Black wizards - Douglas Niles [89]
"Very well," he agreed.
"We can disguise you," offered O'Hoarke, as if relieved to have reached a decision. "And slip you into Callidyrr on a fishing boat that is returning to harbor at the end of the day.
It will be risky, but it is still our best chance."
"Why a boat?" asked Daryth suspiciously.
"Because the walls are high, and the city gates are guarded around the clock. A boat returning to port with the same number of men aboard as left in the morning may escape inspection."
"And once we're in the city, what then?" asked the prince.
"I have people in the city," said the bandit lord. "They will do whatever they can for you. My agent, Devin, may get you into the castle. If there's a way, he'll know it!"
"When can we get started?" Tristan asked.
"Tomorrow. We'll take to horse at first light."
* * * * *
Cawing and crying in a harsh cacophony, the birds of prey took wing. The hawks and eagles and owls exploded from their perches together, arrowing toward the stream and the as-yet-unseen enemy.
The birds rushed from the darkness against the army of the undead, slashing with beak and claw against the zombie vanguard. Flesh was torn away from the dead faces, and limbs were rent from bodies – but still the dead moved forward. Birds fell, shrieking in pain, as the claws of the undead tore at their feathered breasts or crushed their powerful wings.
And when the birds fell, the skeletons came upon them, lifting the struggling creatures and tearing them to pieces. A few of the zombies dropped, badly torn. But the fate of the flyers was much worse. Soon, the flock was decimated.
The army marched into the stream. At the far shore, sprawling in the darkness, was the grove of the Great Druid. And at its heart was the sacred pool of the Moonwell.
* * * * *
The vast caverns of Dwarvenhome glowed with an eerie green radiance as light spilled from the green fungi that grew on the high walls. Clinging stalactites dropped like drooling fangs over the huge council chamber, where hundreds of the short folk had gathered around a high platform. Three dwarves, looking nearly identical behind bristling beards, stood above their fellows. They heard the acclaim of their community arise from many barrel-chested comrades. The voices were strong and deep, and the chant was always the same: "Finnnnellllen! Finnnnellllen!
One of the trio stepped forward, looking out at the vast sea of bearded faces. Her jaw jutted forward belligerently, but she apparently liked what she saw, for she nodded slowly, affirmatively.
"Dark dwarves in the Moonshaes? They'll be there about five more days, I reckon – about as long as it'll take my fighters to march there, or my name's not Finellen!"
The chant grew to a roar, and then the dwarves dispersed to gather their armor and weapons. In another hour they would assemble as an army to follow their heroic leader – the real champion of the Darkwalker war, as all the dwarves knew – through the vast caverns of the underdark. Their route would take them under land and sea; for the length of the march, they would never look upon the sun. And when they reached their destination, they would fall upon their hated enemies – the dark dwarves – with a vengeance.
The outcome would be bloody but glorious.
* * * * *
Slowly Robyn squeezed the wood of her staff, as always drawing strength and reassurance from her mother's gift. She held the ashwood shaft before her and listened. Moments later, she heard a squishing, sucking noise that told her the zombies had emerged from the stream. They approached her, crossing the little meadow.
Kamerynn paced beside her. She sensed that Newt was still perched upon the unicorn's horn, though she couldn't see the little dragon. Neither could she see Yazilliclick, but she knew that the sprite stood beside her, ready to launch a hail of tiny missiles from his little bow.
And then she saw the