Black Wizards (35 page)

“So am I, my friend,” she reassured him, realizing that the statement
was a lie. She realized that she was
not
afraid.

Then she felt a slight disturbance, like a flutter, in the power of the goddess. The night seemed suddenly blacker and colder as an unseen menace closed in.

“He
has entered the grove,” she whispered, not certain how she knew this.

But the ground felt strong beneath her feet, and the feel of the smooth staff in her calloused hands reassured her.

“How could he have escaped?” shrieked King Carrathal. He removed the Crown of the Isles from his head, holding it loosely in his hand as he mopped at his sweating brow with a delicately embroidered handkerchief. His eyes were wide with terror.

“He is resourceful,” said Cyndre with a shrug. “And far luckier than any man has a right to be.”

The king turned away and paced across his throne room in agitation. Once he had been able to meet with Cyndre again, he had assumed that everything would be all right. Instead it seemed that his problem was growing larger every day.

“See how the usurper seeks shelter in Doncastle. I have urged you, sire, to wipe that nest of rebels off the map. Surely you can now see the necessity for that?”

“We must do
something!”
whined the king, turning back to the wizard.

“I have my most trusted assistant on his trail.”

“When will your man catch him?” demanded the king,

“Very soon, I am sure. Now, why don’t you take your mind off this? Do something to amuse yourself! Would you like another prisoner put to death?”

The king shook his head angrily. He would not admit it to the wizard, but the execution of Darcy O’Roarke had been troubling him for several days. He dreamed of her defiant laugh in the face of the headsman’s axe. She had vowed that her brother would avenge her. In truth, the king feared the wrath of Lord Roarke and all of his outlaw clan nearly as much as he feared the relentless approach of
the usurper from Corwell.

The zombies, as if sensing the proximity of their goal, hurried forward. Many tripped and fell, but the others reached forward mindlessly, groping for the sustenance that glowed before them. They made no sound except for the scrape of their footsteps along the ground.

Genna and Grunt stood in the archway. The glow of the well cast its encouraging light against their backs, while the nightmare emerged from the darkness before them.

A clawed hand reached forward. Rotted flesh exposed its tough muscle and tendon, and white bone extended sharply from the last knuckle, where the flesh was gone completely. The bone caught the light from the well, and then Grunt stood upon his rear legs, blocking out the light.

Grunt slashed at the thing, and his six-inch claws tore the top half of the body away. Its legs lurched sideways once and then collapsed. With a roar, the huge animal lunged forward and crushed another rotted corpse beneath his paws. His jaws snapped shut on the barren skull of a skeleton, crushing the bone to splinters. The monster staggered aimlessly until it fell, though it continued to twitch and jerk across the ground.

More zombies lurched over the bodies of their fellows, to be met by Genna and her long sickle. The Great Druid had expended the last of her magic, but her muscles were driven by the might of the goddess as she struck and cut. Genna did not try to destroy each zombie—that would have taken too much time, too many blows. Instead, she slashed at knees, calves, thighs, and hips, immobilizing the creatures.

The other druids, standing beside wolves, boars, or their own human comrades, were drawn into the fight as the attack spread along the ring of arches. Isolde of Winterglen saw the horror approach. She stood with five gray wolves, and they savagely pressed back the undead. Sickles and staffs and clubs fought bony claws, for now all of the druids had spent their magic.

And finally the creatures reached Robyn’s arch—the last one. Skeletons and zombies emerged from the night, seeking her flesh and
blood. The sight of the eyeless sockets, staring from gruesome skulls, no longer terrified her. She raised her hands and threw the first of the acorns—the fire seeds—at the first fight of the enemy. It sizzled into the leading zombie, burning it to ashes. Taking care to aim, she threw the others. Each one ignited at the feet of an attacker, burning it away.

Then she gripped her staff and brought it crashing down upon the skull of the nearest skeleton. The bony thing dropped to the ground, and she quickly smashed another.

Kamerynn bucked and kicked beside her, crushing a skeleton to bone fragments with his heavy forehooves, and then impaling a zombie on his horn. He tossed the limp body aside as he reared above more skeletons, crushing skulls to his right and left with savage kicks.

Newt buzzed forward, slashing with his claws and sharp teeth at the loose flesh of the zombies, pulling great hunks of skin and meat off the rotting corpses. Then the faerie dragon hovered, blinking rapidly, and focusing upon the ground. He pointed and chanted quickly.

