his own intuition for the rest. He was fairly certain that the prince and his party would travel north, and he let this guide their path.
But even the prince should keep a step ahead of him. Kryphon understood the inherent value of his presence in Don-castle. The town had been a vexing problem for Cyndre and the High King. Their attacks, in the past, had been thwarted by the steady defenders, as well as magical aid from an unknown source.
The wizard and his companions traveled cautiously. Razfallow and Doric moved in the lead, seeking signs of the six horses and the large moorhound. Kryphon followed, several hundred yards behind, concealed by a spell of invisibility. Any ambush directed against his companions would almost certainly overlook him, leaving him in position to rescue, or avenge, as the case might be. In any event, Kryphon had insured that he, himself, would remain safe.
They pressed northward through the dark woods for two days, and gradually the sign of their quarry grew more and more faint. For most of the second day they moved by guesswork with no clue to indicate they were on the right track. Kryphon began to worry; he feared Cyndre's wrath should the prince escape them.
Then fate intervened, as eight men leaped from the underbrush to surround Doric and Razfallow, brandishing swords and crossbows. Kryphon, invisible, watched the scene with interest as he quietly approached them. In a minute he had moved within earshot.
"Gold!" one of the strangers demanded. "Will ye hand it over, or shall we search ye for it?"
"You shall have what you require," she said slowly. With great deliberation, she began to fumble in the pockets of her robe. She was taking plenty of time, but the bandits seemed to be in no hurry. Their attention