Pool of Twilight

everything about the powers of darkness that might be useful one day to hunt those who had killed Marcus and injured the erinyes. When Sirana was nine, she had tested her daughter's progress in a magical duel. In the course of the battle, Sirana had slain her mother, gaining the erinyes's power for her own. Neither regretted the outcome of the duel. Even as she lay dying, the erinyes had presented the memory box to Sirana and made her take a vow of vengeance.

For years, Sirana had bided her time, waiting for the perfect moment to enact her revenge. And then a wondrous opportunity had presented itself. She discovered a fantastic new source of power that made her stronger than she had ever dared to hope. A plan unfurled in her mind. Not only would she kill those who had slain her father, she would also regain the precious Hammer of Tyr the city held so dear. Without the hammer, Phlan would never be healed of the vice and corruption that had come to plague it since the hammer was lost. Then she would ransom the hammer to one of the many dark gods who despised Tyr. In exchange for the relic, she would demand to become a demigod, just as Marcus himself, her father, had once dreamed. Her vengeance, and her destiny, would be complete.

The iron door of her spellcasting chamber flew open with a boom, shattering her pleasant reverie. She scowled, snapping shut the memory box. A cruel light shone in her dark eyes. Yes, she would have her revenge, and she would become a deity. This minor setback at the temple meant nothing at all. But first she had some tedious business to take care of.

'We have dealt the imbecile clerics of Tyr a blow they will not soon forget, Sirana!' a voice thundered.

Slayer. The abishai strutted into her chamber, displaying dagger-sharp fangs. Several roaches scuttled about in terror. Unlike Slayer, they possessed an inkling of what was going to happen.

The massive fiend stood before Sirana's chair, breath reeking, the veins in its membranous wings pulsing with black blood.

'It was a glorious battle,' Slayer snarled arrogantly. 'The morons of Tyr will never stand another assault.'

'Is that so?' Sirana crooned. 'And what do we have left to assault them with, Slayer? An army of cockroaches?' She flung a small crimson ball of energy at one of the insects crawling by. When the smoke cleared, all that remained was a scorched spot on the stone floor.

Slayer shrugged massive shoulders. 'They couldn't prove any worse in battle than your spinagons, mistress. Not that your army of thieves was much better. Despite their ineptitude, I almost got my hands on The Oracle of Strife. Then a blasted paladin I had set ablaze had the gall to collapse on the book. It was ashes before I could blink. Your idiot spinagons should have stopped him, but they had all perished at the hands of an elven illusionist.' The fiend's scarlet eyes glowed hotly. 'You didn't tell me there would be a mage in the temple, mistress. Tch, tch! You should be grateful I am still alive to serve you.'

A smile coiled itself about Sirana's lips like a small ruby serpent. 'Indeed, abishai, I am exceedingly grateful. And I feel I should grant you a reward for your accomplishments.'

She lifted a hand. Slayer's eyes flared suspiciously. Black flames encircled the fiend's body. Layer after layer of magical protections wove themselves about the abishai. The fiend glared at its mistress smugly. It had nothing to fear from the half-breed daughter of a lowly erinyes.

'You dare to raise a hand against me?' Slayer snarled. Drool flew from the abishai's maw, pitting the stone floor where it splattered. 'I am a prince among fiends. Your mother's kind are insects to me, and your father's most powerful spells could not so much have scratched my defenses. You summoned me into this world, Sirana, but do not for a moment believe that you will be able to hurt me.'

Sirana feigned an impressed look. 'I have misjudged you, great abishai,' she simpered. She fell to her knees before the fiend's clawed feet, bowing her head submissively. 'Truly I am not worthy of being called mistress by one so mighty as yourself.'

Slayer let out a deep, rumbling laugh. 'Well, this is more appropriate, erinyes-spawn.'

Abruptly Sirana stood up, a vicious smile on her beautiful face. Slayer stared at her, too late noticing the rune she had drawn upon the floor while she knelt.

The rune spewed forth a white-hot funnel of sparks.

'What is this?' the abishai hissed as the sparks covered its body. The fiend tried to bat them away, but the sparks seared its scaly flesh with pain wherever they touched. Black flames flared to protect Slayer, but the sparks sent by Sirana spun faster and faster. The abishai's aura of protection shattered.

'No!' Slayer screamed. 'This cannot be!'

Sirana watched as the sparks adhered to Slayer's skin. They covered the fiend, consumed it.

'But I am a prince of fiends!'

The abishai writhed like a skewered lizard, its entire form burning with magic, its body lost in the maelstrom of sparks. The tornadolike magic whirled faster and faster. Then Slayer began to shrink, melting into the rune on the floor. One last wail of fury echoed around the chamber, then the tornado was sucked down into the rune that had spawned it.

The magical symbol shimmered with power. Sirana did not hesitate. She knelt down, pressing her forehead against the rune.

Searing heat shot through her skull, but before she could scream it faded to a dull, almost pleasant tingling. Sirana stood, new power surging through her veins. The rune on the floor had vanished, but a mirror image of the symbol glowed momentarily on her pale forehead. Then it, too, faded. All the power that had been Slayer's was now hers to command.

She stretched luxuriously, then sank onto a velvet covered chaise, reveling in her victory over the abishai. A month ago such a conquest would have been beyond her abilities. But not now. Every day she grew stronger. Her destiny beckoned.

True, The Oracle of Strife had been destroyed, but the riddle of the hammer's hiding place had apparently been solved, or the clerics of Tyr would never have allowed the book to go up in flames. Sirana would find other ways of obtaining her prize. It would be simple enough to find the hammer by following those sent to fetch it, and Sirana's otherworldly spies had already informed her that the son of two of her father's killers would be among them.

She tossed her head back and laughed, a high, trilling sound that echoed off the cold stone walls. She was a highly creative fiend, after all. She was certain she would think of something.

Raising her hand, she gently stroked a braided ring fashioned from the coarse hair of some monster. 'Hoag, I summon you. Come to me.'

Instantly, a creature materialized high above her. The hamatula, a baatezu of the Nine Hells, was a tall, long-limbed fiend covered from head to claw with cruelly barbed spikes. The hamatula were cousins of the abishai and erinyes, but after her experience with Slayer, Sirana found that she preferred the cruel and crafty hamatula to the brutish and arrogant abishai. Hoag had served her well in the past. She should have thought to summon this particular fiend earlier.

'Sirana,' the fiend growled with pleasure. 'How wonderful it is to be summoned by a wizard of your eminence once again.'

It bowed low, its long, spindly limbs strangely graceful. Its exquisitely sharp talons brushed the stone floor, tracing fine lines in the hard stone. 'What task may I perform for you, mistress?'

'I need you to help me with a little plot I've concocted, Hoag,' Sirana said liltingly. She ran a finger lightly along one of the hamatula's razor-edged barbs. 'Of course, I can't have you walking around the city of Phlan looking like this.'

The sorceress waved her hand. Shadows drifted down to swirl about the hamatula. When the shadows dispersed, the spider-limbed fiend was gone, and in its place stood a tall knight of noble bearing clad in ornate armor of midnight black. He bore a sable shield without device or crest. His face was concealed behind the visor of his helm.

'That's better.' Sirana, deep in thought, chewed her lower lip delicately. 'Of course, a good knight needs a proper steed.' She waved her hand again. This time the shadows coalesced to form a glossy, jet-black charger. Its scarlet nostrils flared as it snorted, tossing its shadowy mane.

'Now, listen carefully at what you are to do, Hoag.'

The tall knight nodded his head. 'It is with the greatest pleasure that I serve, my dark lady.'