Pool of Twilight (20 page)

Deciding it would be safe to leave the sorceress unattended for a short while, Gamaliel bounded off between the trees into the fading purple twilight. Evaine busied herself setting up their camp beneath the sheltering boughs of an ancient fir tree. She laid a pile of dried wood inside a ring of stones, debating whether she should ignite it with a spell or by more mundane methods. Several days had passed since her candle-lighting incantation had caused searing pain, and that incident was still fresh in her mind. However, she would have no choice but to cast far more potent magics in the days ahead.

“There’s no point in putting it off any longer, Evaine,” she muttered to herself.

She took a deep breath, then began reciting the spell, fashioning intricate but long-familiar gestures with strong, large-knuckled hands. The final word of the spell hung on the air like the tone of a bell. As it faded, Evaine felt a sudden rush of heat. Panic clutched her heart, but a moment later she found herself laughing.

“Next time, don’t sit so close to the fire, silly,” she chided herself. She let out a sigh of relief. The spell had worked. And there had been no surge of pain. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

A shadow stole into the circle of flickering firelight, green-gold eyes flashing.

Care for some supper? the magical cat inquired, dropping two sleek, silvery shapes into Evaine’s lap.

“Fish,” she noted, picking up the two big rainbow trout “My, what a surprise.”

Don’t look a gift fish in the mouth, Evaine.

She laughed, pulling out her knife to clean the fish. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

It was midmorning two days later when they arrived at their destination.

The standing stone rested in the middle of a small clearing, atop a low circular mound littered with frost-painted leaves. It was a rough, irregular slab of black porphyry, about the height of a man. Spiraling, mazelike symbols were carved into the stone’s surface, though their meanings were beyond Evaine’s ken. The stone seemed not to have weathered much in the ninety years since she had last set foot in this clearing. She did not know whether to find that remarkable or disturbing.

She settled for interesting. She needed to remember an incantation she had heard only once before, spoken by her first master almost a century ago, in a long-dead language whose name she had never known. Evaine forced a grin. The uncertainties were what made life worth living, she reminded herself.

What is this place? Gamaliel’s thoughts spoke in her mind. The great cat stalked warily around the base of the mound, whiskers twitching. There is magic here. Old magic. I can smell it on the air.

Evaine nodded as she rummaged through her pack, assembling the items she would need. “This is a very ancient place, Gam. Only a handful of these standing stones remain, scattered about Faerun. No one is certain who built them, or even what sort of people they might have been. But one thing is certain. They were powerful magicians. I doubt there are any alive today who could forge a stone such as this.”

I imagine you might, if you put your mind to it.

Evaine scratched the cat’s ears affectionately. “Now I remember why I like you so much,” she laughed.

Gamaliel closed his eyes in pleasure. How could you have forgotten?

The sun was high overhead in the pale winter sky by the time Evaine had everything prepared for the spell. As she and Gamaliel ascended the mound, the midday light seemed to grow curiously dim. Soon it proved difficult to see anything but the rough black stone that loomed before them.

“Here, Gam, hold this in your left hand.”

The cat winked his eyes in mild annoyance. His form blurred. A moment later the barbarian stood next to the sorceress.

“That assumes I have a hand to hold things with, Evaine,” Gamaliel rumbled.

“Which now you do,” Evaine replied smoothly. She pressed a single, dark green leaf into his hand. She placed a similar leaf into a small hollow carved in the side of the stone. Next she used a glistening powder of crushed crystal to trace a large spiral incised in the center of the stone. Finally she scattered the crimson petals of a dozen snowheart blooms. A faint, delicately sweet fragrance rose from them. Evaine took a deep breath. Facing Gamaliel, she reached out and tightly gripped his right hand.

“Now, don’t let go of my hand, Gam, not for anything. And I mean anything. All right?”

He nodded. “As you wish.”

Evaine swallowed hard, closing her eyes. She had spent the last three days trying to recall the long-forgotten words. It had not been easy, and she couldn’t be certain she had remembered them all, or even that she had remembered their correct pronunciation. She tried not to think of the consequences if she made a mistake with even a single word. At the least, the spell would simply fail. At the worst, she and Gamaliel would discover what it felt like to be turned inside out.

She began the incantation.

Strangely fluid, almost inhuman-sounding words rose and fell in a trilling cascade. The queer syllables were even harder to enunciate than Evaine had imagined. In moments her throat was aching, her lips numb. She ignored the dull sensations. Once begun, the incantation had to be finished.

Only once, for a single, terrifying moment, did she falter. The strange, meaningless words seemed to fly from her mind as she lost her place. Panicking, she could feel her concentration slipping. She couldn’t remember the spell!

Suddenly she felt a reassuring pressure against her right hand and a calming presence invade her mind. It spoke no words, but instead filled her with a feeling of confidence. She drew in a shuddering breath, feeling her panic recede. The words of magic tumbled from her lips once again. She sent a mental message of gratitude to Gamaliel.

She spoke the last word of the spell. Suddenly the whole world went black.

The clearing was gone, as well as the sky above. The only sensation was a blast of cruel, bone-numbing cold. It felt as if all her flesh were being stripped away, leaving only her bones, bare and exposed to the malevolent chill. And yet, faintly, almost imperceptibly, she sensed a warmth in her hand and held on tightly.

Forms rushed out of the darkness.

Had Evaine’s tongue not been frozen solid, she would have screamed. They were monstrous: leprous, malformed bodies glowing with putrescent yellow light, with rotting, wart-covered flesh dripping off spindly limbs in quivering chunks, and bulbous, fly-covered eyes staring at her mindlessly. The abominable creatures grinned, teeth gnashing like shards of broken glass, the expressions devoid of any emotion save ravenous hunger. Evaine shuddered in revulsion.

