Pool of Twilight

18

Anton stood atop the temple of Tyr's highest rampart in the steely light of predawn, gazing into the distance. He was watching. And waiting.

Three hours earlier, Sister Sendara had woken him in the deep of night.

"This is the day our fate will be decided," the ancient priestess had whispered in the chilly darkness.

At those words, dread had clutched Anton's heart, but he had pushed the feeling aside. Quickly, he had donned his robe and hurried into the temple's main hall, striking a bronze gong to wake the other clerics. In the dark before the dawn, he told his brothers and sisters of Sendara's warning. In the hours since, the clerics of Tyr had done what they could to ready themselves and the temple for the coming onslaught, whatever form it might take.

As Anton watched, the baleful eye of the sun heaved itself above the frozen plains, spilling its bloody light across the city. Gazing into the west, he saw a dark stain spreading across the horizon. Even as he watched, the thing grew larger, a vast, undulating sea approaching the city's walls. His sharp eyes could just make out the twisted forms that shambled in the fore of the black tide.

"Zombies," Anton murmured. "An army of zombies."

He did not hesitate. He lifted a polished, silver-tipped ox horn that hung from a strap about his neck and sounded a long, clear note. The alarm rang out across the city.

As it did, the scene erupted in chaos.

Folk streamed into the streets. Word of the approaching army of doom had spread like wildfire. Now people shoved past each other in an effort to flee the city. Those who fell in the crush of humanity were trampled and did not get up. In years past, the valiant folk of Phlan would have armed themselves for battle. Today they poured out of the city's western gate and fled into the countryside. Only a few remained behind, and these were mostly thieves and looters. By the time the zombies neared the Death Gates, the city was virtually empty.

The massive, ironbound Death Gates had been called by many names in the past-Fire Dragon Gates, Ogre's Bane Gates, Giant's Doom Gates. But finally they had simply come to be called the Death Gates, for again and again armies of evil had broken and perished against them.

But not this time. Rusted and worm-eaten, the Death Gates had decayed along with the rest of the city, and no one had bothered to repair them. As the throng of zombies surged forward, the huge gates groaned. More zombies pressed against them, and more, trampling each other to pulp as they pushed at the portal.

Finally, the Death Gates exploded in a spray of rotting timber. Zombies streamed into the abandoned city. Those thieves who had chosen to linger behind and fill their pockets soon regretted their decision as they were torn limb from limb. In minutes all of Phlan was awash with zombies. Only one bastion of resistance remained, and it was upon this that the army of undead finally converged.

The temple of Tyr.

As he watched the zombie horde approach, Anton found himself wondering for the hundredth time how the Hammerseeker and his companions fared. But there was no way to know. Sendara's runestones had revealed nothing. They could only hope that Kern was even now on his way back to the city. It was their only chance. If the temple fell before the hammer was returned, Phlan would be wiped off the face of Toril forever.

"Help us, Tyr." Anton muttered a prayer. "Help us to hold on."

Six other clerics ascended the walls to stand beside Anton. Below, Tarl led a dozen more clerics in the chants that lent magical strength to the gray stone walls and the huge iron gates. At last the horde of undead reached the temple, filling the air with their foul reek.

Anton gazed at the attackers in horror. He had seen corpses raised from the grave before, and though the sight had been unpleasant, it was nothing compared to the throng of abominations he saw before him now.

These zombies were mockeries of living beings, fused from the disparate pieces of myriad creatures as if they had been pasted together by a madman. A snarling elf possessing arms that ended, not in hands, but in the snapping heads of vipers. An undead lion with the rotting upper bodies of three bow-wielding halflings protruding from its back. A gigantic spider, its head that of a beautiful, pale-skinned woman, but its eyes the mindless, many-faceted orbs of an insect. And still more and worse that made Anton sick even to look.

"In the name of Tyr, return to the graves that spawned you, creatures of evil!" Anton boomed, raising his arms above his head. The six clerics flanking him followed suit. Shimmering blue light glowed around their fingertips.

A score of zombies in the lead abruptly collapsed into heaps of dust, destroyed by the holy power of Tyr, but more zombie abominations lurched forward to take the place of those that had been eliminated.

