The patriarch left, shutting the door behind him.

Tarl clenched his hands into fists. Who was Anton to speak to him so, as if he were simply some sulky acolyte feeling sorry for himself? Why couldn't he see there was nothing Tarl could do to help the temple, let alone his wife and son?

But gradually the rage ebbed in Tarl's heart.

A remembered voice echoed in his mind. Never forget, husband. You are the same man you always were.

Shal. She would have agreed with Anton, Tarl knew. But her words seemed so distant now, so hollow.

"I am different, Shal," he whispered to her sleeping form, reaching out a hand to grip hers tightly. "And I will never be the same again."

In a distant chamber high in the temple, Sister Sendara reached down and removed one of the thirteen rune-stones scattered on the table before her, slipping it into a black velvet pouch. Now only a dozen remained, leaving the pattern incomplete.

"We are doomed," she whispered to the night.

She blew out the lone candle, but there would be no sleep for her that night.

Deep beneath the Dragonspine Mountains, a howl of sublime fury echoed off the cavern's glistening limestone stalactites.

A hideously malformed creature hobbled on clawed feet to the edge of the pool of twilight, greasy black wings flapping feebly in useless agitation. Magical energy still surrounded the creature, the residue of the powerful spell that had, in the space of a heartbeat, carried her to this place.

"I had it!" Sirana screeched. "The Hammer of Tyr. I held it in my hands!"

She lifted her arms and gazed at the burnt, horribly twisted claws that had been delicate hands only moments earlier. Another shriek of rage escaped her lopsided mouth, rattling the very foundation of the mountains.

Something stirred beneath the pool's dull, metallic waters.

You should have known the holy power of Tyr's hammer would reject the touch of evil, a voice bubbled up from the murky depths.

"Why did you not see fit to share this valuable information with me?" the half-erinyes wizard ranted.

You did not deign to ask me, sorceress.

"You wretched worm! Do you dare mock me?"She raised a gnarled claw, ready to fling a bolt of magic to the cavern's ceiling and send a rain of razor-sharp stalactites plunging into the pool.

Never would I mock you, sorceress, the guardian of the pool whined. Come, place your hands in my waters. I will take your pain away.

Momentarily placated, Sirana knelt by the edge of the pool and slipped her hands into the viscous water. Suddenly dozens of glowing flecks appeared, swirling about her wrists like miniature stars. She gasped, feeling a strange tingling in her fingers. She jerked her hands out of the pool.

"What have you done to my-" she began suspiciously. Suddenly she halted, entranced. Her hands! They were whole again. The pain caused by the Hammer of Tyr had vanished. In wonderment, Sirana flexed her fingers. They were smooth and shapely, ending in delicately curved nails as dark and hard-edged as obsidian.

Yet the rest of her was as hideous as ever.

She could use magic to cloak herself with the disguise of beauty, but that could never change the misbegotten form that was her natural condition. Yet the pool could! Ah, how glorious it would be, to be truly beautiful, just like her mother had been.

I cannot, sorceress. Unless, of course, you are willing to submerge yourself in the pool…

For a fleeting moment, Sirana was tempted.

But only for a moment. She laughed, a sound filled with loathing and contempt. "A clever trick, beast. But not clever enough." She stood, eyes blazing.

"I told you that I will not free you until you have granted me the power I need to destroy Phlan." Magic crackled away from her in every direction. Smoking chunks of rock fell from the cavern's roof, exploding like bombs as they struck the pool. Its waters roiled turbulently as the guardian writhed beneath. "Now, I demand that you give me more power, beast. Power enough to destroy Phlan once and for all!"

As you wish, great sorceress! the guardian sniveled. Drink! Drink, and the power shall be yours.

A silver chalice rose out of the pool and hovered before Sirana. She grasped it with her newly restored hands. Once before, she had drunk but a mere drop of the twilight pool's waters and had gained fantastic power-enough to summon a dreamstalker from a distant world. What would be the effect of drinking an entire chalice of the liquid? She gazed at the metallic fluid within the cup, hesitating. Brilliant flecks of light swirled beneath its surface.

"I must have the might to destroy Phlan!" she whispered.

Her hesitation faded. She raised the chalice to her lips and drained its thick, oily contents in a single draught.

The chalice clattered to the hard stone and rolled away. Sirana reeled, her heart pounding furiously. Magical energy like she had never before imagined surged through her veins. It buoyed her, lifting her so that her feet hardly touched the ground. She raised her arms in exultation, feeling the soft fabric of shadows sift through her fingers. Understanding rippled through her mind. One drop of the pool had granted her the ability to see all the myriad shades of darkness that existed in a single shadow. But now she could cup that darkness in her hands, mold it, shape its form, and breathe evil life into it.

Yes, sorceress, the guardian of the pool whispered in her mind. You can forge shadow images of any creature you desire, and they will serve you with all the powers of twilight!

"I shall create an army!" she cried, gathering the stuff of shadows about her, draping it around her deformed body. "An army of shadows!"

She wasted no time. With her hands and mind, she began to mold the darkness into a fearsome form. She gave it long, muscular arms and serrated fangs in a jackal-shaped snout. Last she fashioned a sinuous tail ending in razor-sharp spikes.

She stood back and admired her handiwork. Now this was a fiend like none that had ever dwelled in the Nine Hells. A fiend born of shadow, whose only purpose was to serve Sirana. It bowed to her, and she clapped her hands in evil delight. Then she reached out, gathering more darkness to create another shadow fiend…

Suddenly she froze. She felt a strange prickling sensation, as if sensing the touch of a distant, roving eye. It lasted only for a second, then was gone.

Sirana shivered. "What was that?" she demanded of the guardian.

An enemy journeys through the mountains, seeking the pool.

"What?" Sirana snarled in outrage. "Show me."

The surface of the pool swirled. An image appeared, showing a stream tumbling through a narrow mountain valley. A woman with long chestnut-colored hair picked her way among the rocks, a large, tawny cat padding behind her. Numerous pouches hung at the woman's belt.

"Evaine!" Sirana recognized the sorceress from their earlier meeting.

The sorceress hunts pools like an owl hunts mice. She would destroy the pool of twilight, mistress. I have felt her magical detections reaching out for me once before. I thought I had dealt her a blow strong enough to annihilate her.

"Apparently you failed," Sirana observed venomously. She paced beside the pool's edge. "I shall simply have to deal with this meddlesome sorceress myself." A cruel smile curled about her misshapen lips. "And I think I know just the way."

She closed her eyes, sending forth a summons. "Come to me, dreamstalker. Come, and heed your leader's call!"