Pool of Twilight (18 page)

The wild mage spread her arms wide, her snowy robe and dark hair flowing in the wind. She intoned the arcane words of a spell. Tendrils of colorless, pulsating mist rose out of the ground to creep among the fallen stones. Like ethereal serpents, the coils of mist spread throughout the ruins. Then they faded.

Sirana blinked in surprise. “The ruins are rebuilding themselves!” the wild mage exclaimed.

“What?” Ren asked in surprise.

A slight frown creased Sirana’s forehead. “You may have destroyed the pool of darkness, Ren o’ the Blade, but the wizard who built this tower commanded vast power. That power still infuses each of these rocks, as well as the very ground we stand upon. As we speak, slowly but surely, the tower seeks to restore itself, to rise into the sky once more and regain its former glory.”

“Glory,” Miltiades repeated in his eerie voice. “An interesting choice of words, Sirana.”

She shrugged. “I suppose ‘glory’ isn’t the right word, considering the great evil of the Red Wizard who built this tower. But even you, noble paladin, must admire the loyalty inherent in these stones, a loyalty that compels them to raise themselves anew long years after their master’s death.”

Miltiades nodded silently, but he found her words curious. The wild mage was something of a mystery to him. Most living beings radiated strong auras that revealed their true natures to the paladin. But from Sirana he sensed… nothing. True, he could detect nothing evil about her—unlike these ruins, which seemed to ooze evil like foul ichor. However, he could not sense any goodness in the wild mage either.

“So where do we start looking for the hammer, Kern?” Daile asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Down,” he said, gazing at the jagged, broken tower. “Down in the darkness below.”

“Then we must start by locating the stairway,” Miltiades offered. “When the tower was whole, there was a vast, spiral staircase of red marble that led from a great hall down to the caverns beneath. That was where the pool of darkness lay, as well as the cavern where Phlan was imprisoned. It must lie somewhere in the heart of the ruins.”

“If it hasn’t been buried in the rubble,” Kern added grimly.

“I think this calls for a little scouting, don’t you, Daile?” Ren said.

The archer nodded at her father. “When we rode into the valley, I caught sight of the remains of a guard tower on the far side of the ruins. I bet it would give us a good vantage.”

Ren grinned proudly at his daughter.

Miltiades pointed out a huge, headless statue that stood near the center of the ruins. Ren and Daile agreed to rendezvous with the others there in two hours’ time. The two rangers quickly disappeared among the boulders.

Well, Kern thought, there’s no use in lingering. With a deep breath, he plunged into the ruins, Miltiades, Sirana, and Listle following.

The valley was a brooding place. The air was stifling, and the ground was as hard and cracked as if it had been fired in a furnace. Half-formed walls sketched vague, roofless rooms, and massive lintels marked doorways leading nowhere. Scabrous lichen covered the stones like a disease. Dusting everything was a fine, sparkling powder, the remnants of Listle’s spell.

“You have talent, little sister,” Sirana said with a pretty smile. “It is no mean feat to cast a spell covering such a large area. Now you simply need to learn how to focus your energies. But I’m certain, once you gain a little experience, you’ll have no trouble.”

Listle’s eyes were diamond-hard. “Why, thank you, Sirana,” she said frostily. She knew she shouldn’t let Sirana’s imperious manner get to her, but Kern was so insufferably polite to the wild mage, so deferential and gallant. Even now he nodded attentively as she walked beside him, talking softly about the gods knew what.

Probably me, Listle thought glumly.

“Are you well, Listle?” a dry voice inquired.

She barely noticed the involuntary shiver that ran up her spine. She was still getting used to Miltiades—and the chill that perpetually hovered around him.

“Do you trust her, Miltiades?” Listle asked quietly, gazing at the wild mage.

The skeletal knight was silent for a time. “Trust is like a shield,” he said finally. “It has two surfaces, one facing inward and one facing outward. Without both, the shield cannot be.” Miltiades seemed to smile, even though his lips had turned to dust centuries ago. “But in answer to your question, Listle, I do not know whether to trust Sirana. But she has been helpful to our quest so far, and until she acts otherwise, I will regard her as an ally, if not a friend.”

“Oh,” was all Listle said. His words did not ease her troubled heart, and both of them knew it.

“Listle, take a look at this,” Kern said, interrupting the elf’s reverie. He and the wild mage had stopped in front of a doorway set into a high stone wall. The magic that was rebuilding the tower had accomplished much in this place. The wall was solid, curving to the right and left as far as Listle could see. A single rune was carved above the arched doorway.

Listle stood on tiptoe to study the rune. “It’s not one I recognize, but I don’t think it’s a warning rune of any sort.”

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 shaking 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.