Black Wizards (21 page)

And still Hobarth’s army rose from the earth
.

ide-eyed, Pawldo watched from the shadows as Tristan, Daryth, and another prisoner were prodded through the door of The Diving Dolphin. He kept one hand on the neck of the moorhound. One of the brutes cuffed the prince roughly, and Canthus growled, deep within his cavernous chest. Pawldo pressed reassuringly against the bristling neck and whispered soothing sounds into the dog’s ear.

In another moment the prisoners had been shoved down the stairway, and their escort moved them quickly up the street. Soon the captives disappeared into the night.

Another dozen ogres remained around the inn, staring belligerently through the doors and windows. They poked curiously at anyone who attempted to enter or leave. Finally the ogres grew bored and moved on, but the halfling remained still for several minutes. As the customers began filtering out of the inn, he stood up and dusted himself off.

Pawldo had some things to do. He found some old rags and quickly repacked his duffel, burying each of the Crystals of Thay in several layers of cushioning cloth. Next he pulled out a sturdy leather tunic that fit snugly over his shoulders. Lastly he took a slim blade and girded it to his waist. That blade, no more than a long dagger to a man, had sipped the lifeblood of more than one foe.

Finally he turned again to the moorhound, who had lain motionless while he completed his preparations. “Tristan?” said Pawldo,
inclining his head to the street.

The huge dog instantly sprang to his feet and bounded from the entryway, pausing only to give the dirt road a cursory sniff. He trotted in the direction the ogres had taken, and Pawldo had to jog in order to keep up.

Canthus, for his part, loped as quietly as a shadow through the streets of Llewellyn. The dog’s path carried them to the fringes of the town. He circled anxiously for several minutes at an intersection, allowing Pawldo to catch his breath while the dog sought his master’s spoor. Finally he picked up the trail again, turning to the left and bounding up a gradual hill. Pawldo followed him, still puffing.

Suddenly the dog darted toward a gatehouse in a high wall that ran several feet back from the street. A huge ogre stood carelessly within the gatehouse.

“No!” Pawldo hissed, pulling the huge dog aside just a moment before he would have reached the circle of light created by the ogre’s torch. “This way,” he whispered, sprinting away from the gatehouse and cutting sharply into a lane that ran along the property. Here he found a large oak tree. No gardener had removed the lower branches. The halfling found a nearby clump of bushes and ordered Canthus to lie there, hidden from casual view. Pawldo then had no difficulty scampering up the knotty bole until he reached a point where he could see over the wall.

He saw a huge manor house within the yard, surrounded by formal gardens and placid pools. Several ogres wandered around, patrolling the area.

Somewhere in there was the Prince of Corwell.

“It’s about time you woke up!” Pontswain’s biting tone blasted through Tristan’s weariness.

The prince sat up awkwardly, trying to ignore the heavy manacles that bound his hands and restricted his movement. His head pounded. Daryth, similarly restrained, looked at him morosely.

“What happened?” groaned the prince.

“You don’t remember?” Pontswain stalked from the barred window to stand before the prince. Tristan sat on a hard bunk and looked up at the lord in anger and chagrin.

“Of course I remember what happened!” he snapped. “I mean, how did the guards know we were there? Were they waiting for us to come ashore? We hadn’t been here for more than a few hours.”

“Just long enough to get drunk.”

“All right!” Tristan growled, standing up to face the lord. The chain binding his wrists clanked noisily. “I made a mistake. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. Now drop it, or by the goddess I’ll force your teeth down your throat!”

He expected Pontswain to strike at him—in fact, he would have welcomed the physical release. He wanted to hit something, and the arrogant lord seemed like a good target. To his surprise, Pontswain shrugged and walked away.

“I’m beginning to understand,” said Daryth quietly.

“Will you explain it to me, then?” asked the prince.

The Calishite stood and paced across their small cell in frustration, joining Pontswain at the lone window. Finally, Tristan joined them. They looked across the well-tended gardens of a large manor house.

“Don’t you see? Our arrest, maybe even the sabotage of the
Lucky Duckling
. It’s all been an attempt to stop you from seeing the High King!”

“So you think the High King is afraid of me?” countered Tristan. “Why?”

