Pools of Darkness hop-2

by James M. Ward

  An emerald streak erupted from Evaine's hand, encircling the monster. The energy sizzled, but then dissipated in a shower of green sparks. The abishai was wounded, but resisted the full effect of the spell.

  Andoralson released a blue surge of energy. It divided into thousands of pinpoints of light, like a swarm of turquoise fireflies. The lights swirled around the beast, blinding it and disorienting it. Again, the abishai screamed in pain as each spark burned into leathery flesh. The fiend's own talons ripped into its muscle as it tried to pull out the scorching magic. An acrid, bitter smoke curled around the horrid beast as it teetered and stumbled about the clearing in a bizarre dance.

  Gamaliel leaped for the creature's back, claws extended. He landed solidly on the smoking abishai and wasted no time raking and shredding the monster's flesh. Miltiades and Ren faced the green beast, swinging carefully calculated blows at its writhing form. Four hard sword strikes finally brought the wounded creature to its leathery knees, and Gamaliel dealt the final blow by pouncing full-force on the abishai's head, snapping its neck.

  Each of the companions dropped into the trampled grass in the clearing, gasping for air. Even Miltiades creaked his body onto the ground. No one spoke for several minutes.

  It was Miltiades who broke the silence. "I'm proud to call you my comrades! I had my doubts about this group, but you are an excellent team." The paladin stood and bowed deeply to the group.

  "We couldn't have done it without you, warrior. I think I speak for all of us when I say we're proud to have you on this quest." Ren nodded respectfully to Miltiades. The others voiced their agreement.

  Evaine rose and grasped the paladin's hand. "If it hadn't been for your magical ring, I might have lost Gam. I can't thank you enough for your generosity."

  Andoralson sighed loudly. "I just hope this isn't an indication of what the rest of the day will be like. We haven't even had breakfast yet, and we've battled three abishai! I don't know about anyone else, but I'm starving." The druid arose and loaded wood onto the embers of the campfire. "Gamaliel, if you feel up to hunting us some breakfast, I'll cook anything you bring us."

  The cat was on his feet in a flash. Evaine laughed. "I hope no one minds fish for breakfast. I know what he's in the mood for. Gamaliel, if you can sniff out a stream, come back for the rest of us. We're all a mess after that battle. Just look at your fur!"

  The feline glanced down at his coat to find that he looked like a bedraggled panther. His tawny fur was all but dyed by abishai blood. Gamaliel raised his pink nose high in the air, made a prideful comment to his mistress, then turned toward the woods. Evaine laughed as she translated for the others. "He says he doesn't look like a mess-he looks like a hero!"

  17

  The White Bard

  Marcus's red tower shook to its very core. If not for the magic holding the blood-colored stones together, the building would have crumbled.

  "My abishai have been killed! Latenat!" the pit fiend hissed at Marcus. The creature circled the inner chamber at the top of the tower, half-flying, half-hopping. Its great wings pounded the walls as it paced.

  "Killed? How in the world did you allow my guardians to be killed?" Marcus shrieked.

  "Arrrgh! Do you think I let them die? I don't know what killed them! Their life essences were snuffed out, and since you ordered them to guard your domain, their deaths are on your hands. Latenat!"

  The wizard's face flushed deep red, beads of sweat erupting on his forehead. "Are you somehow blaming me for this? It was your duty to guard this tower and build armies so I could lead them to victory, conquering Phlan! You have now failed me. We both know what happens to my servants when they fail."

  The fiend still bashed about in the black chamber. If not for Marcus's control of the creature's life essence and his knowledge of its true name, the fiend could have squashed the wizard in an instant. Instead, he was forced to obey the human weakling. But he had already tolerated far more than any pit fiend should.

  The fiend kept circling and thrashing as Marcus continued his diatribe. The beast was only half-listening to the wizard. He had heard all these rantings too many times before. Then the Red Wizard spoke the pit fiend's name, summoning the creature's heart from the magical dimension where he kept the beating organ.

  "On your knees, beast," he said. "I will speak to you, and it will be eye to eye."

