Pool of Twilight

20

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.

"By Tyr," he whispered softly. "I'm alive."

Evaine laughed for joy, throwing her arms around the handsome, dark-haired knight. His blue eyes shone with surprise, then he returned the embrace.

"Excuse me, Evaine," Listle said wryly, after this embrace had gone on for more than a few moments. "But there are some other people who would like a chance to hug Miltiades, too."

Evaine flushed in embarrassment, but Listle only grinned as she threw her arms around the two of them. Kern, Daile, and Gamaliel followed suit, their laughter filling the cavern.

It wasn't until later that they discovered Trooper.

They found the old paladin sitting on a low spur of stone, his eyes closed, a faintly mischievous smile resting on his lips. Heavy, golden beams of sunlight slanted down from the jagged hole in the cavern's roof, igniting the old man's hair in a fiery halo. They did not need to feel for his heartbeat to know that he was dead.

"He has passed on to Tyr's halls now," Miltiades said gravely. Evaine reached out and squeezed his hand tightly. Listle wept bitterly, burying her head in her hands as Daile did her best to comfort the elf.

Kern knelt beside Trooper's lifeless body, not trying to hide the tears that rolled down his own cheeks. "Thank you," was all he whispered softly.

On a brilliant winter's solstice day, Kern ceremonially returned the Hammer of Tyr to its rightful place in the temple. It was an auspicious day for the ritual, Sister Sendara said, for it was the day when the sun began its trek northward and the days grew longer once more, heralding the coming spring.

There were other good omens as well, for a legendary paladin walked the world again. The temple's clerics had observed Miltiades with awe these last few days. However, Miltiades did not mind. He was used to being stared at, if for different reasons.

As Kern walked to the temple's nave bearing the hammer, the sign of hope most important to him came in the form of a tall, regal, red-haired woman who sat on a marble bench. As he neared her, the beautiful woman stood and kissed him on the cheek.

"You've grown handsome, my son," she murmured.

Kern blushed. "Thank you, Mother."

Only the barest traces of shadow lingered in the sorceress's cheeks. The Hammer of Tyr had healed her almost completely of the injury caused to her by the guardian of the pool.

No, Kern, a gruff, cantankerous voice seemed to whisper in his mind. The hammer didn't heal Shal. You healed her.

Kern looked around, wondering where the voice came from, though he had a suspicion. He knew enough not to argue.

Shal returned to her seat next to Tarl, gripping his hand affectionately. The white-haired cleric smiled proudly, even though he could not see his son. Despite its powers, the Hammer of Tyr had not cured Tarl's blindness. While this had saddened Kern, his father had told him to put his sorrow aside. Whether he could see or not, Tarl knew that he was the same man as before. Except, perhaps, a little bit wiser.

Kern couldn't help but chuckle as he passed his grinning friends on the way to the ornate marble altar. Anton nodded to him solemnly then. It was time.

"In the name of Tyr," Kern called out, "I return this relic to its rightful place!" He set the hammer down upon the altar.

The next day, Phlan started to change.

True, there was little enough different to meet the eye. The streets were still dark and sullen, littered with refuse, the buildings lining them dilapidated and crumbling. But as Kern walked through the city, here and there he noticed small things that gave him cause for hope. For the first time in recent memory, the tall smokestacks looming over the city no longer belched forth black, sulfurous smoke. A steady breeze from the Moonsea was already clearing the gloomy cloud hanging over Phlan.

People had been trickling back into the city these last days. Most of them seemed a bit dazed, as if they had just woken from a dark nightmare. They stared at the city in dismay, as if only truly seeing it for the first time. Slowly, they began to rebuild their lives.

Kern passed an old woman planting lily bulbs in a flower bed in front of her clapboard hovel. A group of raggedly clad children ran by, laughing merrily. He strolled past a tavern and realized it was the one he had passed with Tarl and Listle the day they had gone to the temple to learn the answer to Bane's riddle. Odd, he thought, that it seemed so long ago now. He watched as the innkeep busily painted over the sign that had once read "The Bloated Corpse." Now it read "The Golden Feather," a more auspicious name to Kern's mind. A pretty young woman threw open the tavern's shuttered windows, whistling a cheerful tune.

Kern shook his head. Already the grip of the dark gods was loosening. It would be a long time until Phlan was truly healed, he knew, perhaps years. But with the Hammer of Tyr returned to its rightful place, the healing had begun. Nor would the clerics of Tyr stand idle. Already Anton and Tarl were concocting plans to help restore the city.

Kern found his traveling companions in the main room of Denlor's Tower. Tarl was upstairs with Shal. Though the sorceress seemed all but recovered, Tarl had forbidden her from working until he was certain she was fully rejuvenated.

