Pool of Twilight

5

"Thieves?" Tarl asked in shock. "But how can you be sure?"

"It was the way they handled themselves in battle that gave me the first clue," Anton replied. The big, shaggy cleric of Tyr sat in a heavy oak chair in the main chamber of Denlor's Tower. Shal was bandaging a ragged gash on Anton's shoulder in her typically efficient manner. Kern and Listle sat at a nearby table, picking at some food Shal had set out for them. Neither was particularly hungry. Once the excitement of the battle had faded, Kern found the feeling replaced by exhaustion and not just a little trepidation, for the fiends had made it clear they were after him.

"Those warriors were used to moving about unencumbered," Anton went on. "And they were obviously accustomed to using smaller and shorter weapons. They kept trying to attack at close quarters even though they didn't have adequate room to swing a long sword. All that points to their being members of the thieves' guild. But what clinched it were the notched ears."

"Notched ears?" Tarl asked with a frown.

"That's right. The last guildmaster, Bercan, lost his left ear in a duel some years ago. Ever since, the thieves of Phlan have notched their left ears as a sign of loyalty." Anton grimaced in pain as Shal deftly but firmly tightened the bandage around his shoulder. "By all the gods of light, woman, can't you be a little gentler? I'm hurt enough as it is."

"Something tells me you'll live, Anton," Shal said dryly. He gave her a glowering look, which she returned with a laugh. She gathered her salves and bandages, and turned her attention to Kern. Fortunately, none of his wounds were as deep as the gouge in Anton's shoulder.

Listle spoke up. It was virtually impossible to keep the elf out of a conversation for very long anyway. "What would the thieves of Phlan want with the Hammer of Tyr, Patriarch Anton? Could they have ransomed it back to the temple for gold?"

"Perhaps," Anton replied with a shrug. "Or more likely they were interested in the riches that are said to be hidden with the hammer."

Tarl struck fist against palm. The blind cleric paced before the hearth in agitation. "There's still something about this that bothers me. The thieves' guild has never attacked the temple before, let alone in broad daylight. And posing as warriors is very unusual. What could have made them do it? There's something else to this mystery."

"Fiends." Shal looked up from her work, a grim light in her emerald eyes. "Since when have thieves been able to summon fiends from the Nine Hells?"

Anton stood. "Since never," he growled.

"Then it might be interesting to know who summoned them," Shal mused. "If we answer that question, I think we'll find out who it is that so desperately wants the hammer. And the Hammerseeker." She frowned disapprovingly at her son as the salve she had smeared across one of his cuts turned into a puff of sticky blue cobwebs. "I told you to concentrate on keeping your wall of resistance down, Kern," she said sternly. "The salves won't work if you can't control your unmagic for at least a few seconds."

"Sorry." Kern's expression was sheepish. "I don't know why, but it keeps getting harder."

Shal studied him for a long moment. "It's most likely the aftereffect of the battle," she decided. "The more danger you're in, the stronger your unmagic is likely to get." She set down the jar of magical salve, reaching for a cloth soaked in warm water laced with willow bark. "I'm afraid you're going to have to heal naturally this time."

"You'd better get used to battle, Kern," Anton warned the young man gravely. "I have little doubt that this was only the first in a wave of attacks. Someone wants the Hammer of Tyr very badly, and they're going to do whatever it takes to get it. I imagine that even now our mysterious foe is enslaving more fiends from the nether worlds."

Listle sighed deeply. "The poor fiends."

Kern gaped at her. "'The poor fiends?' " he practically choked. "What on Toril are you talking about, Listle?"

"They didn't ask to be summoned and enslaved," the elven illusionist said indignantly.

"Listle, they're fiends," Kern retorted in disbelief. "They're evil."

"How do you know all of them are really evil?" Listle demanded, hands on her hips. "Maybe some of them have been ordered to attack us against their will." She fidgeted with the shimmering ruby pendant hanging at her throat.

Kern shook his head in amazement. What had gotten into the foolish elf? "Believe me, Listle, only an evil wizard would have summoned them. So they have to be evil."

"Is that so?" Listle said scathingly. Her silvery eyes were blazing. She spun around and flounced right through a wall of solid basalt. Kern could only gawk after her in bewilderment.

"What's the matter with her?" he asked in a wounded voice.

Shal regarded her son seriously, then sighed. "You're very pigheaded, Kern."

