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 sk
y. 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!
6
A Test of Worthiness
The dreamstalker approached the sleeper’s chamber. The tower was surrounded by layer upon layer of magical wards and alarms, but they had caused no difficulty for the bastellus called Sigh. They were designed to keep corporeal foes at bay. They were useless against the dreamstalker.
The door to the sleeper’s chamber was locked, but the darkness of his being slipped like black, oily smoke through the cracks around the door. The dreamstalker drifted silently toward the bed.
The sleeper was a young man with a broad, honest face and short red hair. Yes, he was the one. The wizard’s spawn. Sigh’s mistress, the sorceress Sirana, wanted him for her own. It was a simple enough task for the dreamstalker. He would slip into the young man’s dreams and weave nightmares in his mind that would drive him to the brink of madness. It would be easy enough to brand the mistress’s message in the sleeper’s susceptible brain. Soon, the boy’s only thought, his only desire, would be to become Sirana’s willing slave.
Sigh hovered above the bed. The young man’s brow was wrinkled. A low moan escaped his throat. He was already caught in the throes of a nightmare. Excellent, the bastellus thought. Most excellent. This would make his task easier yet. A smile of shardlike ivory teeth appeared in the haze.
Sigh reached out hands full of countless fingers, like dark, spindly twigs. He prepared to plunge into the dreamer’s psyche, to revel in his victim’s subconscious, and to feed upon his spirit. The twig-fingers brushed the young man’s troubled brow.
The dreamstalker screamed in soundless, ethereal agony.
He had been burned! He looked down in astonishment to see that several of his dark, beautiful fingers had been transformed into a sticky mass of blue cobwebs. The bastellus writhed in pain. He had never known such a sensation before. Somehow the young man was immune to his touch.
Sigh shrank away from the hideous, vile human that had caused him pain. Blast Sirana! She could seduce the wretched creature herself. Sigh would have nothing more to do with this task.
The bastellus drifted quickly out the window and into the night, cradling his wounded hands. He would find another victim to feed upon, one with sweet, delicious dreams that would not harm his shadowy form.
Alone once more, the young man groaned in his sleep. Despite the bastellus’s passing, the dreamer’s nightmare—sent by the guardian of the hammer—had only just begun.
This time Kern knew he was dreaming.
Come, Hammerseeker! the dry, dusty voice spoke from the shadowed nave. Come, meet your doom!
Kern shook his head dizzily. He stood once again in the cavern of death. The skeletal spectators of the coffin walls jabbered and jeered at him in a gruesome cacophony. Bone splinters and broken teeth rained down. He gripped his battlehammer with a gauntleted hand. Somehow he knew he had to resist. To venture any closer was to die.
“Come out and face me!” he shouted to the darkened archway. Fear clutched at his heart with talons of ice. The thick, turgid shadows swirled angrily in the nave.
You show yourself for a coward, Hammerseeker, the ancient voice sneered.
The watchers in the coffin walls rattled their bones and clattered their teeth in a hideous mockery of laughter. Every instinct told Kern to run, but he planted his boots on the hard basalt floor. He was a paladin. He would stand firm.
“I will face you where I can see you!” Kern shouted.
Oh, you do not wish to look upon me, youngling. Believe these words I speak. Better for you that I cloak myself in shadow.
For a passing moment, the darkness of the nave lessened. Kern caught a glimpse of long—impossibly long—yellowed bones and, attached to these, a sinuous shape ending in a stiletto-sharp point. An eerie clicking sound
issued from the nave, an insect noise that turned Kern’s stomach. Then the curtain of blackness thickened. The guardian of Tyr’s hammer was invisible once again.
Kern shook his head. The fetid air seemed to be weighing down upon him, pressing him toward the floor to smother him. His knees were on the verge of buckling, but he raised his hammer high.
“By Tyr in all his might, you will not have me!”
You are wrong, youngling! the voice shrieked with unholy rage. Dead wrong. An ear-shattering crack sundered the air of the cavern, a sound like a giant’s bones breaking. The floor lurched wildly under Kern’s feet. Suddenly a jagged rift appeared in the stone beneath him. It opened in the floor like a vast, stony maw, a void of darkness ready to swallow him alive.
You will never have the hammer! Never!
Kern’s arms flailed wildly as he tried to catch his balance, but to no avail. The gap opened wider yet. With a scream, he went tumbling down into thick, suffocating blackness.
Yes, join us! the mummified spectators screeched and cackled, their voices echoing after him. Embrace the bottom of the pit, Hammerseeker, and join us in death!
Another scream ripped from Kern’s lungs. Shreds of darkness rushed by him as he fell. He knew there was nothing to break his fall except for the jagged rocks waiting at the bottom. And they were only heartbeats away.
If it hadn’t been for Listle, Kern would have died. Of that he had no doubt. The wounds he had received in his previous dream had been real enough. If he had struck the jagged rocks at the bottom last night …
But he hadn’t hit the bottom, he told himself for the tenth time already that morning. Listle had breezed into his room and woken him up just in time.
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