"Er, Kern…" Listle interrupted.
Kern muttered another oath as the elf's voice broke his concentration. "Now what?" he asked in annoyance, standing and turning to face the elf, hands on hips.
"Sorry to bother you." Her silvery eyes were wide. "I just thought you might like to know that there are shadows moving out there. Lots of shadows. And they're coming this way."
Something in the elf's voice told Kern that this was not another one of her pranks. He gazed out the crypt's entrance. At first he could see nothing. Then the moon passed from behind a cloud, and he took in a sharp breath.
A dozen smoky shapes flitted among the rotting tombstones, creeping toward the paladin's shrine. A dozen burning pairs of eyes stared hungrily. Kern's heart lurched in his chest.
"Wraiths…" he breathed.
"What can we do?" Listle asked tremulously.
"Get ready to fight. And at all cost, don't let them lay a hand on you. One touch is all it takes to freeze your heart."
Powerful undead creatures, wraiths were the spirits of long-deceased humans who hungered yet for the blood of life. The presence of two living creatures had awakened them from their slumber, and now they intended to feed.
The wraiths drifted closer, their eyes glowing. Kern drew his hammer from his belt, but he didn't know how much good one weapon-enchanted or not-would do against a mob of wraiths.
The shadowy forms reached out dark, spindly arms, ready to bestow death upon their victims.
"May Tyr protect us," Kern murmured.
Suddenly a brilliant sapphire light burst into existence behind Kern and Listle, radiating from deep inside the crypt.
"That he will do, young paladin!" a voice boomed.
The blinding radiance shone forth from the entrance of the crypt, its beams piercing the nebulous bodies of the wraiths. The undead creatures let out soundless screams, writhing in agony as the magical light tore into them. With a collective sigh, the remnants of the wraiths sank back into the dank earth and were gone. The cerulean light dimmed but did not altogether vanish.
Kern and Listle spun about. They saw two things.
The first was that the heavy stone lid of the sarcophagus was askew.
The second was that they were not alone.
A man stood before the sarcophagus. He was clad from head to toe in burnished steel armor, armor that was ornate and oddly archaic looking, bespeaking the customs of another, bygone age. Emblazoned on his breastplate were the golden scales of Tyr, marking him as a paladin. In his gauntleted hand was an unadorned shield, this the source of the holy light.
"Who… who are you?" Listle gasped.
In answer, the paladin flipped back the visor of his helm. Listle clamped a hand over her mouth in terror. The face revealed was not that of a living man. It was a skull. Withered skin, as brittle as parchment, clung to its bones, and a few wisps of dry, strawlike hair hung to either side. The paladin seemed to gaze at them with dark, hollow eye sockets.
"Miltiades!" Kern whispered in awe.
The undead paladin nodded solemnly. "In the flesh." The perpetual grin of death he wore widened even farther. "Er, figuratively speaking, that is."
9
The Quest Begun
The questers gathered in the courtyard before Denlor's Tower in the steely predawn light.
Kern saddled his white palfrey, making certain the saddlebags bulging with provisions were securely fastened. Listle was already sitting astride her dappled gray, but then the nimble elf never bothered with tedious details like saddles or reins. Nor did she need saddlebags. Countless small pouches-bulging with myriad spell components-hung around the wide strip of leather she had used to belt her oversized tunic of green wool.
Kern frowned as he glanced at the silver-eyed illusionist. He didn't recall asking Listle to accompany him on the quest. Not that he minded. Her magic was bound to come in handy. It just might have been nice if she had at least pretended the decision was up to him.
A thought struck him. "We don't have a horse for you, Sir…er…Sir Miltiades."
The undead knight had been standing silently on the edge of the courtyard in his archaic, intricately wrought armor. "There is no need to call me 'Sir,' Kern," Miltiades said. There was a faint note of humor in the ghostly voice that echoed inside the knight's faceplate.
Kern swallowed hard. "All right, Si-er, Miltiades. Should I go see if I they have a horse we can buy at the city's livery? It would only take a few minutes."
The paladin shook his head. "That will not be necessary. I have my own steed to bear me."
