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  Pools of Darkness

  ( Heroes of Phlan - 2 )

  James M. Ward

  Anne K Brown

  James M. Ward, Anne K Brown

  Pools of Darkness

  PROLOGUE

  "Not again! It won't happen again!"

  Eyes ablaze with uncontrolled fire, the god sprayed bolts of lightning on all who cringed before him. Those that missed showered through the sky and onto the innocent and unsuspecting population of Faerun. Merchants, farmers, and mothers with small children ran for cover.

  "I've played by the rules. I've organized, I've attracted worshipers, I've even granted a few of them special privileges! I'm getting nowhere in this realm and I'm fed up."

  The god slammed his fist on the arm of his throne. As he glared at those assembled around him, his eyes sent waves of fear among the creatures who looked on.

  "Something must be done! I will not lose one more worshiper! What is it going to take for those pathetic humans to respect and fear me? Any ideas?" he hissed.

  Those in the audience chamber cowered. Many found themselves unable to meet his gaze. This being might have been attractive if not for his terrific temper and uncontrolled wrath. A handsomely sculpted face, broad shoulders, and a graceful gait could not conceal the anger and chaos that dwelled within.

  No one answered the lord, though they all knew someone was going to pay for the silence.

  Boom!

  A blast from a smoldering censer above the god's head transformed seven high priests into piles of smoking ash. The aroma of burned incense overpowered the chamber.

  Crackle!

  Withering beams of darkness sprayed from the god's hands and dissolved six huge pit fiends from the planes of Gehenna into swirls of dust rolling across the polished granite floor.

  Ssst!

  A split-second of concentration changed five of the god's powerful evil wizards into pillars of salt in five different cities around the realm.

  The god ranted, shouted, raved. No creature in the chamber could escape the tirade.

  Several huge, warty fiends, more animal than human, foresaw their immediate futures and threw themselves at the feet of the god, shouting in unison.

  "Bane, redeemer, boss, exalted one, you gotta get tough with those bums. You got the power. You got the magic. You just gotta make 'em notice you."

  "Notice me? Isn't it enough that my agents create strife throughout Faerun? Isn't it enough that the hatred they foster has corrupted whole cities? What does a god have to do to get a little attention down there?"

  Bane again slammed his fist on his throne. The intense rumbling of the chamber sent nearly every two-legged creature in the room crashing to the floor.

  "You're doin' it right, but you need a new approach," the fiends groveled. "We'll help ya, and we'll get some wizards and some demi-powers to help ya. Before you know it, you'll have all the power and followers you want. All it takes is a little godlike act directed at some of those cities. We got a plan…"

  "Why didn't you say so before? I've been waiting for you so-called advisors to advise me! Get on with it!"

  Bane slammed his fist on his knee, and a female sorceress who had tired him for a long time was struck by a lightning bolt. When the smoke cleared, nothing remained but a few scraps of charred silk from her gown.

  The warty fiends leaned in close, but not too close, to their raging lord.

  "Well, boss, this is how we see it…"

  1

  City in Turmoil

  What started as a day of humid sunshine smelling of damp earth and the scent of things green and growing turned quickly into a day of severe, threatening weather. By noon, the brilliant blue sky was obscured by ominous, dense clouds. Black, boiling thunderheads followed, moving in with unnatural speed.

  The citizens of Phlan had endured worse, and they took the storm in stride. Livestock was corralled, shutters bolted, and children were ordered to play indoors.

  By suppertime, the countryside was drowning in torrential rains and hail. Intense winds blew clapboards off houses, tore branches off trees, and knocked over anything that wasn't securely fastened to the ground. Worst of all was the lightning that ripped through the sky and the thunder that shook buildings to their very foundations. Not even the oldest citizens could remember such a day. The druids who had predicted the sunny weather that morning were completely confused by the change in conditions. Nothing in their divinations had even hinted at bad weather.

  As evening wore on, the storm's intensity grew. Lightning strikes set fire to a half-dozen homes, although the flames were drowned by the driving rains. Small trees were uprooted and tossed about like kindling.

