Pools of Darkness (35 page)

The fiend’s words were lost as a whorl of smoke engulfed it and the stone beneath its feet opened. The once-powerful beast was captured in a supernatural vortex, sucked into a plane of darkness. With a deafening rumble, the chamber shook, the stone floor closed, then all was silent. A final wisp of sulfurous vapor drifted to the ceiling.

The only sound in the chamber was the panting of the exhausted companions.

Andoralson lay silently on the stone. His hair had turned a ghastly white, and his skin was drawn and livid. Tarl ran to his aid, but too late. No sign of life was left in the druid.

Tarl bowed his head and began a prayer to Tyr.

“Sylvanus,” Miltiades called. “He worshiped Sylvanus.”

Tarl nodded and prayed. “He died nobly. His god will have favor on him,” he said after a time. The cleric lay his cloak over Andoralson’s body.

Ren and Tarl finally looked up and stared at each other for a moment, then simultaneously voiced the same question. “Where on Toril did you come from?” The two chuckled, then immediately Tarl ran to speak prayers of healing to mend his friend’s broken bones. As Ren’s strength returned, he briefly told Tarl of the past months he had spent searching for Phlan.

Evaine bolted to Gamaliel’s side and knelt on the floor. She lifted his great head and cradled him in her lap. The cat whined faintly—he was badly wounded, but would survive. Ren had administered the healing potion in time to save the feline. Tears streamed down the wizard’s face as she realized how close she had come to losing her beloved companion. All the magic in the world would not have brought him back.

Miltiades, still dripping with the murk of the pool, gently approached Shal. “Do not be frightened of me, miss,” he began. “May a warrior of Tyr offer assistance?” He knelt and offered a bony hand.

Shal looked up, the agony in her face masking her shock at his skeletal appearance. “Tarl,” she whispered hoarsely. “The baby. It’s time.”

As Miltiades relayed the message, Tarl helped Ren to his feet and the pair staggered to Shal’s side. Evaine stuffed a cloak under the cat’s head and joined the cleric.

Tarl held Shal’s hand and helped her stretch out on the floor. Evaine immediately called orders to Miltiades to gather cloaks, blankets, and her traveling pack. Gamaliel mustered the strength to creep over to Shal and lie next to her to keep her warm.

Evaine took charge. “Okay, Shal. Relax, then clear your mind as if you’re about to cast a powerful spell. Breathe deeply. The rest of you, keep quiet. She needs to concentrate. Tarl, kneel on the floor and let Shal lie against your lap.” The others did as they were told without question.

“There’s not much anyone can do at this point. Nature knows best in these matters. But stay near—just in case.” Evaine tucked cloaks and blankets around Shal. “Damn! I don’t like the idea of a baby coming into this world so close to that blasted pool. But I don’t have time to cast the spells to destroy it!” The frustration was visible on her face.

“Maybe there’s something I can do,” Tarl offered. “Ren, hold Shal for a little while. I just need a moment.” The cleric arose and strode over to the pit.

Tarl closed his eyes, communicating with his god. Without opening them, he swung the holy warhammer over his head, then flung it straight down into the foaming liquid. Not a drop sprayed up from the impact; instead, the hammer attracted the murk as it plunged downward.

The blue glow disappeared in the blackness. Tarl stood rooted, eyes closed, at the edge of the pit. Slowly, gradually, a pinpoint of blue broke the surface of the murk. The glow spread to the edges of the pool as the swirling inkiness boiled.

Tarl stood in the azure glow, deep in meditation, for several moments. Then the boiling and gurgling in the pit slowed. The cleric opened his eyes to see the liquid receding into the crescent pit. As he watched, the fetid soup sank lower and lower until the pool was drained. At the bottom, Tarl could make out a hole in the stone, shaped like the holy hammer. A low rumble from deep in the earth vibrated the tower.

“Praise to Tyr!” he shouted. Miltiades bowed his head and murmured a prayer of thanks.

Tarl hurried back to the others, sliding into position behind his wife. A blue glow again appeared in the pit, and the cleric raised his hand to seize the hammer. But instead of returning to Tarl, the hammer appeared in the hand of Miltiades.