She felt the grip on her right hand loosening. Gamaliel! He was going to reach for his sword. But he dare not!

She clamped her fingers down hard.

No, Gamaliel! she shouted in her mind. You promised you would not let go of my hand!

She felt the hesitation, the indecision. The swarm of misshapen monsters came closer, long purple tongues dripping foul yellow spittle. For a terrifying moment she felt no response from Gamaliel. Then the grip on her hand tightened once again.

The tide of abominations streaked by. The din of their jabbering was deafening, the festering stench they exuded stupefying. They writhed as they passed, their many-jointed arms undulating, their shard-teeth flashing.

But they did not so much as brush up against Evaine and Gamaliel. Who the denizens of this nameless dimension were, Evaine did not know. But the success of the spell meant that as long as she and Gamaliel raised no hand against them, the beasts would leave the two interlopers alone.

The last lurching stragglers hobbled by, their limbs more stunted than the others, their flesh even more soft and bubbling. Then the hideous things were gone, and Evaine and Gamaliel were alone in the frigid darkness.

A heartbeat later that darkness shattered.

A new, bitter cold blasted Evaine. Tiny, stinging particles of snow bit into her cheeks. Before her, half-buried in snow, was another standing stone of roughly hewn black porphyry.

“Where are we?” Gamaliel shouted above the roar of the wind.

Evaine gazed at the land around her. They stood on a jagged needle of granite. Snow-covered slopes angled down in all directions into a sea of blinding white, surrounded by a rocky wall that seemed to reach all the way up to the hard blue sky.

Despite the cold, Evaine felt a surge of elation.

“The Dragonspine Mountains!” she shouted triumphantly.

Evaine wearily dusted the powdery remnants of crystal from her coat and tunic.

“It’s no use, Gam. The mountains seem to be interfering with my locating spell. The peaks are too rich in iron ore. They’re affecting my spell like a magnet affects a compass.”

She warmed her hands above the small flame dancing inside the copper brazier she had used to work her magic. The cold was not so unbearable here in the shelter of the pine forest. She and Gamaliel had quickly descended from the sharp, windswept peak where the standing stone had transported them, moving below the timberline and into the vast, silent stands of fir and pine that blanketed the slopes of the mountain. Fine, granular snow dusted the needle-strewn ground among the trees, and the branches above shielded them from the fury of the wind.

It had taken most of the afternoon for Evaine to cast her locating spell, and by now evening was drawing near.

“Can you sense the pool at all?” Gamaliel asked, crouching down beside the sorceress. The leather fringe of his coat traced fine parallel lines in the snow.

“A little. Enough to get a general sense of its direction from here. But I can’t tell for certain how far away it is.” She pulled a rolled sheepskin from her pack and smoothed it out before her. Inside was a crackling sheet of parchment, the map she had created with the help of Ren o’ the Blade.

She spoke a word of magic, and the map began to glow brightly. Shapes rose from the parchment, all in perfect, miniature imitation of the surrounding landscape. Tiny crags appeared on the map, and silvery hairline rivers, and deep green forests as soft-looking as moss. In a moment, the entire range of the Dragonspine Mountains lay spread out on the ground before Evaine in brilliant magical detail. It was a view such as an eagle might see, soaring high above the world where the air was thin and sharp. A small, green glowing spark showed the exact spot where Evaine and Gamaliel now paused, in the center of a small valley at the western end of the mountains.

“My feeling is the pool lies eastward,” Evaine said, tracing along the map with a finger.

“Toward the heart of the mountains,” Gamaliel added tersely.

The sorceress nodded. “We can journey over this pass, into the next valley, and up the far slope. I’ll cast my locating spell again there. The closer we draw to the pool, the better I should be able to pinpoint its location.”

She gathered up her brazier and other spell components, and the two set off into the fading light. A quarter hour later, Gamaliel spotted a small, dark opening in a weathered outcrop of granite. A few minutes of cautious inspection revealed a low circular cave with a dry sandy floor. A few broken bones lay scattered about—evidence of past denizens—but these were ancient by the look of them.

Gamaliel discovered several small, strangely smooth stone disks near the back of the cave. They seemed to be fashioned of the same granite as the cave’s walls. Curious, Evaine took one of the disks to examine, but it was without mark or carving. If it had been made by human hands, she didn’t know for what purpose. With a shrug, she tossed the disk back to the floor.

Soon Evaine had a fire burning in the center of the cave, driving away the chill. Minutes later, Gamaliel padded through the cave’s entrance, a huge snowshoe hare in his mouth.

“What, no fish?” Evaine asked in mock surprise.

The rivers are all frozen. This will simply have to do.

“I’ll try to make the best of it.”

After feasting on roasted rabbit, Evaine took out her spellbook, committing a few magical incantations to memory, for each time she used a spell it was forgotten, and she was obliged to study it anew. Soon her attention wavered, and she found herself staring into the shadows cast by the fire.

Gamaliel watched her intently, head resting on his paws. That strange look of sorrow, so common of late, had stolen into her eyes again. Even as he watched, she absently lifted a hand to the gold and crystal brooch pinned to her tunic. Gamaliel wrinkled his nose. Why was it that a wizard who was so intelligent with regard to everything else could not see this one simple truth?

She was lonely.

Long ago, in the first life she had lived, magic had been all that Evaine had cared about. And these last decades, her life had been consumed by her quest to destroy the pools of magic. Even a magical creature like Gamaliel could sense that was not fulfilling enough. The worst of it was that Gamaliel realized he could do nothing about her melancholy.

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?”