The Druid Queen - Douglas Niles [36]
"By the Great Mother, this is a weapon worthy of a king," Tristan breathed, his tone hushed and awestruck. He seized the gold-embossed hilt, which was narrow and sleek, sized for a single hand. Pulling slowly, he revealed inch after inch of silvery blade until the full expanse of keen steel, fully four feet long, came free of its leather sheath.
"I thank you, Patriarch," Tristan said softly. He stood and flourished the blade, relishing the smooth balance, the slender length and deadly edge, as sharp as any razor. "It is a blade I shall wear with pride."
"And with which, no doubt, you'll strive to do what is right for your people and your land. That will is yours alone. I shall tell you only that the blade is blessed by the gods, and only through its use will their will be known."
"A potent protection indeed," Tristan said, turning back to regard the cleric shrewdly. "Now tell me, priest, what is the nature of your vision?" asked the king, settling himself to listen.
"There is evil in your realm!" the cleric intoned firmly. "My god requires-nay, demands-that this evil be rooted out and destroyed!"
"Name this evil!" snapped Tristan, not at all happy about anyone demanding anything from him. He slapped the sword back into its scabbard, though he still held the weapon comfortably across his knees.
"It is a force on this very island, marching to war through a valley around a great lake-"
"Myrloch!" Robyn whispered, her pulse quickening.
"Already they ravage the dwarves. Soon they will turn against humans, elves-all who would live in peace!" The cleric spoke intensely, staring into Tristan's eyes. "It is an army that must be destroyed-destroyed by you!"
"What nonsense is this?" demanded the king, though his tone showed a trace of doubt. "Who would dare disturb the peace of Myrloch Vale?"
"The vision showed me great, misshapen creatures-giants, with gnarled tree-trunk legs and low, sloping foreheads. They carried clubs and hurled boulders."
"Firbolgs?" Tristan all but gasped. Since their defeat in the Darkwalker War twenty years ago, the few surviving giant-kin had withdrawn peacefully to their remote lairs, offering no disturbance. He stood in agitation, pacing to one end of the library before turning back to hear the Exalted Inquisitor continue detailing his vision.
"And other creatures were there, too-greenish of skin, with great noses and wicked talons. They, too, are monstrous, standing far taller than a man."
"Trolls?" The king shook his head in amazement. "It-it's preposterous!"
The cleric sat back and regarded the monarch silently.
"Why has there been no word? How long has this destruction been going on?"
Hyath shrugged. "I have no way of knowing. Is this 'Myrloch Vale' a remote place? Perhaps there have been no survivors following the rampages of such villages as can be found there."
"Not even any villages," the king admitted with a shake of his head.
"But there are druids!" Robyn snapped, rising and crossing the room to confront the two men. She felt confident now that the discussion had turned to Myrloch Vale. After all, she had received her training in the druidic arts there, and no place was more sacred to the worship of the goddess Earthmother. It was a place that was more than a second home to her; it was the heart and soul of her goddess's spirit. "And furthermore, if something threatened the sanctity of the vale, I would know it!"
The cleric didn't try to dispute her. Instead, he shrugged, a maddeningly casual expression, and directed himself to the king. "I can remain but a short time. However, if you decide to acknowledge the clear will of Helm, I shall make every effort to assist you so that we can complete the matter which has brought me here in the first place."
"There is no war-no army of monsters!" Robyn protested. "You'll be wasting your time!"
Tristan looked up at her, and she saw the distress