Pool of Twilight - James M. Ward [48]
"Excellent, Hoag." The full moon had torn through the concealing clouds. Sirana's robe glowed eerily in the pale light. Despite the sharp air, she felt not the slightest chill. The fire of hate that burned within her was too strong. "You have done your task well tonight. I will summon you again when I have need of you. And I will have need of you." She laughed again, malevolently. "That foolish paladin-puppy has invited me along on his quest just as I planned."
A hissing sound emanated from the black knight's helm. "Beware, mistress. Paladins, like clerics, may be able to sense your dark nature."
"I think not, Hoag. I have woven a dozen magical protections about myself. Besides,"-Sirana gazed at her hands, coppery-colored even in the washed-out light of the moon-"the twilight pool is like nothing they have ever experienced before. All-powerful. No, if those fool disciples of Tyr sense anything about me, it will be magic of unusual power. And," she cooed, "what more could they wish for in an ally?"
Hoag did not reply. The fiend simply bowed to the wisdom of his mistress.
* * * * *
It was nearly midnight when Kern left the quiet haven of Denlor's Tower and slipped away through Phlan's ill-lit streets.
Tarl had fallen asleep in a chair, sitting by his stricken wife's bed as he did every night. It had been easy to pad down the stairs without waking him. Sneaking past Listle's room had proven more nerve-wracking. The elf's ears were more sensitive than any human's, and she was a light sleeper. It would have ruined everything if Listle had woken up and spied him. Nothing would have been able to keep her from following him. However, Tymora, Goddess of Luck, appeared to be watching over him still. Kern made it out of the tower undetected.
He glanced up at the full moon, high in a sky littered with fast-moving clouds. He had to hurry; it was almost time.
He had covered his mist-gray tunic with a cloak of midnight blue. At his hip was Primul's warhammer. He moved swiftly through shadowed avenues, past the blankly staring windows of moldering, abandoned buildings.
The moon was directly overhead when he reached the edge of Valhingen Graveyard. It was midnight. Just in time.
The cemetery was one of the most ancient places in Phlan, sitting atop the crest of a low hill in a thinly populated section of the city. It was here that, on his first journey to Phlan, Tarl had encountered a horde of undead under the command of a vampire lord. The undead cruelly slew Tarl's brethren, and the vampire took the Hammer of Tyr from the cleric. Tarl had barely escaped with his life. But later, Tarl, Shal, and Ren had returned to defeat the undead of Valhingen Graveyard. That was more than thirty years ago.
Kern pushed through the graveyard's rusting wrought-iron gate. Crumbling tombstones and dilapidated mausoleums glowed strangely in the ethereal moonlight. Nettles and witchgrass tangled the footpaths, scratching at his ankles as he passed. The graveyard was a forsaken place. Few, if any, ventured here anymore. There was little enough worth placed on life these days in Phlan; no one could be bothered to pay respect to the dead.
Kern pushed his way through the weeds, toward a newer-looking crypt that stood in the center of the cemetery. A sound to his left made him freeze. Hair prickled on the back of his neck; his heart jumped. He listened for a moment and finally decided the sound had simply been his imagination. He started down the path once more.
And heard the sound again.
It was a faint scraping noise, like stone moving across stone. Slowly, Kern turned to his left.
Something was stirring inside a marble ossuary.
The ornately carved coffin had been cracked open, like a gigantic stone egg. Something stirred in the darkness within. Backlit by the silvery moon, a ghostlike shadow had begun to rise out of the ossuary.
With one hand Kern gripped the holy symbol of Tyr, with his other he hefted the enchanted hammer. The ghost-shadow stretched two ghastly appendages toward him. He had