Sirana snapped her astral fingers. Light flared into existence all around her, revealing a huge cavern. She stood at the edge of what appeared to be an underground lake. Its surface was a dull, steely color, its waters strangely thick and turgid. But then, this was no ordinary pool. It was a pool of twilight, a source of powerful and forbidding magic.
"Why have you dared to attack me?" Sirana demanded.
Something stirred beneath the leaden waters of the pool.
The guardian.
You promised that you would free me if I granted you power! A wheedling note had entered into the guardian's voice. I have kept my end of the bargain, wizard. Now your turn has come. Release me!
Sirana considered her reply carefully. She didn't have the slightest idea what the true nature was of the creature trapped within the pool, but she did know that it was treacherous and deadly. It had nearly slain her the day she had finally located the pool after years of searching. Yet Sirana was nothing if not cunning. She had adopted a sympathetic tone with the guardian of the pool, that day months ago. Lonely after centuries of isolation, the guardian had listened to her soothing promises. She had struck a bargain with the creature. If the guardian infused her with magical energy from the pool, making her the most powerful wizard in Faerun, she would endeavor to free it from its watery prison.
Of course, Sirana had absolutely no intention of fulfilling her side of the bargain. The only way to free the guardian, she had learned, would be to trade places with it, and she was hardly going to condemn herself to such a fate once she had gained the hammer. No, she was destined to become a goddess! But the guardian need not know that. It must believe that she intended to liberate it. Otherwise, the guardian would never consent to help her carry out her grandiose ambitions.
"Of course we have an agreement," Sirana said finally, choosing her words carefully. "I have not forgotten that, even if you have."
But I have given you the power you asked for! The waters of the pool stirred sluggishly again. Bubbles rose to the surface, breaking slowly, like pox blisters on the skin of a victim.
"It is not enough!" Sirana clenched a fist, baring her white teeth. "You must give me strength enough to defeat my enemies. That is our pact."
But you are battling foes greater than you can imagine, the guardian protested. Throughout the centuries, I have sent my own minions to wipe that wretched city of Phlan off the face of Toril, and each time my hordes have been defeated! Always the people of Phlan seem to find some blasted hero to come to their rescue. Always! You cannot let them find the Hammer of Tyr. If the hammer returns to Phlan, the city will be protected for all time, and neither of us will have our glorious revenge!
"Leave Phlan and the hammer to me," Sirana snapped. "That is none of your concern. Now grant me more of the pool's power, or-"
Or what?
"Or suffer the consequences."
Chanting a harsh incantation, Sirana pointed a finger at the stalactite-covered ceiling high above. Abruptly, one of the massive limestone stalactites broke free. Glowing red-hot, it plunged into the pool. The dusky waters closed around it without so much as a splash or sizzle. But a cry of pain rose into the air of the cavern.
She continued her chant. Another molten stalactite plunged into the pool, then another, and another. Each of them sank below the surface without a sound, but Sirana knew they were striking the unknown creature concealed below, burning into its flesh.
No more, wizard! Please, stop!
Sirana chanted on. A veritable rain of searing stalactites cascaded down on the pool.
I beg you, wizard! Please! You shall have what you seek!
This last was little more than a guttural whisper. Sirana halted her chanting. The molten rain of stone ended.
"That's better," she murmured condescendingly.
A small glass vial rose up out of the pool, separating itself from the thick fluid with a sucking sound.
Drink of this, wizard, and you shall have the power you seek.
Sirana closed her astral fingers around the vial. "I knew you would come to your senses, guardian," she said. With a flick of her wrist she transported the vial back to her spellcasting chamber. "I trust you will not try anything so foolish again. I will free you when I have gained my revenge, and not a moment before. Is that clear?"
Exceedingly clear, wizard.
Sirana smiled, an expression of sublime evil. "Good. I'm so glad we understand each other." Without another word she dispatched her astral body. It soared up out of the chamber and back toward Phlan.
If Sirana had stayed just a moment more, she might have noticed several bubbles rising to the dull surface of the pool, breaking with a thick, wet noise that sounded uncannily like laughter.
