James Ward - Pool of Twilight

"By Tyr above," Tarl gasped.

The dark cloud was not made up of objects, but of fiends.

Tarl waited for the temple's magical alarms to sound. The shadow fiends were flying swiftly upon their midnight-dark wings. They were mere minutes away from the temple's walls. Surely some of the other clerics had seen them by now.

But the night remained deathly silent.

"Sound the alarm," Tarl gritted between his teeth. "Are you all asleep? Sound the alarm!"

No hue-and-cry rang out. Then Tarl realized the obvious. The others could not see the shadow fiends. They were invisible to mundane eyes. Without further hesitation, he turned and dashed inside. He bashed his shins against an unseen chair but, ignoring the pain, stumbled on. He caught his shoulder on the door frame, and pain exploded in his chest, but he ignored that, too. He had to warn the others. Careening down the corridor like a madman, he began shouting.

"Beware, clerics of Tyr! A foe comes in the night! Beware!"

When he came to the stairs leading to the main hall, he would have fallen and broken his neck had not Sister Corenna, a cleric of middle years, been there to catch him. He explained what he had observed in short, gasping sentences. An intelligent woman with nerves as steely as her eyes, Sister Corenna quickly helped Tarl downstairs and called for order among the small throng of clerics that had responded to Tarl's cry.

"Shadow fiends approach the temple," Tarl announced urgently. "We must act. They will be here in mere minutes."

"Shadow fiends?" Brother Dameron asked. The stout, round-faced young cleric wore a skeptical expression. "I've never heard of such a thing. Are you certain you're not mistaken, Brother Tarl?"

Tarl caught the note of condescension in the scholarly cleric's voice.

"What is it, Brother Dameron?" Tarl snarled. "Do you think me a blind simpleton, is that it? An old man who's lost his wits as well as his sight?"

Dameron's jaw worked soundlessly in surprise at the intensity in Tarl's voice.

"Forgive us, Tarl," Anton said. The grizzled patriarch's voice was grave and calm. "You have caught us off guard, that is all. Quickly, tell us what should we do."

"They are creatures of darkness," Tarl said without hesitation. "We must strengthen the temple's defenses against the substance that forms them."

He pulled his ceremonial hammer from his belt and, despite his unseeing eyes, swung it in a precise arc. It struck a green stone circle in the center of the hall's floor. Under the force of his powerful blow, the circle of stone sank into the floor with a hissing sound. There was a loud grinding overhead as seven lines appeared on the inside surface of the bronze dome. Like the petals of a huge, metallic flower, the dome split into seven sections, each receding slowly into the temple's walls to reveal a perfect circle of night sky.

"What have you done, Tarl?" Dameron cried in horror. "If foes do approach, you've just opened the temple for them!"

"Walls are no proof against creatures of shadow," Tarl replied intently. "It is with magic that we will stop these beings, and for that we must have a clear view." He raised his warhammer toward the circle of the sky. "Now, clerics of Tyr!"

Even as his voice rang out, inky forms swirled out of the night. As one, the assembled clerics began their resonant chanting. A pale blue nimbus sprang into existence across the circular opening above the temple. Several of the shadow fiends approached the nimbus and instantly burst into flame as they breached the holy light. But several of the creatures were too fast and had already slipped through.

These swooped down, landing lightly on three-toed claws. The crimson outlines of the magical fiends burned Tarl's vision. He swung his warhammer, its metal slicing through one of the creatures. The creature, ripped to shreds, quickly evaporated.

Sister Corenna cried out as one of the fiends slashed at her back. Its head burst apart a moment later, crushed by Anton's hammer.

A third fiend lifted Brother Dameron bodily and hurled him through the air. The rotund cleric struck a marble column. He slumped to the floor and did not rise again.

The fiend whirled, its dark wings beating in agitation. Suddenly a hammer flashed through the air, ripping through the shadow fiend. It hissed in pain, then melted into thin air.

Sister Corenna slumped back to the floor. The hand that had thrown the hammer was drenched in blood, but her face bore a look of grim satisfaction.

"Louder, clerics of Tyr!" Tarl yelled as the shadow fiends fought the protective blue nimbus with their dark magic. The fiends surged forward as the holy light flickered. Then Tarl added his deep baritone to the combined voices of his brethren. The nimbus glowed with renewed energy, and a half-dozen more shadow fiends shrieked as they were consumed by brilliant flame.

So it went for the remainder of the long, dark night.

At times the voices of the clerics grew hoarse, their chanting faltered, and the shadow fiends nearly penetrated through the temple's protective barrier. But time and time again, Tarl's voice rang out above the others, and in his example the other clerics found a reservoir of strength in their hearts. They chanted on.

Then came the first golden rays of dawn.

The shadow fiends writhed in torment as the light of the sun transfixed them, piercing them with its burning rays. They shrieked vile curses as their bodies dissipated, then their screams faded into a sigh on the wind. A golden radiance filled the temple. The morning light had banished the shadows of midnight.

The temple's clerics sank to the floor, exhausted. The tide of evil had been stemmed, and all knew it was due to Tarl's strength and bravery.

"It's good to have you back, Brother Tarl," Anton said gruffly, clapping a hand on Tarl's shoulder.

Tarl smiled despite himself. You were right, as always, Shal, he said inwardly, hoping that, somehow, she could hear him.

"Do not rejoice overmuch, clerics of Tyr!" a cracked voice called out, casting a pall of silence over the hall. The ancient priestess, Sister Sendara, hobbled into the room, leaning heavily on a gnarled staff.

"You have defeated a great evil this night, it is true," the priestess proclaimed. "But know that this battle was but the first drop of rain in the dark storm that is to sweep over us. Know this, and be ready!" With that the ancient priestess retreated back into her chamber.

A somber quiet filled the hall along with the morning sunlight.

"Close your eyes, Kern." Trooper's voice was a low murmur in his ear. "Open your heart and listen to the wind."

Kern squeezed his eyes shut, doing his best to obey the elder paladin's words. The travelers stood in the middle of a high plain, ringed on all sides by saw-toothed mountain ranges, gleaming white with snow. Wind hissed through the dry brown grass, making a beautiful yet forlorn sound.

"A palfrey is a fine riding horse," Trooper went on softly, "but a true paladin must have a steed worthy of riding into battle. A charger, Kern. Let the wind carry your call for a charger."

Kern's brow furrowed in concentration. He wasn't exactly certain how this was supposed to work. He had heard stories, of course, telling how famous paladins summoned snorting, stamping chargers to their sides with little more than wishful thoughts and prayers to Tyr. However, he had always assumed they were just that-fireside tales.

Trooper had been all too happy to correct him. The weathered paladin told how he had summoned his own dun-colored stallion, Lancer, many years before, and Miltiades had in turn recounted how he had called his first charger, long years ago. Now it was Kern's turn. He tried to imagine his message ringing out over the plains, all the way to the distant mountains. A charger, Tyr, he thought. Let a charger heed my call.