Pools of Darkness

17

Marcus's red tower shook to its very core. If not for the magic holding the blood-colored stones together, the building would have crumbled.

"My abishai have been killed! Latenat!" the pit fiend hissed at Marcus. The creature circled the inner chamber at the top of the tower, half-flying, half-hopping. Its great wings pounded the walls as it paced.

"Killed? How in the world did you allow my guardians to be killed?" Marcus shrieked.

"Arrrgh! Do you think I let them die? I don't know what killed them! Their life essences were snuffed out, and since you ordered them to guard your domain, their deaths are on your hands. Latenat!"

The wizard's face flushed deep red, beads of sweat erupting on his forehead. "Are you somehow blaming me for this? It was your duty to guard this tower and build armies so I could lead them to victory, conquering Phlan! You have now failed me. We both know what happens to my servants when they fail."

The fiend still bashed about in the black chamber. If not for Marcus's control of the creature's life essence and his knowledge of its true name, the fiend could have squashed the wizard in an instant. Instead, he was forced to obey the human weakling. But he had already tolerated far more than any pit fiend should.

The fiend kept circling and thrashing as Marcus continued his diatribe. The beast was only half-listening to the wizard. He had heard all these rantings too many times before. Then the Red Wizard spoke the pit fiend's name, summoning the creature's heart from the magical dimension where he kept the beating organ.

"On your knees, beast," he said. "I will speak to you, and it will be eye to eye."

In defiance, the winged horror flapped halfway around the chamber one last time, halting in front of Marcus. The Red Wizard raised the fiend's heart and slowly squeezed until a half-dozen drops of black ichor leaked out, splashing onto the granite floor with a sizzle.

The fiend groaned as his knees dropped to the scarred floor. He glared at his tormentor. "What would you have of me… master? Latenat!"

"For a time, you and I will change roles. I will guard the tower and you will use your puny powers to force Phlan to submit to me. I will summon more clerics and wizards to help in your struggle."

"That won't be necessary," the fiend growled. It struggled to its leathery feet and stalked out of the chamber. "I'll destroy Phlan myself within two days."

Marcus snorted an arrogant laugh as the creature disappeared. "We'll see about that, braggart. Phlan may break you on its walls and teach you a good lesson in the process. Now, I have a little searching to do. I plan to have several unpleasant surprises ready for the dogs who dared to kill my abishai. And those beauties were mine, Tanetal! I don't care what you think!" Marcus shouted at the empty chamber and the closed door.

In another tower, an angry voice was also heard. But this time, it was the wizard Shal who was being scolded.

"Shal, you should never have attacked that mage in your condition. That shadow attack nearly killed you. If Cerulean hadn't had the sense to retreat and bring you back to the tower, you would have died horribly."

Shal tried to raise her head to argue, but she dropped back onto her pillow. Her face was the color of barley mush, her skin clammy. Tarl had used the healing power of the Warhammer of Tyr to restore her strength and sanity, but there were some things the hammer couldn't cure so quickly.

Shal looked pleadingly at Celie, who sat at her side, dabbing her face with a moist cloth. A covered basket loaded with poppyseed cakes was perched on the bedside table.

"Don't look at me, missy. Your husband is right to worry. You've been with child only five months, yet it looks now as if you'll be ready to deliver in a few weeks. I don't know much about magic, but I can see what this exertion is doing to you. The way this baby is kicking, he's not going to stay cooped up much longer." The bakerwoman's voice was stern, but her blue eyes were caring and soothing.

Shal realized there was no arguing with Tarl and Celie. The wizard spoke in a whisper. "I thought if I could kill the red mage who was leading the attacks against Phlan, our troubles would be over. I never dreamed he was powerful enough to cast spells like that."

Tarl caressed his wife's forehead, speaking softly to her. "That's all very noble, but you have a child to think about. A few months ago, I wouldn't have questioned you going after him like that. But you know better than anyone the way high-powered spells can age a wizard. You've already accelerated this pregnancy. What if the baby decided his-or her-time was up while you were flying around up there? I could have lost you both!"

"You're right. It was foolish to take on that crazed wizard all by myself. I'll be more careful." Then to put Tarl's mind at ease, Shal turned to Celie. "Are those poppyseed cakes I'm smelling?" She knew her husband would worry less if she ate something.

Celie broke into a smile and uncovered the basket. Tarl propped Shal up on her pillows.