“My time has come,” he said serenely. “Tyr now summons me to his side. I have redeemed myself in his eyes. Now I will know eternal peace. Thanks to all of you who have been my friends and aided my quest. I will ask Tyr to favor you.”

The paladin lifted his eyes to the ceiling. In a heartbeat, his bones and armor dissolved to dust. The glowing warhammer hovered in the air for a moment, then soared upward to punch through the ceilings and exit the tower. The structure rumbled.

The ghostly voice of Miltiades echoed in the chamber. “Tyr’s hammer will not return to you, Tarl. But know that your child is destined to search out the artifact in one of Tyr’s greatest quests. It will be your job to teach the babe the ways of our god. Know that Tyr smiles on all of you.” The voice faded as the chamber shook.

“He will be missed,” Evaine said. “But the pool is destroyed and the child will be safe. Now, let’s concentrate on helping Shal through this birth.”

A worried look darted across Tarl’s face. “Have you ever done this before?” he asked the sorceress. His astonishment was evident—a woman he had never met was about to deliver his child.

“Trust me. I’m nearly a hundred years old,” Evaine returned. Tarl frowned, but Ren nodded at him in support of her reply. Gamaliel’s purring comforted Shal, and she stroked his fur absently.

As Evaine busied herself with Shal’s delivery and gave instructions to the others, a glow gradually grew in the room, bathing the companions in a violet light. Shal’s labor screams echoed in the chamber and carried up the stairway.

Marcus’s red tower rattled and vibrated on all sides of the companions. Inside and out, stones shook loose and smashed to the ground.

The magic that Marcus and the fiend had created months ago to hold Phlan hostage wavered and collapsed without the energy of the pool to sustain it. The life forces of Phlan’s battle-hardened citizens took control and forced the city to be transported back to its home on the Moonsea. As Phlan was torn from the cavern deep in the earth, Marcus’s tower collapsed into a mound of red dust.

Two days later, after recovering under Shal and Tarl’s hospitality, the companions gathered in front of a warm fire in Denlor’s Tower. Evening was creeping in. Once again a glorious sunset filled the skies to the west of Phlan. The clouds and storms had dispersed with the destruction of the pool. The city was filled with a joy and energy it had not known in a long time.

Sitting in front of the crackling flames, the companions took turns recapping their journey for Shal and Tarl as they sipped one of Evaine’s herbal brews. The scents of cinnamon, vanilla, and rose hips wafted about the room, mingled with wood smoke.

In his lap, Tarl held a tiny bundle wrapped in a purple blanket. A dusting of red hair peeked out of the top of the wrap, and in rare moments, two eyes as blue as the Moonsea fluttered open to gaze about. The baby sighed and gurgled as he relaxed in his father’s arms.

“You know, you’re going to have to think of a name for your son pretty soon. You can’t just call him ‘he’ for the rest of his life.” Ren looked proudly at the baby boy he was privileged to call nephew.

Shal laughed. “We’ve been so busy with everything that’s happened to Phlan that we never had time to think about names. And we weren’t expecting him to arrive quite so soon. But he’s here now, and he’s healthy.”

Evaine set down her mug and walked over to Tarl. Kneeling next to his chair, she stroked the baby’s head and spoke softly to him. “Your parents are going to have some amazing tales to tell you when you grow up. You’ve seen more already than most people see in a lifetime.” The baby slept contentedly. Evaine looked at Shal. “With all the spells you cast while you were pregnant, this child could have some interesting magical powers. It’s not often that a sorceress has a baby.” Tarl offered the baby to Evaine, and she gladly tucked him into her arms, rocking him gently. “I don’t think there’s any question this child has a special destiny.”

Gamaliel snoozed in front of the fire. Seeing Evaine with the baby, he rolled onto his back, paws flopping about, expecting to have his tummy rubbed. Shal gladly indulged him. “You’re lucky to have him, Evaine. Some wizards get toads for familiars.” The cat purred loudly. Humility wasn’t part of his nature.

Ren’s eyes widened over his mug of tea. “If what Miltiades said is right, the gods have big plans for your son. It must be a little intimidating to know that so much will be expected of him.”

