Pool of Twilight (26 page)

Listle sighed as she picked up one end of the silken thread. “I think this is it for the magic carpet,” she said glumly. “Unless knitting also happens to be one of a paladin’s special skills.”

“I doubt it,” Kern said with disdain.

The three gathered their scattered possessions. With a few magical words, Miltiades restored their three horses to their natural form. Kern’s palfrey and Listle’s gray pranced and snorted excitedly, apparently no worse the wear for having been miniaturized. Eritophenes, of course, was quite used to the experience.

They rode across the dun-colored meadow toward the snow-topped mountains. Now that they were here, Kern wondered how they would ever find Evaine. He and Listle discussed their options. Daile had said the scene revealed by Miltiades’ communication gem lay close to the center of the mountains, so that gave them a general direction. Once they were in the actual vicinity, Listle thought she could whip up some spells to help them locate the sorceress.

Throughout this discussion, Miltiades had been quiet, but now the undead paladin spoke up.

“We will find her,” he said confidently. “I will know when she is near.”

However, just how he would know, he did not say. Listle and Kern exchanged a curious glance.

The sun was sinking toward the western horizon when they reached the forest that blanketed the lower slopes. Deciding it would be best to camp among the shelter of the trees, they decided to press on a bit farther. They guided their mounts down a winding trail, past silent stands of fir and ghost-pale aspen.

They had not gone far when sharp, ringing sounds broke the sylvan stillness. All three knew the familiar clangor of steel on steel. There was a battle going on not far ahead.

“Come on!” Kern cried, urging his mount into a gallop.

“Kern, shouldn’t we be a little more cautious?” Listle called after him, to no avail. Muttering a few choice words about his lack of common sense, she rode after him, Miltiades close behind.

Moments later they burst into a circular glade open to the slate-gray sky. Kern halted for a second, taking in the scene.

A frail old man was battling a huge misshapen creature. Even as Kern watched, the old man’s blade—a heavy, antique broadsword—clashed loudly with the creature’s spiked club. Somehow, the old man was managing to hold his own. He was wizened and ancient-looking, his flowing hair and beard as white as ivory. He wore no armor, only a simple robe of dove gray. Even at this distance, Kern could see his sharp blue eyes sparking like steel against a whetstone.

The creature bellowed. With its massive, ten-foot frame, warty hide, and blazing purple eyes, Kern guessed it to be an ogre. The monster raised its huge club for a crushing blow.

Drawing the Hammer of Tyr from his belt, Kern spurred his mount forward, thundering into the glade. Listle and Miltiades were not far behind.

The ogre paused, looking up in dull-witted surprise. Then it snarled nastily, baring jagged black fangs. It lurched forward, ready to engage its new enemies.

“Xaraxa!” Listle cried out as she tossed a small ball of pitch mixed with bat fur at the monster. It exploded, and the creature roared, shaking its head, as Listle’s spell blinded it.

The ogre swung its club wildly. Kern easily parried the blow. Upon striking his holy warhammer, the club splintered. Miltiades took advantage of the creature’s confusion to deal it a blow with his sword, cutting a gash in the ogre’s side. Its howl of pain was short-lived. Kern swung his hammer in a glowing arc, striking the ogre full in the chest. The creature toppled and did not rise again.

Quickly Kern dismounted and hurried to the old man, who leaned on the hilt of his broadsword.

“Are you all right, sir?” he inquired deferentially.

The old man snorted in disgust. “I was, until you and your overeager friends here showed up.”

Kern stared at him in astonishment.

The old man’s shaggy eyebrows bristled like gigantic, snowy caterpillars. “Fighting that rock-brained ogre was the most fun I’d had in months.” He tapped a bony finger against Kern’s breastplate. “And then you had to come and spoil it all!”

“I—I’m sorry,” Kern sputtered, completely taken aback. “I didn’t know.”

“Well, now you do,” the old man grumbled, sheathing his rune-covered broadsword. He turned to retrieve a battered leather pack from the ground. “And I suppose now that you’ve ruined my sport, you’ll be expecting to come share my fire and my supper as well. That way you can be certain you’ll spoil my day completely.”

Kern stared after the old man, entirely at a loss for words.

The old man glared back. “Well, are you coming or aren’t you?” Without waiting for an answer, he started across the glade. “Young people haven’t a thimbleful of sense these days,” he muttered into his beard.