"Come, clerics of Tyr!" a goblin fused to the back of a decomposing wolf cackled with a dirty grin. "Come, join us."

"Why do you resist?" a mold-covered woman with scorpion tails for hair called in a syrupy voice. "If you fight us, you will perish, and then your bodies will be fused to ours. Whether you resist or not, inevitably you will join us."

A cacophony rose from the surging throng. "Join us! Joined to us! Join us!"

Anton gagged in revulsion. "Let Tyr's power strengthen you!" he called to the clerics beside him. All raised their arms once more, calling down the holy wrath of their god. Again, an entire rank of zombies exploded into clouds of choking dust.

Still more shambled forward, jeering at the clerics of Tyr.

Again, Anton and the six clerics beside him summoned Tyr's power to destroy the slavering undead. And still again. One of the clerics collapsed in exhaustion, but the others chanted on, sending their prayers to Tyr. Fifty more undead burst into foul-smelling dust before another two clerics crumpled into unconsciousness, utterly drained from the effort of channeling so much magical energy.

In the end Anton alone stood upon the rampart to call on Tyr's power. It was a measure of his willpower that a dozen more zombies exploded into yellow splinters.

Anton felt his knees give way. He slumped to the battlement, gasping for breath. He and his comrades had destroyed fully ten score zombies. But more had appeared to take their places, and the horde stretched through the city's streets as far as the eye could see, out the Death Gates and to the distant horizon, a great, writhing, fearsome stain upon the land.

"Strengthen the gates!" he shouted down hoarsely.

Tarl was ready. "Tyr, grant us the power of your protection!" the white-haired cleric called out in a ringing voice.

A dozen clerics chanted fervent prayers. Suddenly, massive columns of jagged stone began to push up out of the ground before the gates, growing like gigantic trees. In moments, a dozen columns towered in front of the gates, bolstering the portals. As the first zombies approached, spikes shot out of the columns like huge, stony thorns, impaling the undead creatures. The zombies writhed on the spikes, shredding their own rotting flesh with their struggles. Blue lightning crackled around their bodies, burning them to cinders.

More zombies lurched mindlessly toward the gates. They, too, were impaled by the huge stone thorns and consumed by holy fire. Still more followed suit.

The clerics chanted on. As one tired, slumping to his knees, another stepped forward to take his or her place. Through it all, Tarl's voice never faltered.

The zombies continued their mindless advance, letting out inhuman screams as the spikes rent their undead flesh and lightning coursed through their bodies, streaming out of their wounds and blankly staring eyes.

The clerics chanted on, their voices growing ragged.

Suddenly the mass of zombies parted before the gate. A huge fire giant strode through their ranks. His undead body was whole, but instead of eyes, in each socket was lodged the head of a dwarf. Screaming orders, the dual dwarf heads directed the lumbering body of the giant. The towering giant gripped two of the columns in its enormous hands.

A dozen spikes shot out, piercing the giant's hands. Holy magic crackled along the length of the monster's arms. Flesh sizzled and bubbled, filling the air with its stench. But the magic was not enough. The giant's arms tensed. The two columns shattered in a spray of stone, clearing a space before the gate. The giant reached out, gripping the top of the iron portal.

Tarl, hearing the collapse, cried, "Louder, clerics of Tyr!" but this time their chants were to no avail.

The fire giant grunted; the dual dwarf heads shrieked orders. The monster's muscles bulged until they seemed ready to burst. Suddenly the sound of rending metal shattered the air. Shards of iron flew in all directions. The gates were sundered.

The clerics of Tyr stared in horror as the fire giant stepped through, the dwarf heads in its eye sockets laughing evilly.

Even then, Tarl Desanea stood strong.

He could see the magically animated zombie clearly. In one swift move, he hurled his warhammer. It spun through the air and struck the giant directly between its hideous dwarf-eyes. The fire giant's head exploded in a spray of rotting meat. It tottered and fell backward, crushing dozens of zombies to pulp beneath its bulk.

"Retreat to the temple!" Tarl shouted.

Hastily the clerics retreated, hauling Anton and the others who had collapsed back with them.

"What of you, Brother Tarl?" Sister Sendara called out when it became clear that Tarl did not intend to budge from the twisted wreckage of the gates.

