Without the slightest hesitation, the zombies toppled over the pool's edge, submerging themselves in the metallic waters. In new, horrible forms they clambered clumsily out the opposite side. A rotting goblin with hissing zombie snakes sprouting from its eye sockets was the first. Then came a dwarf with a screaming eagle's claws sunk deep into its shoulders. A pixie stumbled out, black widow spiders bobbing from threads attached to its hands. A slack-jawed deer staggered to its feet, a dozen decomposing badgers skewered upon its antlers, snapping and hissing. A bow-wielding elf fused to the shoulders of a hill giant was followed by a gnome covered with undead stinging insects. An orc sprouted from the back of a mountain lion. The gaping, fang-toothed maw of a wolf, snapping violently, was embedded in the chest of a human man. More and more abominations climbed out of the pool's waters in a steady stream.
And still more.
Sirana's laughter bubbled to the surface of the pool. Phlan would never stand against her army of zombie abominations! She intensified her summons, compelling yet more putrid corpses to lurch into motion and begin their trek toward the pool of twilight.
Disgusted by the reek of Sirana's vile creations, Dusk turned to slither down a passageway. Despite his vast size, his sinuous body glided easily through the twists and turns. He sensed the nearness of the outside, and, in a spray of stone and rubble, he burst through a wall of rock. Like a black comet, he soared through the air, winging high over the jagged mountains.
Ah, to fly free once again!
For a while, he simply wheeled through the air, pumping his great, dark wings, thrilled by long-forgotten sensations. But his purpose burned within him. He had all the power he needed from the pool. Now, to seek out the other evil dragons of the Moonsea, and once again fan the spark of hatred in their hearts.
As he flew over the mountains, there was no way Dusk could have known that brilliant, twilight-colored flecks of light danced in his one good eye.
17
The frigid wind whipped through Daile's hair as her magic carpet sped through the air high above the Dragon-spine Mountains. She knew she should stop and make camp. It was reckless to fly so fast in the darkness. Several times she had narrowly avoided pinnacles of rock looming before her or the outstretched branches of tall trees. But still she gripped the carpet's tassels, guiding it onward. She had barely paused in her journey since leaving the Valley of the Falls two days ago. Not that it had been easy to leave. No, she thought ruefully. Leaving had been the hardest thing she had ever done.
Her mind drifted back to that cold, gray day. She had buried Ren in a cairn of stones next to Ciela, below the glittering, frozen cathedral of the waterfall. After she had placed the last rock on the cairn, she simply sat there and stared at the motionless water, not knowing what to do. She had never felt so utterly alone.
In her gloom, she almost hadn't seen see the trio of orcs that crept into the clearing behind her. But at the last moment, she'd caught a reflection of the pig-snouted creatures in the glassy surface of the waterfall. She'd whirled around as the orcs bared their yellowed tusks and drew their rusted short swords. Then the bloodthirsty monsters had charged.
In the space of a heartbeat, Daile had raised her bow, and, with icy calm, loosed three arrows in rapid succession. The orcs had dropped in their tracks, looks of dull-witted astonishment on their warty faces, each with a red-feathered arrow protruding from its throat.
Daile had lowered her bow, feeling a strange warmth surging through her blood. It was as if the attack had broken her from the grip of a spell. For the next three days she'd prowled the valley from end to end, from river to ridge top, searching. Every creature of evil she found had fallen prey to her arrows. Orcs, kobolds, even trolls were her quarry. All that filled her mind was the hunt. She had stalked the forest, as if it were her natural home, and she a hunter born to the wild.
Finally there had been no more monsters to slay.
Those few that might have remained had heard of her deadly bow and fled. Daile had returned to the small stone keep as a great weariness came over her. She'd slept for a day and a night, and when she woke, it was again as if waking from a spell. What had happened to her? She had almost… lost herself to the wilds. How much longer could it have gone on before she became the same as any beast?
She'd shuddered, vowing never to lose control of herself like that again.
Suddenly thoughts of Kern and the others had come crashing down on her; she had tarried too long. With one last glance at the valley that had been her home, she had leaped on the magic carpet and soared into the sky…
Finally Daile realized she could keep her eyes open no longer. She had to stop and rest for just a few hours, until the dawn. Then she would be on her way again. She pulled on the golden tassels, and the carpet began to descend.
A glimmer of light caught her eye.
It quickly vanished, but a moment later she saw it again. A small, warm spark dancing in a dark grove of trees. Someone was down there!
Instantly, all thoughts of sleep vanished from Daile's mind. She jerked hard on the tassels, and the carpet sped toward the firelight.
As she drew closer, she could make out two figures in the flickering circle. Quickly, she dug in her pack and pulled out the cylindrical scrying glass that had been her father's. When she lifted it to her eyes, her heart leaped in her chest. Evaine and Gamaliel! The long-haired sorceress lay near the fire, her eyes closed in sleep, while the tawny cat sat on his haunches, keeping watch. Daile grinned exultantly. She started to lower the scrying glass, then suddenly halted.
A third figure had drifted into the clearing.
It was a thing of shadows. All she could make out were sharp, moon-bright teeth and countless twiglike fingers. She drew in a sharp breath. Whatever it was, it was heading straight for Evaine. The great cat was staring into the night, seemingly oblivious to the intruder.
"Come on, Gamaliel," Daile whispered.
But the cat did not stir as the shadow creature reached its long arms toward Evaine. Even as Daile watched through the scrying glass, the creature's spindly fingers touched the sorceress's brow. Evaine shuddered in her sleep. Gamaliel turned his head, as if sensing something was wrong, but it was clear that for some reason he could not see the creature.
Daile knew she had to act. As the carpet sailed toward the clearing, she hastily set down the scrying glass and reached for her bow, but by the time she looked up, the shadow creature was gone!
She shook her head. How could the thing have disappeared so suddenly? She lifted the scrying glass again to be sure.
No, the shadow creature still cradled Evaine's head in its hands, baring fangs in a milk-white grin.
Daile realized the truth: the scrying glass must be enchanted. That was why she could see the shadow creature. Gamaliel was not to blame. It was up to her to save Evaine.
Hastily she set the scrying glass aside and raised her bow. "If there is a way to wound a shadow, bow, show me what it is," she whispered fiercely.
The magical weapon quivered in her hands, the two ioun stones set into its wood humming brightly. Suddenly scarlet flames crackled along the arrow. The crimson bolt streaked through the air. It passed a scant foot above Evaine's sleeping form-and stopped in midair.
The great cat leaped to his feet at this strange sight.
"Gamaliel, Evaine is being attacked!" Daile shouted. Even as her words rang out, scarlet tongues of fire radiated from the arrow, outlining a writhing form. The shadow creature. With the aid of the magical fire, Daile and Gamaliel could see the thing clearly. It had lifted its twig-fingers from Evaine and was scrabbling at the arrow protruding from its chest. Gamaliel lunged toward the thing, fangs bared. He snarled and leaped back as crimson fire seared his muzzle. The shadow creature grabbed at the cat with its branchlike arms, ready to sink its needle fangs into Gamaliel's flesh.