Darkwell - Douglas Niles [132]
The black night offered no clue to an answer.
* * * * *
Bhaal pushed at the surface of the Darkwell with a broad and mighty hand. He saw the water ripple away from the pressure as it yielded to his physical form, and he knew that he would soon be ready to emerge.
He felt the power of long, tough sinews as monstrous muscles developed in the body that slowly coalesced around him. He began to smell and taste the water of the well through his own sensory organs, not through the supernatural awareness of his immortal form.
The cord connecting his center in the well to Gehenna remained strong. Now another cord – shorter but far more tough and able to cope with the threats of this physical world – grew from his body and connected it to the well. The cord would be invisible to those in the mortal world, but it would carry the essence of Bhaal's life and insure that even his physical body remained immortal.
Bhaal's was a body of gigantic size. Though manlike, with flowing hair and beard, it would tower over the mortals of the world. Its very presence would inspire fear and awe. Very soon now, it would walk the lands of the Forgotten Realms.
The god of murder sensed the approach of the humans, led by the corrupted form of the Great Druid, his servant. She served him well, indeed, bringing them nearer so that they might witness the explosion of Bhaal from the well. And in this same moment, they would know their doom.
XVIII
To the Black Water
This would be the last day.
Robyn sensed this the moment she awakened. As on the previous morning, Genna sat nearby, motionless but awake and observant. With a quiet nod to her teacher, Robyn rose and made her way some distance into the woods. She noticed that the temperature, though still warm, did not have the sweltering nature of yesterday's oppressive weather.
Slowly, reverently, Robyn knelt on the muddy ground. She faced a blistered stump of an oak, surrounded by a brittle nest of dead, dried vines. Somehow this seemed an appropriate setting for her purpose.
The druid prayed to her goddess with all her vibrant, faithful heart. She begged for a word, some sort of a sign in return, to assure her of the great mother's presence. Robyn felt a sudden dread and wondered if the very fact of her asking confirmation of the goddess wasn't tantamount to doubting her existence. How could the mother honor such a request, when its very presence was proof of Robyn's lack of faith?
Barely suppressing a sob, Robyn looked to the sky, away from the inanimate representation of her deity. Even in her despair, she felt a strange tingle of vitality, an energy different than she had known. It was a potent feeling, frightening and mysterious.
Keenly aware of this odd sensation, Robyn rejoined her companions. Distracted, she broke fast and prepared for the march. Once she looked upon Tristan as he ate his bread, and the sight caused her a flash of pain. The hurt came from within her, as if from a hidden tumor rather than a physical wound.
She made a point not to look at the king again until he started toward the trail. Canthus paced watchfully by his master's side, and Robyn suddenly recalled a former feeling, of pride and love and desire as she watched him. But once again the image vanished in a vision of red hair and blind rage. Robyn choked back a gruff curse and turned away from Tristan, shaking.
What is doing this to me? She demanded of herself. The flare of rage had been so hateful, so unlike anything she had ever felt before this quest. It far superseded natural jealousy, and for a moment, Robyn wondered what made her anger so unnatural.
With a shake of her head, she touched the remaining Scroll of Arcanus, safe in the tube at her side. Genna started off in the lead, with Robyn following close behind. Tristan and the others fell into file behind.
The sultry heat of the tropics once again sweltered around them, melting the remaining snow and filling the air with steam. Robyn saw that the spell seemed