But no, that wasn’t true, he told himself suddenly. He extended his claws nervously. He could try one more thing.
Suddenly Evaine felt a warm touch against her cheek. She looked up in surprise. Then she smiled. “Gamaliel, you startled me. But then, I suppose you think it’s funny to see me jump like a toad. Go on, admit it.”
Her familiar knelt beside her. Curiously, Evaine noted, he had donned his human guise once again.
“Evaine.” The intentness with which he spoke the word drew her gaze into his.
“What is it, Gam?” she asked softly, a bit bemused by his unusual behavior.
He paused, the firelight dancing across his sharp, handsome features. He drew in a deep breath. “Evaine, do you love me?”
She laughed. “Let me guess—you want your tummy rubbed?”
“No, Evaine.” His seriousness surprised her anew. She fell silent as he gripped both her hands in his. “That isn’t what I meant. What I wish to say is …” He struggled with the words. “… is that there is a way for me to become … to become human. Truly human. Forever. There is a magic you could weave.”
Evaine shook her head in confusion. “But why in the world would you wish to be permanently human?”
Slowly he lifted her hands, pressing his lips gently to their palms. “I would do it for you, Evaine. To end your loneliness. To make you happy.”
Evaine stared at her old friend in wonderment as the full meaning of his words finally dawned upon her. “You would … you would give up everything that you adore, everything that you are, just to be with me?”
He nodded gravely.
“Oh, Gamaliel!” Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I have troubled you,” he said dejectedly. “You do not wish to have me for your life-mate.”
She shook her head, trying to find the words. Couldn’t he guess? Her tears were not of sorrow, but of happiness. She encircled the barbarian man with her arms, embracing him fiercely.
“It’s not that, Gam!” she finally managed to say. “Yes, I do love you. More than anything in all the world. But …” She pushed the barbarian’s shoulders back so she could look him in the eyes. “I love you for who you are, Gamaliel. I don’t ever want you to change. I need you to be there, to prowl beside me on my journeys, to protect me when I cast my spells, to watch over me at night—and to find fish for me when I’m hungry.” She brushed his cheek warmly. “There’s one thing you should know, Gam. Even if I’m unhappy sometimes, never once since the day I met you have I ever been lonely.”
Heart brimming, she leaned forward and softly kissed the barbarian. He regarded her fondly. Then his form shimmered, and the lithe great cat sat before her.
I knew it all along. You do like fish!
She hugged him tightly.
Later, when Evaine had fallen asleep, Gamaliel curled up by the fire, regarding her still form through the thin slits of his green eyes. He felt a deep relief. Though he would have done anything for Evaine, it would have been hard to live his life forever as a man. No claws, small, useless teeth, annoyingly slow and lumbering legs—how boring to be eternally human!
And yet, deep in his chest, Gamaliel felt just the slightest twinge of something that felt like … regret?
It was midnight.
Evaine lay deep in slumber near the embers of the fire, her long chestnut hair tousled across the cloak she had folded for a pillow. Gamaliel sat stiff and silent at the cave’s entrance, gazing tirelessly into the night, keeping watch.
Deep in the cave, a small circle glowing a faint crimson suddenly appeared on the granite wall. The circle flashed, and abruptly a disk of stone fell out of the wall like a cork knocked out of a bottle. A small, furry shape scurried silently out of the hole.
A rock rat.
Shy and mysterious, rock rats were small, mousy creatures with the peculiar ability to burrow through solid stone. In truth, the creatures were magical in nature. Legend told how once long ago a greedy wizard was transformed into a pack rat by an angry enchantress he had swindled. The wizard fled into the mountains to live a life befitting a rat. But ever after, his descendants retained a bit of his magic—and a touch of his greedy nature as well. From that day on, the rock rats had riddled the mountains with their burrows, pilfering any bright baubles or pretty stones they happened upon, squirreling them away to their dens.
This rock rat was no exception to its kind.