Once more Sirana reclined on the black velvet lounge in her private chamber. It was verging on midnight, and she was weary. Astral travel was terribly draining, and the confrontation with the guardian of the pool had consumed most of her considerable reserves of strength. But she could not rest, not if she was going to find that damnable Hammer of Tyr.
She gazed at the vial in her hand. Faint sparkles of light seemed to drift through the thick, metallic-looking fluid within. She briefly considered summoning Hoag. The guardian of the pool could have given her the vial as a trick; it might be poisonous. To find out, she could command the hamatula to taste it. But she didn't want to take the risk of giving the fiend greater power. "Let's be done with it," she said finally.
She lifted the vial to her lips and drank down the oddly warm, steely tasting liquid.
Fire coursed through her veins.
Choking in pain, Sirana fell from the lounge. Her perfect alabaster flesh darkened in hue, becoming a rich bronze color. Two flecks of silvery light ignited in her dark eyes. Writhing on the floor, she swore. What a dolt! She should have suspected a trick. She should have readied a spell of transference so that she could escape this now-doomed body to possess another.
"I cannot die like this!" she croaked, her face twisted in agony. "Not yet!"
Suddenly, the pain vanished.
It was as if she had been plunged into a vat of cool, dark water. Slowly, Sirana pulled herself to her feet, gasping. The darkened chamber seemed to have been transformed. Where before there had been mere shadows, now there was layer upon layer of scintillating darkness. She spun about. Everywhere she looked she saw shades of jet, onyx, and ebony. It was breathtakingly beautiful.
A realization struck her. It was not the room that had changed, but her eyes! Darkness was no longer a barrier to her vision. Now she could see and touch the very fabric of night. This was a gift indeed. She reached out and stroked the silken darkness, gathering it about her like a cloak.
"What is this?" she murmured.
She touched a strange, glistening thread of darkness hovering before her. It was a thread of summoning, she realized. She had used such magical tendrils to call fiends to her many times before, but those threads had always been silvery, shimmering with life energy. This thread was wonderfully black. What type of creature could it possibly belong to? She tugged at the thread, willing whatever existed on the other end to hasten to her side.
"Who dares?" a thin, dusty voice whispered.
"I command you to appear," Sirana ordered. She stepped into the protective center of her summoning symbol and pulled harder on the black thread.
"You do not sleep," the dusty voice rasped with strange surprise. "You do not dream."
"No, I command." Gathering her will, Sirana gave one final tug on the thread. Suddenly, it evaporated in her fingers, and the creature arrived.
It floated before her, a thing of shadow the size of a man. It seemed featureless except for its long, twiglike fingers and a mouth full of moon-white teeth.
For a moment a feeling of alarm surged in Sirana's chest. She had never seen a being quite like this before. Would she be able to control its terrible evil? With her mental powers, she gently probed its aura. Immediately she relaxed. She could sense
that this shadow creature was bound to her by her summoning. It must obey.
"What are you?" she demanded.
"I am Sigh," the creature breathed in its indistinct voice.
"I am a bastellus. The world in which my kind dwells is far from this one. But there are some of your race there. They know us as dreamstalkers." Tendrils of shadow floated about the bastellus like ethereal tentacles. "How is it that you summoned me?"
"I ask the questions here," Sirana proclaimed imperiously. Dutifully, the creature fell silent.
Sirana was well pleased. It seemed the guardian of the pool of twilight had kept its part of the bargain. She had never seen a creature of such perfect blackness. It was beautiful. And it was all hers.
"Shall I enter the dreams of your foes and feed upon them, mistress?" the bastellus hissed.
"That is within your powers?"
The bastellus nodded.
Sirana smiled in cruel satisfaction, tapping a thoughtful finger against her smooth jaw. "Very well, Sigh."
She laughed then, a rich, evil sound, the flecks of twilight-colored light flickering in her dancing eyes.
5
Distant Friends
"Thieves?" Tarl asked in shock. "But how can you be sure?"
