Pool of Twilight - James M. Ward [11]
"Of course," Kern managed to sputter despite his mortification. Listle glanced at him smugly.
"Thank you," Dameron said, winking at Kern. He drew a small jar from his pocket. Unstoppering it, he took out a pinch of colorless powder and sprinkled it carefully over the page. Gradually, a faint shine began to creep across the cracked and yellowed parchment. The shimmering grew brighter, forming spidery lines and swirling whorls. Kern gasped. The magical glow had outlined a dozen lines of cryptic-looking runes.
"Bane erased the true ending of the prophecy," Dameron explained. "But as any apprentice scribe copying tomes for his or her master knows, no matter how hard one scours, traces of ink always remain on the paper."
Listle grimaced, nodding. Shal was always giving her stacks of magical books to copy, and the elf's mistress was nothing less than a perfectionist. A stray drop of ink usually meant she had to recopy the entire page.
"The powder I sprinkled on the parchment causes those remaining, almost invisible, flecks of ink to glimmer," Dameron concluded. "And thus we are able to read a part of the prophecy we never knew existed."
"I, too, can read it!" Tarl said in wonderment. Kern looked at his father in surprise. Then he understood. The runes on the page were glowing with magical light. They would be vivid to his father.
"The language is archaic." Tarl's pale eyebrows knitted together as he studied the tome intently. "And you're right, Sendara, the verse is atrocious. But I think I can translate it:
When winter comes with magic wild,
Then must the Seeker go
To a riven tower of magic red,
Where a city was shackled below.
With him must come four heroes,
No less and neither no more
To battle the lurking Warder
For this relic of ancient lore.
Though dark may fall before them,
Their strife has just begun,
For awaiting them still is the twilight pool's
Shadowed guardian."
Tarl looked up from his reading in surprise. "It makes reference to the ruins of the red tower, yes? Where the Red Wizard Marcus imprisoned the city of Phlan twenty-two years ago."
Patriarch Anton nodded, scratching his grizzled gray beard. "That's what we infer. And what's more, this year, in the reckoning of the kings of Cormyr, is the Year of Wild Magic. The prophecy is clear on this point. If we are ever going to retrieve the hammer, it must be now."
Kern looked at Listle excitedly, forgetting her annoying habits for the moment. She returned his look with eagerness.
Tarl drew himself up to his full height. "Then may I formally remind my brothers and sisters of the prophecy of Miltiades, that most noble of Tyr's paladins?"
Murmurs of ascent followed Tarl's request Kern wondered what his father was referring to. All he knew was that Miltiades was a legendary paladin Tyr had once raised from the grave to help save Phlan.
"Before Miltiades was called back to Tyr's halls, he spoke of one destined to be called Hammerseeker."
Kern leaned forward, anxious to hear the lucky cleric's name.
"And who is to be the Hammerseeker?" Patriarch Anton intoned ceremoniously.
Tarl drew in a deep breath. "The name of the Hammerseeker is Kern Miltiades Desanea!" His deep voice reverberated about the temple.
Listle's silvery eyes nearly popped out of her head.
Tarl smiled proudly at his son.
Kern gaped at his father in utter astonishment as all eyes turned expectantly toward him.
"Who?" he blurted in an unexpectedly squeaky voice. "Me?"
3
Mysterious foes
The huge assassin called Slayer strode into the smoky subterranean hall and surveyed the gathered throng with cruel eyes, his lips curling back from his strong white teeth in a feral grin. It looked as if every last member of Phlan's guild of thieves had answered the call, from the scroungiest cutpurse to the deadliest killer. Over three hundred men and women stood before Slayer, and all of them were his to command. The old fools of the temple of Tyr had seen their last sunrise.
"I have a gift for you, thieves of Phlan!" Slayer