Douglas Niles - The Druid Queen

They came through the low pass of Aspenheight after six days of easy riding out of Caer Corwell. Each night they had camped under the stars, the goddess favoring them with clear skies and warm temperatures. Now, as they rode into the valley, they found another pristine meadow, surrounded by a protective ring of rocks arrayed as a perfect windbreak.

"How many more days until we reach Synnoria?" Hanrald inquired after they had built a small fire and settled back to watch the emerging stars.

"I don't want to think about it," Brigit replied honestly. "Let's cross the valley north of the lake. I haven't been up here in decades, and besides, I'm still not in any hurry to get home."

"Fine with me," Hanrald agreed, drawing the elfwoman close with a brawny arm. She curled against his side, and they watched-awestruck, as always-as the curtain of daylight drew back from the sky. The stars emerged for their nightly march across the heavens, and the two tiny creatures on the ground sat rapt in wonder, absorbed by the stately dance of the cosmos.

Later, as the night grew just a little cooler, they shared their own warmth and at last fell into a relaxed and restful slumber. In the morning, each awakened with a sense of vitality and alertness that, they deduced, must come from the enchanted nature of the valley itself.

For three days, they meandered easily through the glades and fields of pristine beauty. They crossed a shallow stream at a gravelly ford-Codsrun Creek, Brigit remembered. "Imagine-all the outflow of that great lake compressed into this little stream," she remarked.

They remained beside the splashing rivulet for the better part of an afternoon, diving into a placid pool and letting the sun dry them on the mossy bank. Once again the surroundings seemed so pastoral, so serene, that it seemed quite possible for the two of them to forget the cares and concerns of the outside world.

When they finally mounted again, they planned to ride only a few more miles before finding a place to camp. The forest was open here, with little underbrush and a wide expanse of grass and fern, so they loped easily along, relishing the rhythm of a good ride after their rest and swim.

Abruptly Hanrald's war-horse reared, almost dumping him from the saddle. Brigit cursed as her own mare sprang backward, whirling to face something that rustled in the bushes.

"Ambush!" cried the earl, spotting a number of small forms rushing toward them. Even as he shouted, he drew his massive sword while the great horse spun through a circle, kicking menacingly at the figures that materialized in the shadowy wood, apparently from nowhere.

The earl kneed his horse, ready to charge through the ring of attackers, when something held his assault. He saw that most of the stocky, bearded figures held metal-barbed crossbows, with perhaps a dozen of the deadly quarrels pointed at his chest and head. Reluctantly he relaxed the pressure of his legs, halting the charge before it began, though he still held both hands firmly around the hilt of his sword.

"Dwarves!" spat Brigit, the term as hateful as any curse.

"Dwarves who caught you in a tidy trap, we did!" proclaimed one of the stocky figures, swaggering forward with brawny hands wrapped around the hilt of a silver-bladed axe. Despite the creature's bristling beard, Hanrald realized, with considerable shock, that the speaker was female.

"You have no claim to this land!" shot back the elfwoman. Hanrald had never seen her so enraged. He worried that, despite the crossbows, she might do something rash.

"I think we're all visitors here," the earl said placatingly. He sheathed his sword as a gesture of goodwill. "There's no need for us to talk behind drawn blades or taut bows!"

"There is if we're going to be ambushed like skulking orcs!" retorted Brigit. She challenged the apparent leader of the dwarves. "By what right do you march through these woods?"

The dwarfwoman snorted derisively. "You ought to know. It's because of trouble in Synnoria that we've left the comfort of our village to go on the march!"

"What trouble-when?" demanded the elf, chilling at the thought that some dire fate had befallen her land during her absence.

"Coupla weeks ago," replied the dwarf. Hanrald was relieved to note that the crossbows finally had come down, though the ring of dwarves still held them in its center. "Something big came out of the mountain. We wanted to make sure that if it got away from you, we had fair warning up in Cambro."

Brigit shuddered at the memory, even as she felt a measure of relief. The Ityak-Ortheel, the Elf-Eater, had been a nightmarish intrusion into Synnoria, but it had finally been vanquished-with the help of her human companions. "You're too late," she said sharply. "The matter was settled without the necessity of dwarven intervention!"

The dwarf shrugged. "Well, it's been a long time since we marched on the war trail. You could say that we needed the practice-after all, it's been twenty years… Brigit."

"Finellen?" The elfwoman's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "I might have known it would be you!"

The dwarf laughed heartily. "You might have, but you didn't! Ho-there's a good joke! We march against the Darkwalker together, practically put King Kendrick on his throne, and you don't even remember your old axemate!"

Brigit's attitude remained carefully aloof, but Hanrald sensed that the danger of immediate battle had passed. Indeed Finellen chuckled again, slinging her axe from her belt. "We've got a camp a little ways away from here. That's where we were when we heard you coming, though we thought it might be a troop of giants, judging from the noise you made! Why don't you come and enjoy the hospitality of our fire?"

"That's the best invitation I've heard since the ambush!" Hanrald declared, with sincere relief. The two riders dismounted, and within a few minutes had been welcomed into the rude comfort of the dwarven camp.

The Exalted Inquisitor, as it turned out, hadn't been killed by the reaction to his spell-casting, but he had been very thoroughly stunned. Robyn was the first to realize that he still breathed, though she discovered this only after tending to her husband, who was dazed but apparently unhurt.

Five castle guardsmen were required to carry the hefty cleric to a bed, but finally he was situated comfortably, observed by a watchful maidservant, and covered against the evening's chill. The Kendricks and their companions returned to the library, where the High King lay on the couch, tended by anxious servants.

Tristan slowly recovered his tongue and his memories. "All I remember," he told his wife and daughter, "is a very drowsy feeling. Hyath's chanting seemed like it was going to put me right under. Quite relaxing, too. I was having some very pleasant memories.

"The next thing I remember, it seemed as though I was trapped in the middle of a thunderstorm. I saw lightning and heard the pounding-in fact, the flash was so bright that I was blinded for a moment. The next thing I remember, you were both standing there, and the priest was stretched out on the floor."

"But how?" demanded Alicia, frustrated. "What happened?"

"That's what I want to know!" the king added, with a look at Robyn. "What do you think?"

"This power, regeneration, is a thing of the New Gods," Robyn said slowly and carefully. Suddenly her voice grew tight, and her eyes shone with unshed tears as she looked her husband full in the face. "I was worried before, but now I'm terrified! This is a dangerous thing you try to do! Even the cleric of Helm doesn't have the power to control this magic. Please!" The plea was in her face as well as her words. "Don't venture into these realms. Accept your wound in the name of the Balance!"

"It is not the 'cleric' who lacks power to control this magic!" The stern voice, barked from the doorway, drew their attention in an instant.