Pool of Twilight

by James M. Ward

  Sirana said nothing. Evidently, she agreed.

  “Well, if it doesn’t portend danger, I suppose there’s no harm in passing through,” Kern decided. He stepped into the shadowed portal, disappearing from view. Sirana followed, as did Miltiades. Listle was the last to walk through the doorway.

  On the other side, the elf found herself at the end of a long, stone-walled walkway. The others were nowhere to be seen. She whirled around in surprise, only to discover that the portal had vanished. She was alone. She tried scaling the wall, but quickly ascertained that its surface was as slippery as glass.

  “Kern!” she called out as loud as she could. “Miltiades!”

  “Listle?” she heard a faint reply borne by the wind. It was Kern’s voice. “Where is everybody? I seem to be alone in some sort of maze.”

  Maze? Suddenly Listle thought she understood what had happened. “It must have been a magical portal, Kern!” she shouted over the high wall. “I think it transported each of us to a different section of the maze.”

  Kern shouted something in reply, but the words were muffled by the wind. She shouted again, but this time there was no answer. She could only hope that Kern had heard her, and that the others had come to the same realization. There was nothing to do now but to try to find her way out of the maze. Despite her predicament, Listle had to grin. She loved mazes.

  She padded lightly down the walkway. It quickly branched, then branched again. She came up against a dead end and turned to retrace her steps. A turn left. Two right. A dead end. Left. Twice right. Dead end. She hummed as she went, sensing the maze’s pattern. No, this wasn’t going to be difficult at all. She only hoped the others would fare as well.

  Abruptly the path she followed widened into a small, roofless room, obviously still in the process of rebuilding itself. Even as she watched, two stones atop one of the walls shifted of their own volition, closing a small chink.

  Iron-banded trunks lay half-buried in the ground. Suits of rusted armor hung from the walls. And in the center of the chamber was a table laden with gold coins, strands of pearls, and brilliant gems. Listle eyed the table skeptically, tapping her chin with a finger.

  “A king’s ransom lying in plain view. Hmm, I don’t suppose there’s a magical enchantment guarding that.”

  She cast a quick spell. Sure enough, she sensed enough magical energy surrounding the table to fry an elephant. A fine trap for any greedy thief who might happen along.

  “Good thing I’m not that greedy.” Listle laughed. She searched the room until she found an innocuous wooden chest lurking in a shadowed corner. It was the least interesting-looking thing in the room—which was precisely why it was the most interesting to Listle. She knew that the best way to hide something important was to make it look as if it wasn’t important at all.

  No magic guarded the small chest. It wasn’t even locked. Listle threw back the lid.

  “Now this,” she said to herself gleefully, “is the real treasure.”

  She gathered several objects from the chest and stuffed them into her pack. Without so much as a backward glance at the treasure-strewn table, she left the chamber. A dozen twists and turns later, she stepped through another portal, leaving the maze behind.

  She found herself standing in front of the massive, headless statue of a wizard. The meeting place.

  “Well,” she said, “it looks as if I’m the first one here.”

  Feeling quite pleased with herself, she sat down to wait.

  “Ah, Father, what power you must have had,” Sirana exclaimed exultantly. She strolled around the circular room that had been the Red Wizard Marcus’s spellcasting chamber. Arcane sigils covered the basaltic floor and walls. Bloodred sunlight streamed in through the high, narrow windows. The chamber showed no sign of decay or ruin. It was from here that the restorative powers flowed.

  “Our vengeance is at hand, Father.” Her voice echoed across the stones. Now, quickly, to complete her tasks. “Hoag!” she hissed, sending out a summons to the hamatula fiend. “Come to me, my black knight!”

  I come, glorious mistress, the fiend’s voice answered in her mind. But you must be patient. The new form you have given me chains me to this plane of existence. I can journey only so fast as my steed may travel, and though the wings you granted him speed our journey, there is much distance to cover.

  “Then make it travel faster!” Sirana snarled. “You must destroy the skeletal paladin called Miltiades. He is the most powerful among the fools who have journeyed here, and the most dangerous. I will not have that vile knight desecrating my father’s tower once again! Do you understand?”