From a black velvet pouch, Miltiades drew a small ivory figurine carved in the likeness of a horse. He set the carving on the ground, uttering a single sibilant word. The figurine flared brightly, and suddenly a magnificent, snow-white horse stood in the courtyard. The animal tossed its shining mane, its silver-studded barding jingling pleasantly.
"That's a handy trick," Listle said, gazing at the equine in open admiration. "Instantaneous horse."
"It is good to see you again, Eritophenes." Miltiades greeted the horse, and the magical stallion snorted, stamping a hoof in reply. The feeling was apparently mutual.
Kern shivered, but he wasn't certain if it was from the morning chill or from standing so close to the undead paladin. While everything about Miltiades' manner was noble and kind, it was hard for Kern to forget that the paladin was… well, dead, for lack of a better description. A coldness always seemed to linger near the knight, along with a faint, dusty aroma that reminded Kern of the graveyard. Needless to say, the paladin's presence was going to take a little getting used to.
The wild mage, Sirana, appeared out of the shadows, astride a skittish roan stallion with a perfect white star on its forehead. When she saw Kern, she smiled.
"Are you ready for your quest, paladin?" she asked in her sultry voice.
Kern blushed, mumbling something unintelligible in reply. Sirana's stunning smile widened.
The wild mage wore only a cream-colored traveling cloak over her thin white robe. This warranted a clear look of disapproval on Listle's part. However, before the elf could comment, Tarl and Anton stepped out of the tower, bearing a few more odds and ends the travelers might find useful on their journey.
Both clerics had been astonished to see their old friend Miltiades that morning, but pleased, of course. It was certainly a sign that Tyr favored them, Anton had said.
"You're riding off on a grand adventure, Kern," the grizzled patriarch said wistfully. "I almost wish I could journey with you." A hopeful light shone in his eyes.
"No, Patriarch Anton, it is not fated to be," Miltiades said, understanding Anton's look.
"But there are only four of you," Anton protested. "The prophecy states that five should journey in search of the hammer."
"The fifth we will meet before we reach our destination," Miltiades answered. "That much Tyr has revealed to me, though who the fifth will be, I cannot say." The paladin laid a cold gauntlet on the big cleric's shoulder. "Besides, good Anton. Something tells me your strength will be needed here in Phlan while we are away. Your strength, and that of Tarl Desanea."
The patriarch hung his head forlornly for a moment. Then he looked up, laughing. "Oh, who am a fooling?" he rumbled. "I always break out in saddle sores after ten minutes of riding. Leave the quests to the young ones." He looked suddenly uncomfortable. "Er, present company excluded, of course."
"Of course," Miltiades murmured.
Tarl stepped forward and gripped his son's arms tightly. "May Tyr go with you, Kern."
"I'll do my best, Father," Kern said quietly.
The white-haired cleric nodded, his expression intent. "I know you will, Son. Shal and I will be waiting for you."
Neither had to say that speed was of the essence. Time was Shal's greatest enemy now. Kern had to act swiftly to gain the hammer and return before it was too late. Father and son embraced tightly.
It was time to bid farewell.
The f
our riders guided their mounts out of the courtyard of Denlor's Tower. The quest for the lost hammer had begun.
The sun was barely visible amid a sea of clouds as the four rode through the empty streets of the city. Frost had etched Phlan's buildings with its pale gilding during the night, and the air was bitterly cold. By the time they reached the city's edge, the overcast sky hung dark, low, and sullen above the city rooftops.
Kern led the way through the Death Gates astride his sleek palfrey. Sirana followed close behind, with Listle next on her dappled gray, unconsciously frowning at the beautiful wild mage. Last to ride through the gate was the undead paladin Miltiades. A banner flew from the tip of the lance he held upright, its butt-end braced in his stirrup. The wind caught the banner, unfurling it, and the golden scales of Tyr shone dully in the dim light.
Phlan faded into the distance as Kern guided his mount west along the pebble-strewn shore of the Moonsea. The ruins of the red tower lay to the southwest, across the vast lake. While a ship would have made for a shorter journey, sailing on the Moonsea was risky during the winter months. Sudden snow squalls could arise out of nowhere, icing up a ship's rigging and snapping its mast in a matter of minutes. Not only was an overland journey safer, it would allow them the opportunity to stop by the dwelling of the sorceress Evaine.
