Pools of Darkness
Page 14
Near the edge of the battle, Gamaliel’s voice also boomed “Retreat!” as his weapon chopped one skeleton after another in half.
Evaine launched two lightning bolts of her own, cutting wide paths into the steadily growing mass of undead. The monsters that weren’t fighting Ren and his allies were lining up to battle the knight, who stood like a great, rooted statue at the open door of the tomb.
Looking over the battle, Ren saw that too many creatures were rising from the ground, and they were no longer just skeletons and zombies. Hideous creatures of shadow, misty wraiths with glowing red eyes, and ghostly spectres were also answering the call of battle.
The graveyard filled with green streaks and blue sparks as Evaine and Andoralson cast one spell after another at the undead monsters. Sparks bounced in the grass. Monster after monster succumbed to magical blasts.
Both spellcasters turned their attacks to the wraiths and spectres. These ghastly things were far more deadly than the other creatures and easier to kill magically than by swordplay. If they didn’t act swiftly, one of their companions might become victims of the monsters’ spectral talons. Ren spurred Stolen. Crunching through the mounds of bones and dashing to the warrior’s side, he shouted, “Knight, retreat!”
A reply came in the knight’s chant.
“I wait the coming, the coming of one,
The thousand-year old one, when battle will be done.”
Ren’s frustration at the knight’s refusal quickly turned to horror. A deep, throbbing voice filled the air.
“Then wait no longer, chanting fool!” A black mist rose from the ground just outside the clearing. “You and I will finish this, Miltiades. This time I will win.”
The mist swirled, forming the night-black ghost of a ghastly warrior. The spectral fighter rode a nightmare horse of writhing, dark smoke. The beast pawed the earth with vaporous hooves. Huge chunks of grassy earth flew in all directions. The ghost, vaguely human, drew a saber of extraordinary length. The weapon glowed as black fire danced up and down its blade. The sword looked to dispense death at a touch.
Every undead creature in the graveyard turned and bowed to the mist warrior. Taking advantage of the sudden lull in the battle, Talenthia and Andoralson tore into the monsters, swinging weapons furiously, destroying three or four creatures with every blow.
Evaine and Gamaliel stood nearest the night-black ghost. Wave upon wave of evil radiated from the eyes and body of the spectral warrior and its mount. Evaine conjured numerous spells of protection, creating layers of green magic around herself and Gamaliel.
The ghost warrior stared at the huge knight in plate mail armor. “Miltiades,” it groaned, its voice guttural. “Do we fight alone, paladin, or shall I empower my army to kill your friends?”
“We fight alone, ancient one. The living beings will not interfere.” This last was directed at Ren.
The ranger nodded in agreement. “So be it, paladin.” But Ren and Stolen continued destroying the horde of skeletons by bashing them with steel-shod hooves and Ren’s magical blade.
Following their lead, Gamaliel waded into the still-kneeling masses of undead, cutting and chopping. No creatures would remain to attack if the knight lost.
Evaine created missiles of magical energy. Streams of green sparks spewed from her fingertips, killing over a dozen zombies at a time. The creatures did not fight, they knelt meekly, oblivious to their certain doom.
Miltiades, the mysterious knight, marched to the edge of the clearing to face the ghost warrior. The warrior of Tyr no longer chanted.
The knight’s shield blazed with a blue glow; the symbol of Tyr engraved upon it glowed golden. Miltiades’s war helmet hummed with a protective power all its own, bathing the knight in a foggy blue mist. An enormous sword—one that most men would have had to wield with two hands—was easily swung in one hand by the knight. The blade was etched end to end in runes.
The ghost warrior calmly sat astride his vaporous mount, his saber dripping black fire.
The knight of Tyr struck first. Rolling low, he cut the legs out from under the ghost horse. His sword blasted a shower of blue sparks as the blade severed the front legs of the mount. The beast fell forward and the ghost warrior tumbled to the ground, then rolled up on his feet. The horse vanished with a blood-curdling cry of pain.
