Prophet of Moonshae - Douglas Niles [70]
In the background of this tapestry of words, unsensed by Deirdre but very much present-and very much pleased-lurked the dark and looming might of Talos, the Destroyer.
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Musings of the Harpist
Newt! I wish I could describe the emotions that his appearance brings to me. He is a courageous little fellow and as bright and cheerful as ever. He knows deep secrets of the isles-witness the Tomb of Cymrych Hugh as one example-and he seems to be genuinely fond of the princess.
Why, then, am I so worried?
11
The Beneficence of Cymrych Hugh
Danrak pressed cautiously through the sodden, barren woods. His steps rustled the dead twigs littering the ground, but he knew total silence was impossible in a thicket such as this. Short stalks bristled with dry, leafless limbs, and withered branches lay everywhere underfoot.
Normally such conditions would have held Danrak motionless-at least, until he had carefully studied the terrain. But so great was his current compulsion that he ignored his usual precautions in his urgency to reach the place that beckoned him. Around him stretched the wasteland of Myrloch Vale, a place of swamps and fetid fens, of dead trees and restless, prowling packs of firbolgs. Dire wolves, too, roamed here, and had made Danrak's life a nightmare of constant flight and eternal vigilance.
Yet he had sworn an oath to stay here, and so he would! More than twenty years earlier, he and many other young apprentices had joined the ranks of druidhood. They hadn't been ready to participate in the battles against darkness that had then raged in the vale, so the Great Druid had sent them to places of safekeeping.
Danrak had gone to the idyllic valley of Synnoria, home of the Llewyrr elves. These secretive folk had treated the human as one of their own, and the apprentice druid had learned skills of survival, stealth, and combat. The Llewyrr even allowed him to ride the sleek white horses, among the finest war-horses in the Realms, that were bred in their valley.
The elves taught him the arts of bow and sword until the sister knights-for all the Llewyrr warriors were female-realized that Danrak's aptitude did not lie in the area of combat. Then he had spent much time in the Grove of Meditation, where his alert mind plumbed the mysteries of the earth and its caring mother.
But after the days of the sadness had passed, he knew that he must return to the vale and its great lake, there to await his destiny. Though the great goddess had withdrawn from the known world, Danrak continued to practice her faith, tending the wild places as best he could, caring for creatures that need his aid, even driving away woodsmen and farmers who dared to desecrate the once-sacred vale.
For the first fifteen years, he had lived a comfortable, if hermitlike, life. He ate well, of berries, tubers and fungus, fish and fowl-even, occasionally, venison or boar. He lived in a series of snug, dry caves, and wandered the vastness of Myrloch Vale without threat to his person.
But then, for the last five years, Danrak's existence had changed drastically. It began with brutal frost, so deep that it killed the fish in many shallow lakes and ponds. A late spring, coupled with a summer drought, had altered the balance of life catastrophically. With little forage, the deer and boar and other animals perished in droves, and with no prey, the dire wolves, mammoth bears, and firbolg giants had migrated into the vale, looking for food.
Now Danrak lived in a world that seemed to have lost its fertility, a place of hungry beasts and precious little prey. In winters, he froze, and in summers, he broiled, yet he lived stoically, prepared to grow old knowing no other life.
Until one night, just recently passed.
Then he had the dream, where he saw Myrloch Vale as it had once been: a place of pastoral forests, fresh springs, abundant animal life, and brilliant blossoms. The next morning, he started out, crossing treacherous swamps and oozing bogs, seeking a place he had seen in his