Pool of Twilight - James M. Ward [78]
"Like the power of Tyr's hammer," Kern said, shaking his head in wonderment. He knelt to retrieve the relic from the ground where it had fallen.
The erinyes whirled on him. "Yes!" she hissed. "I will have it, you foolish little puppy. Just as I will have revenge upon you, and all of Phlan as well." She turned her murderous gaze toward Miltiades. "You will pay for slaying my father. You all will pay!"
"But you have failed, Sirana," Listle said, her voice hard.
"Think that if you wish, elf," the erinyes snarled. "But I have a source of power which I have barely begun to tap. You will never defeat the magic of the pool of twilight! Never!" The half-fiend began to back away from the others. "Vengeance will be mine!"
"Don't let her escape!" Daile cried. She raised her bow, but before she could loose an arrow, the erinyes gripped the bone amulet at her throat. In a puff of smoke, she vanished. Daile's arrow passed through thin air.
Sirana was gone.
13
Vows of Vengeance
Patriarch Anton watched intently as Sister Sendara, augur of the Temple of Tyr, let the runestones slip through her fine-boned fingers. The timeworn pebbles, each carved with a holy symbol, tumbled onto a round silver plate. The wizened priestess peered at the stones, studying the pattern they made as they fell.
"What do you see in the temple's future, Sister Sendara?" Anton asked softly. The two were alone in a small candlelit antechamber off the temple's main hall.
"A moment, Anton," Sendara scolded. "Fate cannot be rushed."
Anton smiled at this gentle rebuke. Of all the clerics left in Phlan's temple of Tyr, only Sendara was older than he was, and only she spoke to him in such a familiar manner. If sometimes she was not as respectful to the patriarch as custom dictated, Anton took no offense. After all, Sendara had been a full cleric of the faith when he could do little more than coo and slumber in his mother's arms.
"These are ill-tidings," she said finally in a cracked voice.
"What is it?" Anton glowered at the stones scattered across the silver platter. They meant nothing to his untrained eyes.
"A shadow approaches the temple of Tyr." Sendara's dark eyes were like bright chips of obsidian. "A foe who has attacked us once before gathers together even greater strength. Soon we will be awash in a sea of darkness."
"Are you certain?"
The ancient priestess frowned at Anton, hands on the hips of her soft gray robe. "It's not as if I'm making this up for dramatic effect, you know."
Anton sighed deeply, placing his hands on her thin shoulders. "I know, Sendara. I know. It is difficult news to bear, that's all."
"As will be the dark days to come." Sendara extricated herself from his grasp. "But there is more, Anton, and on this the runes speak clearly." She gazed at the scattered stones again. "Phlan has suffered many foes and many battles in its history. But none have ever been so dire, or so important, as this. We must prevail in our coming trials, or all will be lost."
"What do you mean, Sendara?"
"I mean, Anton," she said somberly, "that if the temple of Tyr falls before the hammer is returned, then all of Phlan is doomed. Forever."
She gathered her runestones and slipped them into a small silken pouch, leaving Anton alone in the antechamber to contemplate her words. A chill had settled in the old patriarch's bones, but he didn't know if it was from the wintry air or Sendara's frightening words. He found himself wondering once again how Kern and the others were faring on their quest for Tyr's hammer.
A thought struck him. He left the antechamber, making his way through the temple's upper corridors. It was after vespers, and candles had been lit against the gathering gloom outside. He knocked on a small wooden door and entered a room, finding Tarl Desanea sitting in a stiff-backed chair. His stricken wife lay before him. Tarl had moved her from their tower to the sanctuary