Black Wizards (15 page)

“Evil!” she hissed. She stared at Robyn, but it seemed to her that the Great Druid actually looked right through her. “He is evil!” she said again. It was the most articulate statement she had made in many days.

“Acorn?” Robyn said. “But, I thought … Oh Genna, what should I do? Help me!”

This time the older woman looked at her niece with an intensity that made Robyn squirm. Genna coughed once, a dry, rasping sound, before she spoke again.

“You must kill him!”

Bhaal watched the Heart of Kazgoroth carefully, feeling its thrumming power. The shred of the Beast had begun its work. Soon, now, the task would be complete
.

He took note of the feeble earthmagic of the druid and sneered. Her strength, and the might of her dying goddess, could not hope to stand against him, as he had demonstrated upon Alaron
.

There, he had commanded his cleric to destroy the druids. Hobarth had used the ambitious wizard to help, even convincing Cyndre that the plan was the sorcerer’s own idea. One by one, the druids of Alaron had died, drawn out by Hobarth’s
power, slain by magic or the cold steel of the assassin’s blade. Their mutilated bodies had been used to pollute and defile the Moonwells from which they drew so much of their power
.

That power was now broken forever. The next to fall would be the druids of Gwynneth, the keepers of Myrloch Vale
.

he sound of Canthus barking savagely brought Tristan back to his senses. Immediately he felt the tremors in the floor below him. He staggered forward, turning to run like a drunk from Queen Allisynn’s tomb as the marble surface heaved and rocked. He charged down the short corridor and into the great hall beyond.

Canthus bounded before him, racing for a great double door leading to the courtyard. Daryth had just reached the door. Tristan saw that he now carried a sword.

“All I could find,” he gasped as Tristan ran to his side, helping to pull open the huge portal. His eyes widened at the sight of the Sword of Cymrych Hugh, girded again at the prince’s side, but the Calishite said nothing. The castle shook once more, sending them stumbling.

The door creaked open stubbornly. Tristan was about to run through the door when Daryth’s voice halted him.

“Wait!” The Calishite probed the flagstones before them with his trident. The iron barbs clunked against the surface several times, and Tristan was startled by a sudden
click
.

Two sections of floor gave way, swinging freely inward to reveal a long, dark shaft. Uneasily, the prince stepped back.

“Same kind of trap,” the Calishite smiled ruefully. He stepped nimbly along the side of the pit. The prince jumped after him and made it through the door with no difficulty.

They found Pontswain where they had left him. The lord was
sitting up, rubbing the bruised side of his face. “Where did you go?” he demanded. “Leaving me to—”

“Shut up!” barked the prince, then looked a bit sheepish. “Uh, thanks … you know, for helping me out in there.”

The lord looked surprised but offered no argument. Instead he climbed unsteadily to his feet.

The castle was beginning to sink. Already water was pouring through the gate. They had left the outer portal down after entering, and the seawater now rushed into the courtyard through the wide opening. They stood upon the balcony outside the keep, five steps up from the courtyard itself, and watched the water slowly climb the stairs.

“There’s no way we can fight the current through the gate,” said Daryth. “We might as well wait until it comes over the walls and hope that we can float out. Here, fill this with air,” said Daryth, handing each of them a leather sack. “This is how we’ll float.”

Skeptically, Tristan took the bag and blew a lungful of air into it. The bag barely puffed out. Again and again, he breathed enough air to fill the bag several times over.

“It has a leak,” he said, looking quickly at the rising water.

Daryth blew into his bag. “That’s what I thought at first. But they’re holding all the air we’ve blown into them.”

“How?” said Tristan, looking at the limp sack.

“These are magical bags. I found them in the castle treasure room. They will hold a lot more than their size would indicate. Now, keep blowing!”

Still doubtful, they nonetheless continued trying to inflate the bags. Slowly, Tristan’s began to grow, and finally it was reasonably firm. Daryth took a length of twine from his beltpouch and lashed the three sacks together, tightening the line about the mouths of the bags.

In another minute the water had reached the level of the balcony. Soon they stood waist-deep in water.

