Ren signaled Shal to brace herself for a mad dash. The chances of them escaping from this mob seemed slim to none, but now, while they were still calmed by Tarl's spell, was the time to move if there was ever going to be any.

The pig-eyed leader suddenly stuck his dripping snout up close to Tarl's face. "You have power stone? Ioun stone? Give us stone, you live. No stone, we kill. Power to the pool!"

"Ioun stone?" Tarl repeated, puzzled.

"No ioun stone?" the leader started to snort. "Kill! Kill them!"

The spell was broken. Tarl smashed his shield hard into the orc's pig face and started swinging his hammer with a vengeance. Ren lunged forward, slashing and hacking madly with his short swords, parrying as he had never parried before to block cudgels and axes descending all around him.

Shal swung her staff high and brought it down hard, repeatedly, sending several humanoids within her range sprawling, but there were many more. She could not see, but could hear and sense, the flight of several daggers and arrows, weapons that all her swinging could not protect her against. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ren taken down by a vicious blow to his abdomen. Tarl was barely managing to keep the pressing masses of orcs and hobgoblins away from overwhelming him. She knew that she and the others would soon be beaten senseless.

An axe bit deep into her shoulder as she took her next swing. Her scream of pain and terror was voiceless… as was the cry of her familiar! The staff! The Staff of Power! Use it now!

"Halcyon!" shouted Shal, and she extended the staff toward the frenzied beasts around her. "Harak!" Brilliant electricity, nearly the color of amethyst, coursed up and down the staff's surface. Bolts of lightning arced out in all directions. She spoke another word, and small, purple balls of flame crackled from the tip, doubling in size with each inch they traveled. With yet another word, deafening thunder shook the building to its foundation. The screams of sizzling humanoids rose up everywhere. Shal turned, and more lightning bolts and fireballs flew from the staff. Doglike kobolds burned to charred stumps. The fatty flesh of orcs and goblins spattered and sizzled. Shal turned yet again, but this time there were no takers. The handful of unscathed humanoids that remained were bolting away as fast as they could go, barking, squealing, and screaming like wild animals fleeing a forest fire.

Shal slumped to the ground, her fists clenched white around the staff as blood spurted from the gash in her shoulder. She stared numbly at her two friends, each of whom was in turn staring open-mouthed at her.

All around them was wreckage. Shal's lightning bolts had blasted huge holes in the building's already damaged ceilings and walls, and the smoldering remains of dead humanoids lay everywhere. Shal slowly turned her head from side to side in disbelief, awed by the power she held within her grasp. She had never before killed, never been party to such wholesale destruction. She had also never been so consumed or driven by terror-fear for herself and fear for her companions-but she knew that she would react the same way again if confronted with the same situation. She looked at her friends, who were still staring at her in amazement.

When he could stir himself out of his shock, Tarl reached out and pressed his hands to Shal's bloodied shoulder. The power of Tyr flowed warm and strong, and he could feel the healing surge through his fingertips. Once again he experienced an overwhelming bond to the red-haired fighter-mage. As he healed her, he somehow felt the key to his own wholeness.

Shal reached up and pressed her hands over Tarl's. "Thank you. Please… please help Ren now."

Tarl snatched his hands away, ashamed that he could have forgotten his other companion for even a moment. He placed one hand on each of Ren's firm, muscular shoulders, Tarl could feel the pain of untold bruises, and he sensed internal damage where Ren had taken the blow to the stomach. Tarl waited for the healing warmth to flow through his hands. Once it did, he spoke. "You should feel better, but when we get back, you must rest. I can do little more."

"I can't think of a time when I've felt better," said Ren cheerily, shaking himself from his own stunned silence. "I mean, what more can a fellow ask? You carry on friendly conversations with orcs, she packs a weapon that even the gods must find frightening, and then you patch us up besides. We've even managed to fulfill our mission and collect some bonus information for the council."

"How's that?" Tarl asked.

"The old armory, the stuff about the shiny pool where the boss fellow, that 'Lord of the Ruins,' gets his power-that wasn't anything we agreed to dig up for Cadorna."

"That's true, but we still aren't done here," said Tarl.

"Not done!" exclaimed Shal. "I've had more than enough adventure for one day, thank you. Skeletons… oversized fly-slurpers… orcs and kobolds… You've got to understand, I used to get tired just dusting Ranthor's laboratory."

"But the skeletons… my brothers, the clerics of Tyr," Tarl insisted. "They still walk the keep."

"They seem pretty quiet, though," said Ren. "You calmed them down."

"Yes, but they're not at rest. I can feel it! They're still undead, tormented souls. I need to go to the temple and try to find out for myself what keeps them so agitated."

Ren stood and reached his hand down to help Shal to her feet. "I guess we can take a tour of the temple with him, don't you think? I mean, if it weren't for Tarl, you and I probably would have been killed by the skeletons- that is, if the cloud over this place hadn't killed us first."

Shal gave Ren's hand a squeeze, and then reached out and squeezed Tarl's. "Let's go, then," she said. "I really think we should get out of this place before dark."

Skeleton warriors were still milling in the entryway, but they did nothing to stop the three. Tarl lifted the latch on the ornately carved door to the temple and pushed. The altar inside was covered with dust, but it had not suffered from dragonfire. A lone specter flitted back and forth before the altar. Instead of moaning or screaming, it was shouting oath after oath, curse after curse.

Tarl felt his breathing speed at the sight of the ghostly visage. Its appearance reminded him of the vampire's minions. Tarl swallowed and struggled to get his breathing under control. With considerable effort, he spoke clearly and deliberately. "Who are you, brother, and what is troubling you?" Tarl asked.

The specter continued to flit up and down and back and forth among the tables and seats in the temple, but in between oaths, it spoke in a gravelly voice. "Ferran Martinez… I am Ferran Martinez, ruling cleric of the sacred order of Tyr. I am the high cleric who remained in the temple while each of my men died, then died of starvation myself because I could not bear to go outside and face them. The bloody dragons came. They burned and killed and left our mission's work undone."

"What keeps you undead, Brother Martinez? What work remains undone? Can I be of help?" Ren and Shal just looked on as Tarl coaxed and soothed the agitated apparition.

The creature swung its phantom arms straight through the altar repeatedly, as if to strike it, but managed only to knock over several dust-coated candlesticks from the flurry of wind it generated. "Devils to the Abyss! Blast them in the fiery furnace! Sleep, men! Rest." He ended in a piteous scream.

"Brother Martinez, can I help?" Tarl repeated.

"The city of Phlan is dead! Monsters! Nothing but monsters! And the temple… it was never used. We had just finished building it, but there were no worshipers, only the clerics who built it. No peace in the city! No peace! Nothing but walking dead and unending nightmares… and the Lord of the Ruins, Tyranthraxus, still lives! Cursed creature from the pit! Power-grabbing blasphemer! May his soul rot!"