Yet in the next instant, she recognized the dark-beamed ceiling and the array of stuffed animal heads that were the prominent features of the Earl of Fairheight's Great Hall.
'By the gods!' sputtered the earl, leaping to his feet in astonishment, knocking his chair backward, and dropping the half-eaten remains of a pork haunch to the table. A nearby maidservant dropped a crystal tray, and the crash of ceramic rang through the hall with shocking violence.
'Leave us!' Malawar barked at the maid, who cast a frightened look at the earl, then ran for the door.
'What is the meaning of this?' demanded Blackstone, still standing. 'Who are you?'
'It is
'How did-?'
'You're coming with us. Now.' The venerable priest's words were driven home like nails into soft pine.
'What? You can't-why? Where are you going?'
'To the Moonwell-where one of your sons has failed to perform your instructions!'
'Gwyeth? He
'He's dead,' snapped Malawar. 'Slain by the hand of your third son, who even now threatens to disrupt all of our plans and ambitions.'
'Hanrald, a traitor? The
'Take a weapon and let's
'Yes, of course,' the earl declared, his voice dropping grimly. He took a huge dark-bladed battle-axe from the trophy wall, the same axe he had used to slay the prophet.
The three of them seized the golden circlet, and Deirdre's brow wrinkled in concentration. She heard that same cyclone, but this time it didn't distress her. In another moment, the three of them stood among the stumps of the ruined cedars, looking around the battle-scarred vale of the Moonwell.
A wall of fire crackled beside the pond, slowly dying, while several armored horsemen stared at them in shock. As Deirdre's eyes swept upward, she beheld the grotesque image of the dracolich Gotha, perched on a rocky bluff above. Blackstone shouted in alarm, while the princess pressed her hand to her mouth in shock.
'No need to worry,' said Malawar, noting the source of their fright. 'He, too, is a devoted servant of Talos!'
'Keane!' cried Deirdre, stunned on top of her surprise to see her tutor suddenly materialize before them, about fifty feet away.
'Deirdre! Beware!' shouted the mage.
'Keane? No!' she cried, appalled.
'Else he will destroy us and the hopes of our master along with us-you
Keane, his angular face perplexed, stepped toward Deirdre.
Anger surged within the princess, a hot fury directed at Malawar, who would twist all of her being to his own ends if she gave him the chance. She whirled on him, but somehow her rage changed its focus. Reluctantly she looked at Keane. She remembered all of his smug arrogance when, many years ago, she had struggled with her studies. She recalled his stubborn refusal to aid in the development of her powers as a sorceress. The princess didn't feel the looming presence of Talos, but that dark god now used her own indecision as an opportunity to steer her anger and her will.
In that instant, Deirdre knew her path. All her fury exploded to the surface. She raised her hand, invoking the name of her god, and directed the force of her power. Remembering the raving prophet who had come to her in the hall of Callidyrr, she called upon the same deadly magic she had unleashed against him-the Bolt of Talos.
Now that same force erupted against Keane. Waves of crackling magic surged outward as Deirdre's target raised his long arms up to protect his face.
It was no use. The blast picked him up and drove him backward, smashing his lean body to the ground, hissing and popping around him as the magic-user's eyes closed. In moments, he lay still.
Alicia sobbed, the bitter taste of defeat rising like bile in her throat. She leaned on the Staff of the White Well while Tavish held her, the bard's own tears falling on the shoulder of the younger woman. Around them, Yak and the northmen stood in mute, angry frustration. Keane was gone, and it seemed that all hope of success had gone with him.
'To come so close!' Her voice caught as she whispered to Tavish. 'And to fail!'
'We haven't failed yet,' the bard replied softly. 'It's not over.'
'But what can we do? '
'We could pray.'
Alicia blinked in astonishment. Impatiently she wiped away a tear and thought. 'We could, couldn't we? And perhaps now the goddess will hear us!'
'We have to try,' agreed the bard. 'Hold the staff, my child.'
Alicia stood with the Staff of the White Well in her hand, one end of the long shaft resting on the ground. For the first time in days, she felt a sense of joy, a feeling that approached elation. It was so simple, but Tavish was right! She closed her eyes, without trying to articulate her thoughts for the Great Mother, the earth. But she made a pledge to the goddess that she would serve as her own mother had served and offer her life, labor, and love as willingly. And as she pledged, a sense of ultimate tranquility flowed from the ground into her feet and legs, pulsing through the staff she held in her hand, and flowing through her fingers into her wrists and her arms.
Tavish was the first to notice. 'Look,' she said quietly, indicating Alicia's bracers.
The princess had almost forgotten the spiraled rings of silver that she had placed on her forearms in the tomb of Cymrych Hugh. Now she saw that they glowed with a pale blue light, a color like that of a clear sky, half an hour or more after the sun had set.
'The talismans of a druid,' Tavish said, her voice calm. 'Now they receive the favor of the goddess.'
The illumination spread swiftly to the wooden staff that the princess still held in her hand. Then the color spilled onto the ground and swept outward in wide strips of brilliance. They saw other hues-green, yellow, a dark, rich violet. Still more colors exploded overhead, cascading like a fountain: red and orange spilling as cool light, not fire.
The northmen grumbled superstitiously and began to back away. The giant firbolg held up a restraining hand. 'Wait,' Yak said. 'This is goodness.'
Indeed, the colors flowed together, swirling on the ground and then spiraling upward, seven clear bands that ranged from red to violet. The gray clouds parted silently, and the bands of color arced into the heavens. Blue sky framed the long lines, and sunlight washed around the group on the ground.
'A rainbow,' Alicia breathed reverently. The sun struck the shades with brilliant, incandescent glory, a brightness that would have been painful to the eyes of the watchers had they not been overwhelmed with awe.
'More than a rainbow,' Brandon observed, studying the solid-looking surface that rose from the ground, disappearing into the distance. 'It looks like a bridge.'
'To the Moonwell!' Tavish cried, immediately understanding. She hurried to the foot of the sloping, ramplike rainbow and, without hesitation, placed a foot upon it.
'It's solid!' reported the bard, beginning to climb upward.
'Hey!' cried Tavish, from far above them. Though she had taken but three steps, she was more than a hundred feet in the air.
'It
'By the goddess!' breathed Alicia, as the rest of the party started to climb the miraculous bridge. 'We may yet arrive in time!'
In the depths of darkness, High Queen Robyn started, struggling against the cloak of evil that enwrapped her. She felt the power of the goddess like a kiss of warm wind that restored breath to her lungs.