Pool of Twilight (36 page)

This time the metallic tentacles that reached up to snatch it out of the air were smashed. The hammer hit the guardian full in the chest. Blue lightning crackled, transfixing the zombie. In a heartbeat, the hammer returned to Kern’s grip.

“What’s going on?” a clear voice asked.

Evaine had woken from her spell. In her hand she held the gem that had been bathed in the magical flame of her brazier. An energy pulsated inside the gem, first dark, then light, beating to a slow, steady rhythm.

“Is your spell complete, Evaine?” Miltiades asked.

“It is.” She frowned, noticing the gigantic mutant zombie struggling against the magic that encircled it. “Something tells me I missed out on some highlights.”

“We’ll explain later!” Kern cried hoarsely. “I think now would be a good time to destroy the pool.”

Evaine smiled, her green eyes glinting with a dangerous light. “With pleasure.” She raised the pulsating gem and cast it into the pool of twilight.

The crystal sank silently beneath the surface of the pool. At first nothing happened. Kern wondered with a shiver of fear if Evaine’s spell had misfired. Then he noticed a faint, pulsating spot where the gem had fallen into the pool, glowing light, then dark, in a steady cadence.

The waters of the pool swirled and bubbled, but the pulsing spot began to spread, stilling the waves. The pool surged in fury, waterspouts reaching to the ceiling. But the pulsating circle continued to enlarge, its steady, calming rhythm unwavering. First dark. Then light. Then dark again.

“What’s happening?” Kern shouted above the roar of the waves.

“The pool fights to keep its chaotic nature,” Evaine shouted back. “But the magic within the gem is rhythmic, ordered.”

Metallic foam flew through the air. The guardian of the pool—the mutant zombie that was half Sirana, half Dusk— screamed as it struggled against the holy magic that surrounded it.

By now all the pool was pulsating. Dark. Light. Dark.

The waves ebbed. The surface of the pool became as still as glass. Even the guardian became motionless, the dragon maw frozen in midscream.

The pool went dark, so dark that all the light seemed to be drained out of the cavern. The blackness hurt Kern’s eyes. He counted ten heartbeats in the ominous silence. Then, all of a sudden, the pool flared brilliantly, and everything went white. The searing light seemed to burn right through stone and flesh. Ten more heartbeats. Abruptly, then, the radiance dimmed.

The pool of twilight was no more.

A gaping pit yawned in the cavern floor where the pool had existed only moments before. All that was left of Sirana and Dusk were their bones, fused together in a death embrace. But even as the adventurers watched, those bones crumbled into dust.

Evaine stumbled backward weakly, but Gamaliel caught her before she could fall. Her skin was pallid, eyes hollow, but she was smiling all the same.

“Damn, but I enjoy doing that.”

Tarl’s entire body glowed sapphire blue. Radiant light flowed through him, out of him, sustaining the shimmering wall that held the army of zombies at bay outside the gates of the temple of Tyr.

His faith had not dimmed, but he knew that his body was failing. Mere flesh was not strong enough to bear the raw, crackling magic that coursed through him. The azure radiance was consuming him, ever faster. Still his belief in Tyr did not waver. Whatever happened, Tarl knew he had done all that one man could do.

“The end draws close,” Sister Sendara murmured to Anton.

“By Tyr, I can see right through his hands,” the patriarch said softly. “They’re made of light, just like the wall!”

Even as Anton watched, more and more of Tarl’s form was transformed into shimmering light. The sapphire wall began to flicker and fade. The dark army of twisted zombies surged forward with an inhuman howl of victory. In moments they would stream through the gates into the heart of the temple.

Tarl could feel himself fading, growing more and more insubstantial. He channeled every last ounce of his strength into the magical wall, regretting only that he had not had the chance say good-bye to Shal, or his son.

The decomposing zombies shrieked in gleeful cacophony. They clawed past each other, pressing against the flickering barrier, ready to tear living flesh from bone.

Then, they abruptly collapsed.

Each and every rotting abomination slumped to the ground like a puppet with its strings slashed. Even as the stunned clerics watched, their twisted bodies began to bubble and steam, evaporating in a noxious yellow cloud. Then a cold wind raced through the streets of the city, blowing the poisonous atmosphere away.

“Tarl, release the gate!” Sister Sendara shouted, hobbling toward the white-haired cleric.