  I understand, my fearsome mistress, and I will obey—

  Sirana broke the connection with a wave of her hand. She had no more time to waste. Hoag understood her orders. He would not dare disobey her. There was another being whom she must contact now, one more powerful than a lowly baatezu fiend.

  Standing in the protective circle inscribed in the center of the chamber, she opened her mind. With all her will, she sent forth a summons. She counted three heartbeats. Then her call was answered.

  What is it you desire, sorceress? The guardian of the twilight pool spoke in her mind.

  Its voice was fawning, yet so vast in power that Sirana almost buckled. She steeled her resolve. She could not show weakness to the guardian of the pool. It must never, not even for a second, doubt that it was her slave.

  “I require more power,” Sirana demanded. “The Hammer of Tyr is close. Very close. Soon I will hold it in my hand. But I must have the strength of the twilight pool to protect me from the force of its holy magic. Give me that strength. Now!”

  As you wish, sorceress.

  Sirana felt raw, crackling energy flow into her spirit. She reveled in the sensation. Her heart, her fingers, even the tips of her hair, tingled with power. It was glorious, intoxicating.

  “Now, sink back into your slime, creature,” she snapped when the transference was complete. The guardian meekly obeyed. Sirana hugged herself, thinking how truly delicious her revenge was going to be.

  Once again, twilight-colored flecks glittered in her dark eyes, only this time they did not fade away so quickly.

  “There, can you see it?”

  Daile handed the long, cylindrical scrying glass to her father. They stood on the rampart of the crumbling guard tower, looking out over the ruins. Ren lifted the glass to his eye.

  He nodded. “It’s the entrance to the stairwell. I remember those crimson marble steps well.” He smiled broadly. “Good work, Daile.”

  “Glad you agree,” she beamed smugly.

  “You know, modesty was one of your mother’s most becoming traits.”

  Daile smiled winningly. “Well, then, I suppose I’m just my father’s daughter.”

  Ren laughed gruffly, squeezing her shoulder. He couldn’t argue with that.

  Daile took the scrying glass, peering through it again. She could see the head of the stairwell in the center of some half-formed chamber, close to the huge statue where in an hour they were supposed to meet the others. Spindly vaults gave the chamber a vaguely cathedral-like aspect. Dozens of stone sarcophagi lined its perimeter.

  Daile was about to lower the glass when movement caught her eye. She watched as a mule deer bounded into the open-air room. It was the first sign of life she had noticed in the ruins. The deer wandered through the hall. Clearly the poor beast was lost, separated from its herd. The animal ventured close to one of the stone sarcophagi standing upright along the edge of the chamber. What happened next made Daile gasp in horror.

  As the deer passed by, the lid of the sarcophagus flew open. A half-dozen long, skeletal arms reached out, clutching at the animal. The deer thrashed wildly, eyes rolling in terror, but the skeletal arms dragged the little mule deer into the coffin. Abruptly the lid slammed shut. The hall was still once again.

  Daile lowered the scrying glass, trembling.

  “Daile, what is it?” Ren gripped her shakin
g hands. “You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  She swallowed hard. “Actually, I think it was something worse.”

  She described what she had seen. Ren’s face was grim.

  “Kern and the others are in terrible danger, Daile. That hall is near where they’ll be waiting for us. If they happen to wander by those sarcophagi …”

  Father and daughter dashed down the guard tower’s rickety stairs. They started off at a run, picking their way through the chaos of crumbling walls and piles of stone.

  They had gone only a short way when a shadow blotted out the sun.

  Daile looked up, her heart freezing in her chest. A winged, jet black stallion swooped down toward her and Ren, snorting fire from its nostrils. An armored knight sat astride its back, aiming a steel-tipped lance at Ren.

  Daile and Ren barely had time to throw themselves to the ground as the knight bore down on them. The stallion’s wings sent dust devils whirling wildly as the knight’s lance dug a deep furrow in the earth mere inches from Ren’s head. Then the armored rider pulled hard on the reins. The stallion soared into the sky once more, then whirled, ready to dive again.

