Black Wizards (31 page)

“What can we do?” asked Robyn. She felt panic rising within her.

“Do? Why, my dear, we can fight!”

They emerged from the stream but did not waste time drying themselves off as they started into the grove. Robyn gasped in surprise as she saw a human figure standing beside one of the trees, but she relaxed when she realized it was another druid.

“Isolde, thank you,” said Genna, clasping her friend in a firm hug. “I need your help, very badly.”

“Of course, I came as soon as I got the message.” Isolde was a powerful druid who tended Winterglen, a grove at the northern fringe of the Vale.

She was tall and stern, with bright red hair that would not stay confined within her hood. “What is the emergency?”

“Come, I shall tell you as soon as we reach the Moonwell. How many of the others are here?”

“Perhaps eight or ten. I have been here for several hours, awaiting your return, so I am not certain. The wood sprite told me that you had gone to the south.”

A small sparrow darted between them and settled to the ground. It quickly grew into a man wearing a plain brown robe like Isolde’s.

“Waine, come with us please,” said the Great Druid, not even pausing as the man fell into step beside them.

Robyn held back, slightly awestruck at the gathering of these mighty druids. The youngest of her order, she had never attended a druidic
council before.

Genna led them between the vast stone arches that ringed the Moonwell, and here they found ten more of the druids, waiting patiently for their leader. Genna strode to the edge of the pool. There the milky glow from the sacred water illuminated her, even in the brightness of the morning sun. Each druid turned to the well and bowed, whispering a soft prayer to the goddess.

Robyn expected to see a ritual, a dramatic affirmation of their faith, and a stirring evocation by Genna of the danger facing them. She was disappointed when her teacher, very hurriedly, told the druids of the army that marched upon them, emphasizing the imminence of the danger. With a final word of hope, she sent them off to the fringes of the grove to work on whatever preparations they could make before the attack.

Robyn used her power to raise tall hedges of thorns across the clearings and to entangle the branches of the trees and bushes wherever they grew close together. Newt and Yazilliclick kept a guard out for the approaching horror.

Finally the grove was surrounded, and Robyn returned to find that Genna had sent most of the animals away to the north. Only the wolves, foxes, badgers, weasels—the creatures with sharp teeth—remained, as well as several sturdy bucks and grizzled boars, and of course, Grunt.

Legions of hawks, owls, and blackbirds swarmed through the sky, flying to the south and circling loudly over the enemy force. Other druids arrived, soberly joining ranks with their leader. By the end of the day, all of the druids of Myrloch Vale—nearly three dozen strong—had arrived.

And as the day waned into evening, the circling flock of birds could be seen close to the south. Their cawing and squawking was clearly audible in the grove.

The army would be upon them that night.

Bhaal arose from his steaming lava bath, where he had been watching the drama unfold in Myrloch Vale. The god was pleased to see that Hobarth now carried the Heart
of Kazgoroth
.

Acidic drool hissed to the ground as the god contemplated the young druid surrounded by death. When Hobarth brought her to the Altar of Bhaal, her blood would provide sweet sustenance
.

And, too, it would be another milestone in the effort to rid the Isles of the druids. As the power of the new gods gradually dominated the faith of the Ffolk, there would be great struggles for primacy. In effect, a new pantheon of gods would be created
.

And Bhaal would sit at its head
.

ere they c-come—they come!” Yazilliclick clutched his tiny bow, stringing one of his slender arrows nervously. “N-Newt, wake up!” He prodded the little dragon’s flank.

“Hello! Is it time to eat?” Newt lifted his head, blinking.

“N-no! We must tell Genna—tell Genna! They c-come!”

“Wait!” Newt peered with interest into the pre-dawn darkness. The sprite’s keen eyes had seen the approaching figures clearly, but the faerie dragon had to squint and stare. Finally, he saw several shambling figures clumping steadily through the forest. A continuous rustling of brush told him that many more followed.

“I have an idea!” he said. “Follow me. It’ll be great fun!” Blinking into invisibility, Newt bounced from their high limb and darted toward the undead army.

