Pool of Twilight - James M. Ward [14]
Anton and Tarl both opened their mouths to protest, but Listle was faster than either of them.
"But you can't deny the prophecy!" The elf was positively seething. She had never cared for Sir Rialad's lofty, self-important demeanor. "Kern is destined to be the Hammerseeker."
Sir Rialad smiled indulgently at Kern. "Ah, yes," the paladin said, putting a fatherly arm around Kern's shoulders. "Kern is a brave lad. I have nothing but confidence that one day he will prove himself a paladin of great worth." He turned to address the others. "But surely the consummate paladin Miltiades could not have intended that a mere stripling quest for the hammer while the fate of Phlan hangs in the balance."
For some reason Sir Rialad's expression made the paladin-aspirant shudder, and Kern had to fight the urge to squirm out of the knight's grasp.
"But we dare not disregard Miltiades' prophecy!" Tarl said angrily.
"So you would send an inexperienced puppy into the face of peril?" Rialad retorted. The paladin spun on Kern. "You understand, don't you, aspirant? We must place the good of the temple above our own ambitions for greatness. That is the first lesson you must learn as a paladin. You see as well as I how foolish it would be for you to seek the hammer, do you not? I have a strength and experience you could never hope to match."
Kern shook his head dizzily. Sir Rialad's words made sense. He didn't like being called a puppy, but he knew that he was young and sadly inexperienced. He opened his mouth to reply as the paladin watched expectantly.
"Kern, don't!" Listle hissed in his ear.
He ignored the elf. The word yes formed itself on Kern's tongue.
He never had the chance to utter it.
The enchanted stones of the temple's portico thundered a warning chant. "Beware! Foes approach! Stand ready, clerics of Tyr! Beware!"
Kern and Listle exchanged a look of surprise. Instantly the clerics around them jumped into action.
"Seal the gates!" Anton bellowed.
Four clerics shut and barred the main gates. Never in the temple's history had the gates been breached, for underneath the ornately carved wood were thick plates of forge-hardened steel. The clerics of Tyr themselves were every bit as hardened beneath their kind and courteous manners. Ever battle-ready, they wore chain mail concealed beneath their gray robes.
Kern dashed up the steps leading to the battlements above the gates, Listle hot on his heels. Already clerics were readying piles of heavy stones and lighting fires under waiting caldrons of pitch. Kern gazed down the street that led up to the temple's gates.
"Something tells me we'd better get ready for a fight," Listle noted as a horde of men clad in ebony armor marched toward the temple, snaking through the street like a vast, dark serpent.
"You don't say," Kern said sarcastically.
"May Tyr grant us his protection!" Kern heard Anton shout below. The patriarch's voice was instantly echoed by a score of others. Suddenly, a shimmering blue nimbus sprang to life about the gates. The holy wards infused the portals, strengthening them with magical power.
Listle rummaged through the countless pouches hanging from her belt, readying the mystical components necessary for her spells, while Kern hefted his battlehammer. From his vantage on the wall he could survey all the preparations. Half the temple's clerics had mounted the wall, ready to drop stones and fiery pitch through the machicolations when the enemy arrived. The remainder had gathered in the courtyard below, poised to fight hand to hand should the enemy somehow manage to breach the walls. A few of the older clerics, Tarl among them, sequestered themselves inside the temple's main hall. There they wove spells of protection around the temple's entrance, preparing a last stand in the event the clerics were forced to retreat into the temple itself.
A cleric, whom Kern recognized as Sister Briatha, approached. Before he could say anything, she touched him on the forehead and whispered a brief