“One more time, bow,” Daile whispered. Another blazing arrow plunged into the shadow monster. With a cry, the creature released Gamaliel and backed away, clawing at the arrow sunk into its eyeless face. Slowly, it lowered to the ground. The scarlet flames dimmed and vanished. Daile found that she could see the creature now, a motionless pool of shadow on the ground.
Daile was about to call out to Gamaliel when the carpet lurched violently.
The ranger swore. She hadn’t been paying attention! There was a loud noise as the carpet snagged a tree branch, then Daile felt herself falling. Fortunately, a thick bed of pine needles cushioned her impact. Gamaliel helped her to her feet, and as he did so, she realized he had metamorphosed into his human shape. He regarded her curiously. Scorch marks covered his arms where the magical flame from her arrows had burned him.
“Gamaliel, your wounds—”
He waved her words aside. “It is nothing,” he said gruffly. “Your arrows saved us. Come, we must see to Evaine.”
The sorceress was already awake, though it was clear she was weak and dizzy. Whatever the creature was, it had obviously drained her with its deadly touch.
“I don’t know how or why you found us, Daile,” she said with a faint smile. “But your timing is impeccable.”
Stiffly, she knelt to examine the pile of dark tatters, all that remained of the creature. “I’ve heard of beings that feed upon their victims’ dreams.” Evaine sighed wearily. “This explains why I’ve felt so hollow and dispirited these last days.”
“And I never suspected anything,” Gamaliel said quietly. There was anger in his voice, as well as anguish.
“Don’t you dare be so foolish as to blame yourself, Gam,” Evaine said sternly. “There was no way you could have known.” She turned her gaze toward the ranger. “You picked a good night to find us, Daile. For six nights I’ve been growing weaker and weaker. Tonight would have been the seventh. After tonight, I might have become one of those creatures myself.”
Daile stared in horror at the sorceress. There was nothing she could say. Evaine reached out and gripped her hand.
“Thank you,” the sorceress said.
They spent the remainder of the night close to the fire, each telling what had befallen them since they had parted company at Evaine’s dwelling. The sorceress brewed a pot of herbal tea that would help restore her strength and offered a cup to the ranger. Daile sipped the fragrant liquid, gathering her thoughts. She told the tale of their journey to the ruins of the red tower, describing how Kern had fought the osyluth and gained the Hammer of Tyr. She dreaded having to tell the story of her father’s death once again, of having to relive that terrible moment. Evaine had been one of Ren’s best friends; she deserved to know. Her brown eyes distant, Daile began to describe Ren’s fatal battle with the knight-fiend. When she finished, she was surprised to realize that, somehow, it hadn’t been quite as painful reliving the memory this time.
“I will miss him,” Evaine said with a deep sigh. “But Faerun is a better place because of Ren o’ the Blade, and a brighter place. His life had meaning, great meaning. It was all he would have wished. Don’t ever forget that, Daile.”
Daile knew that she would not.
Evaine was told all about the young archer’s adventures, including the tale of Sirana’s treachery and how the wild mage was in truth a half-fiend, the daughter of the Red Wizard Marcus.
“She’s in league with the pool of twilight, Evaine. That’s what the others were coming to warn you about.”
The sky had steadily brightened as they spoke, and now the ruddy orb of the sun lifted itself above the snowcapped heights. As the first rays filtered their way into the clearing, the remains of the dreamstalker began to smoke and bubble, evaporating before their eyes. In moments, there was no trace of the shadow creature left.
They broke camp in the morning light. Evaine was still weak, her cheeks hollow and sunken, but now that the nightly attacks had ended, she thought she would quickly regain strength.
The first thing to do was to locate Kern and the others. How to go about it was a dilemma. It was possible that Evaine could cast one of her search spells, but that would have to be a last resort. The sorceress needed to save her spell components—and her energy—to find the pool of twilight.
“I could have used the magic carpet to scout the area,” Daile said, “but …”
She didn’t need to say the obvious. The tattered remains of the carpet were tangled in the branches of a nearby tree twenty feet above the ground. The magic carpet would fly no more.