"Kern didn't do anything wrong," Anton protested. "Listle was talking nonsense."

The red-haired sorceress rolled her eyes. "Men!" she exclaimed, as if that were explanation enough. Kern, Tarl, and Anton wore looks of confusion.

"Oh, quit gaping like that," Shal snapped. "There are some things men never seem to learn."

The looks of confusion grew even worse. Shal smacked a palm against her forehead. "Never mind!" she said in exasperation.

With a groan, Shal left the three men and went in search of her apprentice. She finally found the elf in an unlikely place-sweeping the floor in Shal's own spellcasting chamber. It wasn't a task the elf generally volunteered to do. She must be upset, indeed, the sorceress thought.

After a long moment, Shal spoke gently. "Kern can be a bit stubborn, can't he?"

Listle looked up from her work in surprise. Then she nodded, sighing. "You can say that again."

Shal smiled fondly. "He's his father's son in that regard. But he didn't mean to upset you, Listle. You know that, don't you?"

The elf nodded. "I know, Shal. And I'm not mad at him, really." A faint, impish smile touched her lips. "Well, not much anyway."

Shal laughed at this. She took the broom from Listle's hands and sat the elf down in a chair. Then she brewed a pot of herbal tea over a small brazier and poured two cups full of the steaming, fragrant liquid.

Shal sat and regarded her apprentice thoughtfully for a moment. The truth was, Listle was almost as much a mystery to the sorceress as she was to Kern. The elf had shown up at the tower two years before, wanting to learn the craft of magic, and Shal did not have the heart to turn her down. Besides, Shal had sorely needed an apprentice to help out around the laboratory, and Listle had proved to be both a quick study and a hard worker, if a bit unpredictable at times.

Yet after two years, Shal knew little more of the elf than she had been told that first day. Listle's homeland was Evermeet, the land of the silver elves far across the western Sea of Swords, but she spoke of her past rarely. And Shal was not the type to pry.

Listle broke the silence. "Shal, tell me how Tarl first brought the Hammer of Tyr to Phlan. He had a difficult time, didn't he?"

The sorceress stared in surprise at Listle's unexpected question. Then she nodded. Sometimes the best way to forget your own troubles was to listen to someone else's. She sipped her tea, thinking.

"It was more than thirty years ago," Shal began. "Tarl had just become a cleric of Tyr-under Anton's watchful eye, of course-and he journeyed with a dozen of his brethren to Phlan. Their mission was to deliver the Hammer of Tyr to the temple that had just been built here, and to join the few clerics already in residence. You see, in those days, most of the ancient city of Phlan lay in ruins, overrun by creatures of evil. Only a few sections, small bastions of light and order, were civilized. As they arrived at the outskirts of the city, the clerics were attacked by the undead of Valhingen Graveyard." Shal shook her head sadly. "Of the newly arrived clerics, all but Tarl and Anton were killed, and a dread vampire stole the hammer."

Listle drew her knees up to her chin, caught up in the tale. "You were in the city then, too, weren't you, Shal?"

The sorceress nodded. "I had come by means of a wishing ring, in hopes of finding what had become of my master. I had the good fortune to meet Tarl, as well as our closest friend, the ranger, Ren o' the Blade."

She shook her head, smiling fondly at the memories of her first adventures with Tarl and Ren. "Together, the three of us discovered that the leader of the city's Council of Ten was in league with an evil dragon, the Lord of the Ruins. As it turned out, the councilman was responsible for the death of my dear master, who had stood in his way, as well as the death of Ren's beloved Tempest, a thief who had stolen the magical ioun stones the dragon needed to control the pool of radiance that lay in the ruins. Together, we managed to defeat both the council leader and the dragon. Then Tarl fought the vampire in Valhingen Graveyard. With his faith in Tyr, he was victorious, and regained the hammer."

Shal set down her empty teacup. "With the hammer resting on the altar in the temple of Tyr, it wasn't long before the city began to grow and prosper. More and more of the ruins were rebuilt, the monsters driven away. Phlan was truly restored, and it was the hammer's doing."

Listle nodded in understanding. "But with the hammer gone…"

"The process is reversing itself," Shal said grimly. "Eventually, Phlan will again become the ravaged place it was for so many centuries."

Listle's eyes went wide. "What are we going to do, Shal?" she asked breathlessly.

