Darkwell - Douglas Niles [123]
"The goddess lives, girl. My spells, my powers remain unaffected. Could it be that you have not been true to your faith?"
Robyn hung her head. "I have known doubt, and perhaps my will has been weak. I am sorry, teacher." Robyn took a deep breath and again looked at Genna. "But how did you escape? Are the other druids safe?"
"The tale of my escape is long, dark, and painful. It is best left for another time. The others are still… imprisoned. It is toward their succor that we must strive."
"Yes!" Robyn grew animated. "That is what we have been working toward! We have struggled against the darkness but always grow closer to the well. Now that you have joined us, I'm sure our mission will be successful!"
Genna asked about their experiences, nodding somberly as they described the desecration of the vale. She displayed no reaction as Robyn told her of the Scrolls of Arcanus and her hopes for the fourth scroll, the mastery of stone.
Tristan felt the party's spirits buoyed by the talk, enjoying the fact that none of them talked about their frustrations and sorrows. Instead, they focused on their hopes for a rapid conclusion to the quest. One by one, however, the companions fell silent. At last there was only the presence of the black night falling heavily and bearing their spirits down with it.
Genna looked away from the group, into the darkness of the woods. Newt stirred restlessly and crawled onto Tristan's lap. He looked up at the Great Druid but said nothing. And the stormy winds howled and the snowdrifts climbed higher.
* * * * *
Randolph awakened uneasily, sitting up in his bed and staring nervously around his tiny room in Caer Corwell. Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs of sleep from his mind, he concluded that he was merely nervous.
The shutter banged in the window, and he heard the force of the winter storm raging outside. An omen? He wondered if this was the beginning of a storm of the same magnitude that had apparently ravaged the settlements to the north.
Wearily the captain of the guard stepped into his boots and threw a woolen shirt over his shoulders. It was still dark outside, but he knew that Gretta would already be at work in the kitchen.
He became more alert as he stepped into the corridor and descended the stairs into the Great Hall. Already the delightful aroma of frying bacon wafted forth from the kitchen, and he stepped through the door to find the plump cook tending a crowded cookstove.
"Good morning, sir!"
"How can you be so cheerful, Gretta? The sun hasn't even come up yet, and it's a beastly day outside to boot!" He tried to be gruff but couldn't help smiling in the face of her own robust good humor.
"Oh, and it'll be gettin' considerable colder, too, I'll wager. But my work keeps me in here by the warm fire, feedin' those more foolish types who walk the walls and stand in the gatehouse!"
"That explains it. Well, how about some food for one of those fools?"
She served him his usual massive plate of eggs and bacon, together with fresh cream, and he sat and ate very slowly, relishing each bite… or perhaps postponing the moment when he would have to go out into the weather.
"Odd about Lord Pontswain leaving like that," mentioned the cook as she brought him several slices of fresh bread.
His spoon stopped halfway to his mouth, and he looked at her in shock. "Leaving? Like what?"
"He didn't tell you? Come to think of it, he didn't exactly tell me either. I was tidying up, about to go to bed, when I found him in here loading food into a bag. Said he was leaving… that something had come up. The least he could have done was say goodbye!"
Randolph's indignation suddenly faded as he looked at the good side of the news. "This might work out pretty well. I'll be able to get things organized around here without having to fight him every step of -"
Randolph froze, a dull suspicion growing rapidly within him. Why had the lord left so suddenly and secretly? He had enjoyed his post here as temporary co-ruler,