"Father!" Daile cried as the magical bonds imprisoning her vanished. She rushed to the fallen ranger, kneeling beside him. His face was pale, and he was bleeding from numerous gouges made by the fiend's spiked hide.

"Daile." Ren smiled weakly. "I'm afraid you'll have to journey on without me. The prophecy…" He winced in pain. "The prophecy was right. Only five will enter the red tower after all."

"No, Father…" She shook her head softly. Words caught in her throat.

He squeezed her hand. "Take Right and Left, Daile. They're yours now, along with the bow. But there's something I need to tell you about that bow, something I didn't say when I gave it to you. It's…" A fit of coughing wracked the ranger's broken body.

"Quiet," Daile whispered, smoothing his graying red-gold hair from his brow.

He gazed at her, smiling. "Did I ever tell you how much you look like your mother?" he asked softly.

Before she could answer, his eyes went dim. He was gone.

She left his body in the shade of a nearby aspen grove. Aspens were the tree most beloved by elves, and she knew their special nature would keep Ren's body from harm until she could return. She wiped the tears from her cheeks, quelling the ache in her heart. There would be time for mourning later. Right now her friends were in danger.

She slipped Right and Left into her boots and, slinging her bow over her shoulder, started off at a run toward the heart of the ruins.

Kern was the last one out of the maze.

"It wasn't my fault!" he protested to a sniggering Listle. "The walls kept moving on me. I'm certain of it."

"Whatever you say, Kern."

Before Kern could argue his case further, Miltiades approached. Though it was difficult to say the skeletal paladin was excited, there did seem to be an unusual eagerness to his perpetual grin.

"What is it, Miltiades?" Kern asked.

"I've found the stairwell."

Moments later the four adventurers were exploring the half-formed hall where the stairwell was located. There wasn't much to see besides the rows of stone sarcophagi lining the perimeter. The coffins stood upright, their frozen death masks staring blankly ahead. Listle and Sirana were both weaving spells, trying to detect any dangerous magic that might be guarding the stairwell.

"I don't think there are any traps," Listle announced finally, though her tone was less than certain.

"My, that's reassuring," Kern snorted.

Listle glared at him. "Well, there is one way we can know for certain if there are."

"What's that?"

"You stand over here, Kern." Listle smiled sweetly. "I'll just push you down the stairs, then we'll see what happens."

Kern nodded absently. He wasn't really listening to the elf. He found himself shivering. "Do you notice anything strange about those sarcophagi?" he asked the others. "I suppose it's just my imagination, but their eyes seem to be following me."

"Do you think yourself so worthy of attention, then?" Sirana asked with a sultry laugh.

He blushed. "Of course not. Like I said, it's probably just my imagination. Still…"

"Let us examine one to be sure," Miltiades said. He moved toward the standing sarcophagi. Kern, Listle, and Sirana followed. "Perhaps there is some trick about these-"

"Miltiades, get back!"

The four spun around to see Daile dash into the cathedral, eyes panicked.

"Everybody, get away from those sarcoph-"

She was too late.

Suddenly the lids of four sarcophagi sprang open with a groan. Dozens of skeletal hands reached out with uncanny swiftness, clutching at the four adventurers, who struggled in vain.

"Daile, what's happening?" Kern shouted in terror. He had the horrifying sensation that he was reliving a dream.

"Let him go!" the young ranger screamed, using the dagger called Right to hack at the arms that clutched Kern. It was to no avail. Another sarcophagus opened. Long, spindly limbs sprang out to engulf Daile. The skeletal arms inexorably dragged the adventurers into the waiting shadows of the five sarcophagi. Then the stone lids slammed shut, cutting off their cries of protest.

The half-formed cathedral was silent once again.

The day after Kern and his companions set off for the ruins of the red tower, Evaine decided it was time to embark on a mission of her own.

She rose in the cold of predawn and, teeth chattering, hastily donned thick woolen breeches and a tunic of her favorite mossy green. Deftly, she bound her long chestnut hair into a braid, winding it in a tight knot at the nape of her neck. As she did, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in a teardrop-shaped mirror. A gaunt, ghostly pale face with deep, shadowed eyes peered back at her. She still bore the scars of her astral battle with the guardian of the twilight pool, but she had waited as long as she dared -too long perhaps. She would just have to be strong enough.

From the tiny pocket dimension that served as her spellcasting chamber, she gathered the ingredients she would require to work her spells: many-colored crystals, iridescent powders, and small, neatly folded parchment packets filled with herbs. These she placed in a small pack, adding her copper brazier and-carefully wrapped in oiled leather-her spellbook. She remembered to grab a golden brooch set with a single ice-clear jewel, the twin to the magical gem she had given Miltiades. This she pinned to her tunic.

A quick look around told her she had forgotten nothing. She descended the glowing spiral staircase into the warm main room of her log-walled dwelling. Gamaliel was waiting for her. The great cat sat before the fire, tail wrapped around his paws. His eyes were narrow, green-gold slits.

Please tell me you're not doing what I think you're doing, Evaine, the cat growled in the sorceress's mind.

"As you like, Gam," she murmured pleasantly. Inwardly she steeled herself for an argument.

In case you haven't noticed, I'm not laughing.

"Don't blame me if you have a poor sense of humor," Evaine replied flippantly. She banished the shimmering stairway with a snap of her fingers.

Gamaliel's whiskers twitched in agitation. You aren't well enough to travel, Evaine, let alone cast your detection spells-or face the guardian of the pool of twilight.

Evaine knelt beside her familiar. "Gam, I could tell you that I'm fine," she said solemnly. "I could tell you that I'm as strong as I've ever been. But that would be a lie. I've never lied to you, Gamaliel, and I don't intend to start now." She sighed, her heart heavy. "You may be right, of course. I may be in grave peril if I try to confront the guardian of the twilight pool in my current state. But years ago I vowed never to rest while there was a pool yet to be destroyed, and ever since then I've tried to abide by that oath. I can't betray my vow, Gam. What good would I be if I did?"

The great cat regarded her silently for a long moment, his green-gold eyes glowing.

Don't you have some more things to pack? he said at last.

The sorceress laughed, feeling better than she had in a long while. "That I do." A slight frown touched her lips. "Wait a minute," she said with gentle indignation. "Who's the master here, anyway?"

Gamaliel did not reply, so Evaine decided not to press the question. After all, she decided, she might not care for the answer.

She briskly gathered some other items. Fire she could call up with a spell, and most of the food required the land-and Gamaliel's hunting abilities-would provide. She placed a few extra clothes and some hardtack in a magical sack that grew no heavier despite its contents, such being the useful nature of its enchantment. She belted a knife forged of sharp dwarven steel at her hip and donned her heavy sheepskin coat. Hefting her small pack, she grinned at Gamaliel.