Pool of Twilight (29 page)

“Like you, Listle?” Trooper asked gently.

She laughed then, but it was a rueful laugh, so unusual coming from the typically buoyant elf.

“No, Trooper,” she said sorrowfully. “That wasn’t the case with me. You see, I didn’t come to the island.” Anguish shone in her silver eyes. “The island was where I first came to be.”

Realization struck Kern, cold and terrible. “He … he created you, didn’t he?” He could barely speak the words. “Sifahir conjured you, just like he did the creature in the glen.” He shook his head. “But that means you’re … you’re a…”

She nodded, trembling. “An illusion, Kern. I began my existence as an illusion, conjured by Sifahir’s magic to guard his treasure chamber.”

Kern worked his jaw silently. What could he possibly say?

“But an illusion is simply an image,” Trooper said with a bushy-eyebrowed scowl. “Illusions are nothing more than figments of the imagination. They cannot think, or act of their own free will. Or play practical jokes.”

“No,” Listle agreed, “they can’t.” She shivered, drawing closer to the fire. “I have only vague recollections of the time when I was created. More like dreams, really. I remember existing in Sifahir’s treasure chamber. I would appear if intruders ventured within and use the magic Sifahir had granted me to confront them. There was never any conscious thought in my actions.”

Her voice grew even more quiet, her gaze intent. “But then … then something happened. What caused it to happen, I don’t think I’ll ever know. Perhaps it was simply the aura of magic that pervaded the treasure chamber, radiated by all the artifacts it contained. Whatever the cause, one day I realized that I had become conscious. I was fully aware of what I was—no, of who I was—and what I was doing.

“At first it was simply a curious, wonderful sensation. But as time went on, my sense of self grew stronger. I began to feel pity for the people I was forced to use my magic on, then grief. Finally, I too came to understand Sifahir’s true nature and knew that I could serve him no longer. I decided to escape. It was the first independent decision I ever made.”

She touched her ruby pendant, its light dormant now. “As the guardian of Sifahir’s treasure, I knew each item, down to the least coin. This necklace was one of his most prized possessions. It was forged by gnome illusionists long ago and enhanced his magic greatly. But he did not understand all of its secrets. I sensed that it had the power to grant me … life.” She swallowed hard. “As long as I wore the necklace, my body would be no different than a living elf is.”

“So you took the necklace and escaped from the tower,” Miltiades said solemnly.

She nodded. “It was easy. Sifahir had never expected one of his own illusions to betray him. Since I could will myself to become insubstantial and pass through walls, I managed to free some of the prisoners—Primul and a few others locked in the dungeons. We fled through the tower’s gates. That was where I discovered Winebrook and Brookwine. Their bodies were sunk deeply into the stone archway, where for years they had been forced to use their magic to strengthen the iron gate. I was able to reach into the stone and pull them free.”

Her eyes grew distant “I remember that day so clearly. Primul picked up the two old mages as if they were thin sticks. They were so pale, so brittle. I didn’t see how they could survive. We dashed through the gates and to the sea. Then I realized we had no way to escape the island. But somehow, despite their weakness, Brookwine and Winebrook sent forth a call, and a half-dozen dolphins lifted their heads above the waves. We dove into the water, and the dolphins bore us away from the island. By that point, bolts of green lightning were shooting from the tower’s turrets. Too late, Sifahir had discovered our escape.”

Listle’s shoulders sagged. “The dolphins dropped us on the shores of Evermeet, and ever since we’ve all been fleeing from Sifahir’s minions. He means to recapture us, and he wants me most of all.” She fidgeted with her necklace. “It has been over three years since the last attack. I had started to think that maybe he had lost us forever. But I know now that I was wrong. Sifahir will never rest until he’s regained the necklace and exacted his revenge.”

“What will happen to you?” Kern found himself asking, almost against his will.

Listle stared at the others. “I’ll become an illusion once again.”

A silence descended on the small clearing. Kern tried to sort out all Listle had told him. The elf had always been unpredictable, but this—this was unfathomable. A dozen emotions clashed in his heart. Sorrow that Listle had known such anguish. Anger at the evil mage that dogged her footsteps. Fear that the elf might vanish in a puff of smoke at any moment. But most of all, he felt a profound confusion. Only a short while ago, after she had kissed him, he had seen Listle in a whole new light. Feelings he had never imagined before had stirred in his heart. But now he didn’t know what to feel. How could he love someone who wasn’t even real?

