Pool of Twilight - James M. Ward [51]
Kern shivered, but he wasn't certain if it was from the morning chill or from standing so close to the undead paladin. While everything about Miltiades' manner was noble and kind, it was hard for Kern to forget that the paladin was… well, dead, for lack of a better description. A coldness always seemed to linger near the knight, along with a faint, dusty aroma that reminded Kern of the graveyard. Needless to say, the paladin's presence was going to take a little getting used to.
The wild mage, Sirana, appeared out of the shadows, astride a skittish roan stallion with a perfect white star on its forehead. When she saw Kern, she smiled.
"Are you ready for your quest, paladin?" she asked in her sultry voice.
Kern blushed, mumbling something unintelligible in reply. Sirana's stunning smile widened.
The wild mage wore only a cream-colored traveling cloak over her thin white robe. This warranted a clear look of disapproval on Listle's part. However, before the elf could comment, Tarl and Anton stepped out of the tower, bearing a few more odds and ends the travelers might find useful on their journey.
Both clerics had been astonished to see their old friend Miltiades that morning, but pleased, of course. It was certainly a sign that Tyr favored them, Anton had said.
"You're riding off on a grand adventure, Kern," the grizzled patriarch said wistfully. "I almost wish I could journey with you." A hopeful light shone in his eyes.
"No, Patriarch Anton, it is not fated to be," Miltiades said, understanding Anton's look.
"But there are only four of you," Anton protested. "The prophecy states that five should journey in search of the hammer."
"The fifth we will meet before we reach our destination," Miltiades answered. "That much Tyr has revealed to me, though who the fifth will be, I cannot say." The paladin laid a cold gauntlet on the big cleric's shoulder. "Besides, good Anton. Something tells me your strength will be needed here in Phlan while we are away. Your strength, and that of Tarl Desanea."
The patriarch hung his head forlornly for a moment. Then he looked up, laughing. "Oh, who am a fooling?" he rumbled. "I always break out in saddle sores after ten minutes of riding. Leave the quests to the young ones." He looked suddenly uncomfortable. "Er, present company excluded, of course."
"Of course," Miltiades murmured.
Tarl stepped forward and gripped his son's arms tightly. "May Tyr go with you, Kern."
"I'll do my best, Father," Kern said quietly.
The white-haired cleric nodded, his expression intent. "I know you will, Son. Shal and I will be waiting for you."
Neither had to say that speed was of the essence. Time was Shal's greatest enemy now. Kern had to act swiftly to gain the hammer and return before it was too late. Father and son embraced tightly.
It was time to bid farewell.
The four riders guided their mounts out of the courtyard of Denlor's Tower. The quest for the lost hammer had begun.
* * * * *
The sun was barely visible amid a sea of clouds as the four rode through the empty streets of the city. Frost had etched Phlan's buildings with its pale gilding during the night, and the air was bitterly cold. By the time they reached the city's edge, the overcast sky hung dark, low, and sullen above the city rooftops.
Kern led the way through the Death Gates astride his sleek palfrey. Sirana followed close behind, with Listle next on her dappled gray, unconsciously frowning at the beautiful wild mage. Last to ride through the gate was the undead paladin Miltiades. A banner flew from the tip of the lance he held upright, its butt-end braced in his stirrup. The wind caught the banner, unfurling it, and the golden scales of Tyr shone dully in the dim light.
Phlan faded into the distance as Kern guided his mount west along the pebble-strewn shore of the Moonsea. The ruins of the red tower lay to the southwest, across the vast lake. While a ship would have made