Kern's armor was cold against his skin as he rode, but he ignored it as best he could. He rested his hand on the warhammer at his hip. Already its weight at his side was growing comfortable. Slung over his left shoulder was the shield Miltiades had borne when he appeared in the crypt. The undead paladin had presented it to Kern last night, a gift from the god Tyr himself. Kern was so dumbfounded he would have completely forgotten to voice his thanks if Listle hadn't elbowed him hard in the ribs. The silver shield was without adornment-as befit a paladin-aspirant. Kern would be granted an emblem of his own on the day he became a true paladin. If that day ever came, he thought with a sigh.
They had been riding perhaps an hour when Sirana guided her mount close to Kern's.
"There's a storm coming in off the Moonsea."
Kern couldn't help but marvel at the beautiful mage's voice. It was rich and smoky. Even simple words seemed musical when she spoke them.
"How do you know?"
"Can't you feel it?" A look of surprise crossed her face. Then she laughed. "I'm sorry. Of course you can't. Sometimes I forget that not everyone grew up a wizard in the wilderness." She scanned the placid surface of the Moonsea. The water and the sky were the same dull shade of gray, so that it was impossible to tell where the two met on the horizon. "I can sense the storm approaching. It's like…" She searched for the right words. "It's like a power in the air." She turned her gaze on Kern. "An energy I can feel tingling against my skin. Right now a few snowflakes whirl by, but by evening snow will blanket the land. However, the storm will be less severe farther from the Moonsea. We may care to ride a few leagues inland."
"If you think we should," Kern agreed. "Let's confer with Miltiades."
"It is your quest, Kern," the undead paladin said from the back of his white mount. "We will do as you see fit."
Kern swallowed hard. He had naturally assumed that Miltiades would act as the group's leader. Apparently that was not to be so. He drew a deep breath. He hadn't expected to be giving orders to a legendary hero like the paladin.
Sirana turned toward Listle, who was riding bareback nearby. "What do think?" the wild mage asked the elf. "As a sorceress, I'm certain you can feel the storm coming as well as I."
"Of course," Listle lied, gritting her teeth. Oh, she wished she could wipe that smug look off the wild mage's pretty face. They weren't even halfway through the first day, and Sirana already had Kern wrapped neatly around her little finger.
"Good," Sirana smiled. "Shall we ride inland then?"
"Oh, I don't know," Listle replied, her voice dripping honey. "I'm rather fond of getting caught in blizzards, sinking into deep snowdrifts, and freezing perfectly solid. Aren't you?"
"Well, I'm not certain now," Sirana said without a trace of sarcasm. "You make it sound so pleasant."
Listle glared at her, then wheeled her horse away from the frozen edge of the Moonsea, heading inland.
Kern shook his head as he rode after the elf and the wild mage. "Something tells me this is going to be a long journey," he muttered to no one in particular.
"Look at this." Daile knelt in the leafy litter of the forest floor. She brushed away bits of dry, crackling bracken to reveal a single hoofprint pressed into a small patch of cold mud.
Gamaliel crouched beside her. The great cat had assumed his barbarian form this morning, as he usually did when he traveled with humans other than just Evaine.
"There was a hard frost last night," Daile went on. "This damp spot couldn't have melted until well after dawn. I'd say this track is no more than a quarter hour old."
Gamaliel nodded, his chiseled face intent. "Red deer. A young buck, I would guess. Two points. Perhaps three. Still fat this early in winter."
Daile stood swiftly, the morning sunlight weaving strands of fire through her short red-gold hair. With practiced ease she strung her polished ashwood bow. It gave a faint, musical hum of anticipation. She looked excitedly at Gamaliel.
"Let's go."
The two moved easily among the gray, leafless trees, Daile every bit as silent as the lean and powerful barbarian. She cleared her mind of all thoughts, letting the sights, sounds, and scents of the forest soak into her being. Caught up as she was in the hunt, she did not notice the quiet look of approval Gamaliel bestowed on her.
