Darkwell - Douglas Niles [102]
"It's not much, but I think it's all we're likely to find," he said. He threw his ice-crusted cloak on the ground and gestured Yak to place Pawldo down on it. Robyn and Tavish knelt beside them, grateful for even the minimal shelter offered by the rocks.
"It keeps the worst of the wind off of us at least" said the bard with a forced attempt at cheer.
Tristan leaned back against the frozen rock. "That's not enough, though. If we don't have a fire, we'll never make it to morning."
The truth of the statement was apparent to all of them, just as was the complete lack of firewood within the limits of their view. Pawldo shivered violently, and the chattering of his teeth sounded like a company of horses charging across smooth paving stones.
"I'll try to find some wood. The rest of you stay here and keep as warm as possible." Tristan rose to leave, wondering which direction was the most likely source of fuel.
"Wait" said Robyn. "There's another solution."
Without another word, she reached into her pouch and pulled forth the third scroll, carefully checking to see that the fourth and last one remained safely stored. As she opened the scroll tube, none of them noticed the tiny ruby in her medallion glow and glimmer faintly in its golden sun circlet.
"The mastery of fire," whispered Tavish. "But don't you still need fuel?"
"I have fuel."
Robyn read the scroll quietly, with the same diligent care she had used when casting the mastery of water. As she read, the words disappeared from the parchment, and then the frail skin itself burst into soft, blue flames.
Tristan gasped and reached forward when the flames spread to Robyn's hands, but Tavish held him back. He watched in awe as the flames spread across her arms, and her torso, at last appearing to flicker across her entire body. The fire kept its blue tint, shedding little light, and Robyn gradually faded from view as the flames grew warm, then hot.
Soon a silky blaze wavered before them, reaching six feet or more from the ground. It flashed and shimmered, a narrow column of fire that radiated warmth like a mound of hot coals. Heat washed over the little party like a soft blanket of hope, and such it was.
The druid became both flame and fuel for the fire that saved their lives. Their wet garments drying, the chill slowly driven from their bones, the little band of companions huddled around the blazing, image that no longer bore any resemblance to a human being. The blue fire flickered throughout the long night, and though none of them slept for more than a few minutes at a time, it renewed and revitalized them, bringing hope and heat and life to them all.
Dawn had already begun to lighten the eastern clouds when it began, once again, to snow.
* * * * *
The Darkwell grew mightier, and ever blacker, as the other gods recoiled from the power of Bhaal. The god of murder held forth in the inky pool and felt the greater portion of his presence now lay claim to this place in the Forgotten Realms. Of course, he retained his link to his home plane of Gehenna via a long thread of blackness, invisible to all but those attuned to the will of Bhaal. The thread crossed the myriad planes, through the ether as well, assuring the god of ready contact with his place of origin.
Now Bhaal began to view the Darkwell differently than he had in the beginning. Now he saw it as a temporary prison, not as the gate that had allowed him to leave Gehenna and project his self into the prime plane.
But, he reasoned, if the thread could be extended not just from Gehenna to the well, but from Gehenna through the well, could he not project himself beyond the limits of the Darkwell? In short, could he not free himself to walk unrestrained upon the Moonshaes, and indeed all of the Realms, not just enjoying the evil of his minions vicariously, but actually participating in that evil, commanding the minions