Darkwell - Douglas Niles [103]
In his black heart, Bhaal knew that he could. And so he set his energies toward strengthening the thread, giving him the physical form and the means that would allow him to move beyond the Darkwell. His power grew, aided by the retreat of the other gods and the corresponding enhancement of his own status.
Soon the Moonshaes would tremble, not only under the assault of Bhaal's legions, but also under the footsteps of Bhaal himself.
XIV
Faeriewalkers
Tristan awakened slowly, feeling the chill of his rocky backrest penetrating into his flesh. The heavy overcast remained overhead, eternal as ever. Dawn now lightened it from its impenetrable black to a smoky gray. Large, wet flakes of snow drifted slowly downward, melting as they touched his skin but gathering in an ever-thickening blanket on the ground.
Still sleepy, the king reached forth a hand to scratch Canthus's broad head, knowing that the dog would, as always, be curled beside him. Then the memory of the previous day doused him like icewater. He sat up in sudden grief, realizing that the moorhound would never again be there.
He saw Robyn lying motionless on the ground and gasped at the sheer whiteness of her skin. She looked drained of blood, and he wondered if the expenditure of magic that warmed them throughout the night had killed her.
Trying to restrain his alarm, he leaned over the druid and saw that she still breathed, though her breath came in short, shallow gasps. He took her up in his arms and held her close, frightened by the chill within her that seemed to drain the heat from his own body. But gradually, as he leaned back and wrapped her within his cape, her body warmed and her breathing grew deep and steady.
The king heard a stirring beside him and turned to see Tavish sitting up, blinking sleepily and stretching. Pawldo, too, arose, and even Yak's snoring began to sputter. A flurry of snow exploded from what had appeared to be a small rock, and Newt's head popped free from his powdery blanket. This morning the dragon's scales were a deep blue, almost purple.
"What's for breakfast?" he asked.
"The usual," groaned the bard, pointing to the only food satchel they had salvaged from the wreck of the boat. "Soggy bread, waterlogged cheese, or wet dried meat – all frozen, of course."
The dragon turned his nose up at the fare, but nevertheless he shook himself free of the snow and buzzed over to the pack to select a few morsels.
Robyn moaned softly, and her eyelids fluttered open as Tristan pulled her closer. She curled against his side, and his heart lifted in momentary elation. Finally she, too, sat up and stretched.
"Will you come with me to the top of the ridge?" Tristan asked. "We need to discuss our route."
She nodded and took the hand he offered as she climbed to her feet. The snow, more than a foot deep now across the barren landscape, crunched beneath their feet as they walked the short distance to the top of the gentle incline that had sheltered them from the worst of the wind.
They saw Myrloch, huge and close now, no more than a mile away to the north. The lake was unfrozen. The dull expanse of its gray surface seemed to absorb what little light filtered through the clouds. It stretched far to the west, and to the full limits of their vision to the north. Only to the right, the east, could they see the shoreline meandering away from them. The snow did not fall thickly enough to obscure their vision much but rather seemed to render the whole scene an image viewed through a foggy window.
"Where do we go from here?" Tristan asked.
Robyn pointed to the eastern shoreline. "Once we reach the lake, we follow as close to the water's edge as we can as we head north. You see those dead trees, there? That's the forest south of Genna's grove. Once we get through those trees, we'll reach a stream – probably dry now, if the other streams and rivers are any indication – that marks the border of her grove itself. We should be there in less than two days' time."
They stood in silence, sharing the vista that had once been so