Pool of Twilight - James M. Ward [92]
Tarl leaned forward, concentrating on the dark cloud. As it neared, he realized that it was composed of dozens of smaller objects, each surrounded by a faint crimson aura. As the swarm of objects drew closer, the shapes became clearer with each passing second.
"By Tyr above," Tarl gasped.
The dark cloud was not made up of objects, but of fiends.
Tarl waited for the temple's magical alarms to sound. The shadow fiends were flying swiftly upon their midnight-dark wings. They were mere minutes away from the temple's walls. Surely some of the other clerics had seen them by now.
But the night remained deathly silent.
"Sound the alarm," Tarl gritted between his teeth. "Are you all asleep? Sound the alarm!"
No hue-and-cry rang out. Then Tarl realized the obvious. The others could not see the shadow fiends. They were invisible to mundane eyes. Without further hesitation, he turned and dashed inside. He bashed his shins against an unseen chair but, ignoring the pain, stumbled on. He caught his shoulder on the door frame, and pain exploded in his chest, but he ignored that, too. He had to warn the others. Careening down the corridor like a madman, he began shouting.
"Beware, clerics of Tyr! A foe comes in the night! Beware!"
When he came to the stairs leading to the main hall, he would have fallen and broken his neck had not Sister Corenna, a cleric of middle years, been there to catch him. He explained what he had observed in short, gasping sentences. An intelligent woman with nerves as steely as her eyes, Sister Corenna quickly helped Tarl downstairs and called for order among the small throng of clerics that had responded to Tarl's cry.
"Shadow fiends approach the temple," Tarl announced urgently. "We must act. They will be here in mere minutes."
"Shadow fiends?" Brother Dameron asked. The stout, round-faced young cleric wore a skeptical expression. "I've never heard of such a thing. Are you certain you're not mistaken, Brother Tarl?"
Tarl caught the note of condescension in the scholarly cleric's voice.
"What is it, Brother Dameron?" Tarl snarled. "Do you think me a blind simpleton, is that it? An old man who's lost his wits as well as his sight?"
Dameron's jaw worked soundlessly in surprise at the intensity in Tarl's voice.
"Forgive us, Tarl," Anton said. The grizzled patriarch's voice was grave and calm. "You have caught us off guard, that is all. Quickly, tell us what should we do."
"They are creatures of darkness," Tarl said without hesitation. "We must strengthen the temple's defenses against the substance that forms them."
He pulled his ceremonial hammer from his belt and, despite his unseeing eyes, swung it in a precise arc. It struck a green stone circle in the center of the hall's floor. Under the force of his powerful blow, the circle of stone sank into the floor with a hissing sound. There was a loud grinding overhead as seven lines appeared on the inside surface of the bronze dome. Like the petals of a huge, metallic flower, the dome split into seven sections, each receding slowly into the temple's walls to reveal a perfect circle of night sky.
"What have you done, Tarl?" Dameron cried in horror. "If foes do approach, you've just opened the temple for them!"
"Walls are no proof against creatures of shadow," Tarl replied intently. "It is with magic that we will stop these beings, and for that we must have a clear view." He raised his warhammer toward the circle of the sky. "Now, clerics of Tyr!"
Even as his voice rang out, inky forms swirled out of the night. As one, the assembled clerics began their resonant chanting. A pale blue nimbus sprang into existence across the circular opening above the temple. Several of the shadow fiends approached the nimbus and instantly burst into flame as they breached the holy light. But several of the creatures were too fast and had already slipped through.
These swooped down, landing lightly on three-toed claws. The crimson outlines of the magical fiends burned