Listle nodded in understanding. "But with the hammer gone…"
"The process is reversing itself," Shal said grimly. "Eventually, Phlan will again become the ravaged place it was for so many centuries."
Listle's eyes went wide. "What are we going to do, Shal?" she asked breathlessly.
Shal tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I think I know someone who just might be able to help. The prophecy spoke of a magical pool somehow being involved in all of this, didn't it?"
Listle's head bobbed. "That's right. 'The twilight pool.'" She frowned, her bottom lip jutting out. "Whatever that is."
Shal laughed. "Well, there's only one expert on pools that I know of. Perhaps I should pay her a call. Come, let's go tell the others."
The sorceress bent over a small iron caldron hanging above a flickering fire. The special brew had to be exactly right. There was no margin for error. She pulled a few dried leaves from a leather pouch at her belt. Carefully, she crumpled them into the bubbling contents of the caldron.
The sorceress shivered, drawing her heavy sheepskin coat more tightly about her shoulders. The autumn air of the glade was chill with the coming winter. All around her, leaves fluttered down, mantling the ground with a crisp, crackling blanket of russet, crimson, and tarnished gold. Squirrels chattered in the branches of the ancient oak and ash trees that surrounded the clearing. The sorceress cocked her head, trying to listen to the small animals. After a minute she gave up. All squirrels ever seemed to talk about were acorns.
The sorceress sprinkled a pinch of black powder into the caldron. Close, very close, she thought. But not yet. She couldn't risk any mistakes. She leaned back against a fallen tree trunk to wait and think. She was a woman who prized patience. Patience was the key to the greatest magic.
The sorceress was clad in deerskin breeches, a thick wine-colored tunic of fine wool, soft but remarkably tough boots of wyvern leather, and a heavy cloak of forest green, its weave so tight rain dripped right off it. It wasn't a wizard's typically gaudy garb, but it suited her perfectly.
All in all, there was a rather ageless quality about the sorceress. Her long, chestnut-colored hair was marked only by a single, rather dramatic streak of gray. At first glance the sorceress might have seemed a woman barely past her third decade, but there was a wisdom in her deep green eyes that was strangely at odds with her youthful appearance. And anyone versed in the magical arts who observed the sorceress at her craft would have realized instantly that she had far too much power to be as youthful as she appeared.
In truth, the sorceress was well over a century old.
Once, she had lived an entire lifetime as an ambitious mage, doing whatever she could to acquire more and more magical power. It was an ambition that ultimately had led to disaster. She had sought to exploit a legendary pool of radiance to make herself the greatest wizard in Faerun. But her ego had proved her downfall. She had not been able to control the chaotic enchantment emanating from the pool of radiance. She was blasted into unconsciousness, and when she awoke, she found herself no longer an aged wizard, but a young woman once again. All her skills as a sorceress were gone.
Others might have quit, given up. But she had been granted a chance to live again, and she did not intend to throw away such an opportunity. Realizing the perilous nature of the magical pools that were concealed throughout Faerun, she had vowed never to rest until she found and destroyed them all. She had begun her magical studies anew. This time she had not sought power only for power's sake, but instead to combat the force of the pools. Over the course of the last thirty years, she had destroyed more than a dozen of the treacherous pools. Even so, her quest was far from over, if ever it truly would be.
Now she tended to the steaming caldron, adding a few more odds and ends from the numerous pouches strung along her belt. In her concentration, she did not hear the faint crackling of leaves in the trees behind her.
A pair of golden eyes gazed at the woman from the shadows of the forest. A lithe, tawny shape slunk between the trees, drawing closer to the glade. A stray beam of amber sunlight filtered its way through the branches above, briefly illuminating the stalker. It was a great cat, its muscles rippling under its smooth pelt. A beautiful creature, its buff-colored fur turned to a rich brown around its paws, muzzle, and the tip of its tail. Its eyes winking like green-gold gems, the cat's long whiskers twitched in anticipation. Its sensitive nose had caught the scent of the woman in the glade. A low rumble vibrated deep in the cat's throat.