  In defiance, the winged horror flapped halfway around the chamber one last time, halting in front of Marcus. The Red Wizard raised the fiend's heart and slowly squeezed until a half-dozen drops of black ichor leaked out, splashing onto the granite floor with a sizzle.

  The fiend groaned as his knees dropped to the scarred floor. He glared at his tormentor. "What would you have of me… master? Latenat!"

  "For a time, you and I will change roles. I will guard the tower and you will use your puny powers to force Phlan to submit to me. I will summon more clerics and wizards to help in your struggle."

  "That won't be necessary," the fiend growled. It struggled to its leathery feet and stalked out of the chamber. "I'll destroy Phlan myself within two days."

  Marcus snorted an arrogant laugh as the creature disappeared. "We'll see about that, braggart. Phlan may break you on its walls and teach you a good lesson in the process. Now, I have a little searching to do. I plan to have several unpleasant surprises ready for the dogs who dared to kill my abishai. And those beauties were mine, Tanetal! I don't care what you think!" Marcus shouted at the empty chamber and the closed door.

  In another tower, an angry voice was also heard. But this time, it was the wizard Shal who was being scolded.

  "Shal, you should never have attacked that mage in your condition. That shadow attack nearly killed you. If Cerulean hadn't had the sense to retreat and bring you back to the tower, you would have died horribly."

  Shal tried to raise her head to argue, but she dropped back onto her pillow. Her face was the color of barley mush, her skin clammy. Tarl had used the healing power of the Warhammer of Tyr to restore her strength and sanity, but there were some things the hammer couldn't cure so quickly.

  Shal looked pleadingly at Celie, who sat at her side, dabbing her face with a moist cloth. A covered basket loaded with poppyseed cakes was perched on the bedside table.

  "Don't look at me, missy. Your husband is right to worry. You've been with child only five months, yet it looks now as if you'll be ready to deliver in a few weeks. I don't know much about magic, but I can see what this exertion is doing to you. The way this baby is kicking, he's not going to stay cooped up much longer." The bakerwoman's voice was stern, but her blue eyes were caring and soothing.

  Shal realized there was no arguing with Tarl and Celie. The wizard spoke in a whisper. "I thought if I could kill the red mage who was leading the attacks against Phlan, our troubles would be over. I never dreamed he was powerful enough to cast spells like that."

  Tarl caressed his wife's forehead, speaking softly to her. "That's all very noble, but you have a child to think about. A few months ago, I wouldn't have questioned you going after him like that. But you know better than anyone the way high-powered spells can age a wizard. You've already accelerated this pregnancy. What if the baby decided his-or her-time was up while you were flying around up there? I could have lost you both!"

  "You're right. It was foolish to take on that crazed wizard all by myself. I'll be more careful." Then to put Tarl's mind at ease, Shal turned to Celie. "Are those poppyseed cakes I'm smelling?" She knew her husband would worry less if she ate something.

  Celie broke into a smile and uncovered the basket. Tarl propped Shal up on her pillows.

  "You just lie here and rest as long as you can. We destroyed all the tree-minions of Moander that attacked the city. It should be a while before the wizard regroups and brings another of his armies against us."

  "Bring me my spellbooks, please? I'm strong enough to start memorizing spells. I've a feeling we're going to need them soon. If that wizard's got half a brain, he'
s going to change tactics. I need to be ready when he does."

  Tarl mocked a snarl at his wife. "No spellbooks for you, young lady. If you promise to rest all day, you can have your books tomorrow. We all need you to be healthy right now. Especially the little one." He patted her bulging abdomen lovingly and felt a solid kick, as if the baby were voicing its agreement.

  "Celie, you keep an eye on her. If she tries anything-anything at all-you send for me. Two clerics are waiting right outside the door, and they'll do whatever you ask. I'm going to meet with the council."

  These two mean business, Shal decided, a little glumly. Well, I might as well make the best of it. A day of rest and being stuffed with poppyseed cakes certainly couldn't hurt me.

  Yet as Tarl reached for the door, all the magical lights in the cavern went dark. Candles and fires still gave off feeble light, but otherwise the cave was in total blackness.