Listle stood, her jaw set, with deep sorrow in her eyes. “I’m sorry I’ve lied to you all for so long. I… I can understand if you want me to leave.” She started to gather her things.

“Listle, do not—” Miltiades began, but he was interrupted by two brilliant sparks of light floating into the clearing. Both were a shimmering aquamarine, though one spark was slightly more green than blue, and the other slightly more blue than green. Abruptly the sparks flashed, and in their place stood two ancient, sweet-faced elves.

“Brookwine! Winebrook!” Listle exclaimed.

Trooper raised a bushy eyebrow in surprise, casting a glance at Kern. Kern nodded, confirming the paladin’s unspoken question. These were the two elven mages from Listle’s story.

“Listle,” Brookwine began in his tremulous voice, “we are so glad that we have—”

“—found you,” Winebrook went on without pause. “Primul sent us to warn you that—”

“—one of Sifahir’s minions has discovered your—”

“—whereabouts. You’re in terrible—”

“—danger!” The two elves finished as one.

Listle sighed, reaching out and holding their fine-boned hands. “I know,” she said glumly. “I was attacked a few hours ago. But that particular beast will trouble us no more, thanks to my friends here.”

Quickly she relayed the tale of their encounter with Sifahir’s illusionary minion. When she finished, the two wispy mages bowed deeply to the others.

“We are most grateful for—”

“—your slaying of the beast—”

“—that sought to deliver us into—”

“—Sifahir’s hands once again.”

The elves smiled their beguiling smiles, eyes glowing green-blue and blue green.

“Er, don’t mention it,” Trooper said, seeming at a loss as he turned his gaze from one mage to the other.

“Can you stay a while?” Listle asked the two ancient mages hopefully, but Brookwine and Winebrook shook their heads.

“I’m afraid we dare not—”

“—linger, dear Listle. We must return to—”

“—inform Primul of this development,” they said in their fluid manner.

“You know how the green elf thinks us—”

“—to be flighty, and how angry he—”

“—gets when we dilly—”

“—dally.”

Listle laughed despite her recent ordeal. Seeing her old friends always lifted her heart, no matter the circumstances. “Take care, you two,” she whispered, hugging them tightly. “And don’t let Primul bully you.” In a wink the mages vanished, and two glowing sparks fluttered out of the clearing.

Listle fell silent then. Her worst fears had been realized. Her secret had been revealed. She knew the others would never regard her the same way again, especially Kern.

Trooper spoke, as if sensing her thoughts. “Well, let’s have no more talk of leaving tonight,” he said testily. “It’s too late for such serious matters, and this old man needs his sleep.” With that he rolled himself in his blanket and almost instantly began snoring.

Listle saw Kern gazing at her, the expression in his eyes impossible to read. She took a hesitant step toward him, wishing he would say something … anything. For a moment she thought he was going to, but then he too turned away and, climbing into his bedroll, shut his eyes tightly.

Listle felt a preternatural chill behind her. She looked up to see Miltiades. The paladin seemed to be regarding her with his empty eyes.

“It is a burden, being so different, is it not?” he said softly in his eerie voice.

“Yes,” she whispered. “It is.”

“You must not despair, Listle Onopordum,” he said, a stern note in his usually gentle voice. “You fought hard to have the chance to live. Do not throw it away, for any reason.”

With that the skeletal knight stepped away into the shadows, leaving her feeling completely and utterly alone.

A scream of rage filled the cavern of the pool of twilight.

“Why did you not tell me that sunlight would destroy my beautiful shadow fiends?” Sirana ranted. Her lovely hands were clenched into claws, her misshapen face twisted even more grotesquely than usual.

Was it not obvious? the guardian of the pool asked mockingly. They were creatures of darkness. How could they possibly withstand the burning rays of the sun?

Sirana’s wings flapped violently, casting off spatters of greasy black feathers. “Tell me, great guardian of the pool,” she spoke acidly. “You, who promised me so much power. Tell me, why does my revenge yet go unfulfilled?”

Bubbles burst sluggishly on the pool’s metallic surface. As I told you long ago, sorceress, you are dealing with powerful forces. There is only one way you will ever gain the power you need to exact your vengeance. Sparkling flecks of twilight appeared in the pool, swirling at its center. You must enter the pool….

