Darkwell - Douglas Niles [77]
Canthus stopped with a sudden growl, up to his belly in water. His hackles bristled, and he turned his proud head to the left.
Tristan saw a bubbling eruption of water and mud through the trees, and he felt the ground quiver beneath his feet. Instinctively he backed away from the disturbance, watching as clouds of greenish gas drifted upward from the ground. Waves rolled outward from the site, and then water began to pour into the newly formed hole with a thunderous roar.
"It's another one of those fissures, like the one that almost finished me!" He stood, awestruck, watching the land's torment from a safe distance. Then, as the gas began to spread away from the pit, he led his companions away as fast as they could march.
"The whole vale is being destroyed," said Tavish, horrified. "That tar pit, these fissures – everything points to destruction far beyond anything the isles have ever known!"
She was right, Tristan sensed. Robyn had known this for many days, but the reality of the menace had taken longer to crystallize in his own mind. Now there could be no doubt: The very survival of the vale, perhaps of all Gwynneth and the Moonshaes, was at stake!
Desperately he forced his way through the swamp, now hacking at the branches that seemed to reach out to drag him back, now forging along a brief, open stretch of marsh. Finally he noticed the water growing more shallow, and then he stumbled onto a low hillock of soggy ground. Barely the size of a small farmyard, the land jutted no more than a foot or so out of the water, but at least it was dry!
He collapsed on the bank, exhausted, as one by one the others joined him. After a moment's rest, he pulled his boots off, shocked at the pallid lifelessness of his legs. His toes had begun to turn blue, and all feeling had long since gone from his feet. Desperately he massaged the chilled flesh, trying to restore circulation before it was too late.
The others, too, worked desperately to prevent frostbite or worse as the chilling wind moaned through the trees. They all shivered uncontrollably, but it looked as though none of them would lose any toes – at least for the time being.
"Newt and Yazilliclick still haven't returned," said Robyn suddenly. Tristan realized with a start that he had forgotten about their diminutive companions.
"Those two will bring all kinds of trouble back with 'em, I'm sure," grumbled Pawldo. "They probably found some horrible monster, woke it up, and made it mad, and now they're on their way back with it!"
"I'm worried," admitted the king. "It isn't like them to go off on their own for this long. Just the same, they've both spent all their lives in the vale until recently, and if any of us can find our way around in here, it's Newt and Yaz!"
He felt a sudden, stinging touch at the back of his neck and slapped the spot instinctively. Then he felt another on his hand, and one on his face – not so much stinging as cold. A quick look around confirmed his suspicions, even as Robyn made the observation.
"It's snowing." White, icy crystals of snow, driven by the wind, had begun to sift down through the gaunt branches. As they watched, the snow thickened and swirled, becoming a white shower of cold. The wind increased in force, and the snow quickly grew thicker, so that they could see no more than ten or twelve paces into the woods.
Slumping against the ground, the king felt an overwhelming sense of hopelessness, as if Nature herself conspired with the evil that opposed them, striving to bring their quest to an ignominious end.
"That's all we need!" groaned the halfling.
"I don't know…" mused the bard. "It might make the woods a little prettier. I was getting tired of looking at black and brown all the time. I'd like a little white!"
Robyn laughed suddenly. "We can build snowmen!" she exclaimed, and Tristan sat up in surprise. He looked at her as if she had lost her mind.
"Or build a sled!" This came from Pawldo. "I'll bet Yak could pull us all in comfort!"
Tristan couldn't help but laugh himself. "If you're