Shal tapped her chin thoughtfully. "I think I know someone who just might be able to help. The prophecy spoke of a magical pool somehow being involved in all of this, didn't it?"

Listle's head bobbed. "That's right. 'The twilight pool.'" She frowned, her bottom lip jutting out. "Whatever that is."

Shal laughed. "Well, there's only one expert on pools that I know of. Perhaps I should pay her a call. Come, let's go tell the others."

The sorceress bent over a small iron caldron hanging above a flickering fire. The special brew had to be exactly right. There was no margin for error. She pulled a few dried leaves from a leather pouch at her belt. Carefully, she crumpled them into the bubbling contents of the caldron.

The sorceress shivered, drawing her heavy sheepskin coat more tightly about her shoulders. The autumn air of the glade was chill with the coming winter. All around her, leaves fluttered down, mantling the ground with a crisp, crackling blanket of russet, crimson, and tarnished gold. Squirrels chattered in the branches of the ancient oak and ash trees that surrounded the clearing. The sorceress cocked her head, trying to listen to the small animals. After a minute she gave up. All squirrels ever seemed to talk about were acorns.

The sorceress sprinkled a pinch of black powder into the caldron. Close, very close, she thought. But not yet. She couldn't risk any mistakes. She leaned back against a fallen tree trunk to wait and think. She was a woman who prized patience. Patience was the key to the greatest magic.

The sorceress was clad in deerskin breeches, a thick wine-colored tunic of fine wool, soft but remarkably tough boots of wyvern leather, and a heavy cloak of forest green, its weave so tight rain dripped right off it. It wasn't a wizard's typically gaudy garb, but it suited her perfectly.

All in all, there was a rather ageless quality about the sorceress. Her long, chestnut-colored hair was marked only by a single, rather dramatic streak of gray. At first glance the sorceress might have seemed a woman barely past her third decade, but there was a wisdom in her deep green eyes that was strangely at odds with her youthful appearance. And anyone versed in the magical arts who observed the sorceress at her craft would have realized instantly that she had far too much power to be as youthful as she appeared.

In truth, the sorceress was well over a century old.

Once, she had lived an entire lifetime as an ambitious mage, doing whatever she could to acquire more and more magical power. It was an ambition that ultimately had led to disaster. She had sought to exploit a legendary pool of radiance to make herself the greatest wizard in Faerun. But her ego had proved her downfall. She had not been able to control the chaotic enchantment emanating from the pool of radiance. She was blasted into unconsciousness, and when she awoke, she found herself no longer an aged wizard, but a young woman once again. All her skills as a sorceress were gone.

Others might have quit, given up. But she had been granted a chance to live again, and she did not intend to throw away such an opportunity. Realizing the perilous nature of the magical pools that were concealed throughout Faerun, she had vowed never to rest until she found and destroyed them all. She had begun her magical studies anew. This time she had not sought power only for power's sake, but instead to combat the force of the pools. Over the course of the last thirty years, she had destroyed more than a dozen of the treacherous pools. Even so, her quest was far from over, if ever it truly would be.

Now she tended to the steaming caldron, adding a few more odds and ends from the numerous pouches strung along her belt. In her concentration, she did not hear the faint crackling of leaves in the trees behind her.

A pair of golden eyes gazed at the woman from the shadows of the forest. A lithe, tawny shape slunk between the trees, drawing closer to the glade. A stray beam of amber sunlight filtered its way through the branches above, briefly illuminating the stalker. It was a great cat, its muscles rippling under its smooth pelt. A beautiful creature, its buff-colored fur turned to a rich brown around its paws, muzzle, and the tip of its tail. Its eyes winking like green-gold gems, the cat's long whiskers twitched in anticipation. Its sensitive nose had caught the scent of the woman in the glade. A low rumble vibrated deep in the cat's throat.

The great cat padded to the edge of the clearing. The woman was no more than a dozen paces away, her attention focused on the fire. The feline's mouth opened slightly, revealing two stilettolike canines. It extended its razor-sharp claws as it crouched down, tail swishing, ready to pounce. It watched its prey, calculating the force necessary to land directly on the woman's back, and then-

"I know you're there, Gamaliel," the sorceress said in an amused voice. "I can feel your hot breath on the back of my neck."

With a groan, the great cat flopped down onto the leaves.

