Black Wizards (7 page)

“What is it, teacher? Why did you call?” Robyn clasped a hand to her mouth as she saw Genna’s haggard face staring at her from the depths of her bed.

“Pain!” gasped Genna Moonsinger, collapsing into her soft quilt. Her eyes darted past Robyn, as if she feared that some apparition might appear in the doorway.

“Can I help you? Tell me what you need!”

“Leave me, girl! Go, now!” Genna’s voice was sharp—more harsh than Robyn had ever heard before.

Confused and frightened, she stumbled from the cottage and banged the door shut. She saw the man—the “stranger” she still called him—watering the roses as she had requested. Robyn quickly turned away from him and went around the cottage. She felt a need to be alone.

She heard a loud snuffle as she passed through the hedge that magically parted before her, and Grunt rose to his four feet. Absently, she scratched his broad head while she wondered about her teacher’s strange malady. Genna had been taciturn and unpleasant recently, and her health seemed to grow worse every day.

Grunt suddenly rubbed against her, anxious for more attention, and knocked her to the ground.

“Dammit, you clumsy oaf!” she shouted, and then winced as she saw the deep hurt in his eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s not you—I shouldn’t treat you so.” Mollified, the bear nuzzled in for more scratching, and she absently complied.

Her mind drifted to Tristan. She had been thinking of him a lot lately. Often she daydreamed about his sudden arrival at the grove. She pictured him galloping from the woods on his great stallion, Avalon. She liked to imagine his joy upon seeing her—and the crushing kiss he’d greet her with.

She felt certain that something was terribly wrong—she feared that the king was indeed dead. She would have gone, except for the demands of Genna’s illness, for the Great Druid desperately needed her help now.

Half-hoping, she turned to the forest beyond the grove, as if she expected to see the approach of the white charger and its handsome rider.

But there were only green leaves, swaying easily in the breeze.

The goddess, Earthmother, was a deity unlike Bhaal in every respect. While his interests spanned planes and universes, hers were focused only upon the Moonshae Islands. While he thrived upon death, she prospered from growth and life. Bhaal relished chaos and disorder, while the Earthmother desired only the proper balance of all things
.

The islands had been her body, her life, since time began, But the power of the goddess was waning, for only through her druids could her body survive and prosper. The coming of the Northmen, in centuries past, had driven the druids from many parts of the isles
.

And a challenge from another source, upon the large island of Alaron, had gradually removed that land from her. She did not know what had happened to the druids of Alaron—only that their lives had been snuffed out, one by one, as if some ravaging cancer had spread across the land
.

Her islands of Snowdown and Moray, small and lightly populated, still held to the tenets of her ancient faith. Their druids were devout but simple people, the demands of their lands slight and easily met
.

Only upon Gwynneth were her druids still truly strong. She sensed, in some godlike way, that she would need all of that strength if she was going to survive
.

he vast underground passage reverberated with soft echoes, as hundreds of dark, small bodies moved stealthily through the cavern. No light broke the inky blackness, but the figures moved quickly and easily, avoiding each upthrusting stalagmite, and carefully bypassing each sheer precipice that led to depths of the earth thousands of feet, even many miles, below them.

“Are your troops in position? My time is precious,” remarked Cyndre smoothly. The black wizard was concealed as usual beneath his robe, but his posture and tone conveyed boredom.

“You will receive your payment!” barked one of the little figures, standing irritably beside the mage. He came only to the man’s waist. His dark and swarthy face scowled at the passing file of similar creatures. “If your magic is as mighty as you claim …”

Dai-Dak, king of the dark dwarves—the duergar—glared a challenge at the mage. He was not used to hearing complaints. Cyndre waved a finger, whispering a soft word.

Dai-Dak, the cave salamander, froze in panic. His reptilian eyes bulged up at the wizard. Cyndre gestured again, and the dark dwarf stood once again beside him, looking considerably chastened.

“See that you do not question my magic again,” said the sorcerer very softly.

Dai-Dak nodded quickly. “As we agreed, my army will guard the underworld approaches to Caer Callidyrr. We will let nothing in or
out. And when you call us, we will be there to serve you!”

“Very good.” The wizard smiled from the depths of his robe. “Now let us see to this attack.”

“My troops are almost in position,” pleaded the dwarf. “A few moments more, please!”

Cyndre looked with disinterest at the short, stocky column of fighters. Each was dark-skinned and bristled with hair and beard. Their bowed legs carried them roughly but steadily. Finely crafted armor of metal or leather protected their chests, and their arms were banded in steel.