The bags rose beside them as the water lifted them off the ground, and Tristan was surprised at how buoyant they were. Soon the men were carried from their feet, but they floated easily into the courtyard. They were even able to support Canthus with their makeshift floats.

The water inside the courtyard was within six feet of the top of
the wall when seawater poured over the ramparts. Crushing waves now roiled around them, threatening to tear the bags from their grip. Desperately holding on, Tristan tried to see if Canthus was still with them, but he lost sight of everything but the bag under his hands and the water. As more of the sea poured into the courtyard, the surface slowly calmed, and Tristan was relieved to see that Canthus, Daryth, and Pontswain were still hanging on. In no time, they were floating easily again.

“Still no sign of a sail,” said Daryth. “I guess this puts us about where we were this morning.”

“Not exactly,” said Tristan. “I’ve got the Sword of Cymrych Hugh again!”

He debated telling them of the prophecy of the dead queen, but a look at Pontswain’s suspicious face told him he should not. Perhaps later he would tell Daryth.

“Master, we must discuss a problem.”

“Must we discuss it now, Kryphon? I am very tired. His Majesty was most petulant today.”

Cyndre turned from the mirror to regard Kryphon. The master of the council had been gazing at an undersea setting. Kryphon watched the greenish image of a pale, luminescent city slowly fade from sight. He saw several fishlike figures, carrying weapons, drift lazily past the mirror before the picture disappeared.

“It could have the gravest consequences for us all, master.” Kryphon spoke in a rush. “Alexei has been disloyal.”

“You would condemn a brother wizard, Kryphon? I am surprised at you.”

“The charge is justified! He tried to convince Doric that you have been manipulated by the cleric. Fortunately, she spoke to me immediately after the discussion. I wasted no time in seeking you!”

“Are you certain of this? Is Doric telling the truth?”

Kryphon nodded vigorously. “I placed her under a charm spell as she spoke, and she told me the truth. She would have babbled all night if I hadn’t finally put her to sleep.”

Cyndre tapped his chin in thought. “You have done well,” he said at last. “I fear our comrade Alexei is lost to us. We can but see that his loss causes us no damage.”

“Is Razfallow the solution?”

“No, Kryphon. I have other plans for the assassin. But we can afford to be patient in the matter of Alexei. We shall wait. He will do nothing for some time. Alexei is not a man of action. But our time will come. When the cleric returns from his mission to Gwynneth, he will find Alexei waiting for him, ready to offer his blood as the tears of Bhaal.”

Robyn walked hesitantly toward the pond. She had replaced her torn gown with a leather jerkin. “I can’t kill him!” she repeated to herself. For once, her teacher had asked her to do something that she could not reconcile with her faith. Or was this some kind of test? Did Genna seek to examine her devotion to the goddess, her obedience? “I don’t care!” she told herself angrily. “I can’t kill him!”

But neither could she allow Acorn to remain in the grove. No other possibility even entered her mind. The man’s look of stark madness—his clutching, greedy hands—stuck vividly in her memory and sent a shiver down her spine. Fortunately, her druid spell had been able to stop him.

She made up her mind to expel him from the grove, sending him away with a command never to return. It was not what her teacher had commanded her to do, but she could not bring herself to slay him. Evil, Genna had called him—and he was. Still, Robyn felt that he was not entirely responsible for his actions.

She crossed the garden and moved among the great oaks, nearing the pond. As she passed the place where she had been tearing up the vines weeks earlier, she noticed that the stout stick she had used to pry the vines now lay beside the sturdy trunk. Feeling vaguely uneasy, she picked it up.

She wished for Tristan’s presence with a sudden, surprising intensity. The prince, she knew, would have had no difficulty enforcing Genna’s order.

She emerged from the oaks, expecting to see Acorn still frozen upon
the riverbank. But the stranger was gone.

Her uneasiness grew into worry as she stepped from between the huge trees. She moved carefully along the grassy bank, looking at the ground for signs of his departure. The riverbank here was a narrow strip of field, bordered by the river on one side and thick undergrowth on the other. The river was about forty feet wide and three feet deep. Its crystalline waters, racing over colorful stones, formed the southern border of the Great Druid’s grove.