"Louder, clerics of Tyr!" Tarl yelled as the shadow fiends fought the protective blue nimbus with their dark magic. The fiends surged forward as the holy light flickered. Then Tarl added his deep baritone to the combined voices of his brethren. The nimbus glowed with renewed energy, and a half-dozen more shadow fiends shrieked as they were consumed by brilliant flame.
So it went for the remainder of the long, dark night.
At times the voices of the clerics grew hoarse, their chanting faltered, and the shadow fiends nearly penetrated through the temple's protective barrier. But time and time again, Tarl's voice rang out above the others, and in his example the other clerics found a reservoir of strength in their hearts. They chanted on.
Then came the first golden rays of dawn.
The shadow fiends writhed in torment as the light of the sun transfixed them, piercing them with its burning rays. They shrieked vile curses as their bodies dissipated, then their screams faded into a sigh on the wind. A golden radiance filled the temple. The morning light had banished the shadows of midnight.
The temple's clerics sank to the floor, exhausted. The tide of evil had been stemmed, and all knew it was due to Tarl's strength and bravery.
"It's good to have you back, Brother Tarl," Anton said gruffly, clapping a hand on Tarl's shoulder.
Tarl smiled despite himself. You were right, as always, Shal, he said inwardly, hoping that, somehow, she could hear him.
"Do not rejoice overmuch, clerics of Tyr!" a cracked voice called out, casting a pall of silence over the hall. The ancient priestess, Sister Sendara, hobbled into the room, leaning heavily on a gnarled staff.
"You have defeated a great evil this night, it is true," the priestess proclaimed. "But know that this battle was but the first drop of rain in the dark storm that is to sweep over us. Know this, and be ready!" With that the ancient priestess retreated back into her chamber.
A somber quiet filled the hall along with the morning sunlight.
"Close your eyes, Kern." Trooper's voice was a low murmur in his ear. "Open your heart and listen to the wind."
Kern squeezed his eyes shut, doing his best to obey the elder paladin's words. The travelers stood in the middle of a high plain, ringed on all sides by saw-toothed mountain ranges, gleaming white with snow. Wind hissed through the dry brown grass, making a beautiful yet forlorn sound.
"A palfrey is a fine riding horse," Trooper went on softly, "but a true paladin must have a steed worthy of riding into battle. A charger, Kern. Let the wind carry your call for a charger."
Kern's brow furrowed in concentration. He wasn't exactly certain how this was supposed to work. He had heard stories, of course, telling how famous paladins summoned snorting, stamping chargers to their sides with little more than wishful thoughts and prayers to Tyr. However, he had always assumed they were just that-fireside tales.
Trooper had been all too happy to correct him. The weathered paladin told how he had summoned his own dun-colored stallion, Lancer, many years before, and Miltiades had in turn recounted how he had called his first charger, long years ago. Now it was Kern's turn. He tried to imagine his message ringing out over the plains, all the way to the distant mountains. A charger, Tyr, he thought. Let a charger heed my call.
After a long moment, his eyes blinked open.
"Now what?" he asked.
Trooper gave him a quizzical look, then shrugged his thin shoulders. "Now we journey on. If a steed has heard your call, it will find us."
"If it didn't run as fast as it could in the other direction, that is," Listle added impertinently.
Kern groaned. "Listle, don't you have something better to do than make fun of me constantly?"
The elf thought about that for a moment. "No," she decided finally, shooting him a winsome smile.
Kern sighed. "Just checking," he said gloomily.
The four rode on across the frozen plain. No more than a quarter hour had passed when Kern heard something rustling through a nearby stand of tall, dry grass. His heart leaped in his chest. Could it be his charger? He dismounted, peering into the high grass expectantly.
With a snort, something burst into the open.
Listle's trilling laughter rang out brightly. "I don't know, Kern," she said with mock gravity. "Don't you think it might be difficult to joust with your heels dragging the ground?"
"Very funny!" Kern snapped hotly. He glared downward as the beast he had summoned oinked happily, nuzzling its bristly snout against his leg.
"I have only one question, Kern," Trooper said, his eyes sparkling. "Do you think you should ride it or roast it?"
"I'm not laughing," he grouched. Kern shook his leg, trying to get away from the pig. It grunted and trotted after him, its pink eyes shining with affection.
It took the better part of an hour and all the hazelnuts left in Kern's saddlebags to convince the pig to trot back into the tall grass. Finally, the four rode on.
It was nearing sundown when the riders halted on the edge of the plains. They made camp in a grove of oak trees at the foot of a high mountain. While the others busied themselves, Kern wandered to the edge of the grove. The westering sun had set the plains afire with color. A cold wind rushed down from the mountains, tangling his red hair.
Before he even knew what he was doing, he closed his eyes, once again sending out the call.
It was hard to forget Listle's laughter, or the amusement in Trooper's wrinkled eyes. Kern clenched his hands into fists. He had to show them that he could do it. Beside, he thought, there wouldn't be any witnesses if he failed this time.
He cast his thoughts to the wind, calling out with all his spirit. How long he stood there, he wasn't certain. But when he finally opened his eyes, the sun had dipped below the horizon, and purple twilight was filling the arms of the mountains.
For a time Kern listened, but heard nothing except the soft, lonely voice of the wind. With a sigh, he turned back to camp, hoping the others wouldn't guess what he had been trying to do.
Unfortunately, his worst fears were realized the moment he stepped into the small clearing where they had set up camp. Listle, Trooper, and Miltiades were all staring at him.
"Er, Kern," the elf said after a moment's pause. "You've, ah, been trying to summon a charger again, haven't you?"
His shoulders drooped in dismay. "How did you know?"
"Oh, just intuition." Listle grinned crookedly. "That, and the big horse that's following you."
"What?"
Kern whirled about, his jaw dropping in surprise. He must have been so caught up in his gloomy reverie that he hadn't even noticed.
The steel-gray charger snorted softly, tossing its proud head. It moved forward, nuzzling Kern's outstretched hand. It was the most beautiful horse he had ever seen.
"Not bad, son," Trooper said, scratching his long white beard thoughtfully. "Not bad at all."
"You've gained the second power of a paladin, Kern," Miltiades announced gravely.
"But don't let it go to your head," Trooper quickly interjected. His bushy eyebrows bristled wildly. "You still have yet to master the third and final power. And that is the hardest one of all."
Kern, stroking the charger's smoothly muscled neck, barely heard the old paladin. "Your name will be Nocturne," he murmured softly.
The charger snorted, stamping a hoof, as if it was already well aware of this fact.
All the next day, they picked their way along narrow mountain trails. They kept to the valleys as best they could, but twice they were forced to guide their mounts up high passes treacherous with snow and ice. The day was clear and cold, and at times the sunlight reflecting off the snow was blinding.