"My place is here," the white-haired cleric said fiercely.

The old priestess only nodded, understanding in her dark eyes. She dashed into the temple with the others.

"Hurry, Kern," Tarl whispered softly, hoping somehow, somewhere, his son could hear him. "Wherever you are, you must hurry."

As the zombies rushed forward, jabbering with wicked glee, Tarl held up a single hand.

"By Tyr, none shall pass!"

Suddenly a shining wall of transparent blue fire appeared, sealing the gaping breach in the temple's wall. The zombies recoiled from it. They could not pass through the holy light. Tarl clenched his jaw, concentrating. Despite the cold, sweat beaded on his furrowed brow, rolling in rivulets down his face. He could feel Tyr's strength flowing through him like liquid fire. A strange elation began to fill him; a fierce grin spread across his face. His days of self-pity and mourning were gone. All that mattered was his belief in Tyr and in justice.

By all the gods of light, Shal, Tarl shouted inwardly, I will not give up! Somehow, I will hold on!

Zombies shrieked in rage as by the dozens they tried to pass through the gates and perished. The magical barrier did not waver. Tarl's faith sustained him against their onslaught But gradually, the fire in his blood burned hotter and hotter.

Inside the temple's portico, Anton staggered weakly to his feet. He gazed between the marble columns. Awe filled him at what he saw.

"How long… how long do you think he can hold the wall?" he asked in hoarse amazement.

"Until the magic consumes him," Sister Sendara answered sharply, "and he dies."

Kern and his companions were up with the cold gray dawn.

Daile drew her previously miniaturized mount from a pocket and set it on the ground. Miltiades' white stallion breathed on the figurine, and instantly Daile's roan mare was snorting and pawing at the ground. Unfortunately, Evaine and Gamaliel were without mounts.

"I can run as swiftly as any horse," Gamaliel said with a laugh. Shimmering, his body remolded itself into his feline form. It was Listle who came up with a solution for Evaine. The elf gave her horse to the sorceress while she herself rode behind Trooper on Lancer's broad back. This was much to the elder paladin's chagrin, however, for it was clear after the first mile that Listle was a definite saddle hog.

"All your squirming is going to make me sick," he growled to the elven illusionist. "Can't you sit still?"

"No," she replied sweetly.

The old paladin grunted in exasperation. Listle gave a smug smile and wriggled another inch forward on the saddle, claiming still more territory for herself.

Trooper bent down and pretended to scratch his mount's ears. "All right, Lancer," he whispered surreptitiously to the big stallion. "I'll hold onto the saddle horn while you start kicking…"

"Elves have very good ears, Trooper," Listle warned.

The paladin hurriedly sat up straight, a guilty look on his face.

Kern shook his head as he watched this exchange. He could almost believe that this was the old Listle he saw, unpredictable and light-hearted, smiling and joking as if she had never spoken of Sifahir's tower or of what had happened to her there. Almost. Except that every once in a while, when she must have thought he wasn't looking, she would glance fleetingly in Kern's direction, sadness in her silvery eyes.

"You can't love an illusion," he muttered softly to himself. "Gods, you can't even get a grip on one!"

He shook his head, trying to clear it. He couldn't think about Listle. Not now. He had to be ready to face Sirana at the pool.

All morning they made slow progress, ascending a narrow pass between knife-edged peaks, breaking trail through deep drifts of soft, powdery snow. The wind at the summit whipped at them cruelly, and they quickly descended the other side of the pass, riding into a deep valley.

"Are we nearing the pinnacle of stone, Evaine?" Miltiades asked as the sun began its westward trek. The paladin rode close to the sorceress.

"I think so," she replied. "I would know for certain if I could get a look above the trees."

"I think I can arrange something," Daile said a bit mysteriously. Without explanation, the ranger wheeled her horse around and quickly disappeared among the trees.

Kern exchanged a curious glance with the others.

Scant minutes later, Daile caught up with the group. Her cheeks were flushed, and she seemed slightly out of breath.

"I got a glimpse of the spire," she said excitedly. "It's no more than an hour's ride ahead."

