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.He expected that group to be much larger than the half-dozen men he had routed on the previous day, and they would also be supported by the religious powers of a cleric.Against them stood only Danrak of Myrloch, with his bare hands and the talismans he carried.Yet a week ago the prospect of such a struggle would have depressed and disheartened him—though, of course, he would still have faced it resolutely.Now it presented a challenge that inflamed his determination.He began to form a plan.He selected several talismans and decided to begin his discouragement of the lord's party some distance away from the valley.If they became confused and demoralized during the half-day march into the mountains, he reasoned, they would be less likely to stand firm against him here.Still, the question tickled the back of his mind even as he refused to consider it: What, in truth, could he hope to accomplish against a score or more of armed men and the magical abilities of a cleric who had known his god for his entire life?Danrak's deity, after all, had so far been around for no more than a few days.* * * * *From the Log of Sinioth:The Moonwell! That is the key now.The armies are poised to spread chaos across the isle, sweeping Talos to his proper position of power and domination.The princess yields herself to me, and in our union, we shall prevail.But that is why the destruction of this vestige of the Earthmother's power must be accomplished with all haste.If the young knight of Blackstone proves incapable, then the matter shall fall into my own hands.And I will not fail.16The Sea of MoonshaeSir Gwyeth felt considerably heartened now that he was clad in his suit of plate mail, mounted atop his eager, prancing charger, and trailed by a column of more than one hundred men-at-arms.He had doubled the size of the party he had originally planned in order to make certain they could deal with any threat.The presence of the cleric Wentfeld, riding beside him, did much to enhance his confidence.Whatever the nature of the ensorcellment transforming the Moonwell, the knight of Blackstone felt certain they would make short work of it.Even the rain, beating against his armor and trickling in icy rivulets down his skin, couldn't dampen his enthusiasm.The column, which included the cantrev's ready men-at-arms plus more than threescore hastily recruited troops from the militia raised in the town itself, marched out of the manor's gatehouse several hours past dawn.Most carried swords or axes, though some two dozen carried heavy crossbows.Sir Gwyeth was taking no chances.The sky remained gray, and a chill wind blustered, bringing frequent squalls of rain.All in all, it was miserable weather for a march, but even that didn't seem to dampen the enthusiasm of the footmen.Perhaps Gwyeth's enticement of ten gold pieces for each member who remained with the expedition through the completion of its task served to warm the souls of these avaricious guardsmen—or perhaps they all sensed the danger that the resurgent Moonwell and its attendant faith presented to the mines that were their means of living.In any event, the men raised a crude marching song, which the cleric pretended not to hear.Gwyeth felt as bold as any general who had ever embarked upon a war of conquest."Have you any clues as to the nature of this enchantment?" he asked the pryat as they made their way along the broad trail that preceded the narrow, steeply climbing path leading directly to the Moonwell's vale."Dark magic, undoubtedly," noted the cleric, who had given the matter little thought once he had received his pouch of gold."But with the faith of Helm behind us, we'll make short work of it, I'm certain."The good pryat knew that Helm, as one of the New Gods of the isles, was inherently superior to the primitive Earthmother the Ffolk had once cherished.Though Helm was not an evil god, he was ambitious, and a resurgence of any rival was something that ever vigilant deity regarded with little pleasure.Therefore it pleased Wentfeld doubly, for the profit and for the knowledge that he served his master's will in this endeavor."What can we do to reverse the effect?" inquired the knight."It seems to be potent sorcery."Pryat Wentfeld reflected."Polluting the pond will be the most effective tactic, I believe.It was done successfully to a Moonwell many years ago with coal, but I should think a mountain of ashes would serve as well.""The trees—we burn them and dump the ashes into the pool!" Gwyeth liked the idea."Correct.If we have to, we persevere until the thing is nothing more than a patch of grimy muck!""Hold—what's this?" demanded Gwyeth as the trail curved around a steep foothill."Where goes the path?" inquired Pryat Wentfeld, also puzzled.The valley floor, which they remembered as a bare and rocky expanse, vanished behind a choking growth of forest.Oaks and pines, tangled with trailing creepers and densely packed among bristling thornbushes, filled the expanse from one steeply sloped side of the valley to the other."This is the trail, as the gods are my witnesses! It follows the stream! Backar—come here, man!" Gwyeth called to the sergeant-at-arms who had led the abortive expedition to the Moonwell two days earlier.Backar, who marched near the head of the footmen, hastened forward at his knight's command."Yes, my lord! What is it?" He saw the wooded tangle before them and gasped."Curses to the Abyss, sir—this was plain and clear two days ago!""Are you certain you came this way?""Aye, lord.There is no other good way!" Backar, still stinging from his previous failure, swore his sincerity."Go and seek a path, then!" commanded Gwyeth.The man, with several assistants, hurried forward to examine the wall of dense growth.From his position on his proud charger, the knight could see no suggestion of a break that would have allowed a small child to pass through the overgrowth, much less a band of armed men.The sides of the valley, to the right and the left, rose unusually steep at this point to form a pair of rocky bluffs standing like gateposts.The forest formed the gate, and Gwyeth had the unsettling impression that the wood had been placed here, where it would form the most effective barrier.The clouds capped the valley, covering the heights with oppressive weight and yielding their steady wash of rain over the increasingly disheartened humans below.Backar and the others hunted across the face of the tangle, pressing back branches, hacking away creepers, and trampling thorns.After some minutes, during which Gwyeth grew increasingly restless with the delay, the man trotted back to report."There's no path, sir.It's solid as a briar patch.From the size of the trees, it could have been here for years, but I swear it—""I know!" snapped the knight."Well, stop making excuses.Get out your axes and hack us a path!"The song of the men had faded away when they discovered the inexplicable barrier, and now the knight and the cleric heard muttered curses as a dozen men shouldered axes and advanced to the wall of the thorny forest.They began to chop at the wood that closed over the path, slowly carving a tunnel-like path."Wider!" demanded Gwyeth."I've got a horse to get through there, imbeciles!"In the meantime, Pryat Wentfeld dismounted and advanced to the edge of the wood.He removed a small pinch of flour from a pouch at his side and muttered a short, arcane command.At his words, the particles of flour whisked forward with magical speed and stuck to the nearest leaves, sticks, and trunks, outlining a small area in white
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