Pool of Twilight (24 page)

A silver chalice rose out of the pool and hovered before Sirana. She grasped it with her newly restored hands. Once before, she had drunk but a mere drop of the twilight pool’s waters and had gained fantastic power—enough to summon a dreamstalker from a distant world. What would be the effect of drinking an entire chalice of the liquid? She gazed at the metallic fluid within the cup, hesitating. Brilliant flecks of light swirled beneath its surface.

“I must have the might to destroy Phlan!” she whispered.

Her hesitation faded. She raised the chalice to her lips and drained its thick, oily contents in a single draught.

The chalice clattered to the hard stone and rolled away. Sirana reeled, her heart pounding furiously. Magical energy like she had never before imagined surged through her veins. It buoyed her, lifting her so that her feet hardly touched the ground. She raised her arms in exultation, feeling the soft fabric of shadows sift through her fingers. Understanding rippled through her mind. One drop of the pool had granted her the ability to see all the myriad shades of darkness that existed in a single shadow. But now she could cup that darkness in her hands, mold it, shape its form, and breathe evil life into it.

Yes, sorceress, the guardian of the pool whispered in her mind. You can forge shadow images of any creature you desire, and they will serve you with all the powers of twilight!

“I shall create an army!” she cried, gathering the stuff of shadows about her, draping it around her deformed body. “An army of shadows!”

She wasted no time. With her hands and mind, she began to mold the darkness into a fearsome form. She gave it long, muscular arms and serrated fangs in a jackal-shaped snout. Last she fashioned a sinuous tail ending in razor-sharp spikes.

She stood back and admired her handiwork. Now this was a fiend like none that had ever dwelled in the Nine Hells. A fiend born of shadow, whose only purpose was to serve Sirana. It bowed to her, and she clapped her hands in evil delight. Then she reached out, gathering more darkness to create another shadow fiend….

Suddenly she froze. She felt a strange prickling sensation, as if sensing the touch of a distant, roving eye. It lasted only for a second, then was gone.

Sirana shivered. “What was that?” she demanded of the guardian.

An enemy journeys through the mountains, seeking the pool.

“What?” Sirana snarled in outrage. “Show me.”

The surface of the pool swirled. An image appeared, showing a stream tumbling through a narrow mountain valley. A woman with long chestnut-colored hair picked her way among the rocks, a large, tawny cat padding behind her. Numerous pouches hung at the woman’s belt.

“Evaine!” Sirana recognized the sorceress from their earlier meeting.

The sorceress hunts pools like an owl hunts mice. She would destroy the pool of twilight, mistress. I have felt her magical detections reaching out for me once before. I thought I had dealt her a blow strong enough to annihilate her.

“Apparently you failed,” Sirana observed venomously. She paced beside the pool’s edge. “I shall simply have to deal with this meddlesome sorceress myself.” A cruel smile curled about her misshapen lips. “And I think I know just the way.”

She closed her eyes, sending forth a summons. “Come to me, dreamstalker. Come, and heed your leader’s call!”

There was a hiss of dank, musty air. Ragged tatters of shadow began to swirl in front of Sirana. The half-erinyes plunged her hand into the midst of the shadow, her fingers closing around a dark, slender strand. With all her might, she pulled on the thread. The vortex of shadow exploded, and the ethereal form of the bastellus materialized before Sirana.

“What do you wish of me, mistress?” the dreamstalker intoned in its somnolent voice.

“This woman is my enemy,” Sirana snapped, gesturing toward the image in the pool. “I want you to feed upon her dreams. Feed until every last shred of her sanity has been consumed! Do you understand?”

The bastellus Sigh nodded. It could sense the power of the long-haired woman in the image reflected in the pool. Draining her spirit through her dreams would be satisfying indeed. With a grateful bow, Sigh melted into the air.

Sirana smirked. “Try to destroy my pool, will she?” She ran a slender finger under the jutting chin of the shadow fiend she had just created, then threw her head back and laughed.

Like tiny stars, faint sparks of light began to swirl beneath her skin, glowing the exact same color as the shining flecks of twilight in her eyes.

While Sirana gloated over her plans, reveling in her new abilities, the guardian sank to the bottom of the twilight pool.

The creature was well pleased.