Gamaliel turned to Daile. “Perhaps there is another way you might scout above the trees.” There was a peculiar intensity in the barbarian’s green-gold eyes.
“How?” Daile asked wryly. “Am I supposed to flap my arms and fly into the air?”
“Perhaps I mean just that, ranger.”
Daile frowned. What was Gamaliel talking about?
“Gamaliel,” Evaine said seriously. “Are you certain this is wise?”
The barbarian shrugged. “She must discover the gift someday, Evaine. Why not now, when it can be of use?”
Evaine looked skeptical, but did not disagree.
Daile regarded them both in bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”
Gamaliel reached out and took her hand. “Come. I’ll show you.”
He led her into the woods. Daile wondered why Evaine did not follow. Perhaps the sorceress needed to rest, she thought.
Gamaliel stopped when they reached the edge of a steep precipice. Rugged, pristine wilderness stretched as far as Daile could see, forested ridges gilded by the morning light. The sight tugged at her heart. It was a feeling she had experienced before, hunting with her father or stalking orcs in the Valley of the Falls, a desire to make herself one with the forest, the mountains, and the sky.
“It is the wild gift,” Gamaliel stated in answer to her thoughts.
“I don’t understand,” Daile said, shaking her head.
“I have sensed it in you,” the barbarian explained in his rich voice. “You move through the forest as if it is your home. You do not try to master it. Rather, you become part of it, sensing its sights and scents as if it is second nature for you.” He laid both his strong hands on her shoulders. “The wild gift runs in your blood, Daile. Do you choose to accept it?”
The barbarian’s words sent a strange thrill through her. She wasn’t at all certain what Gamaliel was talking about, but somehow she knew he spoke the truth. The wind blew his golden hair from his square, chiseled face.
“Yes,” she whispered before she really knew what she was saying. The wilderness did call to her.
Gamaliel nodded, a pleased look in his eyes.
“Close your eyes,” he said, leading her closer to the edge of the cliff. “I will help you.”
She did as he instructed.
“Can you hear the wind?” he murmured softly.
“Yes,” she whispered. She could hear the voice of the morning breeze, singing through the ghost-pale aspen trees.
“Listen to its music,” Gamaliel instructed. “Let it blow over you, and through you. Now breathe. Breathe deeply. What do you smell?”
“The forest,” Daile answered. Though her eyes were shut, she felt acutely aware of everything around her. “I can smell the sun warming the granite of the cliff. There’s a wolverine’s den nearby, and a group of white-tail deer even closer. And I smell snowcress growing beside a frozen spring not far behind us.”
Gamaliel nodded in satisfaction. “Good, Daile. Now, let yourself be part of all that you sense. Let the wind lift you from your body. Let it shape you into something new. Something wondrous.”
At first it was improbable. Daile felt so human, so rooted to the ground. But gradually she began to lighten, to feel as if the morning wind was flowing through her. And suddenly she felt … different indeed.
“That’s it, Daile!” Gamaliel whispered intently. “Let the wilderness influence you. Ther
e is something within you, trying to break out to answer the call. Let yourself be free.”
Yes, be free, Daile said to herself. Exultation washed through her. The sounds and scents of the woodlands were overpowering, intoxicating. She felt as if she was falling through air.
“Open your eyes, Daile Redfletching!”
Gamaliel’s shout sounded oddly distant. Daile opened her eyes. Wonder filled her.
She was flying.
She stretched her wings, feeling the air rush over her feathers. She laughed for joy, and the sound came out as the high, piercing cry of a hawk. She beat her wings, soaring on an updraft, and wheeled high in the sky. She saw Gamaliel below her, shading his eyes with a hand as he grinned up at her. Then in a flash the barbarian was gone, and the tawny great cat was bounding through the forest.
She followed him, marveling at the way her wings guided her on the swirling currents of air. Her sharp eyes caught glimpses of Gamaliel loping gracefully among the trees below, and she pumped her wings, easily keeping pace with him.
