Darkwell - Douglas Niles [90]
But instead it raised the growing specter of fear in his soul. Bhaal's aim, of course, was to make of Gwynneth an island of death, a monument to his inhuman evil. The fact that this massacre occurred on the much smaller neighboring island of Oman could be dismissed as a diversion, or a rehearsal for the annihilation of Corwell. That kingdom, of course, would be their next target.
Yet for the first time, Hobarth wondered about his own role in his master's plan. He had been a true and devoted cleric for all of his adult life, giving all of himself for the greater glory of his god. But soon Bhaal's will would be done, and then what of Hobarth? If the god of death wanted no human life to mar his island, what would become of his unmistakably human cleric?
Grimly Hobarth shook off these doubts. He had cast his die, and he would live – or perhaps perish – with the roll. Certainly he would hasten his own destruction if his master should suspect anything less than total obedience.
Thus far, Bhaal should have no complaints. Hobarth's earthquake spell, the most powerful of all his enchantments, had torn the wall from the Iron Keep. Exploiting the breach, hundreds of sahuagin had poured into the suddenly exposed castle. The dead of the sea had followed, lumbering up the steep slope and through the wide gap until the entire keep had been overrun.
Now the animated corpses lolled senselessly about the battlefield, for they depended upon the commands of Ysalla's clerics for movement or any other action. And those clerics were now, with the rest of the sahuagin, embarked upon a frenzy of killing, eating, and looting.
This left Hobarth to worry about the next phase of the plan. Of course, it was irrational that he worry. The might of Bhaal had proven unstoppable thus far, and if the fish-men wished to revel in their victory for a night before embarking for Corwell, so be it.
Still, Corwell was an ancient kingdom, protected not just by doughty warriors but by some kind of benign and supernatural force. Or so it seemed. The Beast, Kazgoroth, had not been able to break the might of the kingdom. Of course, Kazgoroth could not cast the earthquake spell, and his minions had been living, breathing warriors, capable of failures of morale.
Nevertheless, Hobarth felt a strong sense of urgency, an urgency that was not shared by his allies. He took up a position at the mouth of Iron Bay, sitting upon a rocky promontory overlooking the scene of fire, chaos, and death below. He closed his eyes and prayed to Bhaal for a restoration of the spell he had cast during the battle. The recovery of the earthquake power would take most of the night, anyway, so he might as well put the time to good use.
And as always, his god Bhaal heard him and answered his prayer.
* * * * *
Snow spilled down the narrow hole, but the broken rock of the fallen ceiling had created a natural stairway. Tristan led the way, holding his sword in his right hand as he used his left to pull himself upward, out of the firbolg lair and onto the snow-covered ground.
"It's clear," he whispered. "Come on!"
He reached down to hoist Robyn to the ground beside him, and then the pair of them flanked the hole as Yak helped Tavish, Pawldo, and Canthus up. Newt popped out under his own power, and the firbolg had no difficulty lifting himself from the underground labyrinth.
They emerged into a landscape of black and white – black where the trunks of the dead trees towered from the snow, stark against the gray sky, and white everywhere else. The snow had stopped falling, but the wintery blanket covered the ground to a depth of a foot or more.
"The deathbirds are gone, or else they're still watching the entrance. Let's make some time!" Tristan started to move away from the ruins and suddenly stopped short. He looked