Pool of Twilight

had no doubt of what it was: the Hammer of Tyr.

The osyluth chortled evilly. This grows sweeter and sweeter, youngling. Its breath was fetid with the scent of death. It would be sweeter yet to crush you with the hammer you have so foolishly sought, would that I dared to wield it.

In its gloating, the osyluth did not realize its mistake.

It doesn't dare to touch the hammer! Kern realized. If Bane truly forged the hammer, why would Bane's servant fear to use it?

He knew the answer. The osyluth had lied. The hammer was Tyr's.

The osyluth flicked its tail, bringing the barbed stinger close to Kern's throat Venom glistened on its tip.

A memory flickered through Kern's mind…

For a split second, he was in Phlan once again, sitting with Tarl and Listle by the fire in Denlor's Tower. His father was telling a story, a story about… the hammer.

'… and no matter how far I threw it, it always returned to my hand when I called it…'

At last, victory is mine! The osyluth shrieked.

Kern closed his eyes. He knew he had just one chance. Come to me! he called out in his mind. Come!

With a rending sound, the Hammer of Tyr wrenched itself from the center of the web. Shining brilliantly, it flew through the air, directly into Kern's outstretched hand.

He didn't hesitate. Even as the osyluth's stinger descended, Kern hurled the hammer with all his might back toward the web. Awakened by the touch of one faithful to Tyr, the hammer burned with fury, striking the web that had imprisoned it moments before, burning it to ashes.

No! The osyluth screamed in terror. This cannot be! Holy blue fire snaked along the thread toward the osyluth, engulfing it. The creature writhed in agony.

Kern summoned the hammer back to his hand; it felt comfortable and right in his grip. 'It's time you joined your master, Bane,' Kern said between clenched teeth.

He swung the Hammer of Tyr. It struck the osyluth full in the chest. With a thunderclap, the fiend burst apart in a spray of bone splinters and shreds of dry, parchmentlike skin.

Kern's nightmares had come to an end.

The sun sank into a sea of molten bronze clouds behind the jagged stump of the red tower.

Kern sat, exhausted, on a granite boulder, the others around him. The enchantment paralyzing them had vanished when the osyluth died, as had the dark magic animating the horde of undead that filled the cavern and the rest of the red tower. All had collapsed into dust when the web was destroyed.

Listle grinned at Kern. 'You know, that wasn't half bad. For an ogre-brained oaf, that is.'

'You do him a disservice, illusionist,' Sirana chided gently. She laughed, a sound like golden bells. 'You are truly a hero, Kern. Do you think I could hold Tyr's hammer?' Her dark eyes glowed. 'I doubt I will ever be this close to so holy a relic again. It would mean a great deal to me.'

'Of course, Sirana,' Kern said. 'I could never have gained the hammer without you.' He took the ornate weapon from his belt. In the fading sunlight, fine runes glowed on its flawless steel surface.

Suspicion flared in Listle's heart. 'Kern, don't do it!' she shouted. Too late.

He held out the hammer.

Without hesitating, Sirana snatched it up with a triumphant expression. 'At last, it is mine!' she cried exultantly.

Kern stared at her in astonishment.

Suddenly an expression of agony twisted Sirana's face. She screamed in pain, dropping the hammer. 'By all the blackest gods, it burns!'

Kern and the others watched in horror as Sirana's lovely coppery skin began to bubble and smoke. Two stumps sprouted from her back, unfurling into vulturelike wings covered with oily black feathers. In moments the beautiful wild mage was gone. In her place stood a creature that was formed only vaguely like a woman. Her body and face were hideously misshapen. Dagger-shaped fangs curved down from her crooked maw, and sharp talons sprouted from her gnarled fingers. Her wings beat furiously, casting off a foul odor.

'A foul erinyes!' Miltiades spoke grimly, raising his sword.

'Oh, vile paladin, don't you find my true form lovely?' the erinyes Sirana rasped in a croaking voice. 'If not, you may blame it on my human father, the Red Wizard Marcus. Human and fiendish blood do not mix well, but I care nothing for beauty. I can don it like a cloak, or cast it aside when I need it no longer. It is power that matters to me!'

'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,