You're no fun, Evaine, the cat's pompous voice spoke inside the sorceress's mind.

"On the contrary," Evaine replied smugly as she turned around, "I think I'm heaps of fun."

She scratched the dejected-looking cat behind the ears. Gamaliel managed to resist her efforts for several seconds before desire got the better of him. He let out a deep, rumbling purr of pleasure, then rolled over, paws in the air.

"Let me guess," the sorceress mused. "I'm supposed to rub your tummy, is that it?"

Oh, wise wizard! came the reply. Your amazing powers of deduction truly astound me. Surely no other mage in Faerun can possess the intuition to rival your own!

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Gam," Evaine laughed. She began digging her fingers into the thick pelt covering the cat's chest. Gamaliel's green eyes closed until they were thin, gleaming slits. He began purring like an oversized kitten, which was pretty much what he looked like at the moment.

However, Evaine knew that looks could be deceiving. Over the years, the claws safely sheathed in Gamaliel's big, soft paws had ripped the life from countless enemies. Evaine had never met a warrior more ferocious or more deadly in battle than her great cat companion, and she rather doubted she ever would. Still, right now he was looking awfully cute-and somewhat silly. His rough, pink tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth.

I never look silly, came the testy reply to her thoughts.

The great cat was Evaine's familiar, so of course her mind and his were inextricably linked. Her first familiar, a snowy white owl, had died long years ago, during one of her quests to vanquish a magical pool. That had been a devastating blow. Evaine didn't know if she would ever have recovered if Gamaliel hadn't come along. Every mage, even the lowliest hedge wizard, needed a familiar-even if only a simple lizard or spider-but Evaine was lucky to have one such as Gamaliel. He was more than her protector. He was her truest friend, and she loved him dearly.

As well you should.

"You don't have to be so conceited about it."

I'm not being conceited, Gamaliel protested. I'm lovable, and you love me. What's wrong with that?

Evaine tried to think of a witty reply, but nothing came to mind. "Here, Gam," she said finally, getting up to stir the contents of the bubbling caldron. "I want you to taste this." She used a wooden spoon to scoop up some of the curious liquid. Flecks of herbs drifted on the surface.

Gamaliel's pink nose wrinkled. Do I have to? I really don't want to be metamorphosed into a toad, you know.

"Don't be such a baby, Gamaliel. Besides, it isn't a magical potion. It's soup. Your favorite kind, even-rabbit, with thyme and fennel."

Why didn't you say so?

Gamaliel lapped the soup off the spoon with his big tongue. Suddenly a faint, shimmering light surrounded the cat. His tawny pelt began to undulate as his form started to change. In a blink, the great cat was gone. In his place was a handsome man, a tall, wild-looking barbarian. He sat cross-legged on the ground, holding the wooden spoon, clad in a buckskin coat and leggings trimmed with beadwork and fringe. A broadsword was belted at his hip, and his long tawny hair was tied back from his angular face by a leather thong. He regarded Evaine with glittering green eyes.

"It's easier to eat soup when you can hold a spoon," he offered by way of explanation. "Otherwise you tend to burn your tongue."

"I wouldn't know," Evaine laughed as she dished up two bowls of the steaming liquid.

Gamaliel was a shapeshifting cat, and as such he could opt for human form any time he wished. Generally, he preferred to be a great cat, but sometimes he liked the option of fingers.

The two friends ate their lunch, then Gamaliel helped Evaine gather her things. She had ventured into the forest that day to find a few herbs for her magical spells. But already the autumn day was drawing toward evening, and the golden beams of sunlight were fading.

"Let's go home, Gam."

Instantly, the barbarian's form blurred. A moment later the great cat bounded ahead through the trees, scouting ahead for danger. Protecting his mistress was Gamaliel's sole concern.

The sun was setting in a sea of bronze clouds as Evaine and Gamaliel stopped before a seemingly impenetrable thicket of brambles and thorny bushes. It looked as if anyone who tried to force their way through the overgrowth would be taking a gamble.

"Gate!" Evaine intoned, lifting one hand in an intricate gesture.

There was a rustling as the brambles parted to either side, forming a walkway. Gamaliel ambled through, and Evaine followed. The thorn bushes immediately closed behind her. Wizards were secretive by nature, and did not generally leave their dwellings undisguised.