The great cat padded to the edge of the clearing. The woman was no more than a dozen paces away, her attention focused on the fire. The feline's mouth opened slightly, revealing two stilettolike canines. It extended its razor-sharp claws as it crouched down, tail swishing, ready to pounce. It watched its prey, calculating the force necessary to land directly on the woman's back, and then-
"I know you're there, Gamaliel," the sorceress said in an amused voice. "I can feel your hot breath on the back of my neck."
With a groan, the great cat flopped down onto the leaves.
You're no fun, Evaine, the cat's pompous voice spoke inside the sorceress's mind.
"On the contrary," Evaine replied smugly as she turned around, "I think I'm heaps of fun."
She scratched the dejected-looking cat behind the ears. Gamaliel managed to resist her efforts for several seconds before desire got the better of him. He let out a deep, rumbling purr of pleasure, then rolled over, paws in the air.
"Let me guess," the sorceress mused. "I'm supposed to rub your tummy, is that it?"
Oh, wise wizard! came the reply. Your amazing powers of deduction truly astound me. Surely no other mage in Faerun can possess the intuition to rival your own!
"Flattery will get you everywhere, Gam," Evaine laughed. She began digging her fingers into the thick pelt covering the cat's chest. Gamaliel's green eyes closed until they were thin, gleaming slits. He began purring like an oversized kitten, which was pretty much what he looked like at the moment.
However, Evaine knew that looks could be deceiving. Over the years, the claws safely sheathed in Gamaliel's big, soft paws had ripped the life from countless enemies. Evaine had never met a warrior more ferocious or more deadly in battle than her great cat companion, and she rather doubted she ever would. Still, right now he was looking awfully cute-and somewhat silly. His rough, pink tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth.
I never look silly, came the testy reply to her thoughts.
The great cat was Evaine's familiar, so of course her mind and his were inextricably linked. Her first familiar, a snowy white owl, had died long years ago, during one of her quests to vanquish a magical pool. That had been a devastating blow. Evaine didn't know if she would ever have recovered if Gamaliel hadn't come along. Every mage, even the lowliest hedge wizard, needed a familiar-even if only a simple lizard or spider-but Evaine was lucky to have one such as Gamaliel. He was more than her protector. He was her truest friend, and she loved him dearly.
As well you should.
"You don't have to be so conceited about it."
I'm not being conceited, Gamaliel protested. I'm lovable, and you love me. What's wrong with that?
Evaine tried to think of a witty reply, but nothing came to mind. "Here, Gam," she said finally, getting up to stir the contents of the bubbling caldron. "I want you to taste this." She used a wooden spoon to scoop up some of the curious liquid. Flecks of herbs drifted on the surface.
Gamaliel's pink nose wrinkled. Do I have to? I really don't want to be metamorphosed into a toad, you know.
"Don't be such a baby, Gamaliel. Besides, it isn't a magical potion. It's soup. Your favorite kind, even-rabbit, with thyme and fennel."
Why didn't you say so?
Gamaliel lapped the soup off the spoon with his big tongue. Suddenly a faint, shimmering light surrounded the cat. His tawny pelt began to undulate as his form started to change. In a blink, the great cat was gone. In his place was a handsome man, a tall, wild-looking
barbarian. He sat cross-legged on the ground, holding the wooden spoon, clad in a buckskin coat and leggings trimmed with beadwork and fringe. A broadsword was belted at his hip, and his long tawny hair was tied back from his angular face by a leather thong. He regarded Evaine with glittering green eyes.
"It's easier to eat soup when you can hold a spoon," he offered by way of explanation. "Otherwise you tend to burn your tongue."
"I wouldn't know," Evaine laughed as she dished up two bowls of the steaming liquid.
Gamaliel was a shapeshifting cat, and as such he could opt for human form any time he wished. Generally, he preferred to be a great cat, but sometimes he liked the option of fingers.
The two friends ate their lunch, then Gamaliel helped Evaine gather her things. She had ventured into the forest that day to find a few herbs for her magical spells. But already the autumn day was drawing toward evening, and the golden beams of sunlight were fading.