"It was the way they handled themselves in battle that gave me the first clue," Anton replied. The big, shaggy cleric of Tyr sat in a heavy oak chair in the main chamber of Denlor's Tower. Shal was bandaging a ragged gash on Anton's shoulder in her typically efficient manner. Kern and Listle sat at a nearby table, picking at some food Shal had set out for them. Neither was particularly hungry. Once the excitement of the battle had faded, Kern found the feeling replaced by exhaustion and not just a little trepidation, for the fiends had made it clear they were after him.
"Those warriors were used to moving about unencumbered," Anton went on. "And they were obviously accustomed to using smaller and shorter weapons. They kept trying to attack at close quarters even though they didn't have adequate room to swing a long sword. All that points to their being members of the thieves' guild. But what clinched it were the notched ears."
"Notched ears?" Tarl asked with a frown.
"That's right. The last guildmaster, Bercan, lost his left ear in a duel some years ago. Ever since, the thieves of Phlan have notched their left ears as a sign of loyalty." Anton grimaced in pain as Shal deftly but firmly tightened the bandage around his shoulder. "By all the gods of light, woman, can't you be a little gentler? I'm hurt enough as it is."
"Something tells me you'll live, Anton," Shal said dryly. He gave her a glowering look, which she returned with a laugh. She gathered her salves and bandages, and turned her attention to Kern. Fortunately, none of his wounds were as deep as the gouge in Anton's shoulder.
Listle spoke up. It was virtually impossible to keep the elf out of a conversation for very long anyway. "What would the thieves of Phlan want with the Hammer of Tyr, Patriarch Anton? Could they have ransomed it back to the temple for gold?"
"Perhaps," Anton replied with a shrug. "Or more likely they were interested in the riches that are said to be hidden with the hammer."
Tarl struck fist against palm. The blind cleric paced before the hearth in agitation. "There's still something about this that bothers me. The thieves' guild has never attacked the temple before, let alone in broad daylight. And posing as warriors is very unusual. What could have made them do it? There's something else to this mystery."
"Fiends." Shal looked up from her work, a grim light in her emerald eyes. "Since when have thieves been able to summon fiends from the Nine Hells?"
Anton stood. "Since never," he growled.
"Then it might be interesting to know who summoned them," Shal mused. "If we answer that question, I think we'll find out who it is that so desperately wants the hammer. And the Hammerseeker." She frowned disapprovingly at her son as the salve she had smeared across one of his cuts turned into a puff of sticky blue cobwebs. "I told you to concentrate on keeping your wall of resistance down, Kern," she said sternly. "The salves won't work if you can't control your unmagic for at least a few seconds."
"Sorry." Kern's expression was sheepish. "I don't know why, but it keeps getting harder."
Shal studied him for a long moment. "It's most likely the aftereffect of the battle," she decided. "The more danger you're in, the stronger your unmagic is likely to get." She set down the jar of magical salve, reaching for a cloth soaked in warm water laced with willow bark. "I'm afraid you're going to have to heal naturally this time."
"You'd better get used to battle, Kern," Anton warned the young man gravely. "I have little doubt that this was only the first in a wave of attacks. Someone wants the Hammer of Tyr very badly, and they're going to do whatever it takes to get it. I imagine that even now our mysterious foe is enslaving more fiends from the nether worlds."
Listle sighed deeply. "The poor fiends."
Kern gaped at her. "'The poor fiends?' " he practically choked. "What on Toril are you talking about, Listle?"
"They didn't ask to be summoned and enslaved," the elven illusionist said indignantly.
"Listle, they're fiends," Kern retorted in disbelief. "They're evil."
"How do you know all of them are really evil?" Listle demanded, hands on her hips. "Maybe some of them have been ordered to attack us against their will." She fidgeted with the shimmering ruby pendant hanging at her throat.
Kern shook his head in amazement. What had gotten into the foolish elf? "Believe me, Listle, only an evil wizard would have summoned them. So they have to be evil."
"Is that so?" Listle said scathingly. Her silvery eyes were blazing. She spun around and flounced right through a wall of solid basalt. Kern could only gawk after her in bewilderment.
"What's the matter with her?" he asked in a wounded voice.
Shal regarded her son seriously, then sighed. "You're very pigheaded, Kern."