Kern exchanged a puzzled look with Listle and Miltiades, then shrugged. There didn’t seem to be much to do except to follow, so, leading his horse, he trailed along behind the stranger.

Despite his thin and frail appearance, the old man proved fleet-footed. Soon Kern was huffing noisily, and even Listle seemed to be having a hard time keeping pace. The old man moved farther and farther ahead of them until he finally vanished among the trees. Kern exchanged a worried look with Listle, wondering if he had purposely lost them.

The sky was growing purple with twilight when Kern caught sight of a warm, flickering glow between the trees. Moments later, he and the others stepped into a small clearing protected by the boughs of a huge fir tree.

“About time you showed up,” the old man said testily. “It seems young people are getting slower these days as well as duller.” He sat by a cheerful fire, stirring something in a small iron pot. Whatever it was, it smelled wonderful. Kern’s stomach growled, a noisy reminder that he hadn’t eaten anything since the few bites of flatbread that had served as his rather inadequate breakfast.

“Well, sit down already.” The old man gestured to a fallen log. Kern and Listle sat obediently. Miltiades remained standing, as was his custom, eliciting a scowl from their host.

“Excuse me, sir,” Kern finally blurted out as a steaming bowl of stew and a newly carved wooden spoon were shoved into his hands. “But would you mind … er, that is, could I ask your name?”

“You can call me Trooper,” he replied, handing Listle a wooden bowl. “I suppose it’s as good a name as any I’ve been called and no doubt better than some!” Apparently he thought this some sort of joke, for he broke into a long fit of cackling laughter.

“No, thank you,” Miltiades voice echoed inside his visor when Trooper offered him a bowl of stew. “I do not require food.”

Trooper’s bushy eyebrows knit together. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t.” He shrugged and began eating his stew, blithely ignoring his company.

Unsure what else to do, Kern swallowed a mouthful of stew, and for the next few minutes couldn’t think of much else to say.

“Er, by the way,” Kern said finally, “My name is Kern Desanea. And this is Listle Onopordum.” He gestured awkwardly toward the elf, who was busily shoveling food into her delicate elven face. Trooper grunted noncommittally, apparently none too impressed with this information.

“And our companion is Miltiades,” Kern added, gesturing to the paladin.

This name caused a flicker of interest in the old man’s keen eyes. “Miltiades?” he said, setting down his bowl. “Now, I’m getting on in years, but I would be a spring chick a dozen times over compared to the paladin Miltiades. Tales tell he lived more than a thousand years ago.” He shot a stern look in Kern’s direction. “You wouldn’t be pulling my leg, now would you, son?”

“He speaks the truth,” Miltiades said, lifting his visor. The sight of the paladin’s fleshless skull didn’t raise so much as a shiver out of the old man.

“So he does,” Trooper nodded. “Greetings, Miltiades, from one warrior of Tyr to another. I see that the old fellow doesn’t have the decency to let you enjoy the rest you’ve earned.”

“Tyr has given me a quest I have yet to complete,” Miltiades intoned solemnly.

Trooper snorted, slapping his knee. “Is that so? Well, Tyr had better not try to raise these old bones once they’re settled, that’s all I can say! I’ll look him flat in the eye and tell him to bother someone else’s skeleton.”

After they were through eating, Kern and Listle helped the old man clean the dishes.

“These are very nice,” the elf remarked as she examined the spoons. Each was carved in a unique shape that followed the whorls and curves of the wood. “Did you make these yourself?”

“That I did,” Trooper replied with more than a little pride in his voice. “Just this morning, in fact.”

Suddenly a frown crossed Listle’s face. “But how did you know to carve three of them?”

“It’s always a good idea to be prepared for company,” Trooper snapped cantankerously, taking the spoons and stowing them away. “As your presence here indicates, I might add.”

Listle didn’t pursue the matter, but her curiosity was definitely piqued.

“We’ve come to look for someone in the mountains,” Kern explained. “She’s a friend,” he added.

“I should hope so, if you’ve come all this way just to look for her!” Trooper replied. He pulled out his rune sword and began polishing its edge with a bit of oilstone, carefully smoothing away small nicks and spots of rust. It was a beautiful weapon, with an intricately wrought hand-guard and strange carving all the way down the flat of the blade. Kern noticed at least one symbol that he recognized well—the scales of Tyr engraved on the sword’s hilt

“You’re a paladin, aren’t you?”