Without a sound, the long-whiskered rat scurried across the soft sandy floor of the cave. Attracted by the glowing coals of the fire, it approached Evaine’s sleeping form. Suddenly its dark eyes glimmered excitedly. It had caught sight of the glittering brooch pinned to the sorceress’s tunic—the gem of communication. The rock rat had never seen anything so shiny in all its life. Its nose twitched furiously.
Swiftly, the rat gnawed with its sharp teeth through the fabric of Evaine’s tunic. In moments the brooch was free. Gripping the gem in its mouth, the rock rat scurried back to the small hole in the wall. Focused as he was on the night outside, Gamaliel never noticed the little rodent’s theft.
Chittering gleefully to itself, the rock rat padded through a labyrinth of small tunnels toward its den, gripping its treasure tightly. One of the tunnels opened onto a narrow stone ledge, high on the sheer face of a cliff. The rock rat hurried along the rim.
It never even saw the snowy owl that swooped down like a ghost out of the night sky.
The owl reached for the little animal with sharp talons. The rock rat let out one squeak of terror, and the glittering brooch fell spinning into the emptiness below and was gone.
But somehow the little creature managed to wriggle free of the bird’s grasp. The owl screeched angrily as the rat scrambled into the sanctuary of its burrow. The snowy bird whirled above the ledge, sensing its quarry was lost. It screeched once more and winged away into the night.
The rock rat cowered in the darkness of its burrow until the owl was lost in the gloom. Finally the small creature let out a soft, sad chitter, then scurried down the tunnel toward its warm, familiar den.
Far below, on a small spur of stone jutting out from the cliff face, the gem of communication glittered in the light of the rising moon.
12
Dark Destiny
Consciousness came with crushing pain.
Kern’s breaths were shallow, burning gasps. He couldn’t seem to move his arms or legs. The darkness was suffocating.
“I must be dreaming again,” he whispered hoarsely.
“It is no dream, Kern,” an eerie voice spoke in the gloom.
Kern sighed in relief. “Miltiades … where are we?”
“In this darkness, who can say?” the undead paladin replied from somewhere nearby.
“Then let’s cast a little light on the subject,” a familiarly flippant voice added. “Zarjia!” Pale silver light broke through the darkness.
“Maybe casting a light spell wasn’t such a good idea after all,” Listle remarked bleakly as her eyes surveyed the scene. “Sometimes things look better in the dark.”
The five adventurers were being held captive in a catacomb of some sort. Yellowed bone lashed together with dried sinew bonded them to five shallow stone alcoves. Kern craned his head to see Daile and Miltiades to his left, struggling in vain against the skeletal bonds. Listle and Sirana were pinned tightly to his right. Kern tried to move his arms, but the scabrous bones only tightened cruelly. They were trapped.
“I have a feeling we aren’t the first guests ever to visit this enchanting place,” Listle observed with a gulp.
Kern saw that more alcoves lined the catacomb’s walls in either direction. Many were occupied. A mummified owlbear opened its maw in an endless scream, and several decomposing hobgoblins clawed at their bonds, shriveled faces twisted into masks of horror.
The elf, face pale, chewed her lip. “And something tells me that getting in is a whole lot easier than getting out.”
“Sirana, can you cast a spell that might free us?”
Kern asked the wild mage.
She shook her head. “Not if I can’t move my hands.” Her dark eyes flashed in frustration. “Powerful magic requires intricate gestures. I can’t simply wiggle my ears and teleport us out of here.”
An idea struck Kern. “Listle, couldn’t you simply pass right through your bonds? You do it with walls all the time.”
“I already thought of that, Kern. Unfortunately, I can only pass through inanimate objects.” Listle grimaced as the skeletal arms tightened their hold on her. “And these things are definitely not inanimate.”
“Perhaps you should not focus on your bonds, Listle,” Miltiades suggested.
Her small, elven nose wrinkled. “Wait a minute. I understand! The bones holding me may be animate, but the stones aren’t.” Her ruby pendant flared brightly. Without warning the elf sank backward into the stone wall of the alcove. Long moments passed.
Abruptly, Listle stepped out of a basaltic column carved with twisted gargoyles.
