The Druid Queen (Forgotten Realms, the Druidhome Trilogy, Book 3)
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In the final volume of this trilogy, the Kendrick family continues to rule the Moonshae Isles, but the era of peace is threatened by unseen forces. By the author of Darkwalker on Moonshae. Original. 100,000 first printing.
weariness, they reached a wide stone stairway, obviously the work of dwarven craftsmen. They climbed the steps for an apparently eternal interval—at least, it seemed that way to Tristan. He held the pebble before him, and it illuminated dozens of steps disappearing into the darkness above. When he lowered it behind him, he saw the tired faces of his companions and the trailing column of dwarves, extending into the darkness below. “Here we are,” Finellen announced eventually, At first, Tristan
the air, showering into the valley below, and obscuring the shape of the gleaming white bird. Then Robyn screamed again and dove, plunging like an arrow toward the broad, mountainous surface at the base of the Peaksmasher’s back. * * * * * Hatred and rage burned in Baatlrap, flaring like a black flame in his evil, tortured mind. The shock of his wound expanded until it climaxed in a monstrous outrage, like a great wrong done not only to him, but also to the entire race of trollhood. Now
every step of the march from Blackleaf, all evidence indicated that the dwarves remained as set in their peaceful ways as he had hoped they would. The chieftain had led a rude column of more than a hundred firbolgs and half that many trolls through the fertile bottomland of Myrloch Vale, but not once had he encountered sign of a dwarven watch post. Even the wide-ranging wolfdogs, sniffing and snarling in a pack as they accompanied the humanoids on the march, had failed to identify any spoor of
lamplight throughout the circumference of his horizon. In fact, he elected to eat a cold supper of bread, sausage, cheese, and wine rather than build himself a blaze that would have detracted from the brilliance of the night. Snugly wrapped in his bedroll, he watched the stars until he drifted off to sleep. For a long time, he dreamed about many things, but most vividly he remembered floating on a dark, rolling sea, supported by a wide raft, yet alone upon a featureless expanse of water. Then he
vertigo seizing his brain with a whirling, overpowering wind. He felt as though it would tear him from the mountainside and he would plummet down the thousand-foot drop yawning immediately before him. “The trail stops here,” he grunted in disgust, returning to the slightly larger ledge where Garisa and the other giant-kin waited. “Can we go around?” asked the shaman. Thurgol looked below, ruefully studying a long, sheer ridge that neatly divided their route in half. They would have to go