“Puts us on more even footing, Zarl!”
“Though you are a paladin, you never were an honorable fighter, Miltiades. Let us finish this.”
Blades crashed as the two swung and parried. Miltiades was engulfed in a blue aura that hummed when it touched the ghost’s black mist. The battle was evenly matched. Neither landed a blow for long minutes.
The rest of the group found it difficult to keep their attention on the undead creatures that surrounded them. None had ever seen a battle like the fight between these two mysterious warriors. But the five companions finally succeeded in destroying the hundreds of undead in the graveyard. In minutes, bones and withered body parts lay ankle-deep all over the clearing. Ren, the druids, Gamaliel, and Evaine were all exhausted and gasping for breath after the massacre.
The five retreated to the opposite end of the clearing to watch the final battle. Evaine magically levitated herself and Gamaliel to the roof of one of the mausoleums to gain a better view.
The two enemies were beginning to land their blows. Every time the black blade struck, bits of ebony flame left the sword to strike the paladin or sizzle to the ground. Wherever the flames landed, the grass withered and the moist topsoil turned to dust.
Both combatants expended themselves fully, taking titanic swipes at each other with their enchanted blades. Both were remarkably skilled, but this battle was not one of finesse and swordplay. Each wanted the other dead with a fury. Every ounce of muscle and energy was poured into the battle.
Unencumbered by a physical body, the ghost warrior moved faster and faster, circling around the knight. The black flaming sword landed too often, ringing against the paladin’s armor. Each strike seemed softened by the blue mist coming from the knight’s war helmet. But the blue mist was fading; it grew thinner and thinner with every strike, as the protective energies of the helmet were eaten away by the flames of the black sword.
“He’s going to lose! I’m casting a—”
“No!” Ren shouted, grabbing at Evaine’s foot, which dangled over the side of the mausoleum. Gamaliel, even quicker, pounced off the structure to tower between the spellcaster and Ren. His big hands found Ren’s neck. “You must never touch her!”
Evaine leaped off the crypt and yanked at Gamaliel. “You can’t attack Ren!” The barbarian realized what he was doing and dropped his grip instantly. Ren choked, but he hadn’t been harmed. The ranger reeled back, trying to find his words.
“If we don’t do something, the paladin will die,” Evaine insisted.
Ren glared deep into Gamaliel’s eyes. For the first time, he noticed their deep golden color and catlike pupils. But the revelation was lost in his fury.
“This is an affair of honor,” the ranger croaked through bruised vocal cords. “Whatever happens, you must not interfere. We can fight and defeat this creature together if the paladin falls, but first we must give the paladin a chance to win.”
The battle between the strange warriors raged. The paladin knew he was losing. He wasn’t fast enough to keep up with the steadily moving ghost. More and more of the evil blade strikes found their marks. In a desperate move, the paladin threw down his magical shield and gripped his weapon with both hands.
The ghost shouted with glee and swung his blade to cut into the discarded shield. Black flame met holy power and, with a loud ringing, the shield was split in two. But the ruined halves of the shield stuck fast to the blade. The ghost’s misty face showed his shock and anger as he awkwardly tried to recover his weapon. The paladin struck, cleaving the ghost from head to thigh.
The only audible sound to mark the passing of the ghost was a soft, “No, not again.” The warrior spiri
t shriveled into a thin black mist and evaporated.
The paladin fell to his knees, gripping the broken remains of the shield. Instead of a cry of joy at his victory, the knight murmured, “What have I done? What have I done with the gift of Tyr? I should have known Zarl would attack the shield when I threw it down.”
“What would have happened if you hadn’t thrown down the shield?” Ren now crouched quietly in the grass behind the knight. The others stood behind him.
The paladin turned to look at the five strangers. “After my destruction, Zarl would have easily defeated all of you. He would have then used his evil to raise an indestructible undead army and sweep the continent. His goal would have been to destroy every living thing in Faerun, even if it took a thousand years. He was evil and destructive in life, and he remains so in death.”
