It was strange, Evaine thought. While she knew how formidable Miltiades could be in battle, somehow she had forgotten that his demeanor could be so gentle and gracious. It seemed a bit incongruous in a skeletal warrior of fearsome aspect, but Evaine knew it was the man he had been in life that was important, not his undead appearance. In fact, when she closed her eyes and listened to Miltiades speak, it was difficult to imagine him as anything but a living, breathing man.
Yet it was a reverie that was shattered each time she gazed at the yellowed bones of his face.
"You should go to sleep," Miltiades said after a silence. "If Gamaliel discovers you are still awake, he's liable to grab you by the scruff of your neck and haul you to bed like a kitten."
"You're not kidding," she said with a wry laugh. She sighed wearily. "But I can't sleep tonight, Miltiades. I can't stop thinking about the twilight pool and its guardian." She remembered something. "Here, I want you to have this." She pulled a small object from a pocket. It was an ornate brooch of gold, set with a single diamond-clear crystal. "I have a similar gem. These will allow us to keep in contact, no matter the distance that separates us."
Miltiades took the brooch. "I will not lose it."
"You'd better not!" Evaine said with mock severity. "These things aren't a copper piece a dozen, you know." Her face softened. "Be careful on your journey, old friend." Slowly, she reached out a hand and touched the paladin's gauntlet.
She breathed in sharply, feeling sudden pain, and snatched her hand back. His gauntlet was cold! Terribly, terribly cold. It hurt just to brush it with her fingertips. She looked at the undead paladin.
Strange, she thought, that his visage could seem so tragic even though it was devoid of flesh.
"I am sorry, Evaine," he said quietly.
"No," she said firmly, her eyes as hard as jade. "Don't be sorry, Miltiades. Don't ever be sorry. We are what we are."
The skeletal man said nothing in reply.
10
The denizens of the coffin walls rattled their bones in a mockery of laughter. Bits of broken teeth and tatters of mummified flesh rained down on Kern. The darkness of the nave hungrily swallowed the light of his holy shield. He shook his head against the dizzying stench and struggled to control the dream.
Behold, Hammerseeker! I have a gift for you.
Like moldering curtains of suffocating velvet, the darkness parted, revealing a sarcophagus fashioned of corpse-pale stone. A death mask was carved into the heavy lid, showing the likeness of a young man with blankly staring eyes. The face was Kern's. With a sound like grinding bones, the lid of the sarcophagus slowly shifted to one side.
Come, climb within, paladin of Tyr. You cannot refuse my gift.
Kern steeled his will. Somehow, he had to turn the nightmare to his own advantage.
"I… I was wrong to resist you," he said dully, keeping his gaze blank. "The majesty of… of your darkness is too great."
At last, you have gained wisdom, youngling. The voice in the darkness spoke with satisfaction.
"Never could I have slain you," Kern went on in a fawning voice, preparing himself for a gamble. He took a deep breath. "Never could I have come close enough to strike at your one weakness."
Weakness? the voice shrieked. Kern shuddered under the brutal force of its outrage. I am as powerful as the darkness itself. I have no weakness!
Kern bowed his head in a perfect semblance of trembling submission. "Of course, Great One! I was foolish to believe the tales I was told!"
Laughter gushed out of the nave like putrid water. Pitiful youngling! Were you told that you could simply cut the thread that binds me to my web? How terribly easy it must have sounded! Ah, how cruel are those who spoke such lies to you. Something stirred in the darkness, something with spindly, ghost-white limbs. No magic you possess could ever sever me from the source of my power, youngling.
Kern felt a surge of hope. He was certain that, in its pride, the creature had let slip an important secret. But what was it?
Enough of this, Hammerseeker! The end has come, and you have lost.
Suddenly, Kern's hopes were transformed into terror. Tentacles of shadow snaked out of the sarcophagus, coiling tightly around him. He struggled in horror, but could not break free of their stranglehold.
At last, triumph is mine!
Kern screamed as the tentacles dragged him into the cold, confining interior of the sarcophagus, pinning his limbs in place. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe.
The coffin lid began to slide into place…
This time Kern owed his life to Sirana.
He woke up gasping, the wild mage bending over him. A strange, colorless mist enclosed him.
"The hold the Hammerwarder has on your dreams grows stronger the closer we come to the red tower," Sirana said grimly. "I was barely able to break the creature's grip." With a wave of her hand, she banished the dull shroud of magic that had protected him. It seemed to leave a thin, oily residue on his skin.
For six days, the adventurers had been riding southward from Evaine's dwelling, toward the ruins of the red tower near the southwestern edge of the Moonsea. Each night, Kern had been visited by a nightmare sent by the creature guarding the hammer. And each night had been worse than the one before.
"Well, the warder won't have another night to stalk my dreams," Kern said hoarsely. "We'll reach the tower today. Thank you for your help, Sirana."
"My pleasure," the wild mage purred.
Weakly, Kern sat up. His head pounded furiously, but this time the dream had yielded a valuable secret.
"What are you grinning about?" Listle remarked as Kern sat down by the campfire. She was stirring a pot of oat porridge hanging on a tripod of green willow branches.
"The Hammerwarder sent me another nightmare last night"
Ren and Daile stopped eating. Miltiades turned his empty gaze toward Kern.
"And you're happy about that?" the elf said incredulously. "Let me see that helmet of yours, Kern. It must be too tight. I think it's squeezed your brain out your ears."
Kern glared at the elf. "You know, you could surprise me and let me finish for a change."
Ren spoke before the young paladin could start bickering with the elf. "Did something important happen in the dream, Kern?"
Kern ran a hand through his bright red hair, frowning. "Maybe, Uncle Ren. The Hammerwarder said something that might be important. I need to think about it for a while to be sure."
The ranger nodded, standing up. "Then let's be on our way."
The six adventurers rode southward across drab, snow-dusted plains. Several days ago, upon leaving Evaine's dwelling, Sirana had summoned and tamed a pair of shaggy wild horses with a spell. Daile and Ren rode these now. The wild horses had proved excellent mounts.
The ice-blue sky was clear. Yet despite the brilliant sunlight, the air was bitterly cool. Soon all were shivering-except for Miltiades, who seemed unaffected by the fierce cold.
It was midday when they reached the ruins of the red tower.
The riders crested a low rise, reining their mounts to a halt. Before them lay a bowl-shaped valley. In its center stood the jagged stump of the tower, made of dark rock the color of dried blood. It looked almost like a gigantic tombstone, Kern thought, marking the spot where a great evil had died. Most of the tower's stones lay scattered about the valley, along with the crumbling remains of circular walls and the occasional remnants of a guard tower or outbuilding. A harsh wind blew through the vale.