Darkwell - Douglas Niles [63]
Desperately she watched the king's face, begging for a sign of life, but his color remained that awful blue.
"It – it's the p-poison!" stammered Yazilliclick, slumping mournfully beside the druid. "He gets the air – the air, but the poison takes his l-life."
Robyn sat up weakly. Of course… the poison of the gas! Why hadn't she realized that? She leaned over the limp form and pushed Tavish aside.
"Banlie, venali!" she gasped frantically, pressing her hands firmly to his lips. Once more she felt the magic flow from her body as she called upon a potent spell of druidic healing. It would work only to relieve the effects of venom. Devoutly she prayed that the poison was the real menace to Tristan's life.
And then the dizziness rose within her again, as once more the power of her spell was drawn directly from her soul. The void between herself and her goddess remained vast, so she could only draw upon her own, suddenly depleted, reserves of magic. Her vision blurred, but she saw Tristan's eyes flicker open and heard his lungs gasp great, sweet breaths of air before she lost consciousness and slumped motionless across him.
Tavish lifted the druid gently and laid her beside the king, checking to see that her heart still beat and her breathing remained regular. Pawldo had galloped to the fissure and dismounted. Now he knelt beside Tristan, taking the king's large hand in both of his own. Tristan coughed and gagged, drawing deep and raspy breaths. The halfling's eyes, however, never ceased darting about the woods as he watched for an attack from that quarter at any moment.
But the scene remained, for the moment, quiet. A great oval had been ripped in the earth beside them. The bottom lurked in the invisible depths, where seethed a riotous mixture of yellow, green, and orange gases. A powerful odor, sulphurous in nature, with a stinging bite of even more sinister and unnatural substances, rose from the pit and filled the air around them.
Tristan sat up, still groggy, and his eyes widened with alarm at the sight of Robyn's motionless body.
"She'll be all right," said the bard softly. "She used her magic to save you. It seemed to take a lot out of her."
"I'm getting lightheaded," said Pawldo suddenly. "Let's get away from this hole."
"Good idea," said Tavish, lifting Robyn easily in her broad arms. Tristan climbed awkwardly to his feet, while Newt and Yazilliclick darted into the air, ready to look for a suitable resting place. Pawldo, aided by Canthus, gathered the mounts that had drifted away from the noxious site.
"The cloud drifted toward the fen in the lowlands," observed the bard. "Let's make our way upslope."
By the time they reached the crest of a low hill beside the trail, Robyn had regained enough strength to walk slowly, aided by Tavish. They collapsed on the first level patch of ground they could find, and Robyn looked at them all with a tentative, fearful gaze.
"What is it?" asked Tristan, reaching for the druid's hand. She let him take it, but she looked past him as she replied.
"They're gone, she whispered, frightened. "The spells I cast… they come to me through prayer. And when I cast, the power of the enchantment is the power of the goddess herself.
"But the goddess gave me no power for the spells I cast today. It's as if each was torn from my memory, whole. There's nothing left!"
"But can't you pray to the goddess to get them back again?" asked Tristan.
"I can no longer hear her. I don't know if she speaks or even lives. It's as if we've entered another place or a different plane – one where my goddess has no presence."
"You must conserve your strength," said Tavish. "Use your magic only if it's absolutely necessary." They were all aware,