Pools of Darkness by James M. Ward, Anne K. Brown Page B

the city; as far as Ren could see, there was nothing to rebuild from. They were entirely starting over.
    Finally, Ren could stand the suspense no longer. “Anton, what of Tarl and Shal? How do you know they aren’t dead?”
    “Oh, I imagine you can feel it, too. You and I hold them deep in our hearts. We would know if they died. Our hearts would know it.”
    Anton’s tone was somber as he continued. “I have communed with Tyr about our friends and our city. Our god has graciously granted me the knowledge that Tarl is alive. Tarl was given the gift of summoning the Warhammer of Tyr. During the night the city disappeared, a small gathering of our order took the hammer on the Ceremony of Spring. We were far from the city when the storm broke and ripped Phlan from us. But the hammer was summoned right out of our midst, and Tarl was the only one among us with that power.”
    Ren choked at this news. “I saw him do it! It was in a dream I had over a month ago. I saw Tarl and Shal fighting for their lives after something horrible had happened to the city. Until today, I’d hoped it was only a dream.” Ren was agitated, and Anton encouraged him to relate the details of his strange dream. When he had finished, Ren turned to the cleric in earnest. “I have to find them, Anton. Can you help?”
    “I’ll do what I can, Ren, but I can’t leave Phlan. I have to help the refugees here. But I have a feeling that the answers to some of your questions lie here in the city. Keep looking, and with the aid of Tyr, you will learn the fate of your friends.”
    Brother Anton grew more serious as he counseled the desperate Ren. “I must warn you, brother, that what you find may well be worse than anything you have lived through.” Then Anton’s fatherly nature took over. “Now get some rest, boy. You’ll do our friends no good if you aren’t at your best.”
    If Ren hadn’t been so worried, he would have been amused at being called “boy” by this giant of a man. The ranger was almost forty years old, and rarely thought of himself as young. But he was comforted a little by Anton’s compassion. Ren eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.
    Up at dawn, as was his habit, the ranger helped the clerics for part of the morning, but Anton soon pushed him out of the tent.
    “Ren, my lad, get out and among the people of this troubled city. Steer clear of the town guards. They’re an honest lot, but they have a tough job and take their work seriously. Now out with you.”
    The seven-foot-tall Anton was hard to refuse. Ren sighed and left with a smile before Anton could toss him out of the tent, setting out to explore the sad city.
    New Phlan could hardly be called a city—it was less than a hamlet, even though hundreds of people filled the shores of the Moonsea. Merchants hawked their wares, but without enthusiasm. Children played in the muddy dirt paths, but without energy. It was as if something had sucked the life out of the place.
    Ren had fetched Stolen to give him some exercise. As he started out, a contingent of four city watchmen approached. They were led by a knight with a hawk’s crest on his shield. Ren didn’t recognize the heraldic emblem.
    “Are you Ren o’ the Blade?” the leader barked.
    Ren wondered if all the town guards failed their lessons in etiquette and making friends.
    “What’s a simple ranger done to attract the attention of the town watch?” he responded.
    “Lord Bartholomew has ordered us to find Ren o’ the Blade and bring him to the council. If you are this man, come along with us.”
    “I’m the man you’re looking for, but I have other things to do,” Ren replied. “I’ll try to visit the council this afternoon.”
    The knight looked ready to fight, but there was no such enthusiasm among the other guards. The leader fairly seethed as he responded to Ren’s boldness. “I will tell lord Bartholomew all that has transpired here. You had better find yourself at the council tent this afternoon or