Darkwell - Douglas Niles [115]
Still none of them noticed the fat stranger, who had leaned back to his own table now, his cruel face twisted by a barrage of frustrations and schemes.
A most fortuitous meeting, this, Hobarth told himself. How in the Realms had Kendrick come to hold the Crown of the Isles? No matter, but the fact that he did put a major crimp in Hobarth's – and Bhaal's – plan. Hobarth had first experienced the crown when it had been held by the weakling, King Carrathal of Callidyrr, and he had no reason to suspect that its properties had weakened any in the hands of King Kendrick. Its property, actually, for the magical element of the crown only served one purpose so far as Hobarth knew.
It created an area of immunity around it. A large area of immunity.
When the crown had been held in Caer Callidyrr, Hobarth had been unable to work his clerical spells anywhere within the ample bounds of that vast fortress. Now, in the much smaller Caer Corwell, it would certainly protect that fortress against his castings. There would be no earthquake to tear down the castle walls here.
That is, unless the crown could somehow be removed. And here the plotting of the three lords and the captain had inadvertently provided Hobarth with a vehicle for accomplishing this.
The cleric got up heavily from his table and lumbered from the inn. He would find another, more private establishment and begin to work his plan. He sought out such a place – a quiet, tiny tavern tucked away on a darkened lane beside the waterfront. He entered and spotted a youth tending to some cleaning chores.
"Here, lad," he said, flipping the boy a gold coin and watching the youth's eyes widen in surprise and delight. "I would like you to do me a favor."
"Anything, your lordship!"
"Go up to the castle and find Lord Pontswain. Tell him that a man in town has a proposal for him – a mutually profitable proposition, you may call it. Ask if he would be good enough to meet me here at noon tomorrow to discuss it. Do you understand?"
The lad nodded eagerly.
"Go ahead, then. Be off with you!"
As the door slammed behind the departing youth, Hobarth sat down and accepted a large mug of ale from a barmaid. He felt very pleased with himself.
* * * * *
"I found Avalon just after the storm struck. He was horribly wounded, but he lived."
"And he lives still?" Tristan held his breath.
"Yes." Brigit looked somber. "Though his days as a war-horse are over, he lives and grows healthy."
"Thank the goddess for that, at least. One of us thought dead, but alive instead – that is a welcome lightening of the burden of this quest."
"But how did you know we were here?" asked Robyn.
"We knew the desecration of the vale would not go unanswered, and when I found Avalon, we knew that you must be on the way. Then it was simply a matter of observing this flock of strange creatures, for we suspected they were following you, and making the deduction that you would head for the grove of the Great Druid. We planted ourselves upon that path and were proved correct when you came to us."
"You know of the grove? How fares it?" asked the druid.
"It has become an awful place, full of poison and death. The Moonwell itself is corrupt, turned dark and foul. The desolation throughout the vale starts there, spreading outward like a loathsome plague."
"Has it reached Synnoria?" Tristan tried to imagine the beautiful valley of the Llewyrr under the influence of the horrible desolation that surrounded them.
"Alas, you would not know Synnoria for the place you once saw – or heard, I should say." Brigit stopped abruptly, a catch in her voice, and tears welled within her deep brown eyes. "The rivers have ceased to run. Even the songs of the forest have died.
"Most of the Llewyrr have fled, leaving our valley to its fate. We have found temporary succor from