She closed her silvery eyes and suddenly could see Primul's glistening battle-axe descending again in its fatal arc. She shuddered at the memory. She had been so afraid. If Kern had flinched… if Primul hadn't stopped his swing at the last second… A cold tightness filled her chest. It was a sensation she had never felt before, not until that moment when she had thought she might lose Kern.

She opened her eyes, biting her lip fiercely.

"Oh, no you don't, Listle Onopordum," she muttered angrily to herself. "Other elves-other beings-can feel like this. But not you. Don't fool yourself into thinking like that, not even for a moment."

A spark of light flared briefly inside the ruby pendant at her throat, but she did not notice. With great dint of will, she turned her mind to other, more important matters.

The wild mage, Sirana.

There was something about the female wizard that Listle didn't like, not least of all the way she had practically thrown herself at Kern.

Listle went over the conversation with Sirana a dozen times in her head, but could find nothing about it to prove her suspicions about the wild mage. If only she could talk to Shal about her, but Shal was deathly ill. Listle sighed. Finally, she turned to her spellbook, burying her nose in its pages.

She was just snuffing out the candle when a thought struck her.

Who in her right mind, Listle wondered, would journey from the frigid heights of the Dragonspine Mountains clad only in a flimsy robe of white gauze?

"Rise, Hoag. They have gone."

Sirana waved a fine-boned hand over the form of the fallen black knight.

Two points of crimson light flared to life behind the helm's visor. The knight rose to his feet, then genuflected ceremoniously before Sirana. This evoked a deep laugh from the half-fiend sorceress. "I trust my magic left you unharmed, faithful Hoag, as I promised it would."

The black knight nodded, standing tall. "I am unharmed, mistress, though the pain was tremendous." The glowing eyes flickered. "But then, pain is of no moment to me. As always, I am grateful to serve."

"Excellent, Hoag." The full moon had torn through the concealing clouds. Sirana's robe glowed eerily in the pale light. Despite the sharp air, she felt not the slightest chill. The fire of hate that burned within her was too strong. "You have done your task well tonight. I will summon you again when I have need of you. And I will have need of you." She laughed again, malevolently. "That foolish paladin-puppy has invited me along on his quest just as I planned."

A hissing sound emanated from the black knight's helm. "Beware, mistress. Paladins, like clerics, may be able to sense your dark nature."

"I think not, Hoag. I have woven a dozen magical protections about myself. Besides,"-Sirana gazed at her hands, coppery-colored even in the washed-out light of the moon-"the twilight pool is like nothing they have ever experienced before. All-powerful. No, if those fool disciples of Tyr sense anything about me, it will be magic of unusual power. And," she cooed, "what more could they wish for in an ally?"

Hoag did not reply. The fiend simply bowed to the wisdom of his mistress.

It was nearly midnight when Kern left the quiet haven of Denlor's Tower and slipped away through Phlan's ill-lit streets.

Tarl had fallen asleep in a chair, sitting by his stricken wife's bed as he did every night. It had been easy to pad down the stairs without waking him. Sneaking past Listle's room had proven more nerve-wracking. The elf's ears were more sensitive than any human's, and she was a light sleeper. It would have ruined everything if Listle had woken up and spied him. Nothing would have been able to keep her from following him. However, Tymora, Goddess of Luck, appeared to be watching over him still. Kern made it out of the tower undetected.

He glanced up at the full moon, high in a sky littered with fast-moving clouds. He had to hurry; it was almost time.

He had covered his mist-gray tunic with a cloak of midnight blue. At his hip was Primul's warhammer. He moved swiftly through shadowed avenues, past the blankly staring windows of moldering, abandoned buildings.

The moon was directly overhead when he reached the edge of Valhingen Graveyard. It was midnight. Just in time.

The cemetery was one of the most ancient places in Phlan, sitting atop the crest of a low hill in a thinly populated section of the city. It was here that, on his first journey to Phlan, Tarl had encountered a horde of undead under the command of a vampire lord. The undead cruelly slew Tarl's brethren, and the vampire took the Hammer of Tyr from the cleric. Tarl had barely escaped with his life. But later, Tarl, Shal, and Ren had returned to defeat the undead of Valhingen Graveyard. That was more than thirty years ago.

Kern pushed through the graveyard's rusting wrought-iron gate. Crumbling tombstones and dilapidated mausoleums glowed strangely in the ethereal moonlight. Nettles and witchgrass tangled the footpaths, scratching at his ankles as he passed. The graveyard was a forsaken place. Few, if any, ventured here anymore. There was little enough worth placed on life these days in Phlan; no one could be bothered to pay respect to the dead.

Kern pushed his way through the weeds, toward a newer-looking crypt that stood in the center of the cemetery. A sound to his left made him freeze. Hair prickled on the back of his neck; his heart jumped. He listened for a moment and finally decided the sound had simply been his imagination. He started down the path once more.

And heard the sound again.

It was a faint scraping noise, like stone moving across stone. Slowly, Kern turned to his left.

Something was stirring inside a marble ossuary.

The ornately carved coffin had been cracked open, like a gigantic stone egg. Something stirred in the darkness within. Backlit by the silvery moon, a ghostlike shadow had begun to rise out of the ossuary.

With one hand Kern gripped the holy symbol of Tyr, with his other he hefted the enchanted hammer. The ghost-shadow stretched two ghastly appendages toward him. He had heard that, with a mere touch, such spirit creatures could drain the warmth of life right out of a man. He did not want to find out if such stories were true.

He gripped the holy symbol hanging from a chain about his neck. "Begone, spirit of evil!" he cried out

The ghost giggled.

Kern frowned in puzzlement. Somehow that was not the reaction he had expected. Then the ghost-shadow stepped lithely out of the ossuary and into a soft beam of moonlight. Kern groaned in dismay.

"Listle!"

The elf was still giggling. " 'Begone, spirit of evil!' "she mimicked in a deep voice. "Oh, that was just great, Kern. I'm sure a real ghost would have just broken down and run at that!" She collapsed in a fit of hilarity onto the stone coffin. Her laughter seemed out of place in the somber cemetery.

"Quiet!" Kern hissed, gazing around, eyes wide. He didn't suppose there was anyone-anything-forthe elf's laughter to disturb, but why take chances?

In deference to his tone of voice-or perhaps because she herself noticed the peculiar way the air in this place seemed to strangle her mirth-Listle abruptly fell silent.

"What are you doing here?" Kern whispered harshly.

Listle glanced nervously at the crumbling tombstones. All the humor seemed to have drained out of her. "What do you think, you oaf? I wanted to find out what you were up to."

Kern mumbled a curse under his breath. He knew he might as well tell her. Sending her back to the tower would never do at this point. "I've come to spend the night in vigil at the shrine of the paladin, Miltiades. He was one of the bravest paladins who ever served Tyr, both in life a thousand years ago, and when he was raised from the tomb by Tyr to help save Phlan from the Red Wizard, just before I was born. Praying at the tomb of a great hero is something paladins do to gain guidance and strength before they set off on a quest. I really wouldn't expect you to understand."