A purple monster burst from the ground in the path of several zombies. Green, glowing claws reached for the rotted bodies, and black teeth bristled from a gaping maw as the illusion attacked the attackers.

But the illusion required fear to be effective, and the zombies knew no fear. They reached to attack the thing, and when it had no substance, they stumbled through to attack the next thing—which was Newt. The little dragon went back to tooth and claw, tearing away pieces from the arm of the leading zombie until the limb itself fell to the ground.

Yazilliclick, with his tiny dagger extended, stood beside Robyn. He shrieked with fear as a zombie approached, but then darted forward to hamstring it. Robyn cracked the thing with her staff as it twitched upon the ground.

Somehow the forces of the goddess held the army of death back from each of the arches. Robyn bled from half a dozen wounds where the claws of the undead had raked her, but still a pile of bodies grew steadily before her.

But then she saw the cleric, and she froze. His eyes glared from the darkness long before she could see the rest of him. Finally his face materialized as he stepped closer. She watched his tongue flick across
his thick, drooping lips and was reminded of a snake. The look on his bloated face frightened her more than had all the ghastliness of his army.

He neared her, walking very deliberately. Robyn picked up her staff and held it crossed before her. She was terribly afraid. The cleric raised his hands and extended them, palms downward. He chanted one sharp word, a sound full of terror and violence.

The ground convulsed beneath her feet, rippling upward and throwing her to the side. Robyn’s head cracked against the stone pillar, and she went down like a falling tree to stretch motionless upon the ground.

Kerianow observed the prince in the vast mirror. He slept soundly under the roof of the Doncastle Inn. Why, she wondered, could she not do the same thing? She rapped her plump fingers on the table before her, cursing the fate that always seemed to give her an unfair shake.

Her body, for example, It was short, fat—wholly unattractive, even to herself. And, as the newest member of the Council of Seven, she was bullied by the others—particularly by Talraw and Wertam, the two other lesser mages. As they had arranged their watches, for example, she had been given the hours from midnight until dawn.

She struggled to stay awake, wishing there was something more interesting to watch in the mirror. But Cyndre’s orders had been explicit. Now that they had found the prince again, they could not afford to lose him. And so she stared at the motionless picture in the mirror.

Kerianow thought of Cyndre. How powerful he was! She remembered the way he had discovered her during her apprenticeship in Waterdeep. He had brought her to Callidyrr and taken her into his council, teaching her many of his own spells. She was no longer an apprentice: She was a sorcerer, albeit not as powerful as her master, or even Kryphon or Doric.

The master had shown great patience in teaching her, helping her to reach her potential. He had taught her that mercy was a fool’s
creed; it was only through might and cruelty that one could become truly powerful.

As she often did, Kerianow found herself thinking about Cyndre the man. His cool confidence excited her. His mastery—of her, of the council—warmed her. Small shivers of pleasure rippled along her spine as, lost in her musings, she let her head drop softly onto the table. With a little sigh, she fell asleep.

She awakened with a start, to see the glimmerings of dawn shining through the high, narrow windows. The mirror was blank.

“Kraalax-Heeroz,” she chanted quickly. The image returned. Again she saw Doncastle, the quiet inn. But a bolt of cold panic cut to her heart as she looked at the bed.

For the Prince of Corwell was gone.

Seeing the boat brought back all the memories of the
Lucky Duckling
and the prince’s fateful journey over water. The little craft might even have been made by the same boatwright; it had the same open-hulled frame, though not quite as big. The
Swallow
was also older and more weatherbeaten than even the
Duckling
had been.

“She’ll just run you along the coast,” explained O’Roarke, as if sensing his uneasiness.

Following a day and a half of hard riding they had reached the shore of this vast bay. Somehow, Hugh had arranged a rendezvous, for this little craft and her young captain were waiting for them here. Two men and a halfling had left the boat, to be replaced by Tristan, Daryth, and Pawldo. The fishermen had even brought a moorhound with them, and the dog left with the trio so that Canthus could enter the port with the companions.

“They keep track of the number of Ffolk sailing out in the morning. As long as the same number come back at night, the Scarlet Guard won’t pay any attention,” explained the youthful captain.

“We will return to Doncastle when our mission is completed,” said Tristan, offering Hugh O’Roarke his hand.

The bandit appeared surprised, but took the prince’s hand. “I’m sure your friend, Pontswain, hopes so.”