"You just lie here and rest as long as you can. We destroyed all the tree-minions of Moander that attacked the city. It should be a while before the wizard regroups and brings another of his armies against us."

"Bring me my spellbooks, please? I'm strong enough to start memorizing spells. I've a feeling we're going to need them soon. If that wizard's got half a brain, he's going to change tactics. I need to be ready when he does."

Tarl mocked a snarl at his wife. "No spellbooks for you, young lady. If you promise to rest all day, you can have your books tomorrow. We all need you to be healthy right now. Especially the little one." He patted her bulging abdomen lovingly and felt a solid kick, as if the baby were voicing its agreement.

"Celie, you keep an eye on her. If she tries anything-anything at all-you send for me. Two clerics are waiting right outside the door, and they'll do whatever you ask. I'm going to meet with the council."

These two mean business, Shal decided, a little glumly. Well, I might as well make the best of it. A day of rest and being stuffed with poppyseed cakes certainly couldn't hurt me.

Yet as Tarl reached for the door, all the magical lights in the cavern went dark. Candles and fires still gave off feeble light, but otherwise the cave was in total blackness.

Tarl cursed as he galloped down the stairs. The city was nearly out of food and its residents were losing hope. Now the lights were gone, and to the cleric, that meant only one thing-another imminent attack. He grabbed a torch and lighted it as he headed for the council. Perhaps, he grudgingly admitted, the people of the city would be better off escaping the cavern and rebuilding elsewhere. He didn't know how much more they could bear.

The angry fiend flew into the cavern and over the city of Phlan, basking in the darkness. He should have doused the lights weeks ago.

"Marcus is a fool. Conquering Phlan has nothing to do with taking its walls. The destruction of this city lies in taking its people. When I gain their souls, they will open their gates."

The fiend flew over the center of the city, past the docks. The winged beast soared to a secluded corner of the cavern's sea, then concentrated for only a few moments, creating one of its best illusions. The horrid black beast writhed and blurred, then emerged as a white bard named Latenat.

His appearance now was of a kindly, middle-aged bard with a short, white beard and flowing white robes. His voice was gentle and melodic, his demeanor peaceful. The monster's true nature was visible only in his stern eyes. But looking into his eyes would be difficult if Latenat did his job right.

The disguised creature conjured a small white sailing ship and settled himself into the stern. Although the boat was powered magically, the bard picked up an oar and began to row. The sail hung limply in the still air of the dark cavern.

About fifty yards from the south gate, the boat was spotted by Phlan's guards. Fires had been lit all along the beach, and flaming rafts had been set out in the water to reveal the presence of any attackers. An alarm was sounded at the first sight of the boat, yet it was allowed to approach the dock.

A squad of hard-eyed guards awaited the stranger.

"Just where did you come from?" the oldest guard demanded.

"I am the white bard, Latenat. I've been sent by the gods to lead the people of Phlan to freedom," the pit fiend purred.

"And I am the great bunny Tootal, sent by the gods to sink your boat. You got any proof?" the guard snorted.

The bard's voice was smooth and soothing. "My proof is in my songs, friend, in my songs. If you'll permit me, I'll sing one for you now."

"Ain't no law against singing that I know of, but your tune better be good, or you'll be eatin' that stringed thing of yours, young fella."

The bard smiled serenely, strummed his lute, and began his song:

"I sing a song of praise for Phlan,

The town I've come to free,

I sing a song of hope for you,

The folk I would set free."

The bard continued, verse after verse, as more guards gathered to hear the song. The magic of the pit fiend's spell wove in and around the people on the dock. Latenat's ballad of hope made the listeners long for their freedom. The fiend's spell seeped into the minds of the weary captives, making them vulnerable to his foul message.

All day and long into the night, the mysterious bard tirelessly sang his songs. His smooth voice never grew weary. He traveled to inns and halls and large manor houses, never asking for payment for his performances. Everywhere crowds of people gathered to hear the minstrel and his compelling tunes. It had been months since anyone in Phlan had heard such fine singing.

His message was always the same. In his lilting voice, the bard encouraged the people of Phlan to make their escape while the battlefield was quiet and empty. A few people scoffed at the idea, but many others started packing, convinced the bard was right. They had been in this cavern far too long. Most citizens didn't know what to think, but they knew anything was better than waiting in the dark for the next deadly attack.

Tanetal's spell was working. His song lingered in the minds of his listeners. The unity of Phlan's people was finally beginning to wobble.