Darkwell - Douglas Niles [64]
"I'm ready to go now," the druid announced. "We must keep moving!"
"I'll take the lead this time," offered the bard.
"And me!" piped Newt.
"Yaz and I will bring up the rear," added Pawldo. This left Tristan and Robyn riding in the center of the group. For a time, the king followed the druid, riding in silence, but when they reached a place where the woods opened into broad clearings, he pushed Avalon gently forward to her side.
"Tavish told me what you did," he started out awkwardly. "I owe you my life…" He trailed off, unable to express his gratitude and his love.
She turned, and for a moment she smiled at him like the maiden he had fallen in love with. Only her eyes, dark and somber, betrayed her maturity and purposefulness. "The land of Corwell needs you," she said simply.
"And what of the druid Robyn?" asked Tristan, his heart pounding. "Does she need me?"
"I… need to serve my goddess, to the whole of my being." Robyn's voice carried firm resolve. "That is the most important thing in all the Realms to me." A door slammed shut before the king, and he was left shivering in the cold.
"Hey, you guys, get up here!" Newt darted from the trees to hover before them, his tiny mouth split in a toothy grin. "You've never seen anything like it before, I'll bet! C'mon… hurry!" The faerie dragon dashed away, dodging like a hummingbird among the tree trunks.
The pair called to Pawldo and urged their horses into a run. In moments, they broke from the woods to gaze upon the bleak shore of something the like of which, to be sure, neither of them had ever seen before. It was the size of a small lake, with a smooth surface of glistening black.
"Tavish says it's a tar pit, though how she knows that, I'm sure I can't tell you!" The dragon darted across the flat surface before them, pausing in midair to sniff at a bubble. He flew back to them and lighted upon the stuff.
"No!" cried Tavish, too late. The dragon's four feet touched the sticky surface, and though he tried to spring back into the air, he found himself stuck fast.
Tristan laughed, in spite of himself, and drew the Sword of Cymrych Hugh with a flourish. "To the rescue, wyrm!" he announced, leaning forward to slip the blade, flat side up under Newt's belly. He lifted with a smooth motion, and the dragon popped free of the tar. Newt flew off in a huff to rest upon a tree limb and try to clean his sticky paws.
"There was never anything like this in Myrloch Vale before," observed Robyn solemnly. Tristan sensed that this was yet another example of the blasphemy that had fallen upon this sacred ground.
Suddenly he heard Canthus bark from the shore of the pit, and he saw the halfling, still mounted, galloping toward the dog. Just then, Yazilliclick popped into sight. "Over th-there! It's a firbolg – a firbolg!"
"A firbolg!" cried Tavish. "Now, that's more like it. At least there's a monster I can understand!"
Tristan and Robyn ran along the shore of the tar pit, with Tavish close behind. The king still held his sword and Robyn her staff. The bard brandished her lute, keeping the borrowed shortsword in its scabbard at her waist. In moments, they reached Pawldo's side. The halfling stood with an arrow nocked in his shortbow, but he didn't shoot. Canthus stood before him, growling at something lying on the very shore of the tar pit.
The creature was indeed of the race of misshapen, hunchbacked giants known as firbolgs. His black, beady eyes glittered at them over a great bulbous nose, and his face split into a gap-toothed snarl that revealed only a few yellowed, crooked teeth. He lunged suddenly at them but fell short, and Tristan saw why the creature's attack had been frustrated.
"Why, he's stuck in the tar!" said the bard in amazement. "I've always wanted to see one of these things up close. What an opportunity!"
"Be careful," warned the king. Suddenly he grabbed Tavish and pulled the bard backward as the firbolg lunged a second time, a bit farther than he had at first. "He's shrewd enough