Andoralson expressed his compassion for the knight. “I believe Tyr would think one holy relic was worth the lives of millions of people. Don’t you agree?”
Talenthia bent down to help the paladin to his feet. “Take off that heavy helm and let me see your wounds. I’d be happy to heal you, if you’ll allow me.”
The paladin rose, but gently removed Talenthia’s hands from his arms. “In all honor, I must tell you my story first. When I take off my helm, do you all promise to let me finish my tale?”
The companions glanced at each other, but all nodded in silence. After the scene that had just unfolded, they were curious. Ren looked at the smoldering black blade still lying on the ground and wondered what fantastic story lay behind it.
Miltiades lifted his war helm. Talenthia gasped. A barely audible growl arose in Gamaliel’s throat. The group saw the head of a horrible skeleton. Like his foe, the paladin was also undead!
“I am a paladin of Tyr. I died a thousand years ago. Please listen before you think of destroying me.”
The pleading sound of the knight’s voice was hard to ignore. A face with empty eye sockets and withered skin turned to Ren; the knight knew instinctively that the others would take the ranger’s lead. Wisps of hair still clung to the parchment skin on the knight’s head. Bones creaked as the undead paladin moved.
Ren sat on the grass, motioning the others to do the same.
“We want to listen to you, but I have never heard of paladins rising again to serve their god.”
“I understand your doubts, and I thank you for this chance. As I said, I died a thousand years ago. In life, I served my god Tyr faithfully and wholeheartedly. I fought the enemies of my faith across all of Faerun. Because I was so successful, other followers of Tyr gave me the Holy Shield of Tyr, my magical war helm, and this runic sword of Tyr.
“The land on which we stand was much different a thousand years ago. A city stood a few miles to the north. I was its steward and war champion. For fifty years, I had the honor of guarding its gates. The city of Turell knew much strife, but we were always victorious.
“All the residents followed the ways of Tyr and all the citizens were warriors as well as craftsmen. But the year before I died, a horde led by the terrible warrior-wizard Zarl laid siege to my city. For over a year, we resisted. Week after week I challenged and defeated the most powerful warriors of the horde in combat before the city gates. But Zarl would never face me in battle.
“My city and the besiegers were both on the brink of ruin. We were desperate, and after much prayer, I decided to sneak into the camp of Zarl and try to take in stealth what he wouldn’t allow me to take in honorable battle. My city was at stake. I killed him, but in turn I was killed by his men. They buried me here and surrounded me with a thousand of the most powerful members of the evil army. Then they charged into my city and leveled it. Not a single stone stood after they were through. Turell was literally wiped off the map.
“The army took Zarl’s body back to their lands, but his spirit remained in the earth next to my resting place. Because I didn’t boldly go into the camp and challenge Zarl in battle, Tyr refused me the rest granted to heroes slain in honorable battle. I was cursed by my god. For one thousand years, my spirit has roamed these lands, awaiting the day when Tyr would raise me for one last quest.
“Only hours ago, Tyr’s radiance raised me. At the same time, Bane’s power raised the dead around me. All across the Moonsea lands, horrible legions of undead are awakening—I can sense it. In my spirit form, I saw Phlan stolen by Bane’s power. Now Tyr has summoned me to venture forth and help return Phlan to its home on the Moonsea. If I can prove myself to Tyr, I will finally be granted eternal peace.”
Silence fell over the five companions. All were surprised and deeply moved by his saga.
Andoralson spoke first. “Is your mission truly to restore Phlan?”
The warrior responded with the pride of a man on a holy quest. “Yes. Tyr has raised me to face Bane’s minions and wrest Phlan from their grasp. If I must complete my mission alone, I am prepared to do so.”
Evaine, Ren, and the others exchanged questioning glances. All seemed to be thinking the same thing. Ren spoke up.
