The Druid Queen - Douglas Niles [3]
"Aye-and you as well, my queen. So many paid such a grievous cost," sighed the king, wrapping a strong arm around his wife. Unconsciously he raised the end of his arm, not allowing the stump of his wrist to touch his wife's shoulder.
She raised her hand and brought his handless arm fully around her. "We all paid our prices-and would do so again!" Robyn declared.
Tristan shook his head, disparaging his own wound. "When Keane gets back with Patriarch Bakar, my hand can be restored, but I suspect no such easy cure awaits Deirdre."
At the mention of the high cleric of Chauntea, Robyn stiffened slightly. She turned to face her husband frankly. "Even the healing of the New Gods doesn't come without its costs. Don't be too quick to assume their success."
Finally Tristan smiled. "Whatever that cost, I'll pay it. And you know Bakar is a good and decent man. After all, he came to Callidyrr and taught you for nearly a decade!"
"It seems like more than a lifetime ago," Robyn said, clearly uneasy with the subject. "I am a daughter of the goddess again."
"Still, it wasn't long ago that Chauntea offered our hope of growth and guidance… when the Earthmother abandoned us to the New Gods."
"She did not abandon us!" Robyn replied, her voice tight. "It was weakness-a weakness that I did nothing to soothe! All those years she lay insensate, and I turned to the worship of another rather than labor for her return!"
"We needed the protection of a goddess during those years, and Chauntea gave us her blessing," Tristan countered, shaking his head firmly. "Now her patriarch, I know, will come to answer my need."
"You're right," Robyn said, trying to drive the tension from her body. For once her efforts were not successful. She still felt the lingering pulse of anger in her veins.
"Who knows?" asked the king, drawing his wife beneath his arm again. "Perhaps Bakar can help Deirdre as well." At his feet, the great dog thumped his tail against the floor again, recognizing that some of the tension had drained from his master's voice.
* * * * *
Keane sipped idly at his cup of strong tea, not noticing the fact that it had grown cool while time dragged by. For two days, he had lingered here at the Eagle's Nest Inn, expecting a reply from Bakar Dalsoritan, impatiently awaiting the opportunity to pursue his mission.
True, his expensive suite made for splendid accommodations. High on a hill overlooking the waterfront and wide river at Baldur's Gate, Keane's rooms had a spacious balcony with a splendid view to the west and south. Another, smaller porch provided a sheltered outdoor nook with an excellent view of the rising sun to the east and the road to the shrine, where his messenger had ridden away two days before. It was on this overlook that he spent most of his time, even to the point of sending a petite halfling barmaid up and down the stairs to keep his teacup refilled.
The magic-user lounged against the rail, his narrow face tight with concentration, belying the casual posture of his lanky frame. He was dressed practically, in woolen trousers and soft moccasins and a flowing brown shirt that left his hands free but gave him space to conceal the pouches and vials that contained the components of his trade.
The sun drew near the western horizon before he saw the sleek black horse, flanks covered with foam and nostrils flaring, pounding down the River Highway. He recognized Gapsar, the fellow he had hired to carry his message, lashing the exhausted steed with his riding crop.
"Ho! Lord Ambassador!" cried the rider, spotting Keane on his third-floor perch. "I bring news!"
Urgency in the man's voice-or perhaps the impatience in the magic-user's own mind-propelled Keane through the apartment and down the flights of stairs into the common room. Quickly he passed through the front door and stopped before the dismounting messenger.
"What is it? Will the patriarch grant me an interview?" he demanded.
"Readily, my lord! He was most