Beyond the hedge was a circular clearing in the midst of a grove of tall, majestic ash trees. The far side was bounded by the steep face of a hill. A waterfall tumbled down granite boulders to splash into a small pool of frothy water. Countless droplets caught and refracted the last light of the sun, glistening like diamonds on fire. On the edge of the pool sprawled a long, low, rambling log house. It was a comfortable and inviting place, not at all the usual wizard's domicile. Evaine had never much cared for towers and such. They were stuffy in summer, freezing in winter, and tended to dampness, which meant books often fell prey to mold. Most of the wizards Evaine had encountered in her time lived in towers simply because they thought that was what wizards were supposed to do, not because they cared for tower life.

Despite its rustic appearance, Evaine's home was as well guarded as any wizard's. The rough logs were not hewn from mundane trees. Rather, they were iron-oak trunks, felled by magic, for no axe could do more than scratch them. The large windows were not ordinary glass but thick plates of steel which Evaine had made magically transparent. The poppies and chrysanthemums that bordered the walkways were bright and lovely, but each had been conjured of magical energy. They emanated a powerful protective ward around the house. Any creature of evil that tried to set foot inside would be burned to ashes.

Inside the house, Evaine spread the herbs she had gathered on a large oaken table and began sorting them. Gamaliel curled up by the hearth for a nap. He considered the bearskin rug before the fire his throne.

The house's main peak-roofed room was comforting in its clutter. Books weighed down pine shelves. Intricate, faded tapestries and animal pelts covered the walls. A stuffed, somewhat moth-eaten owlbear lurked in a corner, and a huge dwarven war drum served as a table for a scattering of elven runestones. Two overstuffed leather chairs, worn and comfortable with use, dominated the center of the room beneath an ornate chandelier imported from the southern empire of Calimshan. In all, it was an eclectic but hospitable room that spoke not so much of far travels as it did of frequent homecomings.

Evaine paused in her work, reflecting on the objects in the room. Most of them were souvenirs of her quests to destroy pools, she realized. In fact, she couldn't think of a single possession that she had acquired on a pleasure trip, or that a friend had given to her as a gift. She allowed herself a sigh. She wasn't sure why, but somehow the thought made her a little sad. Hunting down and destroying magical pools had been her whole life these last thirty years. It was a critical mission, but sometimes it made her feel just the slightest bit lonely.

Gamaliel's sharp ears caught her sigh. The great cat opened his green eyes and regarded his mistress. Worry flickered through his mind. Something had been bothering his sorceress of late, something that caused her to forgo sleep from time to time, or to neglect her meals. Gamaliel did not like that. His mistress's well-being was his preoccupation, and he wondered about the air of melancholy he had detected lately. Of course he would have attacked any being that disturbed Evaine, rending it to bits. But the cause of Evaine's sorrow was obviously beyond his ability to correct with his claws. This troubled him. The cat racked his brain for a way to help her, but could think of nothing. He growled softly in frustration.

The sound snapped Evaine out of her reverie. She laughed then. What cause did she have to be so gloomy? I'll feel better when I find another pool to track down and destroy, she told herself.

"Come on, Gam," she said brightly. "Let's see about supper."

Just as she stood, she heard a crystalline chime. Evaine frowned. "Now who could that be?"

She uttered a word of magic. Suddenly a shimmering spiral staircase appeared in the center of the room. Evaine quickly ascended, Gamaliel on her heels, entering a room that was in truth not located anywhere in her house. Or even in this world, for that matter. The room was a pocket dimension, a fragment of an alternate world, with the gateway located in Evaine's house. She used it as her private spellcasting chamber.

Evaine stood before a curious, eye-shaped mirror of polished silver. She waved a hand before the smooth surface. A face appeared in the mirror, that of a striking woman with brilliant green eyes and fiery hair.

"Shal!" Evaine said in surprise.

"Evaine, I'm glad I found you." Shal's voice sounded slightly distant, echoing as if it came from the opposite end of a long corridor. "I'm afraid there's trouble in Phlan. And I think it involves a pool."

Evaine felt a rush of both dread and anticipation. "Tell me," was all she said.

An hour later, after listening to her old friend Shal and asking a number of key questions, Evaine knew all there was to know. The hiding place of the Hammer of Tyr had been discovered, but there was someone besides the clerics of Tyr who was determined to find it, someone with the power to summon a large number of deadly fiends.