Kern gave the ranger a piercing look. "How do you know, Daile?"

"I… I found a pile of boulders and climbed them," she said, but this didn't ring true. However, no one pressed the question.

Before long, the sun slipped behind a mountain, casting a premature gloom over the forest. Finally the pines gave way to rolling alpine tundra, and they espied the pinnacle of stone. It loomed above them, a foreboding sentinel. At the base of the natural basalt spire was a grove of what appeared to be dark, leafless oak trees. But there was something unnatural about the grove.

"I can see through the trees!" Listle exclaimed in surprise.

"Can't you feel it?" Daile asked, shuddering. 'They're not living trees at all. They're shadows. Dark echoes of the trees that used to grow there." She swore fiercely. "An abomination."

"It is the magic of the twilight pool," Evaine explained. "It pervades the very ground here, perverting all it touches. We must be careful."

Kern drew the hammer from his belt. "At least there are no monsters here to block our way."

"You're awfully sure of yourself," Trooper noted cuttingly.

"Do you see any monsters?" Kern asked in exasperation.

"No, but that's not the point." Trooper scratched his grizzled beard thoughtfully. "I remember a man who might not have been as eager as you to ride into that grove."

Kern groaned. "I know you're trying to help, Trooper, but this isn't really the time for one of your long-winded stories."

"Nonsense," the old paladin snorted. "It's the perfect time. This fellow I'm thinking of was a veteran warrior before you were even a mischievous whim in your parents' minds. One day we were riding across the Stonelands some leagues to the east of here when we saw a huge white fortress perched high on a hill. I asked him what he thought of the place. He said to me, 'Well, it's white on this side.'" The paladin paused, apparently waiting for Kern's reaction.

"I don't understand," Kern said with a frown.

"Don't jump to conclusions, lad!" Trooper's bushy eyebrows bristled as if for emphasis. "That's what it means. Believe what your eyes tell you, but only what they tell you, and no more."

Kern nodded, realizing his foolhardiness. It seemed there was still much to being a paladin that he had yet to learn. But there was no more time. They had reached the pool. He would just have to do his best to remember the lessons Trooper had taught him these last days, and hope he had learned enough.

The riders dismounted. On foot, they crossed the gray, snow-dusted tundra to the shadow-filled grove of trees. Evaine paused, shutting her eyes and spreading her arms wide. She winced, a flicker of pain crossing her brow.

"I can feel the power of the pool emanating from among the trees," she said hoarsely. "The entrance to the cavern is somewhere in the grove."

They stepped among the twisted shadow trees.

"I can still feel the suffering," Daile murmured. "Everything that perished here did so in great pain."

Gloom filled the air. Kern could see no more than a dozen paces ahead in the murk. The trees seemed to close in behind them with disconcerting swiftness. It was almost as if the trees had moved to block their escape, Kern thought He quickly discarded the unpleasant notion.

Trooper pulled out an oil-soaked torch, and flint and tinder to light it.

"I wouldn't do that," Evaine hissed.

The old paladin froze, then nodded. "You're right. I doubt they much care for fire."

"Whom do you speak of?" Miltiades asked, but Trooper did not answer.

They continued on.

Listle looked around nervously, her eyes growing wider by the minute. She began to turn her head this way and that. It felt as if someone-or something-was creeping up from behind them. She felt sure of it. The sensation grew stronger with each passing step.

"There's something behind us!" she whispered hoarsely.

"Get a hold of yourself," Trooper growled. "There is magic at work here. Fear lingers on the air, but you have to resist it. We're only as strong as our weakest link. If you succumb, Listle, we're all lost."

She nodded silently, clenching her jaw. She did her best to push the fear from her mind. It wasn't easy, but if the others could manage, she could as well.

A rough, natural wall of stone loomed before them in the gray air. A jagged opening yawned like a gigantic maw. Evaine did not need to say that this was the entrance to the pool.

The attack came without warning.

A ring of shadow trees closed around them, swinging dark limbs ending in sharp, broken branches.

Kern was knocked from his feet and fell hard to the earth. A tree plucked Daile off the ground. The ranger screamed as she struggled to free herself, but more and more branches snaked out to grip her.