"If I don't start doing some magic soon, I'm liable to forget how to cast a spell altogether!" she had complained, but Tarl had not been swayed, and neither Kern nor Listle were about to argue with the brawny, white-haired cleric.

Kern was dismayed but not surprised to see Daile packing her belongings.

"It's time I returned to the Valley of the Falls," she explained, slinging her magical bow over her shoulder. She smiled wryly. "If I stay away too long, the orcs will start thinking they own the place."

He laughed and hugged her tightly.

"Well, we can't have that," Kern told her. "After all, what would Ren think?"

"Keep him out of trouble, Listle," Daile told the elf as if Kern were not listening, a habit she and the elf had which annoyed him to no end.

The elf snorted, as if this was a good joke. "You wrangle your orcs, Daile. Leave Kern to me."

Her words sounded vaguely ominous, but Kern wasn't quite certain why.

Daile left the tower, promising to visit soon. But when Kern glanced out the window, he noticed that the young ranger had paused to talk to Gamaliel. Evaine's familiar was in his human form. The two spoke together for a moment, and Daile gripped the barbarian's hand tightly. Then she was gone. Kern didn't know what had passed between them, but Gamaliel stood in the courtyard until dusk began to gather, gazing off to where Daile had vanished.

A voice spoke behind him.

"I just talked to Brookwine and Winebrook. Primul is moving on."

Startled, Kern turned to see Listle step out of a wall, her ruby pendant flashing.

"Won't you ever get tired of that trick?" he asked in a perturbed voice.

She thought about it for a moment. "Probably not," she decided.

Suddenly her words struck him. "What did you mean, Primul is 'moving on'?"

Listle sighed. "He and the two mages are going to find a new hiding place. Sifahir's minion came too close for comfort. It's only a matter of time until another one of his servants discovers the grove in the forest. Primul wants to make certain he's long gone by then."

A coldness gathered in the pit of Kern's stomach. "Are you… are you going with him?"

She regarded him curiously with her brilliant eyes. "Do you want me to, Kern?"

"I want you to be safe, Listle. If that mage-"

She interrupted him. "That wasn't what I asked."

He thought for a long moment. "No," he said finally. "I want you to stay, Listle."

"Good," she said with a laugh. "Because you're stuck with me, Kern Desanea."

He wasn't certain if he had just received a prize or a prison sentence. Kern had learned on his journey that there was more to the diminutive elf than met the eye.

Much more. And something told him he had only scratched the surface. But no matter what surprises she held for him, or what secrets she kept, he knew now that there would always be a place for her in his heart.

"I don't think I'm ever going to figure you out, Listle," he said finally, shaking his head in exasperation.

"No," she said musingly, "I don't suppose you ever will."

With that, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him fleetingly. Then, with a flicker of her ruby pendant, she vanished through the stone wall, leaving him alone.

For a long while he stared outside into the gathering night. An image came to him, of a dark tower rising above a storm-swept sea. He shivered.

"I'll never let Sifahir hurt you again, Listle," he whispered to the night. "By my oath as a paladin, never."

He turned his back on the darkened window, returning to warm firelight and companionship.

It was late.

The moon rose over Phlan, veiling the city in gossamer light. Everyone in Denlor's Tower was asleep, except for two figures that stood upon a high balcony, braving the cold winter night.

"What now?" Evaine asked softly.

She seemed to be questioning herself as much as her companion. Her long hair shone in the pale moonlight. The sorceress was not a pretty woman in any conventional sense, but the pearly illumination lent a softness to her sharp features and piercing eyes.

"We've both been granted second chances, Evaine," Miltiades replied. "I suppose we both have to decide what to do with them."

Evaine marveled at the paladin's rich voice, so warm and burnished, now that the sepulchral echo was gone.

"But I have decided." She turned to face him. The cold wind tangled his long dark hair. Gods, but he was handsome, she thought. But it was not his strong features that enthralled her. It was his eyes, as dark as his hair, and brimming with vitality.

"There are still pools in Faerun, Miltiades," she went on. "I can't give up my quest now."

He nodded in perfect understanding.

"I, too, have quests to finish," he said softly. "Though they may be centuries old."

The sorceress smiled crookedly. The two were silent for a time. Suddenly Evaine shivered, the winter chill creeping into her bones. Gently, Miltiades drew her to him. Once before, she had tried to embrace him, and the chill had numbed her fingers. But this time his touch was warm and welcome.

"Our quests may not be over," she murmured. "But maybe… maybe this once we can leave them until tomorrow."

"Until tomorrow," he echoed.

Their embrace grew tighter, fiercer. Then, arm in arm, they stepped inside, shutting out the darkness behind them.

Moments later, a figure stirred in the shadows.

Gamaliel moved into the moonlight. A faint smile touched the barbarian man's lips. Suddenly his form blurred. A tawny cat vanished stealthily into the night, leaving the balcony empty.