"Let's go home, Gam."
Instantly, the barbarian's form blurred. A moment later the great cat bounded ahead through the trees, scouting ahead for danger. Protecting his mistress was Gamaliel's sole concern.
The sun was setting in a sea of bronze clouds as Evaine and Gamaliel stopped before a seemingly impenetrable thicket of brambles and thorny bushes. It looked as if anyone who tried to force their way through the overgrowth would be taking a gamble.
"Gate!" Evaine intoned, lifting one hand in an intricate gesture.
There was a rustling as the brambles parted to either side, forming a walkway. Gamaliel ambled through, and Evaine followed. The thorn bushes immediately closed behind her. Wizards were secretive by nature, and did not generally leave their dwellings undisguised.
Beyond the hedge was a circular clearing in the midst of a grove of tall, majestic ash trees. The far side was bounded by the steep face of a hill. A waterfall tumbled down granite boulders to splash into a small pool of frothy water. Countless droplets caught and refracted the last light of the sun, glistening like diamonds on fire. On the edge of the pool sprawled a long, low, rambling log house. It was a comfortable and inviting place, not at all the usual wizard's domicile. Evaine had never much cared for towers and such. They were stuffy in summer, freezing in winter, and tended to dampness, which meant books often fell prey to mold. Most of the wizards Evaine had encountered in her time lived in towers simply because they thought that was what wizards were supposed to do, not because they cared for tower life.
Despite its rustic appearance, Evaine's home was as well guarded as any wizard's. The rough logs were not hewn from mundane trees. Rather, they were iron-oak trunks, felled by magic, for no axe could do more than scratch them. The large windows were not ordinary glass but thick plates of steel which Evaine had made magically transparent. The poppies and chrysanthemums that bordered the walkways were bright and lovely, but each had been conjured of magical energy. They emanated a powerful protective ward around the house. Any creature of evil that tried to set foot inside would be burned to ashes.
Inside the house, Evaine spread the herbs she had gathered on a large oaken table and began sorting them. Gamaliel curled up by the hearth for a nap. He considered the bearskin rug before the fire his throne.
The house's main peak-roofed room was comforting in its clutter. Books weighed down pine shelves. Intricate, faded tapestries and animal pelts covered the walls. A stuffed, somewhat moth-eaten owlbear lurked in a corner, and a huge dwarven war drum served as a table for a scattering of elven runestones. Two overstuffed leather chairs, worn and comfortable with use, dominated the center of the room beneath an ornate chandelier imported from the southern empire of Calimshan. In all, it was an eclectic but hospitable room that spoke not so much of far travels as it did of frequent homecomings.
Evaine paused in her work, reflecting on the objects in the room. Most of them were souvenirs of her quests to destroy pools, she realized. In fact, she couldn't think of a single possession that she had acquired on a pleasure trip, or that a friend had given to her as a gift. She allowed herself a sigh. She wasn't sure why, but somehow the thought made her a little sad. Hunting down and destroying magical pools had been her whole life these last thirty years. It was a critical mission, but sometimes it made her feel just the slightest bit lonely.
Gamaliel's sharp ears caught her sigh. The great cat opened his green eyes and regarded his mistress. Worry flickered through his mind. Something had been bothering his sorceress of late, something that caused her to forgo sleep from time to time, or to neglect her meals. Gamaliel did not like that. His mistress's well-being was his preoccupation, and he wondered about the air of melancholy he had detected lately. Of course he would have attacked any being that disturbed Evaine, rending it to bits. But the cause of Evaine's sorrow was obviously beyond his ability to correct with his claws. This troubled him. The cat racked his brain for a way to help her, but could think of nothing. He growled softly in frustration.
The sound snapped Evaine out of her reverie. She laughed then. What cause did she have to be so gloomy? I'll feel better when I find another pool to track down and destroy, she told herself.
"Come on, Gam," she said brightly. "Let's see about supper."
Just as she stood, she heard a crystalline chime. Evaine frowned. "Now who could that be?"
