He noticed that several more of the gangly predators had collected around the pair of them, however. A few firbolgs had followed him from the forest, but they were significantly outnumbered at the moment. Forcing his muscles to obey his will, Thurgol lowered his club.
The plaintive bleating of sheep came to the chieftain's ears. Now the trolls butchered the farm animals! "Save cows and horses!" he shouted as a pair of trolls pursued a lumbering draft horse through the field. At least they could use some of the unfortunate creatures as beasts of burden, instead of killing them all and gaining far more fresh meat than they could possibly carry along.
With grudging satisfaction, he saw the two trolls seize the horse around the neck and drag the kicking creature toward the barn. At least he had some authority left.
Trying unsuccessfully to regard that small triumph as a victory, he turned his back on the scene of massacre and returned to his troops.
As soon as she reached the skies over the great lake, Robyn sensed that something was indeed wrong in Myrloch Vale. The High Queen soared almost effortlessly in the body of the great white hawk. Her eyes, keen beyond human conception, studied each leaf, each shady bower and rock-bound grotto in the valley sprawled around her.
The vista below appeared to be as pristine, as vibrantly healthful, as she could have hoped. Crystalline lake waters glistened in the light of the sun, and even the dank fenlands lay beneath a dense blanket of verdure. Tall pines waved their crowns proudly in a fresh breeze, and in places where the forest opened into meadow, dazzling wildflowers gleamed like priceless gems in a carefully crafted setting.
Yet something intangible, invisible to sight and sound and even smell, lingered in the air around her, telling her that violence had indeed invaded this place. As distressing as the discovery itself was the knowledge that she had not realized this fact earlier, even though Corwell was but a short distance-as the goddess reckoned distance-from this, the heartland of the Earthmother's realm.
She dove, building up tremendous speed and skimming within a few feet of the water's surface. Huge lake trout dove away from her shadow, but she ignored the prey, intent upon her mission. Nothing unnatural disturbed the waters, and soon she soared upward to crest the woodlands at the lake's northern shore. For hours she swept across the vast wilderness, still tormented by her earlier sense of distress and even more agitated by the fact that she could not more specifically identify it.
The coming of darkness surprised her and finally drew her down to the earth, where she landed in a forest of shadow. Shifting her shape as she touched the ground, she stood once again as a human woman, feet planted firmly beneath her.
But more than merely human, she was a druid-a druid who stood upon the most sacred earth known to her faith. The land welcomed her, and she felt strongly the blessings of the goddess. Yet still the sense of danger lingered, though with no more precise indication than before.
Guiding herself by scent and touch more than sight, since the forest was nearly fully dark around her, she found several ripe apples. She had brought some aged cheese, but preferred to save that for an emergency. The druid made a pleasant supper of the fruit, and finally she curled in a grassy bower to sleep until dawn.
She awakened before then, however, sitting upright with a start. An irresistible feeling came over her, a feeling that she was not alone.
"Who is it?" she hissed into the darkness, sniffing the air and listening for any sound. She heard a faint fluttering sound, as of wings beating quickly in the air.
"I get to ask that! Who is it?" The squeaking voice brought a wave of relief washing over Robyn, even as she wanted to reach out and strangle a scrawny neck for the fright she had felt.
"Newt!" she cried with a laugh, giving up her irritation in an instant. "How did you find me?"
"How many white hawks do you think we have out here, anyway? And how many humans camping on a pile of Corwellian sharp cheese? Downwind, I could smell it from miles away! Say, that's the aged one, isn't it? I remember the taste … a nice bite, just a little aftertaste…."
"Here!" Robyn said, still laughing. She reached into her pouch and pulled out a block of the cheese. "But first I have to see you!"
Immediately a soft light diffused Robyn's bower, coming from no place in particular. In another instant, a small, lizard-like creature popped into sight, hovering in the air before the druid queen.
The first thing Robyn saw about Newt, as always, was that wide, toothy grin that always seemed to extend farther to the sides than the width of his head. The faerie dragon was bright pink in color, reflecting his happiness at meeting his old friend, his hummingbird wings buzzing audibly now as he slowly settled to the ground.
No more than three feet in length, and nearly half of that was tail, Newt's body was nevertheless a reasonable approximation, in miniature, of a dragon's. Tiny scales coated him, except for his gossamer wings, and his face-perhaps in part because of its size-consistently bore a far more cheerful expression than one typically associated with the greater wyrms.
Now, resting on his haunches so that he could hold the cheese with both his forepaws, Newt busily stuffed the food into his mouth. Soon his cheeks bulged outward, and then he paused to chew contentedly. Robyn, relaxing again, let her old friend enjoy his repast. She had many questions for him, but she knew better than to press Newt for information.
Finally he finished, swallowing the better part of a full day's ration in one throat-stretching gulp. "So," he said, curling up in her lap, "what brings you back to the Vale?"
"Curiosity," Robyn replied evasively. The worst way to approach the faerie dragon, she knew, was with direct questioning. "After all, it's been a long time since I've been here."
"Me, too," Newt agreed. "I was over on Alaron for a little while."
A little while! Robyn smiled privately. The dragon had performed a duty there for twenty years! "Alicia told me. She said you were a great help to her and her companions."
"Say, I was, wasn't I?" Newt raised his head and puffed out his chest a measure. "I bet they'd still be wandering around the highlands over there if it weren't for me!"
"How long have you been back?" Robyn inquired casually.
"Oh, two or three days now-or is it two or three months? I always get those two mixed up. I got here before the firbolgs went over and smashed Cambro. Does that help? … What's the matter?"
Robyn had stiffened reflexively, stunned by the dragon's casual announcement. Cambro was the only dwarven community in Myrloch Vale. The queen had been there several times, albeit many years past. For centuries, the sturdy community had stood, a bulwark against the firbolgs that used to roam so aggressively through the highlands. Now, when the giant-kin had been all but obliterated, what force could propel them into such an attack?
"Anyway," Newt continued, "I came down to the lake here. I was doing some fishing along the shore when I saw you this afternoon. I chased you all the way to the woods, but then I lost you. Good thing you brought that cheese, or I wouldn't have found you. Say, you wouldn't have another little nibble in there, would you?" Newt's twitching nostrils revealed that he already knew the answer to the question.
Carefully Robyn broke a smaller piece off the block, asking as she passed it, "About Cambro-how badly was Cambro smashed? I didn't really hear much about it."
Newt shrugged. "Oh, you know-firbolgs and trolls dancing around a bonfire. They were waving a big silver axe around in the air and making a lot of noise. I couldn't even get to sleep until I flew a couple miles away!" he concluded indignantly.