  Daile did not hesitate. She leaped to her feet, lifting her bow and loosing a red-feathered arrow in one swift motion. The arrow streaked through the air, plunging up to its fletching into the winged horse’s chest. The night stallion let out a death scream. The arrow had pierced its heart. The beast’s wings crumpled limply as it plummeted to the ground, trailing its flailing rider by the reins.

  The night stallion burst into flames as it struck the ground, black, greasy smoke billowing up from the mass of ruined flesh and bone. The black knight crashed into a pile of jagged stones nearby, his lance splintering, dark armor caving in all along one side of his body. He lay still.

  Ren nodded grimly at Daile as she lowered her bow. “That was a good shot—”

  He halted.

  Slowly, the black knight pulled himself to his feet. Daile and Ren stared in astonishment. How, by all the gods, could he have survived that fall? Armor creaking, the knight took a step toward the two rangers, then another, and another. As he moved, his dark plate mail began to groan and bend. With a ringing pop, a large dent unbent itself. The knight’s armor was regenerating! Quickly, Daile loosed two arrows in quick succession, but both bounced harmlessly off the armored knight’s mail. Ren stood protectively in front of her.

  “What do you want of us?” he growled fiercely.

  The knight halted a scant ten paces away. “To kill you,” he spoke in a strangely hissing voice. His armor became whole and gleaming once again. “I have been ordered to slay a vile paladin raised from the grave. But I will destroy any vermin in my path. That includes both of you.” With a fluid motion, the knight drew a bastard sword as darkly polished as obsidian.

  “No,” Ren said, stepping forward. Damn, but he was getting too old for this nonsense. “Let your argument be with me alone. I offer you a challenge of single combat, knight.”

  “Father!” Daile cried desperately. “Quiet, Daile.”

  The knight nodded. “Very well,” he rasped. “But it will be to the death, ranger.”

  “So be it”

  The knight waved a black gauntlet, and suddenly three smoky bands encircled Daile, pinning her arms to her waist so she couldn’t move.

  “To ensure our duel will be uninterrupted,” the black knight explained.

  Ren gave Daile a reassuring look, then he turned to face the knight, unsheathing his two-handed sword. There was no more preamble. The two warriors circled around each other warily. There was nothing Daile could do but watch.

  Each of the warriors made a few preliminary feints and slashes, testing the other’s reflexes, probing for weaknesses. Suddenly the black knight swung his blade high. Ren met it with his own sword. Sparks flew. Then the two whirled around, circling again. Swords clashed again, and again.

  Ren feigned a stumble as he parried, and his foe took the bait. The black knight lunged forward with a killing blow. Quickly, Ren regained his balance, spinning inside his enemy’s guard. As he did, he transferred his sword to one hand and reached into his boot for the dagger called Left. He brought the dagger up in a swift thrust, slipping it through the gap between two steel plates and thrusting it up into the knight’s shoulder. The black knight screamed in fury. With unnatural strength, he hurled Ren backward. The ranger flew through the air and hit the ground with a grunt of pain, his sword flying from his grip.

  He was definitely getting too old for this nonsense.

  “You have made me angry, human,” the knight hissed venomously. “You will regret that mistake.” Suddenly the knight’s form began to undulate. Smooth armor transformed into scaly hide. Countless barbed spikes sprouted into being. In heartbeats, the black knight was gone. In his place stood a long-limbed fiend, its muzzle wrinkled into a rictus, displaying a mouthful of teeth sharp as broken glass.

  Ren scrambled to his feet, calling the dagger Left back to his hand with a mental command. As it pulled free of the monster, black ichor gushed from the wound. The fiend shrieked.

  “No one has ever caused me such pain! You will die for that, human.” The fiend extended long dark talons. “Die!” It lunged toward the ranger.

  Ren cast a quick glance at Daile. Her face was white with fear. He swallowed hard, and thrust both of his magical daggers, Right and Left, before him, bracing his arms. The fiend careened into the ranger, gripping him with its spine-covered arms.