Listle rolled her silvery eyes. “You mean you’ve only just now figured that out, Kern?” She leaned toward Trooper, shielding her lips with a hand. “It’s only a theory,” she whispered conspiratorially, “but I think his skull’s as dense as that hammer of his.”

Trooper winked at her. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he whispered in a voice that was quite audible all around.

Kern flushed in embarrassment, treating Listle to a withering look. She made a lame attempt to stifle her giggles.

“You fought well against that ogre today, Kern,” Trooper said then. This compliment alleviated Kern’s embarrassment a bit. “Not that I needed your help, mind you,” the old paladin was quick to add.

“Of course not!” Kern hastily agreed.

Trooper looked up at Miltiades. “The lad has good command of that hammer, doesn’t he?”

The undead paladin nodded in agreement. “His father taught him well.”

Trooper grunted. “Too bad he doesn’t have such a good command of his heart.”

“What?” Kern asked.

Trooper turned on him. “Your heart boy! Heart! You know, that thing that squeezes blood around inside your rib cage.” He thumped his chest for emphasis.

“I know what a heart is,” Kern said in exasperation.

“Well, I suppose that’s something,” Trooper said with a fierce grin. “But do you know how to use it? Do you know how to make it your strongest weapon in battle?” His grin faded. “Ah, but I suppose you’re not interested in anything an old man like me could teach you.”

Kern leaped to his feet, gripping his hammer. “Show me,” he said intently.

Trooper laughed. “That’s more like it, lad.” He stood, his broadsword gleaming in the firelight. “Now, swing that hammer at me. Go on! Don’t be shy about it.”

Kern hesitated for a heartbeat, then swung. Trooper easily parried the blow with a swipe of his rune sword. Both weapons glowed with blue light as they met.

“No, lad,” Trooper growled. “You’re swinging with your hands, not your heart. You can bash in a few orc skulls that way, but your arms may fail you when you’re facing a foe that’s stronger than you. Your heart is the only weapon you can count on in a crisis.” He circled around the campfire, sword ready. “Now, have a go at me again, only this time let your heart guide your hammer.”

Kern grunted as he brought the warhammer around. He tried to do as Trooper had instructed, but he wasn’t quite sure what the old man meant. How could he guide the hammer with his heart?

Blue fire flashed as the hammer bounced off Trooper’s rune sword.

“No, lad, try again! Don’t hit me with your weapon. Hit me with your courage, your spirit.”

Kern nodded, gritting his teeth. He tried to concentrate. Another swing, another flash of blue light. Gods, but he wanted to show Trooper what he was truly made of!

“Feel Tyr’s power flowing through you, lad.” Swing, flash. Kern grunted with effort. “Fighting’s more than having a good eye and a good arm.” Swing, flash. Kern was sweating in rivulets. “It’s having faith, lad. Faith that justice will overcome!”

For all his life, Kern would never forget that moment.

It was like a dam breaking inside him. Sudden calm washed over him; warmth flooded his chest. Instantly he forgot about trying to impress Trooper with his skill, or trying to prove his worth. None of that mattered anymore. He felt strangely buoyant. He could hardly feel the weight of the hammer. All that mattered was that he have faith in Tyr and, more importantly, himself.

Kern’s hammer moved through the air. Trooper tried to parry, but proved a fraction of a second too slow. Hammer struck sword, and the blade flew out of Trooper’s hands, whirling through the air.

Kern lowered his hammer, breathing hard. A grin spread across his face. Trooper nodded in approval as he retrieved his sword. “Not bad, son. Not bad at all.” A sly smile curled inside his beard. “But then, next time I won’t play so nicely.”

Kern’s grin slowly faded. Something told him he still had a great deal to learn.

“Well, it’s time for an old man to get some sleep,” Trooper grumbled, putting away his rune sword and pulling out his bedroll. He spread it close to the fire. “I hope you all know that you’ve made a complete and utter mess of my day.”

“We know,” Listle replied sweetly. “But you’re glad that we did.”

He scowled at her. “Well, I suppose I am at that,” he said gruffly, and then he went to sleep.

Judging by the rising crescent of the moon, it was well after midnight when Listle woke.

She sat up and cocked her head, listening with her delicately pointed elven ears. There it was again: a voice whispering among the trees. She slipped quietly out of her blanket, noticing that Trooper’s bedroll was empty. Kern was snoring, sound asleep, and Miltiades appeared deep in reverie, gazing into the last embers of the fire. Silently, so as not to disturb either, the elf padded away into the shadows of the forest.