“The other rulers—Moray, Snowdown—all killed or vanished, as your father was killed, You are the only one left!”

“What threat does a country prince offer to the High King?” asked Tristan.

“Certainly, with your victory in the Darkwalker War you could seem like a threat—especially to a weak-willed ruler,” Daryth said. “The soldiers here were waiting for you. Not just any outlaw lord or king. And somehow, they knew you were coming …” All fell deadly silent as each realized the implications of the Calishite’s words.

Tristan nodded his agreement. He wondered as he did so if the walls were listening … or watching.

“These feathers steady and steer her in flight. The muscles in the wings are strong enough to allow her to lift a large rabbit from the ground.”

The young eagle sat calmly in Genna’s lap as the Great Druid stretched out its long wing. Robyn watched attentively as her teacher lifted the graceful bird.

“Of course, this one is still small,” added Genna. “She must grow before she can attempt anything so ambitious.”

They sat upon a bench in the garden, amid red and purple flowers and the stately boles of a few ancient oaks. Fat bees buzzed lazily from blossom to blossom, sipping nectar.

“She has the keenest eyes of any of our creatures,” continued Genna. “And speed! Her form is one of the most useful when one must travel from one place to another in hurry.”

“I would love to try that!” exclaimed Robyn, imagining the joys of flight. “To see the whole valley—the whole world.”

“Soon, child,” said Genna, surprising her. “Your lessons have progressed very well despite my recent … lethargy. You are almost ready to learn the secrets of the animals, to assume their forms when the need is upon you.”

“Teacher …” Robyn asked, hesitantly voicing a question that had been concerning her. “Your lethargy—had it to do with the stranger’s presence in the grove?”

Genna paused a long time before answering. For a while, Robyn wondered if she had heard the question.

“My ailment cannot be blamed upon the stranger—at least, not entirely,” explained Genna at last. “You see, I am getting old—quite a bit older than I look, if the truth be told! The infirmities of age sometimes weigh heavily upon me. At first, I thought that was all that was wrong with me.

“After the stranger’s coming, however, I felt something much more sinister—the presence of an ancient and powerful enemy—one whom I had hoped I was done with, at least in this life. That presence brought a kind of madness upon me.” She raised a hand at Robyn’s
look of surprise.

“No, not the stranger himself. I know him now; he was a powerful druid in Myrloch Vale. Trahern of Oakvale was his name. I thought that he was killed during the war.

“No, it was not Trahern that caused my ailment. It was a presence that came along with him—something that wore me down and frightened me. Perhaps it had inhabited his body, or maybe it was something that he carried.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I couldn’t,” explained the Great Druid. “The madness that infected me kept me silent. I dreaded that presence, but I could not articulate the words to warn you. It’s gone now, or at least lessened greatly in strength.”

“The black rock!” Robyn exclaimed.

“What? What black rock? Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Genna demanded.

“I didn’t know about it—at least, not until he died. The first time he died, I mean.” She proceeded to explain about the ragged bundle Acorn had carried, and described the rock that fell out of it after his death.

“Where is it now?” asked Genna.

“Newt took it away after I was stunned. I don’t know exactly where he put it. Newt?”

The little dragon blinked into sight a dozen feet away. He had been buzzing about the garden, invisible, shaking the stems of flowers as bees attempted to land upon the petals.

“Is it lunchtime already?” he cried, eagerly zipping over to the bench. “It’s been a long and hot morning. You two are being very, very boring, today, you know. What’s for lunch? Hey, where’s the food? I don’t see any food!”

“Wait,” cried Robyn, holding up her hand. “We’ll eat soon. First, I need you to tell me where you took that black rock.”

Newt shuddered nervously, twisting his agile neck to look in all directions, as if he expected savage enemies to burst from the woods at any moment. “I hid it!” he explained in a stage whisper. “I took it into the forest and dropped it!”

“But where?” persisted the young druid.

“Over there, somewhere,” replied the faerie dragon with an irritated gesture to the south. “Now, can we eat?”

Robyn couldn’t help but laugh and agree. She turned to go to the cottage to gather some bread, cheese, and fruit.

Only then did she notice Genna’s eyes, squinting warily into the woods in the same direction as Newt’s gesture.