“Noble warrior, we have all come together for our own reasons but with a common cause. We all seek to restore Phlan. I have dear friends missing along with the city. Talenthia and Andoralson have been ordered by Sylvanus to assist me. Evaine seeks the pool of darkness that lies within the city. She plans to destroy it because …” Ren realized for the first time that he didn’t know why the sorceress sought the pool. He looked to Evaine for an explanation.
Evaine’s eyes met Ren’s, but her cheeks were flushed with hidden emotions. Her voice was steady, but the others could see that it was an effort for her to maintain control. “Let’s just say that I have a very old and very personal reason for hunting the pools. I prefer not to discuss it. But you know by now that my loyalties are sound and my dedication is unwavering.” Gamaliel patted the sorceress’s shoulder. None of the group had yet seen such a show of emotion in the logical sorceress.
“I think I speak for everyone when I say you are welcome in our group. If you’d like to join us, that is.” Ren rose from the grass and reached out a hand to the paladin.
“Not so fast, ranger.” Evaine’s calculating mind had again taken over, and she rose to her feet. “No offense, paladin, but with the world in chaos as it is, you must understand our caution.” She turned to the druids. “My magics tell me this one didn’t lie when he told his story. But we must be sure. Andoralson, can you tell if this paladin is still lawful and good in his faith to Tyr?”
“Easily done, sorceress,” the druid said with a smile. He waved a hand and whispered an arcane sentence. Miltiades was quickly outlined in a golden glow. “He is still dedicated in his faith, but he has none of the normal powers of a paladin. He is now some type of spectral warrior.”
“Logically speaking, you may be a hindrance to us any time we encounter other people. They’ll immediately assume you’re evil. No offense, of course, but we must consider the good of the mission.” Evaine turned away from the group and walked toward the woods where she had sent the horses. Gamaliel followed her closely.
“Wait a minute, my lady,” Andoralson’s words stopped her. “No one will know our new friend isn’t the noble paladin he seems to be. Observe.”
After a few gestures and words issued from the druid, a magical illusion swirled around the skeletal form of the paladin. Miltiades removed his gauntlets, and instead of skeletal bones, perfectly formed hands appeared. The paladin’s head became the visage of a noble man with flowing dark hair.
“I like your style, Cousin,” Talenthia chirped. “I’ve seen this type of magic before. My cousin’s illusions fool almost everyone. Evaine, I think a creature favored by Tyr will be an advantage to our group. Won’t you reconsider?”
“It appears I don’t have much choice. You have removed my objection. Let’s give it a try.” She paused and turned to the paladin. “But if your presence turns out to be harmful, I think we should reconsider our alliance. No offense to you, Miltiades, or your god.”
Gamaliel again growled faintly, but Evaine flashed him a look that instantly quieted the barbarian.
The five companions followed the warrior to the tomb.
The small crypt contained two chambers. The first was an entryway, empty except for a disc-shaped brazier lit with a steady golden flame. The silvery container matched the size of a small shield. Its metal was engraved with runic symbols. Although several inches deep, the brazier was not designed to burn coals; instead, the flame issued from a coin-sized hole in the center of the device.
Evaine cried out in surprise. She had heard of braziers that had the power to double and sometimes triple the strength of a magical spell. Miltiades knew immediately what the sorceress was thinking.
“The evil army discovered this flame as they were building my tomb. They were about to place my body in a log hut and burn the hut to the ground, but Tyr had other plans. He wished me to remain whole for my future quest. He caused the flame to leap from the ground. It created a magical vision with instructions for the members of the horde. Being superstitious creatures, they obeyed the message of the vision and built this tomb.
“I believe the brazier can make your spells more powerful, Evaine. In my spirit wanderings over the centuries, I have learned of other such devices with similar properties.
“I’m sure you will wish to bring the brazier along on our journey. Notice the small platinum cap attached to the brazier with a fine chain. If the cap is placed over the flame, the flame will be temporarily extinguished and the device can be moved safely. The fire will relight when the cap is again removed, but it will light only a limited number of times. No one in this world knows how much magic remains. It may never light again—or, it may relight a hundred times more.”