She is skilled for one so young, Gamaliel thought. She tries to be part of the forest, rather than master of it. His earlier suspicions were confirmed. Yes, he decided, she possesses the wild gift. She hears the voice of the wind.
Daile pushed her way through a tangle of branches and found herself looking into a small glade. She froze.
The buck was beautiful.
He stood at the edge of a pond, bending his head to drink from a hole in the ice that he had made with a fore-hoof. His coat was the color of dried leaves, and he had not yet shed his antlers. Each bore three curving points.
She turned to warn Gamaliel to be silent, but the barbarian had disappeared. He must be close behind, she thought, but she couldn't wait for him to catch up. The wind was unpredictable; the buck might sense her presence any second. She nocked an arrow and carefully raised her bow.
Too late.
The buck's head sprang up, diamond-clear droplets spraying from his muzzle. His deep brown eyes widened, velvety nostrils flaring. He had caught her scent. Before she could draw and release her arrow, the buck bounded toward the opposite edge of the clearing and the safety of the trees. Daile started to lower her bow in disappointment.
Suddenly the forest air was riven by a snarling cry.
A lithe, tawny shape leaped out of the forest, ivory white fangs bared.
The buck whirled abruptly at this new, more palpable terror. Its hooves skidded on the ice at the pond's edge as it tried to flee back across the glade-back into the range of Daile's weapon. She did not waste this second chance.
"Let it be swift, bow," she whispered. She released the red-feathered arrow.
The arrow's flight was true, piercing the buck's wildly beating heart. The animal collapsed instantly to the ground.
Daile lowered her bow, her blood pounding in exhilaration.
"Good timing," she said to the great cat padding leisurely across the clearing.
The cat's form shimmered brightly.
"Thank you," Gamaliel said gruffly, human once again.
The two butchered the buck with quick, practiced strokes. Though the deer was a magnificent creature, Daile had no regrets about slaying it. The venison would sustain her and her father on their journey back to the Valley of the Falls, and they could leave plenty behind for Gamaliel and Evaine. The buck's hide would not be wasted either. Daile intended to tan it and make a new pair of boo
ts for her father. Death was as much a part of the forest as the constant spectacle of life, Daile well knew.
They wrapped the venison in the deer's hide and started back toward Evaine and Gamaliel's home. Ren and the sorceress would be waiting for them.
Yesterday, Evaine had tapped into Ren's memories of the Dragonspine Mountains in order to conjure a magical map of the region. She would be able to use the map in conjunction with her spells to help locate the pool she and Shal had sensed in the mountains. Not that she would be able to journey there any time soon. The sorceress was still greatly weakened from her recent ordeal. She could hardly get out of bed, let alone begin a winter's journey into the perilous Dragonspine Mountains.
The two hunters were nearly to Evaine's dwelling when they heard the shouting of voices interspersed with the clash of steel. Sounds of fighting.
Daile shot Gamaliel a worried look. Instantly the barbarian vanished, the great cat loping swiftly down the footpath in his place. Gripping her bow, Daile sprinted after him.
She burst from the shadows of the forest a second behind Gamaliel, only to be greeted by a rather strange sight: four people were being attacked by a hedge of thornbushes.
It was the sort of thing that could happen only in the vicinity of a wizard's dwelling. Evaine had mentioned that the hedge surrounding her clearing served to keep intruders out, but Daile hadn't imagined anything quite like this. A dozen bushes had uprooted themselves from the ground and now circled menacingly around four strangers, lashing out with branches bearing long, sharp barbs.
Two of the strangers were well protected by their shining armor, but the other two-young women both-bled from several scratches on their arms. All were doing their best to hold the enchanted brambles at bay.
"I cannot dispel the magic that animates them!" cried one of the women. She was clad in a flowing white robe, now rent and torn in several places. "The wizard who created them must be strong indeed."
Fire fanned out from the second woman's outstretched fingers, but did not so much as singe the bushes. "I've heard of the expression 'a thorn in my side,' but this is ridiculous," the mage-an elf, Daile could see by her delicate, pointed ears-said with a frown.
Pool of Twilight hop-3 Page 12