The half-erinyes was becoming more and more ensnared by the magic of the pool. The guardian had been only too glad to grant her another drink of the pool’s waters. Each taste would only make her hunger for more, and no matter how much the creature gave her, it would never be enough to satisfy her abominable cravings. It was only a matter of time before she succumbed to the temptation to submerge herself in the pool, to embrace its vast power. The moment she did, the guardian would be free. And the insufferable half-fiend would find herself imprisoned within the pool as its new guardian.

The creature writhed in the murky depths, sending bubbles floating sluggishly upward through the thick, metallic water. Ah, how glorious, to fly again! What havoc the creature would be able to wreak once free of the blasted pool!

Sirana thought she had cause for vengeance against Phlan, but her hatred was nothing compared to the creature’s own. Its loathing of that damnable city had grown during centuries of entrapment. Its strength had grown as well during those long, agonizing years. Once free, the creature’s power would be nearly as limitless as its hatred. And then Phlan would pay for its past transgressions. …

Soon, Dusk, the guardian murmured to itself. Very, very soon.

It had to be patient. But there was not much longer to wait.

Kern had always thought that the day he regained the Hammer of Tyr would be a day of unparalleled joy. But despite the solid weight of the ancient relic resting at his hip, he didn’t feel much like celebrating.

They had gathered in the aspen grove at dawn to bid their last farewells to Ren. The first steely beams of light slanted between the ghostly trees, sparkling as they fell upon the fine dusting of new snow that mantled the ground. The winter air was cold, the wind perfectly still. It was almost as if the whole world were holding its breath.

Daile stood beside her father’s body, gazing at the two magical daggers she held in her hands. Right and Left.

“Use your father’s weapons well, Daile,” Miltiades said solemnly. “You are Daile o’ the Blade now.”

“No,” she said softly, shaking her head. She looked up, her blue eyes cold as ice. “These daggers protected me beneath the red tower, but I could never wield them like my father. No one could. They are his, and no other’s.”

Daile knelt and slipped the two blades into their sheaths in Ren’s boots. Then she stood straight, unslinging her ashwood bow from her shoulder. She drew a red-feathered arrow from the quiver on her back and pulled back against the bowstring, aiming for the sky. With a cry, she released the arrow. It sped high into the slate-blue dome above. The arrow traveled upward until Kern lost sight of it.

Suddenly the two daggers tucked into Ren’s boots quivered. Each gave a small jerk as the knobs on the end of their hilts popped open. Two small, smooth stones rose out of the compartments concealed in the dagger hilts to whirl about Daile’s head. The others stared in wonder.

Miltiades recognized the small stones. “They are Ren’s ioun stones.”

Daile nodded. She knew the story behind the stones. They had been stolen by a woman named Tempest, a thief. Tempest had been Ren’s first love, but she was murdered by the Lord of the Ruins, the dragon who had sought to control the pool of radiance in the ruins thirty years earlier.

The two ioun stones settled onto Daile’s bow and embedded themselves in the wood with a faint click. The longbow hummed brightly in the ranger’s grip, then was quiescent once again. Daile nodded in understanding. The magical stones were her father’s last gift to her.

She lowered her bow, her shoulders stiff and square. “From now on, I am Daile Redfletching,” she said grimly.

The others nodded dumbly, alarmed at the ferocity in the young ranger’s voice and the coldness in her eyes. Without a word, Daile turned to make her way back to the campfire.

The companions ate a cheerless breakfast of dried fruit and flatbread by the scant warmth of the fire. Miltiades, who had no use for food, instead drew a small brooch from a leather purse. The brooch was wrought of gold and set with a single clear gemstone.

“Evaine gave it to me,” he explained to the others, “so that we might communicate with each other. I think she would care to know that you have gained the hammer, Kern. As well as the sorrowful news about Ren.”

The skeletal paladin whispered the word of magic Evaine had taught him that activated the brooch. The crystal flashed, and an image appeared within its facets. The image showed a snowy, wind-scoured crag rising high above a range of jagged peaks. There was no sign of Evaine anywhere.

“Where is she?” Kern asked with a frown.

Miltiades shook his head. “I do not know. If she still possessed the brooch, she would know I am calling her.”

