"Douglas Niles - Forgotten Realms - Moonshae 03 - Darkwell" - читать интересную книгу автора (Niles Douglas)

goddess, but she was at a loss to close it. "Mother, hold me, help me!" she
whispered, but the unfeeling planks of the hull gave no comfort, and there was
no reply. The source of her faith and her power was on the verge of
extinction, and the druid could do little to help.
DOUGLAS MILES
Strangely, even as the presence of the Earthmother faded, Hobyn felt her own
earthmagic growing in potency. Within the confinement of the long sea voyage,
her body grew stronger daily. Her muscles were hard and wiry. Her mind was
sharp and alert, to the point that she could hardly sleep. And she could feel
the power growing within her.
But when she prayed, or on those rare nights when she slept deeply enough to
dream, there was no word, barely the faintest image, to suggest that the
mother was near.
Robyn knew of no other druid still walking free upon any of the Moonshaes. The
most powerful of her order all stood frozen, locked in stone at the moment
they had lost their most crucial battle. Only Robyn had escaped, and she felt
pitifully inadequate for the tasks arrayed before her.
But she had no choice except to try.
The fat cleric wiped a hand through his greasy hair, anxious now to reach his
destination. For several days, he had explored the surrounding lands of
Myrloch Vale, but his journey was nearly complete.
The entirety of Myrloch Vale was now known to him. The vast valley, in the
center of the island of Gwynneth, had long been a bastion of the goddess who
had watched over these isles. Now, however, it had become a land of death, a
monumental wasteland in testament to the awesome power of the cleric's god.
And he had ventured to northern Gwynneth, beyond the vale and into the lands
of the northmen along the fir coast. These invaders had claimed the land from
the native Ffolk, establishing a number of villages and even one good-sized
town, but had nothing resembling a separate state there. Bhaal had wondered
about these humans, and so the cleric had investigated.
The southern land of Gwynneth, occupying nearly half the isle, was the kingdom
of Corwell, of the people known as the Ffolk. This land the cleric had not
visited, but that mattered little, for Corwell was already well known to the
minions of Bhaal.
DARKWELL
Now Hobarth, cleric of Bhaal, returned to the Darkwell with good news for his
foul master. Decay spread rapidly across the vale. Everywhere he went, Hobarth
found death and rot, as whole forests died and placid lakes shriveled into
festering swamps.
The area around the well was particularly barren. The corpses of the many
zombies he had raised from death were gone now, as Hobarth had ordered them
into the well. Their presence, in fact, had been a prime source of the
pollution that had so effectively corrupted the Moonwell. And the decay seemed
to be spreading rapidly. Bhaal, Hobarth knew, would be pleased.
As he neared the Darkwell, he sensed a difference around him. It was not a
difference in the land, or even the air, but a subtle presence on a deeper
level. Something was here that had not been here when he left.
He saw the well before him, its slick black surface barely reflecting the
white outlines of the statues. The Darkwell had, since its creation a month
before, been a center of power for his god.