Pool of Radiance - James M. Ward [20]
Tarl dropped down beside Anton. The big man was still writhing in pain. He spoke only one word that could be understood-"No!" Tarl could imagine what Anton intended to say: "No, Tarl! Don't throw the hammer! Don't listen to him!" But it was too late. Tarl had lost the Hammer of Tyr, and now he would surely die with his friend.
"Now get away from me! Leave me be!" the vampire shrieked. There was no pleasure in its voice anymore, only pain. "Where will yoooou gooo? Tell me, and be gooone!"
Tarl didn't understand why the creature would give him and Anton leave, but he wasn't waiting around to find out. "To Civilized Phlan. To the Temple of Tyr," he replied quickly.
Suddenly a huge puff of deep crimson smoke surrounded Tarl and Anton. For a moment, all Tarl could see was red. He could see neither the vampire nor Anton, nor indeed even his own hands. The roar of an unfathomable wind churned and swirled all around him, but he could feel nothing. It was as if his body were protected by layer upon layer of soft, impenetrable cloth.
When the red cloud finally cleared, he was sitting beside Anton in front of a gate to what was obviously the new temple of Tyr.
"Brothers!" Tarl cried from the gate. "Brothers of Tyr, help us!"
Tarl could see men moving in the twilight. Two approached, carrying lanterns, and when they saw the condition of their two fellow brothers, they called for more help. It took four men to carry Anton to a bed within the confines of the temple. For hours they worked on his feverish body, hardly exchanging words with each other or with Tarl as they tried to ease the pain of their fallen brother. When finally they had done all they could, an elder of the order who resembled Brother Sontag rested his hand on Tarl's shoulder and led him to a room crowded with tables. "Sit," said the old man. "Talk, and I'll get you some food. I can see from your eyes, and from the condition of your brother, that there must be much to tell." The elder brother left and returned shortly with stew and bread and bitter ale, then sat down beside Tarl.
Tarl ate absently. His body craved the food, but he had no energy to think about it. He had lost everything this day-ten of his brothers, the sacred object they had entrusted him with, and, he feared, Anton. After a night of spell-casting and laying on of hands and applying poultices, the brothers had succeeded only in easing Anton's pain enough so that he could lie in some semblance of peace. But there was no spark in the man, no sign of understanding, and only a dim glimmer of recognition for Tarl when he was nearby. He had not spoken a word since they left the graveyard.
Again the old man prompted Tarl to speak. Tarl reached out and clutched the brother's hand. "Twelve men started this journey, brother…"
"Tern. Brother Tern. And you are called…?"
"Tarl… Those same men trained me and initiated me into the Brotherhood of Tyr…" Tarl quickly related the story of their journey from Vaasa and their first sight of the Stojanow River.
"Here, we call it the Barren River," Brother Tern interspersed. "No life can survive in its poison waters."
Tarl nodded and continued. He told of the skeletons and zombies and wraiths, and of the horrible, screaming deaths of his brothers. But he did not mention the graveyard, nor did he tell of the vampire. He referred to the ruins of Phlan and expressed his belief that the Hammer of Tyr, with its tremendous power for good, must have awakened and infuriated all the undead of the city simply by its proximity. What evil had left its mark on Anton's forehead, he did not know. He vowed to find out.
When he told the cleric that the Hammer of Tyr was missing somewhere in the ruins, he could see the older man's pain. The clerics of Phlan had counted desperately on the hammer's strength and power as they finished their temple and went out in numbers to face the very creatures Tarl was describing.