A silver lake flashed beneath her, and for a moment she caught a glimpse of a red-gold hawk with red bands on the tips of its wings. It was only after a moment that she realized it was a reflection of herself. Rainbow-sided trout leaped in the cold water. She had the urge to swoop down and snatch one in her outstretched talons. But Gamaliel’s snarl caught her attention. She flew after him.
Her vision amazed her. She could see a mouse cowering under a pile of dead leaves and the gossamer strands of a spider’s web glistening in a tree a league away. She wheeled gracefully in the azure sky. In moments she saw them. Four travelers just breaking camp in a forested bowl a few leagues to the south.
There was Kern, saddling his horse, and Listle and Miltiades packing their gear. There was another with them, an old man Daile did not recognize, but by the scales of justice engraved on the hilt of his sword, she knew him to be a venerable paladin.
She cried out, letting Gamaliel know that she had seen them. The cat bounded back toward camp, and Daile followed. Moments later she swooped down and perched on a branch near Evaine. She began to explain that she had seen Kern.
The sorceress regarded her curiously. “I can’t understand hawk speech very well, Daile,” Evaine said dryly. “Could you try Common, please?”
Suddenly the branch beneath Daile buckled. She fell to the ground with a thump.
“It would probably be better if you landed on the ground next time before transforming back into human form,” Gamaliel noted as he shifted into his barbarian shape and stepped into the clearing.
Daile nodded in agreement as she stood, rubbing her sore backside. Quickly she relayed to Evaine what she had seen, and they hastily broke camp. If they marched swiftly, they might intercept their friends by noon.
Once they were on their way, her head reeled. Had it not been for Gamaliel’s strong grip on her arm, Daile might have tripped and fallen as the full implications of what happened washed over her.
“Gamaliel,” she began hesitantly, “how … how did I do that?”
“As I told you,” he said gravely, “it is the wild gift, a legacy from Ciela, your druidess mother. She had the gift, as many druids do, though I do not think it ran so strongly in her blood as yours.” Gamaliel smiled, then his face grew solemn. “It is a remarkable talent, Daile. But you must take care. Sometimes … sometimes those whose blood sings with the wild gift can become lost in it. The call of the wilderness becomes so overpowering, it drowns out all other thoughts and desires.”
Daile shivered. She thought she knew what he meant.
“Always remember, Daile, that when you become a hawk, you must lock a part of yourself away in a corner of your mind, a part that remembers what it is to be a human.”
“What would happen if I didn’t?” she asked.
“Then you would forget you were once a woman, and you would become a hawk forever.”
With that, Gamaliel moved swiftly through the trees after Evaine. Daile hesitated a moment and followed, thinking of the way her hunt for creatures of evil had nearly consumed her in the Valley of the Falls. For those three days after burying Ren, she had thought of nothing but the hunt, as if she were an animal. She had almost lost herself, she knew now.
She shivered. “I will never forget that I am human,” she whispered fiercely. “Never again.” She hurried to catch up with the sorceress and barbarian.
The crystal resting in Evaine’s brazier flared brightly, then flashed into dust. Her locating spell was complete. The sorceress’s eyes flew open.
“I’ve found it!”
She stood weakly. The sun was fast sinking toward the western mountains, and the companions had made camp in a grove of ancient fir trees.
“The pool of twilight?” Kern asked, unconsciously gripping the haft of the Hammer of Tyr.
“No, Kern, she means the button she lost from her tunic last tenday,” Listle replied, rolling her eyes. Despite the elf’s usual flippant humor, her delicate face was wan and tight.
Evaine sat on a log near the crackling campfire. She, Gamaliel, and Daile had found Kern and the others on a windswept pass around midday. The reunion had been a joyous one. It had been good to see that Kern and Listle were well. And Miltiades.
There had also been a new introduction, but Evaine found that she was already enjoying Trooper’s company—as well as the old paladin’s tongue, which was as sharp as his rune sword and wielded with similar dexterity.
