Darkwalker on Moonshae - Douglas Niles [169]
Kazgoroth lunged forward, one clawed foot splashing into the mire beside the prince. Tristan swung with all his strength, and the enchanted blade hissed through Kazgoroth’s flesh, but the Beast was not distracted from its next target.
Kazgoroth seized the branches of Pawldo’s tree with its foreclaws. The powerful shoulders clenched, and the trunk broke free from the ground. Pawldo twisted and struggled, trapped in the high branches, but could not break free. Clutching and gasping, he vanished below the surface of the pond.
Tristan felt a growing sense of despair.
He lurched toward the monster, slipping and falling in the mud. Desperately, he tried to sink the potent blade into the monster’s body, but he could not scramble quickly enough.
Newt, perched upon Robyn’s shoulder, was chanting one magical casting after another. An illusionary ball of fire exploded around the monster, and then a plague of flying scorpions appeared to attack it. The illusions seemed quite real to Tristan, but Kazgoroth paid no attention to them.
Tristan struggled toward the Beast. The sword continued to tug him forward, and he could feel the desire to destroy evil flow through the silvery blade. He turned briefly, and saw Robyn gesture him away as she raised the staff and chanted a spell.
A moment, and then another, passed, and still nothing happened. Kazgoroth turned toward the druid, the wide nostrils twitching in the still air.
Suddenly, the ground and water of the Darkwell crackled, as towering sheets of flame leaped from the earth to curl around the monster’s body.
Kazgoroth screamed in pain and stumbled, batting wildly at the flames, but the fire surged all around it. Suddenly the Beast shuddered, as if in deep concentration, ignoring the searing flames that scarred and scorched its scales.
Quickly, a black fog bubbled from the center of the Darkwell, extinguishing the flames and spreading across the ground. In seconds, the fire had vanished.
Robyn stared weakly, not believing the ease with which her magic had been countered. The monster lunged in her direction, as Tristan struggled to put himself between them. The mud pulled at his feet, tripping him in his haste. Splashing to his hands and knees, he watched helplessly as the creature approached the woman he loved.
Wrenching to his feet again, his vision clouding in fear, again he slogged toward the Beast, and again he fell.
Kazgoroth was looming over Robyn. Then, the prince saw a flash in the bushes across the pond, and Daryth ran forward, his silver scimitar extended. Tristan stared in amazement as the nimble Calishite leaped across the monster’s scaly tail onto its rough, plated back.
As if he were climbing a field of boulders, the Calishite leaped from one horny scale to the next, climbing all the way to the monster’s neck in a single, fluid charge. There, he raised his arm, and then buried his sword to the hilt at the base of Kazgoroth’s brain.
With a bellow of sheer rage the Beast reared backward, and Daryth flew through the air to land, senseless, at the shore of the pond. Canthus again lunged forward, but the dog could do nothing to slow the Beast but nip at its giant trunk.
Tristan finally made contact, stumbling into the form of the monster, hacking wildly with the Sword of Cymrych Hugh. A great gash was torn in its leg, but the wound did not seem to impair it seriously, and Kazgoroth lurched away. Suddenly, the great tail lashed around to smash Tristan’s back and send him sprawling to the ground.
Gasping for life, Tristan spun around and tried to leap to his feet, but the prolonged exertion had completely drained him. Panting, he knelt in the mud and looked up at the monster.
Black blood ran from the wound in its neck, but Kazgoroth still threatened. The Beast stopped moving for a second, as its forked tongue and scaly nostrils twitched in the humid air. Slowly, the great head swiveled around to fix upon Robyn, transfixed by the tableau.
“Tristan,