  Despite the late hour, few residents slept. Those who were safely home and not assigned to guard duty on the city's walls found it impossible to sleep amid the clamor of rain and thunder and the buffeting winds. Most whiled away the hours in front of fires. The only thing to do was to wait for the storm to blow itself out.

  Even with a full contingent of guards on the walls and most of Phlan's citizens wide awake, few were aware of a strange, magical force creeping over the city. From far across the continent, an invisible, silvery energy was forming a misty ring outside Phlan's impenetrable stone walls. The energy gradually grew and melded into shimmering tentacles, burrowing under the walls and around fieldstone foundations. As the force swelled, it formed a magical network beneath every structure in Phlan, wrapping around cellars and encircling storage pits. The invisible stranglehold tightened under the city as the storm pounded from above.

  In one of Phlan's most famous residences, a sorceress paced the floor. A purple nightdress swished about her legs as she moved from window to window in the dimly lit room. From the top floor in her tower, she could normally see the entire city, but tonight the driving rain obscured lights in homes only fifty yards away. Blasts of lightning were the only reassurance that the rest of Phlan hadn't blown into the Moonsea.

  "Come to bed, Shal. The storm will blow over whether you're awake or not." The voice of the wizard's sleepy husband drifted from beneath warm blankets, tempting her weary body.

  The sorceress gripped the window sill. Her fingertips whitened as her grasp grew tighter. Frustrated, she stalked across the room to flop down on the bed.

  "I can't sleep! This storm has my brain all stirred up. I feel as if I have thunder and lightning rattling through my veins." Shal rolled onto her side to face her husband.

  Tarl propped himself up on one elbow. "I think you and the rest of the wizards in town should arrange a place to meet during storms like this. Then you can climb the walls together. Or levitate. Or fly around the room. Or-"

  Tarl's words were snuffed out by thunder. Shal jolted, then sighed. "Magical powers are a wonderful thing, but when one's body is a channel for energy, storms like this can be brutal. You're lucky that clerics don't have this problem." The sorceress rolled over and buried her head under the pillow.

  Tarl clamped his eyes shut as a lightning bolt tore across the sky. Blinking from the glare, he lifted a corner of the pillow and spoke softly to his wife. "Can I make you some tea or warm some milk… hey! What's the matter?" He pushed away the pillow and gently pulled Shal close. Enormous tears rolled down her face, and her body shuddered. Tarl shifted to sit up, holding his wife and rocking gently.

  The cleric pushed away Shal's red tresses and whispered in her ear. "You've been through worse storms before, my sweet. What's wrong this time?" He continued rocking as the wizard sobbed, then gasped for air.

  "I don't know. I feel… strange." Tears still rolled down her flushed cheeks.

  "Are you sick?" Tarl asked, worried. His hand moved to her forehead.


  Shal shook her head. "It's true, I've been through plenty of storms, but this one feels… different. I can't explain it." She buried her face against Tarl's arm.

  Her husband kissed her hair gently, but he was genuinely alarmed. Few things scared Shal. After all the adventures and monsters she and Tarl had faced together, they both had nerves of steel that matched their tall, athletic bodies.

  "What can I do to help, Shal? Can I get you anything?" Tarl stopped rocking and helped his wife sit up.

  The sorceress shook her head. Sniffling, she looked at Tarl. "I guess all I can do is wait." She leaned against his muscled shoulder.

  A loud bang startled Shal, and she leaped off the bed. The balcony door had blown open in the wind and was now swinging wildly as rain sprayed into the room. She sprinted across the chamber and caught hold of the door. After slamming it shut, a louder crash echoed in the chamber. The wizard stamped her foot as she saw that all six panes of glass in the door had shattered. "By the gods," she shrieked. "You'd think after ten years, I would have learned to control this magical temper of mine." She tiptoed among the shards on the slippery stone floor, and Tarl cringed as he watched her walk around the broken glass. Water blew in through the open door, and the curtains whipped wildly.