“Yes, Kern, the pool of twilight,” Evaine said. She threw a handful of crystal dust into the campfire. The flames flared higher, an image appearing within. A pinnacle of dark stone with a distinctive cloven summit was revealed. At its base was the dark opening of a cave. “Always before, the mountains interfered with my locating spell. But this time we are finally close enough. I have a solid fix on it. This spire is located in a valley no more than a dozen leagues from here. And the pool of twilight lies beneath. But …”
“But what, Evaine?” Miltiades asked when the sorceress paused.
Her face turned grim. “This time, when I detected the pool, I sensed a dangerous change in it. The guardian Shal and I encountered was no longer there. Instead, there was a new … presence. One even more evil than the last.”
“Sirana,” Kern growled.
Evaine nodded. “Yes, it could be that she controls the pool now.”
Kern stood, regarding the others. “You should stay here. Tomorrow, I’ll journey to the valley alone. After all, it’s the hammer she wants to get her hands on. I’ll confront her in the cave and—”
“And get burned to a crisp, Son?” Trooper snorted. The old paladin’s eyes flashed like steel against stone. “I don’t know where you got the notion that foolishness is akin to heroism, but you would do well to use that hammer of yours to knock the idea out of your head.” He tugged at his beard in agitation. “Go to the pool alone? You might as well hand this Sirana the hammer on a silver platter. Fine lot of good your heroics would do us. Sirana would have the hammer, you’d end up a pile of ashes, and I’d have been wasting my time trying to turn you into a real paladin.” He poked a bony finger at Kern’s breastplate. “And I don’t have much time to waste any more!”
Kern stared at the paladin, much chastened.
“What Trooper means to say, Kern,” Miltiades went on in a more gentle tone, “is that we are all in this quest together and that as a group we are stronger than any one of us alone.”
Trooper opened his mouth to point out that this was not at all what he had meant, but a glare from Miltiades’ empty eye sockets snapped his mouth shut. He didn’t suppose there was much point in arguing with a dead man.
It was settled. The company of seven would set out for the pool together, and with any luck they would reach it by late tomorrow.
Suddenly, the westering light of the sun dimmed as a shadow passed overhead. All looked up to see a vast creature of darkness soaring high over the mountains. A black dragon.
K
ern had seen a dragon once before, and at the time he had thought it a magnificent and fearsome sight. But that wyrm had been little more than an overgrown lizard with wings compared to the gigantic, bat-winged creature that blotted out the sun now. The beast soared on the wind, stretching its long, sinuous neck, as if it flew with great purpose. In moments it disappeared behind a mountain and was lost to sight.
“This is an ill omen,” Trooper muttered.
“You don’t think Sirana could have summoned it, do you?” Listle asked Evaine.
The sorceress shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“If she did, then we might as well pack up and go home now,” Trooper grumbled. “I recognize that dragon from legends. Its name is Dusk, and there isn’t a black dragon in all the northlands as big, as powerful, and as evil.” He scratched his beard thoughtfully.
“Where do you suppose it was going?” Daile asked, wishing the beast had flown close enough to make a target for her arrows. She considered transforming into her hawk shape to pursue it. It was tempting … But no, that would be a fool’s errand. She shook the thought from her head.
“It flies south,” Gamaliel growled.
“Phlan,” was all Kern said.
Miltiades kept watch in the night.
He stood on a low spur of granite, thirty paces from the sleeping figures huddled around the campfire. He knew that the preternatural chill he eternally emanated only added to the winter cold. It was hard enough for the others to get warm as it was. He did not wish to compound the problem. Besides, he did not need the fire to warm his bones, nor the light to see.
Although, sometimes, he did miss the companionship.
But it was not his fate to make friends. Tyr had raised him once more from the grave for one purpose only—to see Phlan restored. He knew this should gratify him. But he felt a hunger deep in his bones all the same. There was so much in the life he had lived long ago that remained unfulfilled.
Once he had been steward and protector of the city of Turell. For long years the city dwelled in peace. Then an evil wizard called Zarl set his sights upon it. Again and again, Miltiades and the folk of Turell were forced to turn back Zarl’s magical hordes. Yet the wizard himself never rode into battle. Thus, he always survived to raise another army of darkness.
Pool of Twilight Page 25