A dozen branches reached for Miltiades. He swung at them with his sword, his blade passing right through the shadow substance of the trees. Quickly he scrambled out of their reach. Evaine chanted the words of a spell. A ball of green lightning appeared in her hand, which she hurled at a knot of shadow trees. The lightning expanded as it flew through the air. It struck the approaching trees dead-on, bursting in a brilliant spray of emerald sparks. The shadow trees marched on, unaffected.

"Let her go!" Kern shouted, gaining his feet and charging the tree that held Daile. He swung the hammer at its trunk. Like Miltiades' sword, it passed right through the immaterial substance of the tree.

"How can we fight shadows?" Trooper cried. He, too, was having no luck with his sword, and Gamaliel's claws proved no more effective against the shadow trees.

"I have an idea," Listle shouted. "Everyone, hold your weapons high!"

Kern didn't know what the elf intended, but there was no time to question her. The circle of trees was tightening around them. He raised the Hammer of Tyr into the air. Trooper and Miltiades did likewise with their weapons.

Listle moved her hands in an intricate pattern. Suddenly all three of the upraised weapons shimmered with magical fire. "Now give them a try," she said with a grin.

Miltiades turned to an approaching tree. He swung his sword, cleaving an outstretched branch in two. The tree recoiled in agony, the severed branch smoking. With a cry, Kern hurled himself at the tree that held Daile captive. His blow landed squarely on its trunk. The shadow tree shuddered as crimson flame licked up its dark surface.

It still did not let go of Daile.

Kern swore. The flames would consume her along with the tree.

"Daile, you've got to break free!" he cried.

"I can't!" She struggled frantically, to no avail. The flames leaped higher, until Daile was lost to sight. Kern staggered backward in horror as the tree toppled to the ground. In moments the flames died down and vanished. There was nothing left of the shadow tree.

Daile sat on the ground, unhurt, a puzzled expression on her face.

"How-How-" she began.

"It's illusionary fire!" Listle called out in explanation.

Suddenly Kern understood the logic. "Illusionary fire to burn shadow trees," he said in amazement. "How did you guess, Listle?"

She regarded him with a strange expression. "I'm the expert on illusions, aren't I, Kern?"

He did not have time to reply. Cold, misty branches clutched at him from behind. He whirled around, hammer blazing, and another tree was turned into flaming splinters.

With the help of Listle's magical fire, Kern, Miltiades, and Trooper made quick work of the rest of the shadow trees. At last the grove was silent. If the remaining trees were capable of fighting, they were less willing to try now.

Kern drew in a deep breath of relief. They had survived the first test.

"This cannot be!" Sirana shrieked.

She stood upon a small spur of rock in the center of the pool of twilight. Her body was completely obscured now by the brilliant metallic flecks that swirled madly beneath her skin, but she neither noticed nor cared. She watched an image in the surface of the pool. Kern and his wretched band of friends had just slain her beautiful shadow trees.

"How dare they defy me?" she screamed once more, her voice resounding through the vast cavern.

For the first time since becoming guardian of the pool, she felt a pang of anxiety. She had believed her power to be invincible. Could it be that these fools truly presented a threat to her?

"They will not defeat me!" she snarled. "I will have my revenge. And the Hammer of Tyr. Then I will become a goddess!"

But perhaps she needed some help.

Yes, that was it. Why hadn't she thought of getting help sooner? There was one in particular who could help her defeat the paladin-puppy and his band of idiots. In fact, he would have no choice but to aid her.

She cast her mind forth, using the power of the pool to send forth a summons. A summons that could not be refused.

When that was done, she turned her thoughts to a plan. She needed something else out of the ordinary to neutralize the invaders. But what?

Suddenly a gleaming tendril of water lifted itself from the pool, bearing a staff of dull silver. Sirana laughed.

Ah, yes, the Staff of Twilight. The pool knew her very thoughts. She reached out and grasped the throbbing staff.

Now she had everything she needed.

Dusk alighted on the high crag, spreading wide his midnight-black wings.

A thousand dragons filled the huge valley that stretched before him. For three days he had flown the length and breadth of the Moonsea, using the power Sirana had granted him from the pool to rally the evil dragons. Black, blue, red, and green, he sought them all in their lairs, deep in dank caves and perched on mountain heights. The magic of the twilight pool lent power to his words, and it had been simple to fan the spark of hatred each dragon bore in its heart for humankind.