  Tarl cursed as he galloped down the stairs. The city was nearly out of food and its residents were losing hope. Now the lights were gone, and to the cleric, that meant only one thing-another imminent attack. He grabbed a torch and lighted it as he headed for the council. Perhaps, he grudgingly admitted, the people of the city would be better off escaping the cavern and rebuilding elsewhere. He didn't know how much more they could bear.

  The angry fiend flew into the cavern and over the city of Phlan, basking in the darkness. He should have doused the lights weeks ago.

  "Marcus is a fool. Conquering Phlan has nothing to do with taking its walls. The destruction of this city lies in taking its people. When I gain their souls, they will open their gates."

  The fiend flew over the center of the city, past the docks. The winged beast soared to a secluded corner of the cavern's sea, then concentrated for only a few moments, creating one of its best illusions. The horrid black beast writhed and blurred, then emerged as a white bard named Latenat.

  His appearance now was of a kindly, middle-aged bard with a short, white beard and flowing white robes. His voice was gentle and melodic, his demeanor peaceful. The monster's true nature was visible only in his stern eyes. But looking into his eyes would be difficult if Latenat did his job right.

  The disguised creature conjured a small white sailing ship and settled himself into the stern. Although the boat was powered magically, the bard picked up an oar and began to row. The sail hung limply in the still air of the dark cavern.

  About fifty yards from the south gate, the boat was spotted by Phlan's guards. Fires had been lit all along the beach, and flaming rafts had been set out in the water to reveal the presence of any attackers. An alarm was sounded at the first sight of the boat, yet it was allowed to approach the dock.

  A squad of hard-eyed guards awaited the stranger.

  "Just where did you come from?" the oldest guard demanded.

  "I am the white bard, Latenat. I've been sent by the gods to lead the people of Phlan to freedom," the pit fiend purred.

  "And I am the great bunny Tootal, sent by the gods to sink your boat. You got any proof?" the guard snorted.

  The bard's voice was smooth and soothing. "My proof is in my songs, friend, in my songs. If you'll permit me, I'll sing one for you now."

  "Ain't no law against singing that I know of, but your tune better be good, or you'll be eatin' that stringed thing of yours, young fella."

  The bard smiled serenely, strummed his lute, and began his song:

  "I sing a song of praise for Phlan,

  The town I've come to free,

  I sing a song of hope for you,

  The folk I would set free."

  The bard continued, verse after verse, as more guards gathered to hear the song. The magic of the pit fiend's spell wove in and around the people on the dock. Latenat's ballad of hope made the listeners long for their freedom. The fiend's spell seeped into the minds of the weary captives, making them vulnerable to his foul message.

  All day and long into the night, the mysterious bard tirelessly sang his songs. His smooth voice never grew weary. He traveled to inns and halls and large manor houses, never asking for payment for his performances. Everywhere crowds of people gathered to hear the minstrel and his compelling tunes. It had been months since anyone in Phlan had heard such fine singing.

  His message was always the same. In his lilting voice, the bard encouraged the people of Phlan to make their escape while the battlefield was quiet and empty. A few people scoffed at the idea, but many others started packing, convinced the bard was right. They had been in this cavern far too long. Most citizens didn't know what to think, but they knew anything was better than waiting in the dark for the next deadly attack.

  Tanetal's spell was working. His song lingered in the minds of his listeners. The unity of Phlan's people was finally beginning to wobble.

  18

  A Secret Past

  The dull light filtering through chalky clouds told the companions that the hour was near noon. But to the battle-weary travelers, the hour felt more like midnight. The early skirmish with the trio of abishai had exhausted Ren, Evaine, and Andoralson. Even Gamaliel, in his barbarian shape, slumped astride his horse rather than scouting ahead in his preferred cat form. Miltiades, always energetic, blazed a trail at the head of the group.

  The riders emerged from the forest of sickly trees into a wide clearing. A field that should have been filled with waving grasses, blooming wild flowers, and buzzing bees was instead a sea of gray, brittle weeds. The dead vegetation crunched loudly under the horses' hooves.

