Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [166]
For a moment, the Beast regretted the sudden disaster he had wrought upon those same Firbolgs. If they lived now, their punishment would be far worse than mere death.
A bubble broke from the black sludge in the middle of the pond, and the Beast crawled through the mud to wallow there. The power was not great, but could still be felt. The goddess had not yet been able to reclaim her Moonwell.
Slithering deep into the muck, until its entire body lay buried, Kazgoroth began to feed once again on the power of the Darkwell.
*****
In the harsh days of pursuit, always, it seemed, through the cloaking, chilling fog, Canthus never strayed from the trail of the Beast. It led through a low pass entering Myrloch Vale, and from there, due east. It was Keren who realized that the monster’s destination was none other then the Fens of the Fallon.
“My prince,” asked the bard, “do you recall a hidden sense of menace there? A presence that could be felt even more acutely than the threat of the Firbolgs?”
“Perhaps you’re right,” responded Tristan.
A thundering of hooves called their attention to the rear, as Daryth and Pawldo caught up with them. The pair, both upon the sturdy gelding, had been riding well behind Tristan and Keren as a precaution against ambush.
“The fens!” cried the Calishite. “Do you recognize them?”
They stopped, briefly, upon a low rise, overlooking the expanse of black ponds, thorny thickets, and soggy marshland. Somewhere in the distance, they sensed, lay their destination. Restlessly, Tristan looked back along their path. The monster was near, and he knew that he would soon face a climactic showdown, yet these thoughts were far from the forefront of his mind. One question forced all other thoughts from him.
Where was Robyn?
*****
“I’ll try green now! Aren’t you getting tired of red and blue all the time? I know I am – I think green will be a nice change of -”
“I’m afraid I’m too tired to pay much attention,” apologized Robyn, opening her eyes at the sound of Newt’s voice. The gentle pacing of the unicorn had lulled her to sleep.
“Just for a little while?” pleaded Newt. “Can’t you watch?” The little dragon still perched upon the unicorn’s ivory horn, peering forward into the night.
Involuntarily, his mouth opened in a wide yawn, but he quickly snapped his tiny jaws shut. “Now look what you made me do!” he pouted, turning his back toward Robyn in a huff. She sighed, but let the smooth rocking of her mount settle her back toward sleep.
The unicorn moved more gracefully than any horse – Robyn felt as if she rode in a comfortable boat along a smooth-flowing river. Suddenly she jerked awake, seeing an ocean of darkness before them.
“Newt! Wake up!”
The fairie dragon lifted his head, but by then Kamerynn had reached the limit of the last illusion.
The unicorn stopped sharply. Robyn fell forward, clutching the broad neck and holding on, but Newt lost his hold and sailed into the darkness, landing with an outraged squeal.
“Hey!” squeaked the tiny voice, indignantly.
“What’s the big idea? That’s no way to treat somebody who’s been helping you out all day! Why, you big lummox!” The dragon pranced up to the unicorn, glaring at him.
Robyn laughed and slipped to the ground. “I think we could all use a little sleep. Why don’t we rest here until morning?”
The dragon curled up quickly, and even the unicorn seemed to sense the purpose of her words, for he knelt and rested his travel-weary muscles. Robyn, leaning against the broad flank, easily fell into a refreshing slumber.
The following days passed quickly, a blur of pursuit as the valiant unicorn sped over the moor.
Somehow the unicorn knew the path to follow, and he led them unerringly toward the Fens of the Fallon. Robyn, too, recognized the dank reaches and sensed the nearness of her destination.
“Do you think we’ll find him soon?” asked Newt, peering forward.
“Find who?” asked Robyn. She had not talked to the faerie dragon about their destination.
“Your prince, naturally! Why,