"Hear me now, my brothers and sisters!" Dusk trumpeted, his voice thundering throughout the valley. "The second dragon-rage is nigh! We shall drive the humans from their homes. We shall slay them to the last. And then we will plunder their cities of treasure. Each of you will gain a hoard of gold such as a king only dreams of!"

And, Dusk added to himself, I will have a hundred times that many riches, a treasure such as Faerun has never known. He smiled toothily, immensely pleased. None could hold the feeblest candle to his majesty. He was the most powerful dragon in all the northlands, and the others recognized his stature. But he was more than simply the strongest of his kind. He was their ruler, the emperor of dragons.

Dusk opened his many-fanged maw, ready to send out the order that would bring the dragons soaring into the sky in a deadly rainbow of color, the order that would begin the second dragon-rage. At last, he would have his long-awaited revenge against that wretched city of Phlan, and against all humankind.

Suddenly a voice pierced his mind.

Come to me, Dusk! I have need of you.

Dusk froze. No, this could not be! He felt something clutch at his essence, as if his heart were a puppet on a string.

"I will not, Sirana!" Dusk shrieked. Flecks of twilight swirled wildly in his one good eye.

Heed my call, Dusk. You cannot resist.

"No!" he screamed. Stones all around shattered at the furious pitch of his voice. But his wings had already started to beat, lifting him from the crag. His blood burned in his veins. It was as if he were a fish caught on a fisherman's line, slowly being reeled in. He tried to resist the pull, but it was too strong, too overpowering. The magical power he had accepted bound him inexorably to the pool.

"Curse you, Sirana! You will pay for this!"

Finally he could resist no longer. Silver sparks blazing in his eye, he soared high into the air, streaking toward the pool of twilight

Below him the evil dragons let out a roar of anger and confusion. Their leader was abandoning them. Without his influence, glorious thoughts of gold and human cities in flame evaporated from their minds. Their individual suspicious and greedy natures returned. Those that did not wheel to attack the dragons nearest to them immediately leaped into the air and sped back to their lairs to jealously guard their private hoards.

The second dragon-rage was over before it had begun.

The seven adventurers stood before the gaping entrance of the cave.

"Be ready," Evaine warned.

"For what?" Listle asked with a gulp.

"Anything," the sorceress replied.

Listle sighed. "I was afraid that was what you were going to say."

Kern led the way into the dark tunnel, the others following close behind. There was no hope of catching Sirana by surprise. The attack of the shadow trees showed that she was all too aware of their presence. Their only hope was to distract her long enough so that Evaine could cast her spell to destroy the pool. How exactly they were going to do that, no one could say.

Kern held the Hammer of Tyr aloft before him. The weapon gave off a faint blue light, but the darkness seemed to smother the illumination. He could see no more than a few scant feet before him.

The tunnel wound down into the pitch darkness. The air grew stuffier. Soon Kern was sweating inside his armor. It was growing difficult to breathe.

There was no warning when the floor suddenly yawned beneath them.

Kern screamed as he plummeted through jet blackness. He heard the cries of the others around him, heard their voices echoing off stone, but he could no longer see them. Dank air whipped wildly past him. The cries of the others were cut short. Kern felt himself become tangled in a mass of something sticky and rubbery.

Then he hit the ground.

He lay stunned for long minutes. Then, dizzily, he pulled himself to his feet. A dim gray light sprang to life around him. He could see that his armor was covered with sticky blue cobwebs. That meant someone had tried to use…

His head snapped up. He stood at the edge of a dull, metallic-looking pool of water in the center of a vast cavern. He gasped when he saw his companions suspended in the air twenty feet above the pool, struggling futilely against invisible bonds that gripped them.

A form stood on a rock in the center of the pool, holding a gleaming staff. At first, the being's outline was obscured by the bright sparks of twilight that swirled within its flesh.

Then, with a surge of fury, Kern recognized the being.

"Yes, Kern, it is I," Sirana's voice sneered. "Welcome to the pool of twilight."