Pool of Twilight - James M. Ward [13]
Several of the thieves produced flares, and the resulting green glow revealed fiends such as the onlookers had never imagined existed. Spinagons on clawed feet strode boldly into the hall, moving with a queer reptilian grace, their leathery wings flapping lazily behind them. There were nine of the fell beasts, each bearing a long, wickedly barbed spear. The weapons sizzled with flame, sparks flying from their steel tips, scorching the air with the reek of burned hair. Had the beasts appeared ten minutes before, the thieves would have fled in terror. But the magical armor had hardened their hearts as well as their bodies. The thieves showed no fear of Sirana's otherworldly minions. The fiends snarled at the green flares, thick drool oozing from serrated fangs.
"We have been summoned from our plane of existence," the fiends hissed in unison. "Who are we to kill?"
"Whom I tell you to kill," Slayer spat.
Their eyes flared with hatred, but the spinagons bowed their heads in submission. They had no choice; Sirana controlled them with her powerful magic.
"All of Tyr's clerics must die!" Slayer bellowed to the crowd. "And we must capture the book that reveals the way to Tyr's hammer. Our reward will be untold riches." The huge man raised a fist on high. "Are you with me, thieves of Phlan?"
As one, the magically armored thieves raised their dark swords, eyes gleaming with curiously blank ferocity as they shouted their battle cries.
* * * * *
Anton and Tarl had sat Kern down on a hard marble bench. The young paladin was still dazed. Listle hovered nearby with an expression that was an equal mixture of concern, wonder, and amusement.
"I'm sorry you had to hear of Miltiades' prophecy like this, Son." Tarl gripped Kern's shoulder tightly. "Shal and I had planned to tell you next year."
Anton spoke in his rumbling baritone. "I'm afraid these dark times will force him to become a man a little sooner than you had wished, Tarl." The big cleric knelt to look directly in Kern's eyes. His shaggy mien was solemn. "I will not lie to you, Kern. The search for Tyr's hammer will be a perilous quest. Should you accept your destiny as Hammerseeker, there is a chance that you might never return to Phlan." Anton took a deep breath. "Never has a paladin-aspirant been given such a momentous task. But Tyr himself has chosen you, lad."
Kern's heart seemed to be fluttering inside his steel breastplate like a frightened sparrow. Why was he the one destined to find the Hammer of Tyr?
Anton rose to his feet. "Kern Desanea," the cleric intoned ceremoniously, "will you accept the title of Hammerseeker and quest for the lost Hammer of Tyr?"
Kern nodded jerkily, his face pale. A year ago, on the day he had become a paladin-aspirant, he had sworn to serve Tyr to the best of his abilities. Now Tyr had given him the chance to save Phlan. "I'll do my best, Patriarch Anton," he managed to say.
Tarl grinned proudly at his son, while Listle laughed.
"Hammerseeker, eh?" the elf remarked. "Not bad, Kern. Not bad at all. For an ogre-brained oaf, that is."
"Thanks, Listle," Kern replied wryly.
The temple's sole surviving paladin, a tall, handsome man with steel-blue eyes, approached. "Patriarch Anton, we bow to your wisdom," Rialad began in his sonorous voice. "However…"
Anton raised a shaggy eyebrow in curiosity. "However what, Rialad?" The Patriarch knew Rialad to be a skilled warrior whose loyalty to the temple was beyond reproach. Yet the paladin had an exaggerated opinion of himself and a penchant for questioning Anton's authority.
"The prophecy of Bane has spoken clearly. Someone must quest for the hammer."
"Not someone," Tarl interjected. "The only one-"
The square-chinned paladin interrupted. "Yes, I know, Brother Tarl," he said graciously. "However, I am this temple's last paladin of Tyr and the natural candidate to take up the quest. Rest assured, I will choose four of the temple's best warriors to accompany me as the prophecy instructs. No foes will dare