  The fiend crushed Ren with its embrace, driving its barbs deep into the man’s flesh. How glorious, how satisfying it was, to squeeze the life out of the wretched human. Then, strangely, the fiend felt its fatal embrace weakening. The strength was siphoned from its arms. Gradually, realization dawned. The fiend looked down to spot the two enchanted daggers buried deep in its body. It felt the ichor that was its lifeblood gushing from its wounds.

  Hoag stumbled backward. “Mistress, save me!” the monster shrieked in anguish. There was no reply.

  The creature toppled to the ground, dead. In moments its body dissolved into a foul, steaming puddle of black liquid.

  “Father!” Daile cried as the magical bonds imprisoning her vanished. She rushed to the fallen ranger, kneeling beside him. His face was pale, and he was bleeding from numerous gouges made by the fiend’s spiked hide.

  “Daile.” Ren smiled weakly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to journey on without me. The prophecy …” He winced in pain. “The prophecy was right. Only five will enter the red tower after all.”

  “No, Father …” She shook her head softly. Words caught in her throat.

  He squeezed her hand. “Take Right and Left, Daile. They’re yours now, along with the bow. But there’s something I need to tell you about that bow, something I didn’t say when I gave it to you. It’s …” A fit of coughing wracked the ranger’s broken body.

  “Quiet,” Daile whispered, smoothing his graying red-gold hair from his brow.

  He gazed at her, smiling. “Did I ever tell you how much you look like your mother?” he asked softly.

  Before she could answer, his eyes went dim. He was gone.

  She left his body in the shade of a nearby aspen grove. Aspens were the tree most beloved by elves, and she knew their special nature would keep Ren’s body from harm until she could return. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, quelling the ache in her heart. There would be time for mourning later. Right now her friends were in danger.

  She slipped Right and Left into her boots and, slinging her bow over her shoulder, started off at a run toward the heart of the ruins.

  Kern was the last one out of the maze.

  “It wasn’t my fault!” he protested to a sniggering Listle. “The walls kept moving on me. I’m certain of it.”

  “Whatever you say, Kern.”

  Before Kern could argue his case further, Miltiades approached. Though it was difficult to say the skeletal paladin was excited, there did seem to be an unusual eagern
ess to his perpetual grin.

  “What is it, Miltiades?” Kern asked.

  “I’ve found the stairwell.”

  Moments later the four adventurers were exploring the half-formed hall where the stairwell was located. There wasn’t much to see besides the rows of stone sarcophagi lining the perimeter. The coffins stood upright, their frozen death masks staring blankly ahead. Listle and Sirana were both weaving spells, trying to detect any dangerous magic that might be guarding the stairwell.

  “I don’t think there are any traps,” Listle announced finally, though her tone was less than certain.

  “My, that’s reassuring,” Kern snorted.

  Listle glared at him. “Well, there is one way we can know for certain if there are.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You stand over here, Kern.” Listle smiled sweetly. “I’ll just push you down the stairs, then we’ll see what happens.”

  Kern nodded absently. He wasn’t really listening to the elf. He found himself shivering. “Do you notice anything strange about those sarcophagi?” he asked the others. “I suppose it’s just my imagination, but their eyes seem to be following me.”

  “Do you think yourself so worthy of attention, then?” Sirana asked with a sultry laugh.

  He blushed. “Of course not. Like I said, it’s probably just my imagination. Still …”

  “Let us examine one to be sure,” Miltiades said. He moved toward the standing sarcophagi. Kern, Listle, and Sirana followed. “Perhaps there is some trick about these—”

  “Miltiades, get back!”

  The four spun around to see Daile dash into the cathedral, eyes panicked.

  “Everybody, get away from those sarcoph—”

  She was too late.

  Suddenly the lids of four sarcophagi sprang open with a groan. Dozens of skeletal hands reached out with uncanny swiftness, clutching at the four adventurers, who struggled in vain.

  “Daile, what’s happening?” Kern shouted in terror. He had the horrifying sensation that he was reliving a dream.