It was hard, so hard. The power continued to stream through Tarl like water through a busted dam. It nearly washed him away. With his last shred of consciousness, he reached out and tried to shut off the energy.

The azure radiance vanished.

Tarl dropped to the ground. The others, watching, did not know if he was alive or dead. Then they saw a shuddering breath fill his chest.

“Thank Tyr, he lives!” Tarl heard a voice cry. But he hardly noticed, his mind filled with a single thought: You’ve done it Kern! You’ve done it!

Kern was the first to reach Listle.

He saw that she lived, if barely. Her breathing was shallow, her face deathly pale. Carefully, he lifted the elf. Her body felt light in his arms, her bones as insubstantial as a bird’s.

He laid her gently on the cloak Miltiades spread on the ground. A faint light flickered in the ruby pendant at her throat.

“She’s holding on by the barest thread,” Evaine said, resting a hand gently on Listle’s brow. “I think it’s the necklace that’s keeping her alive.”

The ruby’s feeble flickering began to slow, growing dimmer.

“Can you do anything?” Kern asked desperately.

Slowly Evaine shook her head. “My magic cannot heal her.” She paused. “But a true paladin could.”

Kern looked at Trooper and Miltiades. It was the most precious gift that the god Tyr granted his paladins, the power to heal with a single touch. “Please,” he whispered urgently.

Trooper gave him a sharp look, then knelt by the elf. He laid his hands against her temples. A pale blue glow shimmered about his fingertips. Listle took a shuddering breath, then her breathing grew shallow once again.

“Miltiades, help me.”

The skeletal knight knelt beside the venerable paladin. Miltiades removed his gauntlets and laid the bare, yellowed bones of his undead hands atop Trooper’s. The older man flinched at the paladin’s chilling touch, but he did not pull away. The blue glow brightened. The flow of blood from the wound on Listle’s forehead slowed, then stopped. Still she did not wake.

The blue nimbus around Trooper’s hands vanished. With a deep sigh, the old man stood, his shaggy eyebrows drooping. “It wasn’t enough. We helped some, but her injuries are too dire.”

“But she can’t die,” Kern whispered hoarsely.

“Why?” Trooper asked sternly. “Because she’s only an illusion? Is that what you still think?” His blue eyes sparked fire. “Well, if you do, you’re more fool than I took you for, Kern Desanea, and a waste of time at that.”

The paladin whirled and stomped away, leaving Kern speechless.

“There is one more who might save her,” Miltiades said in his sepulchral voice.

“Who?” Kern demanded.

The skeletal knight’s empty eye sockets seemed to regard Kern silently.

Kern’s shoulders slumped as he realized what the undead paladin meant. “But I can’t heal her, Miltiades,” he said helplessly. “I don’t have the power. I’m only a paladin-aspirant. I’m not really a paladin.”

“If that is what you believe, then it is so,” Miltiades intoned quietly.

Kern looked to the others for help—Evaine, Gamaliel, Daile. All regarded him sadly, silently. There was nothing they could do to help him. Nothing at all. It was up to him to act.

He made a decision. Confusion became calm.

“No, Miltiades.” He clenched his jaw tightly. “I spoke wrongly. I am a paladin.”

He reached out and laid his hands on Listle’s brow.

“By Tyr, I believe I am.”

Blue light flared brilliantly about his hands. The wound on Listle’s forehead dimmed to a faint shadow, then vanished. For a moment her breathing halted altogether, but the azure radiance beat brightly. Then her chest began to rise and fall in a gentle rhythm. The light in her ruby pendant began to glow steadily.

The blue nimbus faded.

Kern lifted his hands, staring at them in amazement.

Listle stirred, her silvery eyes fluttering open. “What’s everybody grinning at?” the elf asked in annoyance, her voice weak but clear.

‘You,” Kern said with a grateful laugh. He stood, lifting her easily to her feet and pressing his lips to hers. He stepped away, smiling broadly.

The elf’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words would come out.

For the first time in her life, Listle Onopordum found herself completely speechless.

Trooper stood in the shadow of a huge stalagmite, a short distance from the others who were still tending to their battle wounds. A faint, bluish light shone about the old paladin as he argued adamantly with another voice only he could hear.