"Kern is going to be journeying to the ruins of the red tower in three days," Shal explained, her voice heavy with worry. "I don't like the idea of him walking into unknown danger, Evaine. I want to know who it is who's after him."

Evaine thought for a long moment. "There is a way, Shal," she said finally. "But I think I will need some help."

"Anything," Shal said earnestly.

"We need to search for this mysterious enemy of yours, and we're going to have to leave our bodies behind." Evaine's mind worked quickly. "Whoever this foe is, he or she must be a wizard of some sort. And I have no doubt that the wizard is drawing on this pool of twilight. It takes enormous amounts of power to summon and control as many fiends as you've described. I know that all too well. Now, since Kern is the person this evil wizard of ours is after, we'll need to start by concentrating on him. But I can't do this effectively without you."

Evaine went on to explain the specifics of the spell-the material components, gestures, and necessary arcane incantations. When this was done, she took a deep breath.

"This spell will not be without risks, Shal," she warned her friend.

"They're risks I'm willing to take, Evaine."

Evaine didn't argue with her friend's resolve. "I'll be able to help you along. I have a fair amount of experience with this sort of thing." She grinned eagerly. Gods, but she loved magic. This was going to be exciting.

"Ready?" Evaine asked.

"Ready," the wizard of Denlor's Tower agreed.

Simultaneously, Evaine and Shal prepared to cast the spell-Evaine in her pocket dimension, Shal in her tower a hundred leagues to the northeast. Gamaliel stalked close to his mistress. Whenever she cast one of these spells, her body was completely vulnerable. Though it was unlikely anyone would attack her here, it was Gamaliel's duty to watch over her. She could not be disturbed until she woke up from the spell. Otherwise, disaster would result.

Evaine lighted a small brazier, sprinkling on a handful of herbs. A flame flared up, crackling with blue, silver, and crimson sparks. She drew out a small quartz crystal from a velvet pouch and placed it gently on top of the brazier.

She closed her eyes and breathed in the pungent smoke, then whispered a strangely sibilant incantation three times as she moved her hands through a complex web of gestures.

Evaine felt her ethereal self rising from her body. She could see all around, even though she had not opened her eyes. She reached forth a ghostly hand toward the mirror.

Shal…

She spoke in a voice inaudible to mundane ears, but Shal could hear her.

I'm here, Evaine. At least I think so. This is a bit unusual for me…

Evaine cautioned her friend. Don't fight the sensation. Just let yourself float, as if you're adrift in a warm sea. Now reach out to me, not with your arms but with your mind. I'll do the same.

Evaine concentrated, reaching out with tendrils of thought, searching. Then she connected.

I found you! came Shal's excited response.

You have indeed. Now let's go. The longer we're away from our bodies, the bigger our headaches will be when we wake up.

Evaine led the way. Her consciousness rose high into the air, Shal's in tow. The two sorceresses-or at least their spirits-sped southward. The slate gray surface of the Moonsea slipped away beneath them. It was much like flying, except there was no touch of wind or chill air.

Look! Shal exclaimed. The ships down there. They look like toys.

I know the scenery is breathtaking, Shal, but concentrate on the spell, Evaine warned. We're vulnerable to attacks now that we've left our physical selves behind. There are creatures that dwell-and feed-solely in the spirit realm.

Evaine felt a mental shiver emanate from Shal's presence.

Having your spirit eaten-that's not a very comfortable thought.

Evaine laughed wryly. I imagine it's not a very comfortable feeling!

Holding hands as they sped on, the two sorceresses left the expanse of the Moonsea behind. Soon an eerie, disturbingly familiar shape loomed in the twilight before them.

The ruins of the red tower. Here Phlan had been captured by the Red Wizard Marcus twenty-two years earlier. The sorceresses swooped down to circle about the tower. The ruin looked like a jagged tombstone in the fading daylight.

Can you feel it? Shal asked in disgust.

Yes, there's still evil there, Evaine thought back. Powerful evil.

She could feel it radiating from the ruins in hot, nauseating waves. Something lurked down there, deep in the shadows below the tower, something eternally hungry, oozing with maleficence.

You need to think about Kern, Shal. We need to discover if this is the source of the evil that is directed toward him.

I'll try, Evaine.