“Ugh!” She said disgustedly. “That was definitely not pleasant! You really wouldn’t believe the stuff that accumulates behind walls in places like this.” She hastily brushed bits of dried cobweb and ancient grime from her green tunic. “Now, let me see what I can do about these uncooperative bones, Kern.”
However, try as she might, none of Listle’s spells and no amount of tugging could break the scabrous bonds.
“All right, Kern, there’s one last thing I can try.” Listle took a deep breath. “I was hoping it wouldn’t come to this, but I don’t think I have much choice.”
“Listle, what in the world are you talking about?” Kern asked in exasperation.
“Just hold on tight. And whatever you do, don’t let go.”
Her ruby necklace glowing, Listle disappeared into the floor. Kern wondered what the unpredictable elf was up to. Moments later, he found out as two slender hands reached out of the stones behind him and jerked him backward—right through the solid surface of the wall!
It was far worse than any nightmare. Kern could feel the rock passing through his body with a hideous, slithering sensation. Solid stone filled his heart and lungs, almost choking him. It was horrible. After what seemed an eternity, Listle hauled him up through the catacomb’s floor. He gasped for breath. The others stared in surprise.
“Next time just let me starve to death, Listle,” Kern said, shuddering in revulsion. “It couldn’t be any worse than that.” He hauled himself to his feet as the elf slumped weakly against a column, her face alarmingly pale.
“Listle, are you all right?” Miltiades asked in concern.
She nodded. “I’m fine. Really.”
“Are you sure?” Kern asked. He reached out to grip the elf’s shoulder, but his fingers passed right through her.
“I said I’m fine!” Listle snapped, stumbling away from him. “Do you hear me? Now why don’t you see to the others with that precious hammer of yours?” She retreated into the shadows.
Kern gaped at his hand. Had it simply been his imagination? He wondered if the others had seen what he had seen. But no, he realized, his body blocked their view.
Shaking his head, he turned his attention to his companions. One blow of Primul’s enchanted warhammer was all it took to shatter the skeletal bonds. In moments, Daile, Miltiades, and Sirana were free. Listle stepped from the shadows to rejoin them.
It was only then, as they all stood together, that Kern realized one of the companions was missing. He had been so preoccupied with their predicament that he had not noticed until now.
“Daile,” he asked the young ranger with a frown, “where is Ren?”
The look in her eyes made his heart stop. He watched her with growing dread.
Daile swallowed hard, stumbling over the words. Her voice was bleak. “We were attacked by a fiend outside the guard tower,” she finally managed to say, her voice trembling. “He slew it, but it … it …” She drew a ragged breath. “My father is dead,” she said quietly. “Ren o’ the Blade is dead.”
Miltiades hung his head. “Then this day Faerun has become a darker place indeed.”
“Now where to?” Daile asked, sticking a pair of arrows into her leather belt.
Not a quarter hour before, Daile had broken down in tears as she told the story of her father’s death. Now a cold light shone in her eyes, and there was a grim set to her jaw.
“This way,” Kern said, pointing in one direction. He wasn’t sure how to get out of the catacomb, but it was almost as if he heard a faint trilling in his mind, showing him the way.
“You hear the voice of Tyr’s hammer, don’t you?” Miltiades asked him softly.
“I … I think so, Miltiades.” Kern cocked his ear, listening closely. The trilling had grown slightly louder.
The undead paladin nodded. “Your destiny calls you, Hammerseeker.”
Kern led the way into a long, roughly hewn corridor which spiraled off into the darkness. The corridor opened into a larger chamber. With a word, Sirana conjured a small spark and flung it upward. When it struck the ceiling high above, it burst into a brilliant glowing ball, illuminating the chamber.
“I could have done that,” Listle grumbled, banishing her own smaller puff of pale, silvery light with a perturbed gesture.
The chamber appeared to be a throne room of some sort. Two dark rows of columns, each carved in the form of a beast-faced pit fiend, supported the high domed celling. In the chamber’s center was a raised dais bearing an onyx throne.
“Are you certain we’re heading the right way, Kern?” Listle asked, scrambling over the remains of once opulent furniture. “I don’t see any way out of here.”
