Pool of Twilight - James M. Ward [3]
"How, by all the gods, could he be hurt by a dream?" Now that she and Tarl were alone, Shal's voice was trembling. She leaned her head against her husband's broad chest, and he held her in his strong arms. She was a statuesque woman, taller even than Tarl-the result of an inadvertent use of a wishing ring years ago-but right now she felt small and afraid.
"All I can say is that it must be a very powerful creature that stalks his dreams," Tarl said softly.
"You think it's the warder of Tyr's hammer, don't you?"
Tarl nodded slowly. "Nothing else makes sense. Whoever plagues Kern's dreams knows that it's his destiny to find the lost hammer."
Shal sighed. Twenty-two years ago, she and Tarl had confronted a magical pool of darkness with the help of several others-including the ranger Ren o' the Blade, the sorceress Evaine, and an undead paladin named Miltiades, raised from the grave by Tyr for the purpose of the quest. Shal shivered. Even after all these years, the memory of the ordeal was still clear in her mind.
It all began when, with the help of the evil god Bane, the Red Wizard Marcus stole the entire city of Phlan, transporting it to a subterranean cavern beneath his tower. There he intended to feed the life-forces of Phlan's people to a pool of darkness in an attempt to gain enough power to become a dark deity. But Shal, Tarl, and the others had different ideas, and after they had defeated the Red Wizard, Tarl cast the legendary Hammer of Tyr into the pool, destroying the dark waters forever.
But something went awry. Before the holy relic could magically return to Tarl's hand, as it always had before, the hammer was stolen by Bane. The dark god hid it where he thought none would ever find it. Before he was summoned back to the halls of Tyr, the undead paladin, Miltiades, made a prophecy. One day, he foretold, it would be the fate of Shal and Tarl's newborn child to lead a quest for the lost hammer. Knowledge of this prophecy they had thus far kept from their beloved son.
"By Tyr, I would go myself," Tarl said through clenched teeth. "But how can I when… when…" His broad shoulders slumped in despair as he sank down to a chair covered in gryphon leather. He buried his face in his hands. "What have I become? I cannot even protect my son in his time of need." His voice was anguished. "What good is a blind hero, Shal?"
"Enough!" Shal said sharply. "Get all of that nonsense out of your system. Self-pity does not become you, cleric of Tyr."
A look of surprise crossed Tarl's face. "You're right, of course," he said huskily. "I suppose I should be thankful I'm alive at all. So many of the temple's clerics have perished these last years. I have no right to complain."
The last five years had been hard ones for the good clerics of Phlan. When the hammer was first stolen by Bane, few had realized how dire the consequences would truly be. The hammer had been the heart of the temple's power, and, without the holy relic, the temple's protective aura had gradually diminished. The warding spells woven about its walls were no longer reliable proof against the scourges of unholy magic sent by enemies of the God of Justice. The clerics of Tyr were dying, one by one. A year ago, Tarl himself had nearly succumbed. It was only a great strength, and an even greater faith in his god, that had preserved him. But he did not escape unscarred-he was struck blind. Tarl knew that it was only a matter of time before the temple's defenses would fail altogether, and on that day all the clerics of Tyr would perish.
Unless Tyr's hammer was returned.
"Never forget, husband," Shal said softly, "you are the same man you always were. Nothing has changed that."
He found her face with his hands and kissed her soundly. "What good could I possibly have done in