Sirana shook her head, though entranced by the specks dancing beneath the pool’s surface, even as similar sparks swirled beneath her dusky skin. She knew she must not enter the pool of twilight. To do so would mean imprisonment beneath its murky depths.

But, she mused, wouldn’t it be worth the price, to finally gain sufficient power to exact her revenge?

Sirana had no idea if that stray thought was her own or the guardian’s. The flecks of twilight swirled faster, becoming a hypnotic whirlpool.

Wouldn’t entering the pool be worth the small sacrifice? She could avenge her father’s death and bring about the destruction of that wretched city, Phlan, once and for all.

Slowly, she began to approach the edge of the pool.

It wasn’t as if she would have to be the pool’s guardian forever, she reminded herself. She had only to wait until the first unwary traveler happened upon the cavern. How easy it would be, to convince some lesser being to enter the pool’s depths.

Sirana balanced on the rocky edge. The turgid water lapped mere inches below her clawed feet.

Come, sorceress. Is not vengeance worthwhile, whatever the cost?

“Yes,” she whispered, the swirling flecks of twilight reflected in her blankly staring eyes. “I must have my vengeance.”

Sirana plunged into the pool of twilight

She felt as if she were freezing into ice and burning to ashes all at once. The thick fluid dragged her body down. Sparks flashed in front of her eyes; the lack of oxygen seared her lungs. She clamped her mouth shut, fighting the urge to draw a breath. Oh, why had she done this foolish thing? Her consciousness began to grow faint.

Finally she could stand it no longer. She opened her mouth, filling her lungs with the pool’s water in one horrible, shuddering breath.

She was not drowning!

She took another breath of the thick, metallic water, and another, and another. With each, she felt incredible energy pulsing through her veins, infusing every fiber of her being. The power she had experienced before was nothing compared to the primal magic she now felt coursing through her body, forging her anew into something awesome and terrible, into …

… the guardian of the pool.

Even as Sirana reveled in her new incarnation, the waters of the pool began to froth and bubble furiously. In a spray of shimmering foam, a huge creature burst forth from its waters and soared toward the heights of the cavern.

“Free!” a wild, thunderous voice trumpeted. “After all these centuries, at last I am free!”

The massive creature whirled about the cavern, stretching his midnight wings in ecstasy. The black dragon was a great, ancient beast armored with countless scales as hard and gleaming as onyx. The dragon’s name was Dusk, and in all the northlands of Faerun there was not an older or more powerful creature of his kind. A full two hundred feet from his horned snout to the spike-studded tip of his tail, there was strength enough in his claws to rend mountains to dust.

The dragon alighted beside the pool. One of his black eyes shone in utter satisfaction, while the other was dim and clouded, blinded by an ancient but not forgotten wound. That foolish half-fiend, Sirana, had finally yielded to the temptation the dragon had dangled before her. Now she would be the pool’s guardian, trapped in its silvery waters. Now Dusk would do what Sirana had been too weak and moronic to accomplish—completely and utterly destroy the abominable city of Phlan!

Memories flickered through Dusk’s mind.

Three centuries ago he had ruled the skies over the Moonsea. All the cities along the coast had lived in fear of his shadow. Dusk had plundered wherever he went, amassing a hoard of riches that made the treasure of a hundred kings pale in significance.

Then he had devised his most brilliant plan.

He flew from mountain peak to mountain peak, from ruin to ruin, speaking with the other evil dragons that lived along the shores of the Moonsea. With sly, cunning words, he played upon the hatred that all dragons felt for human, dwarven, and elvenkind. He lit a spark in the hearts of the evil dragons—red, blue, green, and black—until that spark grew into a burning wildfire. One dark dawn, a hundred dragons flew from their hidden lairs to join his army and fight as one, assailing all the lands around the Moonsea.

Thus began the first dragon-rage.

Folk cowered in their cities as destruction rained down from above. Fire and acid, lightning and poisonous clouds, mayhem and devastation. Dragon wings blotted out the sun, and dragon roars boomed like thunder. It was glorious. And Dusk was the most magnificent of them all. The other dragons looked to him as their exalted leader. The tribute they had agreed to pay would make him lord over a mountain of treasure such as Faerun had never seen.