“It’s not as if I was constantly asking you for favors, you know,” Trooper whispered cantankerously, his shaggy eyebrows bristling. “Did I ask for a reward when I rescued that twittering, pea-brained Procampurian princess from that kobold den in the Stonelands? No! Did I expect any payment for destroying the Beast Cult of Malar when they had their mangy jackals harrying the highway from Cormyr to the Caravan Cities? No! Did I complain when I had to wade through the sewers beneath the biggest goblinkin warren in Faerun just so I could spy on that dull-witted orc god for you?”

He cocked his head, listening to the reply.

“Well, all right, perhaps I did in that case,” he admitted with a snort. “But mind you, it was three years before the smell finally wore off!”

He shook his head, his long white beard wagging. “But that’s not the point. I said that you owed me one when I agreed to help the young pup, and I meant it. Now the lad’s a true paladin. That means my work is done.” Trooper’s steely eyes flashed resolutely. “It’s time to settle our deal, Tyr.”

The blue haze about him flickered for a moment. Trooper listened to the words no other could have heard.

“Nonsense!” he replied gruffly. “I’ve lived a long life, and a good one, if I do say so myself.”

He sighed, sinking down to sit on a low shelf of stone. He was silent for a short while. “I’m tired, Tyr,” he muttered finally. “Don’t you see? I’ve had more than enough adventures to comprise a lifetime. But there’s one who has served you loyally who has never had these opportunities.”

He stole a glance back at the others. Miltiades stood slightly apart from his companions, watching them with what seemed, despite his fleshless face, a sorrowful expression.

“He’s done the deeds in death he never had the chance to do in life. Don’t you think that’s worth something?” Trooper blew a breath through his drooping mustache. “And you don’t even have to worry about that precious balance of yours. One life for another. What could be more just than that?”

Trooper scratched his beard, listening. Then he grinned. “I knew you’d come around to reason.” His expression grew wistful as he watched his questing companions. “It’s funny, but I think I’m going to miss them. Especially that impertinent elf.” He scowled. “I always was a fool for dimples.”

He sat up straighter, his old joints creaking in protest.

“Well, I’m ready,” he whispered, annoyed. “Get on with it!”

The blue light flared brightly about the old paladin, then dimmed.

“Miltiades!” Dread gripped Evaine’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

The undead paladin stumbled backward as if jolted. Kern, Listle, Daile, and Gamaliel looked around at him in concern. Azure tendrils of light twined themselves about his armored form. A shimmering blue coil gently lowered the visor of his helm, concealing the bare bones of his face.

“My … my quest has ended,” the knight said solemnly. “I fear that my time here is at an end.” He doubled over, his gauntleted hands clenched into fists. “Tyr calls me home once more.” He sank to his knees.

“No!” Evaine cried. She reached out for him.

It was too late.

Like an empty suit of tipped-over armor, Miltiades buckled to the ground. The sapphire light surrounding him faded and was gone. He lay utterly still.

All stared in shocked silence.

“I’m sorry, Evaine,” Kern said finally, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t think there will ever be another hero like him.”

“He was the first person I ever met who truly understood me,” Listle added, tears glistening in her eyes. “I’m going to miss him.”

“As are we all,” Gamaliel said gruffly. He put his hands on Evaine’s shoulders, leading her gently but firmly away from the paladin. “Come, Evaine. We must—”

The suit of steel armor twitched.

All watched in amazement as the shining suit of armor shifted again. Then, slowly, the fallen knight pulled himself to his feet, standing tall.

Evaine let out a deep breath of relief. “Miltiades! Are you … are you all right?” She took a hesitant step toward him.

The ancient paladin shook his helm, as if he was dizzy or unsure.

“I… I think so, Evaine,” he said, but there was something strange about his voice. Tentatively, he raised a gauntlet and lifted his visor.

Evaine gasped.

“By all the gods,” she murmured. The others stared at the knight with their own expressions of wonder. Slowly, hardly daring to believe what she saw was real, Evaine reached out a hand and brushed Miltiades’ cheek.

Her fingers touched warm skin.

“Evaine, what’s wrong?” Miltiades asked in concern. “You’re crying.”

She shook her head, trying to speak but unable to find the words. He still didn’t realize what had happened! In answer, she reached for his hand and pulled off one of his steel gauntlets. He stared in shock when he saw the flesh-covered hand that was exposed.