“She must have lost it,” Listle said worriedly. “But where? Unless mountains have a habit of growing overnight, I don’t think that’s the forest around her dwelling.”

“Those are the Dragonspine Mountains,” Daile said, peering into the gem. “I recognize them from the map that Evaine created with my father’s help.”

Miltiades uttered another magical word. The gem went dark. “This can only mean one thing. Evaine has journeyed into the mountains.”

“But why?” Kern asked.

Listle’s eyes widened in realization. “Don’t you see? She intends to destroy the pool of twilight! Ridding Faerun of the pools is her life’s quest.” The elf swore sharply. “We should have known she would try something like this.”

“Well, maybe Evaine knows what she’s doing,” Kern offered. “After all, I don’t think there’s anyone who knows more about pools within a thousand leagues of here.”

“That is true, Kern,” Miltiades replied. “But no matter how wise Evaine may be, she cannot realize that Sirana is drawing power from the pool. I doubt she expects to face another sorceress, let alone a half-fiend mage who is in league with the magic of the twilight pool.” The skeletal knight’s breastplate shuddered. Kern would almost have thought it a sigh if Miltiades had been in the habit of breathing.

“Then we have to go after her, to warn her!” Kern stood.

Miltiades raised a gauntlet, halting him. “You forget, Kern. The Dragonspine Mountains are nearly a tenday’s ride from this place. With her scrying spells, Evaine will certainly discover the pool before we reach her, no matter how hard we ride. Indeed, she may have already located it.”

Kern hung his head in despair. “We have to warn her somehow,” he said without much confidence.

“I think I might be able to arrange something,” Listle said, hurrying over to her leather backpack. “I found these yesterday while I was wandering around the maze in the ruins. Something told me they might come in handy.”

She pulled two cylindrical objects from her pack. With a flick of her wrist, she unrolled one of them. It was a bright, intricately patterned carpet.

Kern eyed the carpet skeptically. “Maybe I’m missing something here, but I fail to see how a rug is going to solve our problems.”

Listle snorted with annoyance. “Sometimes you have absolutely no imagination, Kern.” She snapped her fingers, and abruptly the carpet rose several feet off the ground, its golden fringe fluttering. “These are flying carpets!” Listle hopped onto the hovering carpet while the others watched in amazement. The elf positively beamed. “What in the world would you do without my help?”

“I shudder to think,” Miltiades said, a note in his dry voice that might almost have been amusement.

Their decision was made easy for them. While Kern wanted nothing more than to hurry back to Shal and Tarl, he knew they must go to warn Evaine.

“I suppose this means we’ll have to leave you behind,” Listle said sadly, stroking the muzzle of her gray pony.

“I don’t think you need bid your steed farewell, Listle,” Miltiades said.

“I wish you were right, Miltiades,” Listle answered glumly. “But somehow I doubt the horses will fit on the magic carpets.”

“We’ll see,” Miltiades replied mysteriously.

The undead paladin whispered something into the ear of his magical white stallion, Eritophenes, who then pranced toward Listle’s pony. Eritophenes bent his head over the dappled gray and snorted. A pale mist encircled the pony, and suddenly the horse shimmered, shrinking in size until it became a tiny gray figurine standing in the snow. Eritophenes moved to the other horses, and in moments they, too, had been transformed by the stallion’s magical breath into miniatures. Eritophenes let out a whinny, then also glowed brightly, shrinking into a small, prancing figure.

Miltiades gathered the miniature horses and placed them safely in a pouch. Kern could only shake his head in wonder. That was another problem solved.

“Now if I could only do that with Kern when he’s acting uncooperative,” Listle mused.

“You know, Listle, you’re really not as funny as you think you are,” Kern grumped.

She gave him a flat stare. “What makes you think I’m joking?”

Quickly they broke camp and packed their things onto the carpets. But when it was time to go, Daile hesitated.

“I’m sorry, Kern,” she said quietly. “But I can’t go with you. At least not yet. I… I have to take my father back to the Valley of the Falls. I know he would want to lie by my mother’s side.”

Kern nodded gravely, gripping her shoulder tightly. He hated to part company with the ranger.

“Take one of the carpets, Daile,” Listle offered. “We three can all fit on one.” She shot Kern a wry look. “If this big oaf doesn’t hog all the space, that is.”