She uttered a word of magic. Suddenly a shimmering spiral staircase appeared in the center of the room. Evaine quickly ascended, Gamaliel on her heels, entering a room that was in truth not located anywhere in her house. Or even in this world, for that matter. The room was a pocket dimension, a fragment of an alternate world, with the gateway located in Evaine's house. She used it as her private spellcasting chamber.
Evaine stood before a curious, eye-shaped mirror of polished silver. She waved a hand before the smooth surface. A face appeared in the mirror, that of a striking woman with brilliant green eyes and fiery hair.
"Shal!" Evaine said in surprise.
"Evaine, I'm glad I found you." Shal's voice sounded slightly distant, echoing as if it came from the opposite end of a long corridor. "I'm afraid there's trouble in Phlan. And I think it involves a pool."
Evaine felt a rush of both dread and anticipation. "Tell me," was all she said.
An hour later, after listening to her old friend Shal and asking a number of key questions, Evaine knew all there was to know. The hiding place of the Hammer of Tyr had been discovered, but there was someone besides the clerics of Tyr who was determined to find it, someone with the power to summon a large number of deadly fiends.
"Kern is going to be journeying to the ruins of the red tower in three days," Shal explained, her voice heavy with worry. "I don't like the idea of him walking into unknown danger, Evaine. I want to know who it is who's after him."
Evaine thought for a long moment. "There is a way, Shal," she said finally. "But I think I will need some help."
"Anything," Shal said earnestly.
"We need to search for this mysterious enemy of yours, and we're going to have to leave our bodies behind." Evaine's mind worked quickly. "Whoever this foe is, he or she must be a wizard of some sort. And I have no doubt that the wizard is drawing on this pool of twilight. It takes enormous amounts of power to summon and control as many fiends as you've described. I know that all too well. Now, since Kern is the person this evil wizard of ours is after, we'll need to start by concentrating on him. But I can't do this effectively without you."
Evaine went on to explain the specifics of the spell-the material components, gestures, and necessary arcane incantations. When this was done, she took a deep breath.
"This spell will not be without risks, Shal," she warned her friend.
"They're risks I'm willing to take, Evaine."
Evaine didn't argue with her friend's resolve. "I'll be able to help you along. I have a fair amount of experience with this sort of thing." She grinned eagerly. Gods, but she loved magic. This was going to be exciting.
"Ready?" Evaine asked.
"Re
ady," the wizard of Denlor's Tower agreed.
Simultaneously, Evaine and Shal prepared to cast the spell-Evaine in her pocket dimension, Shal in her tower a hundred leagues to the northeast. Gamaliel stalked close to his mistress. Whenever she cast one of these spells, her body was completely vulnerable. Though it was unlikely anyone would attack her here, it was Gamaliel's duty to watch over her. She could not be disturbed until she woke up from the spell. Otherwise, disaster would result.
Evaine lighted a small brazier, sprinkling on a handful of herbs. A flame flared up, crackling with blue, silver, and crimson sparks. She drew out a small quartz crystal from a velvet pouch and placed it gently on top of the brazier.
She closed her eyes and breathed in the pungent smoke, then whispered a strangely sibilant incantation three times as she moved her hands through a complex web of gestures.
Evaine felt her ethereal self rising from her body. She could see all around, even though she had not opened her eyes. She reached forth a ghostly hand toward the mirror.
Shal…
She spoke in a voice inaudible to mundane ears, but Shal could hear her.
I'm here, Evaine. At least I think so. This is a bit unusual for me…
Evaine cautioned her friend. Don't fight the sensation. Just let yourself float, as if you're adrift in a warm sea. Now reach out to me, not with your arms but with your mind. I'll do the same.
Evaine concentrated, reaching out with tendrils of thought, searching. Then she connected.
I found you! came Shal's excited response.
You have indeed. Now let's go. The longer we're away from our bodies, the bigger our headaches will be when we wake up.
Evaine led the way. Her consciousness rose high into the air, Shal's in tow. The two sorceresses-or at least their spirits-sped southward. The slate gray surface of the Moonsea slipped away beneath them. It was much like flying, except there was no touch of wind or chill air.
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