Darkwell - Douglas Niles [131]
Randolph wasted no time in checking his victim, for he felt a growing sense of urgency and danger. Even this amount of time away from Corwell, he feared, might prove disastrous. He reached into the haystack, located the golden artifact that he sought, and wrapped it in the same bag Pontswain had used to carry it away.
The body of his enemy had not yet grown cold as Randolph mounted his mare, taking the reins of Pontswain's steed in his hand, and started back through the storm toward Corwell Town.
* * * * *
Once again the companions camped in a muddy clearing in the woods, surrounded by desolation and darkness. The stifling heat of Genna's spell finally began to fade with nightfall. Though the snow around them still was melting, it did not fade away as quickly as it had earlier during the day's march.
I should feel relieved and confident, Tristan reminded himself. After all, Yazilliclick had returned, miraculously accompanied by Canthus. The great dog once again lay curled at his master's feet, breathing contentedly, not quite asleep. Still, the king felt a strong sense of foreboding.
They enjoyed Yaz's tale of his sojourn through Faerie. The six blink dogs had gradually overcome their shyness, though they rested some distance from the fire.
"Do you think we'll reach the grove tomorrow?" asked the king, idly scratching the moorhound's head.
"Yes, unless another fissure or tar pit or something blocks our way," Robyn replied quickly. "It can't be more than a couple of miles to the streambed south of Genna's grove."
"Yes," the Great Druid, lost somewhere in her own thoughts, agreed absently. She stared into the depths of their fire, ignoring the others for the most part. This, of course, was not unusual behavior from so solitary an individual as a Great Druid. The older members of the order were notoriously unsociable among people who did not share their faith and practices.
"And then you'll use the fourth scroll?" Tavish turned the conversation back to Robyn.
"Yes. From the way the others have worked, I'm certain it will do what we require – that is, allow the druids to return to flesh and blood. Our combined might should be enough to purify the well and resanctify the grove. After that, the healing of the land can begin."
As the others slowly drifted off to sleep, Tristan moved closer to Robyn's side. He reached out a tentative hand, but she did not take it.
"After tomorrow," he said softly, afraid of her response, "what will happen? What do you plan to do?"
For a moment, she looked at him, and the familiar smile played about her lips while her green eyes flashed a glimpse of the love he had once seen there.
But then the cold fire of anger erupted within her and a red haze fell across her vision, surprising Robyn herself with its intensity. She tried to look through the heat, to Tristan himself, but all she could see was the taunting vision of a red-haired woman. The image grew stronger, brighter, drowning everything else in her awareness.
"What does it matter?" she said roughly. "You have made your decision for yourself. Allow me to make mine!"
Even as she spoke, she cringed at the harshness of her words, the coldness of her voice. What was happening to her? She saw the pain clearly reflected in Tristan's face, and a part of her wanted to reach out and take him in her arms.
But the other part of her, the one that had spoken, would not allow this. And so she turned away from him, glaring into the fire as if she would quench it with an icy look.
Tristan could not muster the energy to curse, even inwardly. He slumped back against a tree stump, taking small consolation as Canthus nuzzled his hand. Idly he scratched the dog's ears, wondering what had become of the relationship he had once cherished. In truth, Robyn's answer had not surprised him,