Darkwell - Douglas Niles [74]
"The gully is back here. It's more of a narrow chute, actually." Tristan led them through a crack in the rock walls to the head of the gully. They saw a narrow, rock-filled slide dropping steeply for several hundred feet. Far below them, the black waters and gaunt trees of the Fens of the Fallon stretched into the distance. To the far north, they could barely see Myrloch, covered with a thin haze and lying flat and lifeless in the valley.
The one consolation of the route was the steep, high sides of the chute. Its twisting floor would make attack by the flying predators very difficult.
"I'll lead," Pawldo offered. "My king, stay back until all of us have gotten a good start. Then scatter the horses and come after us. Good luck, sire!"
"And to you."
Tristan stood as Pawldo started down the chute, followed by Tavish. The hefty bard immediately lost her footing and started to slide toward Pawldo, but Yak reached down with one brawny paw and grabbed her by the collar. Thus steadied, the bard worked her way carefully over the loose rubble with the surefooted firbolg beside her. Newt and Yazilliclick used their wings, flying slowly down the chute and staying near the ground. Finally Robyn came to the edge of the gully.
She looked back at the horses. "Do you think they have a chance?"
"Yes… a chance. No more than that."
She reached forward as if to embrace him but hesitated and then placed a hand on his shoulder. "Now, go, and good luck to you!" she whispered, then started down the chute.
Already he could hear Pawldo and Tavish shouting, trying to attract the deathbirds. Several of the creatures soared like vultures overhead, observing the party's progress, as Tristan stole back to the horses. He waited while several more of the creatures took to the air. Finally the whole flock, still silent, took off and circled toward the chute. If the horses had a chance to escape, this was it, now while the deathbirds couldn't see them!
"Go!" he hissed, slapping the gelding on the rump. The black horse bolted toward the wide entrance to the grotto. "You, too! Off with you!" He stared at Avalon but did not strike him. The stallion looked at him quizzically, then suddenly turned. With a kick of his hooves, the great white steed blazed after the gelding.
The king raced through the cut and started down the chute, slipping and sliding on the stones in his haste. He ignored the cuts on his hands, desperate to join his companions and lead the deathbirds away from the horses.
Then he looked up and jerked to a horrified stop. The creatures, as a flock, soared over his head back toward the hollow! In moments, they drifted out of sight behind the rocky shoulder of the hill, back toward the camp and the courageous steeds.
The screaming of the horses followed the companions all the way to the bottom.
* * * * *
The fabric of the myriad planes of existence is a material of many parts. When a single panel grows weak, the whole grows weak as well. When a portion tears away, a void is created and chaos reigns.
The stuff of the fabric is the stuff of the gods. And now a tear in the fabric began to open in the Forgotten Realms, where the Moonshae Islands served as a tiny portion of the whole.
The death of the goddess sent a soft ripple through the ether that connects the myriad planes. The gods of chaos greeted the news with delight, the gods of law with concern. The former would try to rip the fabric asunder, the latter to patch it. The gods of neutrality cared little about the opening of the void. They would seek to prevent it