"Stop right there," Kern ordered. She gazed at him in evident surprise. "We owe you a great deal for what you did here. Now, I'm not certain how long my quest for the hammer will take, but you have my solemn promise that, as soon as my job is completed, I'll journey to your place in the mountains to teach those gnolls a lesson."
Listle rolled her eyes. "Oh, brother," she muttered. Preoccupied as he was with his own bold pronouncements, Kern did not hear her.
The wild mage chewed her lip delicately. Abruptly she laughed. "That is certainly kind of you, paladin. In return, I volunteer to accompany you on your journey, to help you find this hammer you're so terribly interested in. That way I can be certain you'll return in good enough health to be of some assistance to me. Fair enough?"
"Fair enough!" Kern agreed with a grin.
As they discussed the details, Kern felt his spirits rising. Tymora, Lady of Fortune, was smiling on him this evening, that was for certain. The mage promised to show up at the door of Denlor's Tower at dawn, and Kern and Listle bid her farewell.
"Wait a minute," Kern said, pausing as he and Listle turned to ride from the square. "We don't even know your name."
A smile glistened on the wild mage's copper-tinted lips.
"Sirana," she said in her rich, musical voice. "My name is Sirana."
Listle and Kern spoke little on the way back to Denlor's Tower. They unsaddled their horses in the courtyard and went inside. The tower's extensive magical defenses-first created by the mage Denlor and enhanced by Shal-sensed their identities and so permitted them to pass unharmed. Had they been uninvited strangers, the invisible aura woven around the tower would have incinerated them.
They found Tarl high in the tower, sitting by Shal's side in a darkened room. Listle lit a candle against the night, but its pale light did little to lift the gloom of the place.
"How is she, Father?" Kern asked quietly.
The big-shouldered cleric drew in a deep breath. "No better, I'm afraid. And perhaps worse. Anton was here earlier. He cast a spell of healing on her, but like the others, it had little effect. Her spirit was too far from her body when she was struck down. Anton believes that her spirit is lost, or too weak to return." Tarl rubbed a hand wearily across his brow. "Only the Hammer of Tyr has the power to bring Shal's spirit back to us."
Kern gripped his father's hand tightly. Without her spirit, Shal's body would continue to waste away. Eventually there would be nothing left but an empty husk. But that won't happen, Kern thought fiercely, not if I can do something about it.
"Now, Kern," Tarl said, a note of cheer in his voice. "I can just make out a silver and green glow hovering at your side. Did you find a magical hammer at the green elf's?"
Kern nodded, grinning despite himself. They left Shal alone then, to sleep in peace. The two men went downstairs to talk by the fire. Listle ascended to Shal's laboratory, intent on studying her spellbook. But try as she might, she simply couldn't concentrate. There was too much on her mind. And in her heart.
She closed her silvery eyes and suddenly could see Primul's glistening battle-axe descending again in its fatal arc. She shuddered at the memory. She had been so afraid. If Kern had flinched… if Primul hadn't stopped his swing at the last second… A cold tightness filled her chest. It was a sensation she had never felt before, not until that moment when she had thought she might lose Kern.
She opened her eyes, biting her lip fiercely.
"Oh, no you don't, Listle Onopordum," she muttered angrily to herself. "Other elves-other beings-can feel like this. But not you. Don't fool yourself into thinking like that, not even for a moment."
A spark of light flared briefly inside the ruby pendant at her throat, but she did not notice. With great dint of will, she turned her mind to other, more important matters.
The wild mage, Sirana.
There was something about the female wizard that Listle didn't like, not least of all the way she had practically thrown herself at Kern.
Listle went over the conversation with Sirana a dozen times in her head, but could find nothing about it to prove her suspicions about the wild mage. If only she could talk to Shal about her, but Shal was deathly ill. Listle sighed. Finally, she turned to her spellbook, burying her nose in its pages.
She was just snuffing out the candle when a thought struck her.
Who in her right mind, Listle wondered, would journey from the frigid heights of the Dragonspine Mountains clad only in a flimsy robe of white gauze?
"Rise, Hoag. They have gone."
Sirana waved a fine-boned hand over the form of the fallen black knight.
Two points of crimson light flared to life behind the helm's visor. The knight rose to his feet, then genuflected ceremoniously before Sirana. This evoked a deep laugh from the half-fiend sorceress. "I trust my magic left you unharmed, faithful Hoag, as I promised it would."
The black knight nodded, standing tall. "I am unharmed, mistress, though the pain was tremendous." The glowing eyes flickered. "But then, pain is of no moment to me. As always, I am grateful to serve."
"Excellent, Hoag." The full moon had torn through the concealing clouds. Sirana's robe glowed eerily in the pale light. Despite the sharp air, she felt not the slightest chill. The fire of hate that burned within her was too strong. "You have done your task well tonight. I will summon you again when I have need of you. And I will have need of you." She laughed again, malevolently. "That foolish paladin-puppy has invited me along on his quest just as I planned."
A hissing sound emanated from the black knight's helm. "Beware, mistress. Paladins, like clerics, may be able to sense your dark nature."
"I think not, Hoag. I have woven a dozen magical protections about myself. Besides,"-Sirana gazed at her hands, coppery-colored even in the washed-out light of the moon-"the twilight pool is like nothing they have ever experienced before. All-powerful. No, if those fool disciples of Tyr sense anything about me, it will be magic of unusual power. And," she cooed, "what more could they wish for in an ally?"
Hoag did not reply. The fiend simply bowed to the wisdom of his mistress.
It was nearly midnight when Kern left the quiet haven of Denlor's Tower and slipped away through Phlan's ill-lit streets.
Tarl had fallen asleep in a chair, sitting by his stricken wife's bed as he did every night. It had been easy to pad down the stairs without waking him. Sneaking past Listle's room had proven more nerve-wracking. The elf's ears were more sensitive than any human's, and she was a light sleeper. It would have ruined everything if Listle had woken up and spied him. Nothing would have been able to keep her from following him. However, Tymora, Goddess of Luck, appeared to be watching over him still. Kern made it out of the tower undetected.
He glanced up at the full moon, high in a sky littered with fast-moving clouds. He had to hurry; it was almost time.
He had covered his mist-gray tunic with a cloak of midnight blue. At his hip was Primul's warhammer. He moved swiftly through shadowed avenues, past the blankly staring windows of moldering, abandoned buildings.
The moon was directly overhead when he reached the edge of Valhingen Graveyard. It was midnight. Just in time.
The cemetery was one of the most ancient places in Phlan, sitting atop the crest of a low hill in a thinly populated section of the city. It was here that, on his first journey to Phlan, Tarl had encountered a horde of undead under the command of a vampire lord. The undead cruelly slew Tarl's brethren, and the vampire took the Hammer of Tyr from the cleric. Tarl had barely escaped with his life. But later, Tarl, Shal, and Ren had returned to defeat the undead of Valhingen Graveyard. That was more than thirty years ago.