The deep gnomes—svirfneblin—were the blood enemies of the duergar. The vast, underground community below them contained valuable gold and iron deposits, prime fungus-growing caverns, and good water supplies. It would be a fine addition to the duergar holdings. And too, the slaying of the svirfneblin would be grand sport for the malicious, merciless duergar.

Cyndre enjoyed the prospect of the coming fight, for his magic would insure the victory—and the duergar would then join the forces waiting to move on the sorcerer’s command. The Scarlet Guard, and the duergar, had potent armies—and one more force, now waiting quietly under the sea, would soon join those legions.

“We are ready,” said Dai-Dak. “Follow me.”

The dark dwarf king led Cyndre through a narrow cave mouth onto a high promontory, still underground. They looked over a vast network of caverns—the realm of the svirfneblin. Huge stone pillars connected the floor to the ceiling, some five hundred feet overhead. Many gems studded these pillars, casting a soft, yellow light over the scene.

Below them, the round-roofed stone huts of the deep gnomes clustered against the cavern walls. The gnomes bustled about their community, busy as always. Potters, jewelers, bakers, farmers, smiths, all plied their trades—bartering constantly, for such is the way of the gnomes. They were a slight, wiry people, smaller than the duergar, and much less malicious. Beyond the village stretched the vast fungus-forests where the gnomes grew their food. A placid stream wound through the huge fungi, bridged in several places by neat, stone spans. The scene, throughout the caverns, was one of peace.

But that peace was ending.

“Seeriax, punjyss withsath—nere!” Cyndre whispered the words to his first spell, holding his fingers before him. A soft hissing surrounded him, and a long tendril of yellow gas flowed from each of his fingertips. The gas expanded into a huge yellow mass of air, sinking from the promontory toward the bustling village below.

The gas seeped through the doors and windows, slinking around the deep gnomes as they sat, or slept, or worked. And where it struck, it killed.

A hundred gnomefolk were startled by the yellow, silent death, and died before they could cry a warning. The gas flowed onward, seeping through the streets, flowing from the dead to the living. One old gnome, tottering up the street, his gray beard reaching nearly to the ground, saw the horror and cried a single word: “Flee!” Then the gas crept around him, and he died upon the tiny street.

With the alarm, gnomes poured from the buildings that had yet to be struck by the killing cloud. Hundreds of the creatures fled to the fields, through the vast fungus plants, to the bridges over the placid stream. And as they crossed the bridges, males, females, and young, they were met by the poised weapons of Dai-Dak’s duergar.

Cyndre saw a group of gnomes—perhaps a hundred—break away from the rest, and flee toward a narrow cavern beyond the fungi. The sorcerer whispered a word and immediately disappeared from the promontory. In the same instant, he arrived at the mouth of the cavern—certain to be a secret escape route. He cast another spell some distance into the cavern and watched as the gnomes raced into the passage. Suddenly, they stopped, their escape blocked by a solid wall of iron that extended from the top to the bottom of the secret tunnel, and from wall to wall.

They turned as a mass to race for the entrance again, but the black wizard now stood there, waiting implacably for the gnomes’ moments of maximum terror.

“Blitzyth, Dorax zooth!”

Cyndre’s next spell sent crackling bolts of lightning sizzling into the walls and ceiling of the narrow cave. Great chunks of rock broke free, crushing the trapped gnomes. More and more stone fell, in a thunderous cloud of dust and debris, sending a cloud of dust drifting into the vast caverns where the massacre was now complete.

Cyndre smiled slightly, satisfied that his task was done. The dark dwarves had gained their food and water sources and their mining tunnels. Their senseless bloodlust had been satisfied. Indeed, the dark dwarves had gained all that they currently desired.

And the black wizard had gained the duergar themselves.

The feasting had ended and the lords had gone, except for Fergus and Pontswain. Tristan met with them, along with Daryth and Randolph, after the council. Fires burned low in the hearths, and a chorus of snores arose from various corners of the hall.

They had finalized the details of their journey—Daryth would accompany the prince and Lord Pontswain to Caer Callidyrr. There, they would each meet with the High King and plead their case for the kingship of Corwell. They agreed to abide by the king’s decision.

“Very well,” said Pontswain. “How do we get there?”

“I was hoping to accompany Lord Fergus to Kingsbay, riding the length of Corwell Road.” Tristan looked at the other lord, who watched the discussion impassively. “Can you furnish us with a boat to carry us across the Strait of Alaron?”