Darkwell - Douglas Niles [101]
I'm going to fail!
The knowledge burned within him, steadily growing into an inferno of fury and threatening to consume him with its fire.
I deserve to fail!
He groaned aloud in his pain, unmindful of Robyn's presence as she followed closely behind him. The others had fallen farther back, unable to maintain his punishing pace. Once he slipped on an icy patch of rock, falling heavily onto his side. The pain was a welcome thing, like a deserved punishment for his multitude of failures.
He attacked the trail even more savagely then, leaping down treacherous, slippery expanses of rock, wedging his way between two boulders as if he would hurl them out of the way. Newt buzzed to his side, looking at him curiously, and the king swatted a hand at the faerie dragon with no more thought than he would have given to striking a bug. Hurt and confused, Newt retreated to accompany Tavish, Pawldo, and Yak.
It was nearly dark by the time they reached a sloping portion of the gorge wall, a place where they could at last climb out of the riverbed that threatened to become a trap. Tristan scrambled up the steep slope, slipping and losing his balance several times as Robyn struggled to stay close. She feared for him, but she dared not interfere.
At the top of the gorge, Tristan started immediately to the north, ignoring the plight of his companions. Yak stayed to help Tavish and Pawldo, both of whom were shivering and exhausted, while Robyn struggled to keep up with the possessed king.
The land above the gorge was barren of trees and gently rolling. It descended toward Myrloch through a series of broad ridges, each of which was bare and snow-covered. At one time, these would have been meadows replete with flowers and bees, but now their very smoothness added to the aura of death.
"Tristan! Stop!" Robyn cried finally, as her own strength began to fail. She stumbled after him, afraid she would fall and that he would continue on, vanishing into the dead vale forever.
But he paused, shaking his head as if trying to awaken from a deep and troubled sleep. As she caught up to him, she saw that he wept like a baby.
For a time, she held him in her arms, willing him to exhaust his grief. She said nothing, hoping that the reassuring embrace would calm him. An ironic image of the maid in his bed came to her, and she stifled an urge to push him away angrily. Suddenly she wanted to hurl his treachery in his face, to remind him of his betrayal.
But instead she held him, wishing him comfort, even wishing that she could forgive him and forget her pain. This she could not do.
He shook his head again and leaned back, looking at her with red, bloodshot eyes. "I'm sorry," he moaned. "By the goddess, I wish you knew how sorry I am!"
"Be quiet," she whispered, pulling him close again. "We need you now! Don't do this to yourself!" She reminded herself of the mission, of their need for Tristan's leadership and his sword. Those things were every bit as important as her own power, and she told herself that it was for their sake that she consoled the king. Her king.
"What can I do? Everything comes to failure and death! How many more of you will I kill today?"
"You haven't killed any of us! Your strength, your mind, and your sword have done nothing but help to keep us alive! Don't let us down now. We need your help more than ever!"
He looked up, as if a thick fog had parted before him, and saw Tavish stumbling toward them, followed by Yak. The giant carried the shivering halfling in his arms, and Newt was perched on his broad shoulder.
"We've got to camp before dark," Tristan said quietly. "Let's see if we can find some shelter."
The barren ridges offered little in the way of protection. The king tried to wrap his arm around Robyn's shoulders, feeling her shivering as he drew her close, but she pushed away and walked alone. The chattering of Pawldo's teeth was plainly audible. Their wet garments sucked the heat from their bodies, and once again the icy wind had become the primary foe.
Tristan set a more deliberate pace,