  As the riders neared the center of the clearing, Ren suddenly shouted a warning. A black, leathery form dipped out of the sky, enormous talons snatching at Evaine. The sorceress ducked her head into the horse's mane just in time to avoid the creature's claws. The beast pulled out of its dive and flapped high into the sky, preparing for another pass.

  "Mistress!" Gamaliel called. "It's not real! It's just a trick!" The barbarian nudged his horse alongside the sorceress.

  Again, the monster swooped down, aiming for Ren. The ranger had drawn his sword and now swung valiantly at the creature. His swing missed, but the beast's claws found Ren's shoulder. He screamed in pain as the talons tore open his chain mail, carving out a deep gash.

  Miltiades turned his horse, galloping up to Ren. "Close your eyes, ranger. What you see is not an abishai. It cannot harm you."

  Ren snorted and looked skyward. Reaching into his boots, he drew Right and Left.

  The beast was already diving again, this time at Andoralson. The druid held his oak shield high, bracing himself.

  Ren raised his arm to launch a dagger, but a bony hand gripped his wrist and yanked it down. "Wait. This will be over soon." The ranger struggled, but the paladin's grasp held firm.

  A fiend bigger than the druid's horse smashed into the oak shield. But instead of a deafening thump and the scrape of claws, the clearing fell silent. As Ren watched, the abishai turned to black mist and dissolved.

  "What in the Nine Hells?" the ranger cursed. Andoralson reined his horse over to Ren and immediately began healing his shoulder.

  "Illusion," Evaine interrupted. "The creature wasn't really there."

  "How did you know?"

  "Gamaliel figured it out first. The beast didn't smell like an abishai. Those last three we fought reeked of sulphur. I could also tell it wasn't real."

  Ren twisted in his saddle to stare at Miltiades. "My dead eyes are difficult to deceive," the undead knight said. "I saw only a shadow of the fiend." The paladin reached out to hold Ren's chain mail and assist Andoralson.

  "What about you, druid?" Ren was growing irritated.

  "I specialize in the magic of illusions. When Gamaliel tipped us off, I checked for myself and found the fiend to be a fake."

  The ranger huffed. "If that beast was such a fake, then why does this wound feel so real? Ouch!" He glared at Andoralson.

  Evaine explained. "When you believe an illusion is real, you also believe its behavior to be real. The theory behind the mag
ic is a bit complicated."

  "You mean I could have died from something that wasn't there?"

  "I'm afraid so. It's been known to happen."

  "So why did the beast evaporate when it hit Andoralson's shield?"

  The druid spoke up. "That was the oak shield Miltiades gave me from his tomb. It magically repels arrows and other attacks, so I took a chance on the abishai. I guess I got lucky."

  The paladin's stern voice scolded the druid. "Luck. Bah. You should thank Tyr for your life." Andoralson nodded his apology to Miltiades.

  "We should move on. We've got a long way to go." Gamaliel offered, trying to bring order.

  "Apparently that Marcus fellow knows we're coming. This seems to be his way of greeting us." Miltiades nudged his ivory steed to the front of the group, leading the way across the clearing.

  Ren made a face. His shoulder still ached. "You've all got a sixth sense about this kind of thing. From now on, give me a signal, or if we're facing other creatures, make some odd comment about oh, what we ate for breakfast or the price of ale in Waterdeep." The ranger sighed wearily.

  The group rode hard the rest of the day. Around mid-afternoon, Evaine broached a subject that concerned her.

  "Andoralson, would you mind telling us what magic you've placed on this group? Gamaliel and I have been aware of some kind of spell ever since the fake abishai attacked us." Evaine's curiosity had finally gotten the better of her.

  "Well… ah, I wanted us to approach the red tower as secretly as possible."

  "I understand. I've got my own protective spells at work. But what spell have you used on us?" Evaine wasn't about to let the matter drop.

  "The truth is sort of embarrassing-but since you insist, I've placed an illusion around us. We now appear as a herd of wild pigs."

  The barbarian snorted in disgust. Miltiades couldn't contain a dry laugh.