“This has to be right, Listle.” He cocked his head and nodded. Yes, the hammer’s song was clear. Suddenly he frowned. He could hear another sound as well, like a distant groaning. He glanced at the others. By their puzzled expressions, they heard it also. Rapidly the noise grew louder, building to a roar that echoed down the corridor.
“What is it?” Daile asked, gripping her bow with a white-knuckled hand.
“Does that answer your question?” Listle pointed, silvery eyes wide.
A small army of blank-eyed creatures lumbered into the chamber. Some were human in form, others elven or dwarven. All of them were horribly decayed. A putrid, overpowering reek preceded them. Jagged bones stuck out through their mottled skin, and chunks of flesh fell from their limbs as they moved. Their eyes bulged as they hungrily stretched out their arms.
“Ghouls!” Miltiades shouted to the others. “Arm yourselves!”
The first wave of creatures shambled within reach, baring their broken teeth. Like zombies, ghouls were undead, raised from the grave with evil magic. But unlike zombies, ghouls had an insatiable hunger for living flesh. Only Miltiades was of no interest to them.
Kern swung his warhammer in a blazing arc, smashing through the heads of the first two ghouls. Their bodies collapsed to the floor, twitching. In revulsion, Kern shook gobbets of rotting flesh off his weapon.
Daile loosed several arrows in rapid succession into the chest of another ghoul. The creature momentarily staggered backward, then continued forward, oblivious to the shafts protruding from its body. Realizing her bow was useless, the ranger quickly slung it over her shoulder and drew the magical daggers Right and Left from her boots. She slashed out at a ghoul reaching for her. The enchanted blades sliced through the thing’s flesh, both of its arms dropping to the floor with a sickening plop. The ghoul stumbled away in a daze.
With his broadsword, Miltiades was cutting a wide swath through the horde of undead. Listle uttered the words of a spell, and suddenly a half-dozen of the ghouls were transformed into healthy, live humans and elves. It was an illusion, of course. However, seeing apparently living beings in their midst sent a score of ghouls into a frenzy. They dragged the illusory creatures to the floor and began to feed on them.
Kern had lost count of how many ghouls his warhammer crushed into pulp. Magical lightning sizzled and
crackled constantly over the ranks of the undead, charring them to ashes—the work of Sirana’s magic. Yet despite the broken, twitching bodies that piled up, still more ghouls shambled forward. Kern’s heart pounded in his chest. He wasn’t certain how long he could keep up the steady onslaught of his hammer. But the moment he stopped, the ghouls would drag him down with their clammy hands and start feasting.
He kept fighting.
A cry of pain snapped his gaze around. He saw Daile stagger backward. A ghoul had torn a ragged gouge the length of her arm. Swiftly Miltiades stepped next to her, cleaving the filthy ghoul in two with one swing of his sword. The ranger clenched her jaw against the pain as she continued to lash out with her deadly daggers.
“We can’t keep this up forever!” Kern shouted, shattering the rib cage of a dwarven ghoul.
“Well, we can’t exactly stop, either,” Listle retorted. A trio of ghouls lunged toward her, only to impale themselves on a rack of ancient, rusted spears the elf had turned magically invisible.
“The Hammerwarder’s dark magic has summoned every being that has ever perished in this valley,” Miltiades explained. He decapitated a female ghoul clad in a rotting silk gown. “This has always been a place of evil, and of peril. I can only guess that thousands of lives have ended in this vale.”
“I think there is a way to stop the ghouls from coming,” Sirana said, “though I had hoped not to have to resort to it.” From beneath her gown she drew out a strangely shaped amulet of polished bone and pointed a finger toward the chamber’s entrance. The stone archway began to glow a dull orange, then a fiery red. Molten rock flowed down, incinerating a dozen ghouls. In moments the molten rock began to cool and solidify. Soon the entrance was sealed by a dark, shapeless blob of solid stone.
The adventurers swiftly dispatched the remaining creatures, reducing them to putrid-smelling heaps of carrion and bone. Exhausted, they slumped on the dais before the onyx throne, gasping for breath—except for Miltiades, who seemed tireless.
Pool of Twilight Page 17
