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.
"I think you saved my life, Listle," he'd said breathlessly after telling the elf about his dream.
"That's all right, Kern," she had replied flippantly. "Something tells me it won't be the last time." Despite her casual demeanor, fear had shone in her silver eyes.
Kern had made a resolution to himself, then. The next time he was plagued by a nightmare, he was determined to fight back and take control of the dream.
Clad in his usual gray tunic and breeches, Kern made his way down the spiral staircase in the center of Denlor's Tower. This last day had been a difficult one. Yesterday, Shal had ventured on a spirit journey with the sorceress Evaine, hoping to learn something about the enemy behind the attack on the temple. But something had gone wrong. His mother had cried out in shock and then fell into a deep unconsciousness from which she had not woken. She lay now in her chamber, pale, silent, and terribly still.
Patriarch Anton had come to visit Shal three times already, but so far none of his healing spells had been successful. His diagnosis was grim. If Shal could not be awakened, she might eventually waste away. Already, dusky shadows had gathered in her cheeks and on her temples. There was only one thing that might have the power to wake her. The Hammer of Tyr. That made Kern's task all the more urgent.
Kern had decided to leave on the morrow. He found his father in the tower's main chamber. The two discussed preparations for the journey, but Kern did not tell Tarl about last night's disturbing dream. Shal's illness was burden enough.
"One last thing, Kern," the white-haired cleric of Tyr said. His face was haggard, his voice hoarse. He had stayed up all night, watching over Shal and sending prayers to Tyr, pleas that had gone unanswered. "You're going to need a new weapon."
Kern nodded. His hammer had been destroyed in the encounter with Slayer, the abishai.
"Could I choose one from your armory?"
Tarl shook his head. "I think not. I'd be happy to give you anything I have, but I don't know that a mundane warhammer-no matter how good-will be of much use to you. I fear that many of the foes you'll be facing will be magical in nature, and for that you will need a special weapon."
"But where am I going to find an enchanted hammer by tomorrow?" Kern asked in dismay.
'That's where I come in," said a silvery voice. With a shameless lack of decorum, Listle rose right up through the stone floor to stand between Tarl and Kern. Her teardrop-shaped ruby pendant flashed brilliantly for a moment on the end of its silver chain. "Now come on, Kern. We don't have all day, you know."
"All day for what?" he demanded in exasperation.
"Haven't you been listening?" The elf rolled her eyes in exaggerated frustration. "We're going to get you a warhammer, you oaf."
An hour later found Kern and Listle on horseback, the city of Phlan outlined in shadow on the horizon behind them.
"You never told me you had friends who lived near Phlan, Listle." Kern sat astride a handsome white palfrey, and Listle rode a delicate dappled gray mare.
"You never asked," she replied glibly.
"Now how did I know that was what you were going to say?" Kern grumbled.
The late autumn day was gray and dreary, heavy with a shroud of mist. Their mounts picked their way along a twisting trail in a forest a few leagues east of Phlan. A few drab brown leaves clung to the skeletal branches of the trees, rattling like bones in the chill wind. All this did little to improve Kern's mood.
"Actually, Kern," Listle went on more seriously, "I never mentioned my friends before because they're a rather secretive lot. And, as a rule, they don't particularly care for humans."
"Well, that's just marvelous," Kern said in a pained voice. "Where did you meet these friends, anyway?"
"Oh, in Evermeet," Listle replied. "Hey, look there," she said suddenly, pointing to the sky. A glistening white hawk wheeled in the mist above them. "Do you think that's your father's work or Patriarch Anton's?"
Kern shrugged. "It could be the work of either, or possibly both. They're obviously keeping an eye on us."
It was a short while later that Kern noticed the change in the forest. The trees became green with leaves, and pale, sweet-scented wildflowers dotted the ground. It was as if they had abruptly left the advent of winter behind them, stepping through a doorway into spring. He looked at Listle in wonder.
She laughed brightly. "We're almost there. Now behave yourself, and let me do the talking."
A few minutes later they stopped at the roots of a huge, hoary old oak tree. It was truly a king of the forest, a massive giant that it would take a score of men with arms linked to encircle. Kern let out a whistle of amazement. The tree was at least a thousand years old.
Listle and Kern dismounted, looping the reins of their horses around a tree branch. The elf picked her way among the tree's gnarled roots, then rapped smartly three times on its rough bark. Before Kern could ask what she was up to, a high, reedy voice spoke.
"Who goes there?" the voice piped. Kern searched around for the speaker-then his jaw dropped.
A bumpy knot on the tree's trunk had transformed itself into a small gnarled face. Its lumpy nose ended in a small twig, and its eyes glowed caterpillar green. Listle appeared completely unsurprised.
"You know perfectly well who I am, Whorl," Listle humphed. "Now open up. I'm here to see Primul."
Whorl squinted suspiciously. "How do I know you're really Listle Onopordum?" the knot said in a splintery voice. "Look! You've got an axe-bearing tree-cleaver with you."
Kern cleared his throat nervously. "Actually, I don't have an axe with me, er, Whorl." He wasn't really accustomed to talking to bumps on trees.
"Hmmm, well now," Whorl mused. His twig-nose twitched in agitation. "You could be hiding an axe, waiting until I let my guard down to start chopping away at the old oak."
Listle's eyes flashed dangerously. "I'm getting tired of this, Whorl. Now open the door or…" Her ruby pendant sparkled as she plunged a hand deep into the wood of the tree directly beneath the knot. "… or I'll squeeze off your supply of sap."
"You wouldn't dare!" Whorl squeaked in horror.
"Try me." Listle's tone was serious.
"Primul will hear of this!"
"I have no doubt," the elf said dryly. "Now open up!"
"Oh, all right!" Whorl's gnarled face screwed up in concentration, and suddenly the wood of the tree trunk melded and shifted, revealing a perfectly round portal.
"Why, thank you, Whorl," Listle said with mock pleasantry. The knot only scowled at her, drawing mossy eyebrows down over glowering eyes.
"Are you coming, Kern?"
He supposed he didn't dare say no. With a furtive glance at Whorl, he followed Listle into the dimness of the doorway. The portal snapped shut tightly behind them. Listle whispered an incantation, and a pale sphere of light appeared above her head. Thanks to the magical illumination, Kern could see a stairway leading downward.