Shal's thoughts were silent for several moments as they both concentrated. Suddenly, Evaine caught sight of a thin trail of inky darkness arcing back across the Moonsea, toward Phlan.

That's it! came Shal's thought. I can sense the evil reaching out toward Phlan. Her tone become hard. Whatever is down there, it loathes Kern.

And fears him, Evaine added after a moment. She gently probed the spindly trail of darkness. It felt oily to her ethereal fingers, but she couldn't detect any traces of active magic in the pool they had destroyed two decades before.

I don't think this is the source, Shal. Something is down there, all right. Something powerful. But not a pool. I don't think this is the source of the fiends, or the foe we seek. Let's head toward Phlan and try again.

They raced across the deepening sky. The orb of the moon, Selune, lifted above the horizon, igniting the surface of the Moonsea with its cool, pearly fire. Soon they drifted over Phlan.

Evaine could see countless signs of the city's decay in the pale light of the moon. She'd had no idea Phlan had deteriorated so badly.

All right, Shal. Once more, I need you to focus all of your thoughts on Kern. Every last bit of your energy.

Evaine scanned in every direction, hoping to spot even the faintest clue. There! she thought excitedly.

What is it?

What we were looking for. She concentrated, helping Shal to see what Evaine had already noticed. A dull, metallic-looking streak rose up out of the city and reached away into the night, toward the northwest. There's something odd about the magic I'm sensing. It must be from a pool, yet it's like none I've ever dealt with before.

Is it a pool of radiance or darkness?

Evaine concentrated, then frowned. Neither. She gave up. We must follow it to its source.

The two sorceresses flew toward the distant peaks. The feeling of magical power intensified as they went. As the dark, jagged silhouettes of the Dragonspine Mountains loomed before them, the evil emanations grew stronger yet.

Suddenly, Evaine felt the attention of another consciousness pass over her like a searing beam of light. There was someone-something-ahead, and it had sensed them coming!

Shal, you've got to break the spell.

Why? the wizard replied in confusion. What's wrong?

Please don't argue, Shal.

Evaine could sense the attitude of the mysterious being change from surprise to anger. It must be a guardian of some sort, Evaine realized. They were in grave peril!

You've got to-

Too late.

A blast of magic ripped through Evaine's mind. The guardian of the pool was assailing them with all of its dark power.

Evaine! Help me! came Shal's terrified plea.

Evaine tried to reach out, but her friend's presence became lost in the swirling maelstrom of magic.

Pain coursed through the core of Evaine's being. She felt her spirit being torn apart. In a moment there would be nothing left. She had to try something, but the roar in her mind made it so hard to think.

She heard one last faint cry from Shal. With every last shred of willpower, Evaine lunged for her friend, reaching out blindly with her ethereal fingers. She felt something brush her hand. She couldn't be sure it was Shal, but she had no more time. With her last spark of consciousness, she managed to gasp the word that broke the spell.

A shriek of pure malevolence rose from the very depths of the mountains. Then the enchantment shattered, and Evaine plunged down into unending darkness.

Waking was like swimming up through a cold, dark, bottomless sea. Finally, Evaine broke through the surface. She felt something warm and rough against her face. Gamaliel's tongue. She was alive!

She opened her eyes and smiled weakly. Gamaliel gazed at her with concern.

I almost lost you, he chided her. His tone was aloof, but Evaine knew he was afraid because his whiskers were twitching furiously. Do not do such a foolish thing again.

"Shal…?" she managed to gasp. Then she was racked by a painful fit of coughing.

You must lie still. Gamaliel's tone was stern. I do not know about your wizard-friend. Your mirror shattered when the spell ended. Her loved ones will have to help her. My concern is for you.

"Just put me to bed, Gam," she managed to whisper hoarsely between agonizing breaths. She felt as though she had just lost a fight with a dozen angry ogres. "I need… I need to rest. But you must do something for me in the meantime. Go to the Valley of the Falls. Ask Ren o' the Blade to come here as soon as he can. There's a pool somewhere in the Dragonspine Mountains, and no one knows that territory like Ren does. I must talk to him."

I can't simply leave you, the cat replied indignantly.

"I've lived through worse, Gam," she gasped, though she wasn't certain that was strictly true. "Now please. You've got to find Ren. I'm begging you."

Begging does not become you, Evaine, Gamaliel answered wryly. Very well, I will go. But remember, sorceress, you owe me one!