Black wizards - Douglas Niles [56]
"I couldn't," explained the Great Druid. "The madness that infected me kept me silent. I dreaded that presence, but I could not articulate the words to warn you. It's gone now, or at least lessened greatly in strength."
"The black rock!" Robyn exclaimed.
"What? What black rock? Why didn't you tell me about this?" Genna demanded.
"I didn't know about it – at least, not until he died. The first time he died, I mean." She proceeded to explain about the ragged bundle Acorn had carried, and described the rock that fell out of it after his death.
"Where is it now?" asked Genna.
"Newt took it away after I was stunned. I don't know exactly where he put it. Newt?"
The little dragon blinked into sight a dozen feet away. He had been buzzing about the garden, invisible, shaking the stems of flowers as bees attempted to land upon the petals.
"Is it lunchtime already?" he cried, eagerly zipping over to the bench. "It's been a long and hot morning. You two are being very, very boring, today, you know. What's for lunch? Hey, where's the food? I don't see any food!"
"Wait," cried Robyn, holding up her hand. "We'll eat soon. First, I need you to tell me where you took that black rock."
Newt shuddered nervously, twisting his agile neck to look in all directions, as if he expected savage enemies to burst from the woods at any moment. "I hid it!" he explained in a stage whisper. "I took it into the forest and dropped it!"
"But where?" persisted the young druid.
"Over there, somewhere," replied the faerie dragon with an irritated gesture to the south. "Now, can we eat?"
Robyn couldn't help but laugh and agree. She turned to go to the cottage to gather some bread, cheese, and fruit.
Only then did she notice Genna's eyes, squinting warily into the woods in the same direction as Newt's gesture.
* * * * *
Pawldo was about to jump from the tree back into the narrow lane. The sound that froze him was little more than a faint scuffing, indistinguishable from wind in the grass or a dozen other common noises. But the halfling strained his ears, cursing the clouds that blocked the moon. There it was again! He was not alone in the lane.
A crease between clouds dropped a slow wash of illumination, and the halfling saw dark shapes moving toward him. Men on horseback, he suddenly realized, but why could he not hear the horses?
The riders pulled up at the base of the very tree concealing Pawldo, and he counted six men, shrouded in black. Each rode a midnight-black horse whose hooves were shrouded in thick leather bags.
Pawldo did not like these characters – not that he knew who they were, or what they wanted. His dislike was compounded by fright, as he saw the riders dismounting below. As quietly as possible, the halfling moved upward, certain that the pounding of his heart would give him away.
Pawldo could only watch as the men leaped into his tree and started to climb upward. One stayed behind holding the horses, but the other five swung into the middle of the tree.
Pawldo lay headlong upon a wide limb no more than ten feet above the sinister figures. Shaking with fright, he squeezed the branch as tightly as he could, hoping to blend with the darkness.
"He'll be in one of the tower rooms," hissed a man.
"How do you know?" questioned another.
"Ogres," answered the first speaker. "They always store treasure and prisoners up high if they can."
The men wormed their way outward along a pair of stout limbs, looking over the manor. Pawldo felt certain that they were talking about Tristan.
"Rasper, you take this," said the first speaker, apparently the leader of the band. Pawldo couldn't see the object that changed hands, but he heard more. "Drink that before we cross the wall – you'll be the lead man, but invisible. Let's stay out of the paths of those ogres, but if we run into trouble, the four of us'll keep 'em busy. Fallow, you know what to do then."
"Don't worry," said Rasper. "The prince is a dead man!"
Assassins! In his fright, Pawldo squeezed a piece of bark from the tree. The flake of wood broke with the tiniest