Darkwell - Douglas Niles [53]
"The dark force must be centered in the grove of the Great Druid, for that is the matrix through which flows control of the entire vale."
"And that, also, is where the druids remain entrapped in stone?" asked the bard.
"Yes. I intend to go there and break the power of this god!"
Tristan immediately wondered how Robyn planned to do this, but he dared not ask her. Tavish, too, seemed curious for more details, but she settled for a shrug of her broad shoulders. "Well, I'm in till the end this time. I've a hunch I missed some great ballad material when I left you on Callidyrr!"
"I'm famished!" Pawldo's voice emerged from the depths of his bedroll. "I'll have three goose eggs, turned oh-so-very easy."
"Eggs? There must be bacon, too… and cakes. Let's eat!" Newt lifted his head from beneath the saddle that had served as his tent.
"Cold bread," said the king, suddenly irritated by his companions' good humor. "And we'll hit the trail in ten minutes." Tristan stretched his stiff muscles as he slid the chain mail over his shoulders. Even the heavy wool padding did not prevent the chill of the iron links from penetrating to his skin.
He saddled Avalon, then lifted Daryth's saddle to the back of the Calishite's frisky chestnut mare. There he met Robyn as she brought their friend's bedroll to be lashed onto the horse.
"Daryth went down the trail last night, farther into the vale," he explained. "I want to put Canthus on his trail. If he's strayed from our path, I'll try to find him. I'll catch up with you later."
"By all means," she agreed. "But we shall all go." She looked at him without anger. "Our first priority must be to find him."
By the time they had packed their meager camp, Tristan had located the Calishite's trail and shown it to Canthus. The moorhound immediately grasped his master's meaning and started along the path at an easy lope, his nose held inches off the ground.
Tristan, atop Avalon, rode behind the moorhound. Robyn, on Daryth's mare, came next. Newt also rode the mare, perched possessively on the saddlehorn before the druid, while Yazilliclick rode in front of the king on Avalon. Pawldo and Tavish brought up the rear.
The horses broke into a slow trot, unimpeded by any underbrush in the dead forest. The trees here had once been lofty pines, but now each was a bleak spire, prickly with the brittle array of its dead branches and surrounded by a small heap of rotting needles. Their path, a former game trail, meandered among these trunks, then gradually left the hill country and entered the bottomland of Myrloch Vale itself.
Tristan put a hand on Yazilliclick's tiny shoulder to steady the sprite as the horse took them over a rough part of the trail. He took care to avoid crushing his companion's frail butterfly wings, but nevertheless he noticed the faerie's body trembling under his touch.
"What is it, Yaz?" he asked, leaning forward and speaking softly.
"It – it's this!" squeaked the faerie, gesturing around them in despair. "Of all the places in the world – the world, this one here, the v-vale, was the closest to F-Faerie! And now it's all dead – all dead!"
"Faerie? I've heard it's a magical place, unlike any other realm. Is that so?"
"Oh, y-yes!" Yazilliclick brightened perceptibly. "It has fa-beauty and magic – and a w-wonderful peacefulness!"
"Where is it?"
"I d-don't know for sure. You go through a g-gate and you're in Faerie; it's that easy – easy. There are so many gates, especially to here, to the v-vale."
"Did you come through one of them?" Tristan tried to divert the sprite's attention from his misery.
"Oh, yes! L-Long ago, I came here to the vale – the vale. It was so beautiful here, just like F-Faerie. Wh-why did they have to kill it all?"
"It is not gone forever. Whatever is causing this must have a weakness. We'll find it."
"It's all d-dead," wept the faerie, unconsoled.
Tristan looked at the wasteland through new eyes and wondered