“N-no! Wait! Stop!” Yazilliclick whispered, but the dragon was out of earshot. The sprite’s tiny, pointed ears twitched in agitation. His two antennae wriggled miserably. But then he, too, blinked out of sight. He could see Newt’s outline ahead, and he frantically buzzed behind his reckless friend. The dragon came to rest on a broad bough. Yazilliclick, trembling in fear, landed beside him.

“N-Newt—let’s go! We have to tell—to tell Genna!”

“Look!” whispered the dragon.

A huge man loomed out of the darkness. Yazilliclick thought all humans were gross, ugly creatures, but even by those standards this
man was exceptionally repulsive. Rolls of fat sagged around his neck, and several huge warts sprouted from his bulbous nose.

“Watch this!” said Newt, again bouncing into the air. This time he floated to the ground—right before the human!

Yazilliclick moaned softly and once again clutched his bow and arrows. He saw the man’s eyes blink, as if his trance had been broken. His gaze swept across the ground and suddenly focused upon Newt. The dragon was invisible, but somehow this man could see him.

“Now, spell!” cried the faerie dragon, willing his illusion onto the ground.

The sod ripped away, and blue flames flicked deep within the pit that was suddenly exposed. A ghostly hand reached upward to grab the man’s foot as he stepped forward off the edge of the pit.

But the foot landed upon solid ground, and the image of the pit quickly dimmed. Without slowing his pace, the huge figure marched right through the illusion. Unheeded, the magic waned.

Now the man pointed a finger at the annoyed faerie dragon. He chanted a word softly—the command to a spell that was definitely not a mere illusion.

But just as the magic flash exploded outward, the man cursed and twisted, plucking a tiny arrow from his shoulder. He snapped the missile like a matchstick, but the distraction had been sufficient. His bolt of magic sizzled into the darkness beyond Newt, striking one of the skeletons instead. The faerie dragon zoomed quickly upward as the skeleton exploded into a heap of crumpled bone.

“Did you see that?”. Newt complained. “He ignored it! He didn’t even slow down! Well, this time I’ll give him a spell that he can’t—ulp! Urf urf!”

Newt struggled to speak, but Yazilliclick’s grip upon his snout was too strong. The tiny faerie pulled the dragon behind him as he darted high into the sky, beating his wings frantically to carry them both away from this place.

Of course, Newt complained all the way back to the grove.

Thick hedges of thorns stood in high tangles around the edge of the grove. The druids had worked through the day, and most of the night, raising what barriers they could.

But now the dragon and the sprite had brought them word, and the time for preparations was past. In minutes, it would be time for battle.

“You all know, of course, to seek the cleric,” Genna said. “It will not be easy. I expect that he will hold back and allow his creatures to do his fighting. But if we can strike at him, we strike at the army’s head. Therein, I think, lies our only chance to stop them.

“Join me for a moment of prayer. The goddess shall be with us. May her strength carry us through this fight.”

“And give us victory,” thought Robyn.

The druids stood with Genna near the stream. Each of them had been given a portion of the grove to defend. Genna and Isolde, together with Grunt, would stand in the center. Others stood near, men like Ryder Greenleaf, who tended a grove on the western shore of Gwynneth, and Gadrric Deepglen, an old druid who still managed to watch over a region of canyons and cliffs at the northern fringe of Myrloch Vale, near the domain of the Northmen.

A young female druid, Eileen of Aspenheight, stood directly behind the Great Druid, ready to carry messages or otherwise come to the aid of her mistress. The rest of the druids, men and women nearly three dozen strong, stood to either side in a long line. Each of the druids would be aided by some of the larger animals—the wolves, boars, and stags that would give their lives for the cause of the goddess.

Robyn would fight beside Kamerynn, Newt, and Yazilliclick. Genna had assigned her to a post far from the center, where the fighting was not as likely to be furious, but she had begged her teacher to reconsider. Her mother’s staff, Robyn pointed out, gave her the capability to cast powerful spells—spells that might mean the difference between victory and defeat. Reluctantly, the Great Druid had acquiesced.

And so they waited. They would fight the undead army with earthmagic. When that was expended they would use sturdy clubs, sharp sickles, and even their bare hands. All of the druids were compelled by a single thought.

They must keep the desecrators from the Moonwell.