Tarl and Shal both nodded vigorously, and the cleric responded. “I have to believe that what he said is true.” Sipping at his mug, he grew thoughtful. “You know, when I was first learning the ways of the Tyr, we heard a lot about the great warrior Miltiades. He’s very important in the history of Tyr’s church. He was a hero we were all encouraged to study and emulate. I’m thrilled that I had the chance to meet him. Your adventures with the paladin must have been extraordinary.”

Ren laughed. “It was more than extraordinary. And it probably won’t surprise you to know that Miltiades hardly mentioned his valorous deeds. I guess the greatest heroes have modesty woven into their souls. We had no idea we accompanied such a legend.”

The companions chatted on as the sun set and the stars tiptoed into the night sky. They took turns cuddling the baby they had all helped bring into the world.

Beyond the twinkling skies of Phlan, two gods were looking down on the peaceful scene with opposite emotions. Bane was filled with rage at losing yet another city. His followers had failed him and these mere mortals had defeated some of his most powerful servants.

Bane’s only small triumph was the interception of the enchanted blue hammer. He gloated as he thought of the special magics he had used to ensure that the holy weapon would never again be wielded in the name of Tyr. He was convinced the weapon was so well hidden that it would never again surface on Toril.

Bane tried to stiffen the control he held over his few remaining cities. But with Phlan released, he felt his grip ebbing from the regions that should have brought him power. The massive disruption in his magical web was too much for even the evil god to mend. One by one, the cities Bane held captive popped out of their prisons and returned to fill their voids in the landscape. Dozens of Bane’s minions died horrible deaths at the wrath of their god as the cities slipped away.

In another realm beyond the skies of Toril, Tyr smiled on the group assembled in Denlor’s Tower. His followers had served him well, and a new and powerful warrior was now beginning the long journey that would lead him to be a future hero of renown in Tyr’s army.

The god chuckled as he sensed Bane’s rage at losing the city and his triumph at stealing the hammer. The artifact was of little consequence to Tyr. Finding the hammer would prove to be an appropriate quest for a certain warrior when he came of age. Tyr looked forward to watching Shal and Tarl’s child grow.

The conversation in the tower turned to future plans for the companions. Shal, Tarl, and the baby would remain in Denlor’s Tower, keeping an eye on the city they had grown to love. They could only hope that Phlan’s future would prove to be more peaceful than its past.

After a lengthy visit with his old friends, Ren planned to return north to claim the valley he had worked so hard to win. And he still hoped to make the acquaintance of the beautiful druid who lived in the next valley.

Evaine and Gamaliel made plans to leave Phlan at first light. They would first visit the hill where Talenthia had given her life to restore and protect the woodlands. Evaine owed her life to Andoralson, and she hoped to look after the region for the druid, making regular visits to Talenthia’s woods. There was also the matter of rebuilding Evaine’s tower. And Faerun was still plagued by other pools of darkness. The wizard had no intention of abandoning her quest.

Evaine left the group around the fire to rummage among her belongings. Returning to the circle, she held out the magical brazier to Tarl. “Miltiades entrusted me with this artifact of Tyr. I promised to return it to your church after our adventures were over. Can I trouble you to deliver it to your elders? I don’t know whether any of its magic remains—it may not light again.

Tarl smiled. “I’d be happy to return it. And under the circumstances, I’ll bet that Tyr will light this artifact at least once more.”

As midnight neared, the friends said good night and trickled away to the guest rooms in the tower.

Evaine packed some of her belongings for the next morning’s journey, then slid into a real bed for the second time in months. As she lay thinking, the giant cat jumped up to share the bed.

Mistress, the cat communicated, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.

The wizard was dozing off, but she prompted the cat to continue.

How many babies have you delivered in your long and adventurous lifetime? Gam asked.

Babies? Why, that was my first.

But you told Tarl you had done it before. The cat stared at her.

I told him no such thing. I simply told him my age, and he concluded the rest. I didn’t lie to him, but I gave him an answer that stopped his worrying. Now go to sleep, Gam. And don’t hog the blankets.

The cat stared at his mistress a moment longer, then lay his chin on a giant paw. There was no limit to the surprises buried in this woman.

Soon Gamaliel’s purring penetrated the bed and lulled them both to sleep.

Phlan was back in place. Her citizens immediately busied themselves putting their homes and their lives in order. The Moonsea and its surrounding woodlands once more provided fish, game, timber, and other necessities of life so badly missed in the cavern.