  Shal shouted to Tarl over the wind. "Stay there so you don't cut your feet. I'll fix this in a jiffy!" She ran to her spellbook and began flipping pages. The water that dripped from her fingers and hair evaporated on contact with the magical tome. "Mend, mend… here it is." She closed her eyes in concentration.

  A second time, the wizard dashed across the room and stepped around the glass to stand near the door. The sorceress repeated the words of the spell, and as Tarl watched, a purple mist flowed from her fingers and surrounded the fragments of glass. The pieces rose from the floor to assemble themselves into their proper positions. The six windows were restored and completely sealed. Shal closed the door carefully, locked it, and leaned her back against the panes. She was soaked to the skin, her nightdress clinging to her.

  "Great trick, don't you think?" Shal was capable of magic of tremendous power, but still took delight in using spellcasting to conquer mundane chores. And the incident had temporarily distracted her troubled mind.

  Tarl clambered out of bed and reached for an enormous towel. The sight of her body outlined under the wet, purple fabric was too much for him. "I think I know a way we can use up some of your excess energy," he said, a gleam in his eye.

  Shal smiled as she grabbed the towel and rubbed it through her hair. Stripping off her wet gown, she wrapped the towel around her firm body. With a simple spell, she warmed a bottle of red wine, then poured mugs for herself and Tarl.

  Her husband sat on the bed, beckoning. Shal always enjoyed the sight of his white-blond hair brushing his tanned shoulders. Handing him a mug, she sipped some wine. The wizard's towel dropped to the floor as lightning and thunder continued their assault.

  Up on Phlan's protective wall, even the most seasoned guards trembled as lightning seared the black sky. This was the worst possible kind of weather for guard duty. But everyone knew the importance of the night watch. Besides, midnight would bring replacements and the warriors could go home to warm fires and dry clothes.

  "Yeeow!" shouted a young soldier as a lightning bolt struck the ground only thirty yards from him. The red stone wall didn't so much as shiver from the blast. Two old guards, seventy years if they were a day, snorted and snickered as they paced in the downpour. The novice guard's look of surprise turned sheepish as he turned away from the grizzled oldtimers.

  An ancient hand clamped down on the youth's shoulder, startling him. Whirling around, he stared at the two weathered, wrinkled faces. The taller of the two men spoke.

  "Lookee here, Ston. The boy's beard ain't even growed in yet! And the poor fella's stuck on the wall on a night like this. What's yer name, son?" The face squinted at the fledgling.

  "Uh, Jarad, sir," the boy stammered.

  Now the shorter man spoke. "Well, Jarad, me lad, this be my friend, Tulen. Call me Ston. A boy like you needs someone old and wise to show you the ropes. Well, yer lucky, cuz you got two someones like that right here."

  Tulen finished his friend's thought. "Stick with us, lad. We're nearly as old as these stone walls and we've seen just about as much. Save yer neck, it will, if you follow our lead." The ancient guards chuckled and turned to lean on the wall, one on either side of Jarad. As the wind whipped their gray beards and water streamed down oilskin ponchos, Ston and Tulen took advantage of their captive audience to tell tales of legendary battles.

  The crusty guards were in the middle of the story of how Phlan came to be guarded by rings of walls when two wizards approached. Ston and Tulen chortled as they saw that the mages floated a few inches off the puddled stone. Invisible magic ovals surrounded the men, keeping them absolutely dry.

  "Lookee what we got here," laughed Ston. Even Jarad had relaxed enough to chuckle.

  "You ought to try the rain, youngsters," Tulen mocked. "It might wash the stink of sulphur and brimstone off you." The warriors exploded into a fit of laughter.

  The first mage, dressed in mustard-colored robes, turned to his companion with a worried look. "Tarsis, do I stink of brimstone?" His companion, wearing a rust-orange cloak, looked first at his friend, then at the howling warriors.

  "Don't pay any attention to them, Charan," he snapped. "They wouldn't know what to do with half our powers. And they obviously don't understand magic."

  A lightning bolt as large as had ever been seen struck the center of the city. The thunder that accompanied it knocked Jarad and Ston off their feet. Tulen and the wizards cowered from the blinding light and the blast.