"Kern didn't do anything wrong," Anton protested. "Listle was talking nonsense."
The red-haired sorceress rolled her eyes. "Men!" she exclaimed, as if that were explanation enough. Kern, Tarl, and Anton wore looks of confusion.
"Oh, quit gaping like that," Shal snapped. "There are some things men never seem to learn."
The looks of confusion grew even worse. Shal smacked a palm against her forehead. "Never mind!" she said in exasperation.
With a groan, Shal left the three men and went in search of her apprentice. She finally found the elf in an unlikely place-sweeping the floor in Shal's own spellcasting chamber. It wasn't a task the elf generally volunteered to do. She must be upset, indeed, the sorceress thought.
After a long moment, Shal spoke gently. "Kern can be a bit stubborn, can't he?"
Listle looked up from her work in surprise. Then she nodded, sighing. "You can say that again."
Shal smiled fondly. "He's his father's son in that regard. But he didn't mean to upset you, Listle. You know that, don't you?"
The elf nodded. "I know, Shal. And I'm not mad at him, really." A faint, impish smile touched her lips. "Well, not much anyway."
Shal laughed at this. She took the broom from Listle's hands and sat the elf down in a chair. Then she brewed a pot of herbal tea over a small brazier and poured two cups full of the steaming, fragrant liquid.
Shal sat and regarded her apprentice thoughtfully for a moment. The truth was, Listle was almost as much a mystery to the sorceress as she was to Kern. The elf had shown up at the tower two years before, wanting to learn the craft of magic, and Shal did not have the heart to turn her down. Besides, Shal had sorely needed an apprentice to help out around the laboratory, and Listle had proved to be both a quick study and a hard worker, if a bit unpredictable at times.
Yet after two years, Shal knew little more of the elf than she had been told that first day. Listle's homeland was Evermeet, the land of the silver elves far across the western Sea of Swords, but she spoke of her past rarely. And Shal was not the type to pry.
Listle broke
the silence. "Shal, tell me how Tarl first brought the Hammer of Tyr to Phlan. He had a difficult time, didn't he?"
The sorceress stared in surprise at Listle's unexpected question. Then she nodded. Sometimes the best way to forget your own troubles was to listen to someone else's. She sipped her tea, thinking.
"It was more than thirty years ago," Shal began. "Tarl had just become a cleric of Tyr-under Anton's watchful eye, of course-and he journeyed with a dozen of his brethren to Phlan. Their mission was to deliver the Hammer of Tyr to the temple that had just been built here, and to join the few clerics already in residence. You see, in those days, most of the ancient city of Phlan lay in ruins, overrun by creatures of evil. Only a few sections, small bastions of light and order, were civilized. As they arrived at the outskirts of the city, the clerics were attacked by the undead of Valhingen Graveyard." Shal shook her head sadly. "Of the newly arrived clerics, all but Tarl and Anton were killed, and a dread vampire stole the hammer."
Listle drew her knees up to her chin, caught up in the tale. "You were in the city then, too, weren't you, Shal?"
The sorceress nodded. "I had come by means of a wishing ring, in hopes of finding what had become of my master. I had the good fortune to meet Tarl, as well as our closest friend, the ranger, Ren o' the Blade."
She shook her head, smiling fondly at the memories of her first adventures with Tarl and Ren. "Together, the three of us discovered that the leader of the city's Council of Ten was in league with an evil dragon, the Lord of the Ruins. As it turned out, the councilman was responsible for the death of my dear master, who had stood in his way, as well as the death of Ren's beloved Tempest, a thief who had stolen the magical ioun stones the dragon needed to control the pool of radiance that lay in the ruins. Together, we managed to defeat both the council leader and the dragon. Then Tarl fought the vampire in Valhingen Graveyard. With his faith in Tyr, he was victorious, and regained the hammer."
Shal set down her empty teacup. "With the hammer resting on the altar in the temple of Tyr, it wasn't long before the city began to grow and prosper. More and more of the ruins were rebuilt, the monsters driven away. Phlan was truly restored, and it was the hammer's doing."
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