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finished her incantations in her nearby spellcasting
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chamber.
The torches guttered and died, plunging the hall into darkness. The sound of
wings echoed like heartbeats. Suddenly nine pairs of feral red eyes appeared
in the dim surface of the west wall. The burning eyes drifted toward the
armored thieves.
Several of the thieves produced flares, and the resulting green glow revealed
fiends such as the onlookers had never imagined existed. Spinagons on clawed
feet strode boldly into the hall, moving with a queer reptilian grace, their
leathery wings flapping lazily behind them. There were nine of the fell
beasts, each bearing a long, wickedly barbed spear. The weapons sizzled with
flame, sparks fly-ing from their steel tips, scorching the air with the reek
of burned hair. Had the beasts appeared ten minutes before, the thieves would
have fled in terror. But the magical armor had hardened their hearts as well
as their bodies. The thieves showed no fear of Sirana's otherworldly min-ions.
The fiends snarled at the green flares, thick drool oozing from serrated
fangs.
"We have been summoned from our plane of exis-tence," the fiends hissed in
unison. "Who are we to kill?"
"Whom I tell you to kill," Slayer spat.
Their eyes flared with hatred, but the spinagons bowed their heads in
submission. They had no choice;
Sirana controlled them with her powerful magic.
"All of Tyr's clerics must die!" Slayer bellowed to the crowd. "And we must
capture the book that reveals the way to Tyr's hammer. Our reward will be
untold riches." The huge man raised a fist on high.
"Are you with me, thieves of Phlan?"
As one, the magically armored thieves raised their dark swords, eyes gleaming
with curiously blank ferocity as they shouted their battle cries.
* * * * *
Anton and Tarl had sat Kern down on a hard marble bench. The young paladin was
still dazed. Listle hovered nearby with an expression that was an equal
mixture of concern, wonder, and amusement.
"I'm sorry you had to hear of Miltiades' prophecy like this, Son." Tarl
gripped Kern's shoulder tightly.
"Shal and I had planned to tell you next year."
Anton spoke in his rumbling baritone. "I'm afraid these dark times will force
him to become a man a little sooner than you had wished, Tarl." The big cleric
knelt to look directly in Kern's eyes. His shaggy mien was solemn. "I will not
lie to you, Kern. The search for Tyr's hammer will be a perilous quest. Should
you accept your destiny as Hammerseeker, there is a chance that you might
never return to Phlan." Anton took a deep breath. "Never has a
paladin-aspirant been given such a momentous task. But Tyr himself has chosen
you, lad."
Kern's heart seemed to be fluttering inside his steel breastplate like a
frightened sparrow. Why was he the one destined to find the Hammer of Tyr?
Anton rose to his feet. "Kern Desanea," the cleric in-toned ceremoniously,
"will you accept the title of
Hammer-seeker and quest for the lost Hammer of Tyr?"
Kern nodded jerkily, his face pale. A year ago, on the day he had become a
paladin-aspirant, he had sworn to serve Tyr to the best of his abilities. Now
Tyr had given him the chance to save Phlan. "I'll do my best, Patriarch
Anton," he managed to say.
Tarl grinned proudly at his son, while Listle laughed.
"Hammerseeker, eh?" the elf remarked. "Not bad, Kern. Not bad at all. For an
ogre-brained oaf, that is."
"Thanks, Listle," Kern replied wryly.
The temple's sole surviving paladin, a tall, handsome man with steel-blue
eyes, approached. "Patriarch
Anton, we bow to your wisdom," Rialad began in his sonorous voice.
"However..."
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Anton raised a shaggy eyebrow in curiosity. "However what, Rialad?" The
Patriarch knew Rialad to be a skilled warrior whose loyalty to the temple was
beyond reproach. Yet the paladin had an exaggerated opinion of himself and a
penchant for questioning Anton's authority.
"The prophecy of Bane has spoken clearly. Someone must quest for the hammer."
"Not someone,"
Tarl interjected. "The only one "
The square-chinned paladin interrupted. "Yes, I know, Brother Tarl," he said
graciously. "However, I am this temple's last paladin of Tyr and the natural
candidate to take up the quest. Rest assured, I will choose four of the
temple's best warriors to accompany me as the prophecy instructs. No foes will
dare stand before us." Rialad clenched a fist dramatically. "The hammer will
be ours!"
Anton and Tarl both opened their mouths to protest, but Listle was faster than
either of them.
"But you can't deny the prophecy!" The elf was posi-tively seething. She had
never cared for Sir
Rialad's lofty, self-important demeanor. "Kern is destined to be the
Hammerseeker."
Sir Rialad smiled indulgently at Kern. "Ah, yes," the pal-adin said, putting a
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