  Suddenly all was still. The rain and wind stopped. Lightning no longer streaked overhead. The eerie silence that enveloped the city frightened even the old guards. Both drew swords and peered into the darkness.

  "I'm goin' for Rakmar and his catapult crew!" Ston hissed. "Tulen, put these wizards to some use! Sound the alarm! And let's get some light on whatever's out there!" The stodgy warrior waddled down the wall with remarkable speed.

  Tulen popped open a covered niche in the stone wall and reached for a crossbow and a pail stuffed with bolts. The missiles were enchanted with magical light that would break the inky blackness. Handing Jarad a crossbow, he ordered the youth to start firing. "Shoot high and long. Yer not trying to hit anything. We gotta get some lights out on the plains so's we can see what's comin'." Tulen himself started firing bolts as rapidly as he could load them. All along the wall, other warriors did the same, and soon the field beyond the walls was peppered with circles of bright light. Nothing seemed to be moving out in the darkness. Not a drop of rain fell from the sky.

  "I don't get it," Jarad complained. "The rain stopped, so you're sounding the alarm?"

  The old warrior answered without disrupting his loading and firing rhythm. "I'll explain later. Stick with me, kid. We're in for something ugly."

  In the unnatural silence, the sound of boots on the wet stone announced Ston's return. Throwing off his poncho, he reached for a crossbow and started firing onto the field. "The word is out. The militia's up in full force."

  Tulen sighed in relief and fired the last bolt from the bucket. The men hauled out three pails of normal bolts, loaded their weapons, and peered over the wall, waiting.

  In the wizard's tower, husband and wife lay wrapped in warm blankets and each other. Tarl could feel Shal's pounding pulse, but she was calmer than before.

  "Tarl, we've seen a lot of adventure in our lives, but are you ever unhappy that we never had children?"

  The cleric was taken aback. This subject had a way of popping up when he was least prepared. He tried to soothe Shal although he wasn't sure of his own feelings. "If the gods want us to have children, we'll have children."

  "But we-"

  "Shhh. Don't think about it right now. You need to relax and try to sleep." Shal opened her mouth, but Tarl pressed a fi
nger to her lips. The wizard gave up and settled into his arms.

  The tower suddenly shook as a colossal lightning bolt struck the center of Phlan. "Did you feel that?" Tarl asked. "Really, my love-"

  "Shut up, Tarl! Let me out of bed!" Shal whipped back the blankets, jumped to her feet, and paced over to a wardrobe. "Oh gods, something horrible has happened. I just know it. Tarl, get dressed. We have to go outside." The sorceress was already tugging a robe over her head. The cleric blinked at her, confused.

  "Shal, it's all right. It's only the storm."

  "It's not the storm! Something dire has happened. I can sense it. Please, please put some clothes on. We have to go out. Hurry!"

  Tarl shambled over to his wife, whose eyes were filling with tears. "It's alright, sweetheart. I believe you. We'll go out." He yanked on breeches and a tunic and pulled on a pair of boots. Reaching for a heavy warhammer, he took his wife's hand and led the way down the stairs.

  "Listen," she said ominously. "The rain stopped."

  Phlan's walls were a flurry of motion. Troops moved through drills they had practiced dozens of times. All around the city walls, the fields and grasslands were dotted with magical lights that would betray the approach of any enemy. Tar-covered logs stood ready to be lighted and dropped on foot soldiers who might attempt to climb the wall. Baskets of sharp caltrops were scattered onto the ground, waiting to pierce the feet of advancing troops. Catapult teams loaded and cranked down enormous buckets of rock without waiting to catch first sight of the enemy.

  "Hssst. Ston! See anything?" Tulen's voice was a gravelly whisper.

  "Nothin'. That's what scares me."

  "Uh… gentlemen," Jarad stammered. "Where did the moon go?"

  "What?"

  "The moon. It's gone. It was hard to see anyway-what with the storm and all-but the clouds have broken and, uh, it's completely gone."