settled back in his high-backed dragonhide chair and mentally activated its arcane ability. In extradimensional space, he saw peoples’ auras glow and diurn in patterns and colors. His eyes subtly shimmered as the magic took effect. Both paladins noted the reddish sparkle behind the wizard’s pupils, but they said nothing. Just the same, Kern couldn’t help but wonder if maybe glowing red eyes were an effrontery to Tyr.
Khelben’s gleaming eyes first studied Miltiades and blinked against the blinding white essence of purity bathing the paladin, who sat ramrod straight in his chair. Even his graceful plate mail of ancient craft shone as brilliant as quicksilver in the sun. Here was a titanic force of order and law, with a presence of will capable of deflecting magic as a shield fends off blows. Although he appeared to be a man of about forty winters, Miltiades was 1,000 years old. Khelben’s friend Elminster had once spoken of this knight, who died in the service of Iyr, was raised as a skeleton to quest for centuries, and was at last rewarded with mortality and love.
“You will need to send out a rescue party immediately. The enemy must not complete their plans,” remarked Miltiades, a rolling burr in his speech. Unusually insightful if a bit cocky, this paladin had come to Khelben’s conclusion without hesitation or pause. The tone of his voice carried the wisdom of many lifetimes and the brash confidence of affirmed heroism.
“Tyr loathes the injustice of personal attacks for political gain, and we shall be his tools on Faerun,” added the paladin.
“Praise be to Tyr,” Kern intoned.
Blackstaff s eyes squinted as he scanned Kern. His bushy brow cocked. Kern had no aura! Where was the unmistakable glow of a paladin? Where was his life force, his lawful illumination, his shimmer of holy magic, his shining truthfulness? When Khelben faced other null individuals in the past, they usually turned out to be baatezu or tanar’ri fiends.
Khelben kept his surprise to himself. There could be several good reasons why the young paladin thwarted his detection magic: He might possess a magical item that gave proof against scrying devices, or he might be deflecting the magic. On the other hand, there were plenty of bad reasons, too. Kern, he observed suspiciously, was completely different from Miltiades. Where the elder wasted no motion and presented himself in few words, Kern was the oppositealways moving, even when seated. Oh, the youthful knight spoke like a paladin, yet not with the solemn depth of his comrade. He was too likable to be a paladin.
Like Miltiades, Kern carried his age well; he had passed at least thirty years but appeared to have lived only nineteen of them. Elminster had mentioned this one as well, saying he fought hordes of fiends to recover the famed Warhammer of Tyr and return it to its great altar in Phlan. Indeed, any who knew Kern’s name knew no one could match him with a warhammer.
Paladins are such odd creatures, thought Khelben. Pledged to live by a strict code of virtue, they should be ideally suited to lead a rescue, yet that very same code made them impossible to count on. With their often-strange and intractable senses of honor, they frequently jeopardized themselves and their missionsand that lay heavily upon Khelben’s mind.
“Miltiades has saved many maidens from myriad dangers,” said Kern with a bow to his friend. “I am honored to take part in this rescue! I thank Tyr for the opportunity! The cause is just, the Open Lord is deserved of our services, and the crime of kidnapping is an affront to Tyr!”
“Tyr be praised,” Miltiades echoed.
Aleena Paladinstar snorted in amusement. “The mere idea of saving a damsel in distress would make a paladin foam at the mouth.” She rose from her chair, and Miltiades and Kern stood as well. “Oh, sit down, for Tyr’s sake,” she snapped, crossing to a nearby table laden with mugs and bottles and pouring herself a cup of
Khelben’s gleaming eyes first studied Miltiades and blinked against the blinding white essence of purity bathing the paladin, who sat ramrod straight in his chair. Even his graceful plate mail of ancient craft shone as brilliant as quicksilver in the sun. Here was a titanic force of order and law, with a presence of will capable of deflecting magic as a shield fends off blows. Although he appeared to be a man of about forty winters, Miltiades was 1,000 years old. Khelben’s friend Elminster had once spoken of this knight, who died in the service of Iyr, was raised as a skeleton to quest for centuries, and was at last rewarded with mortality and love.
“You will need to send out a rescue party immediately. The enemy must not complete their plans,” remarked Miltiades, a rolling burr in his speech. Unusually insightful if a bit cocky, this paladin had come to Khelben’s conclusion without hesitation or pause. The tone of his voice carried the wisdom of many lifetimes and the brash confidence of affirmed heroism.
“Tyr loathes the injustice of personal attacks for political gain, and we shall be his tools on Faerun,” added the paladin.
“Praise be to Tyr,” Kern intoned.
Blackstaff s eyes squinted as he scanned Kern. His bushy brow cocked. Kern had no aura! Where was the unmistakable glow of a paladin? Where was his life force, his lawful illumination, his shimmer of holy magic, his shining truthfulness? When Khelben faced other null individuals in the past, they usually turned out to be baatezu or tanar’ri fiends.
Khelben kept his surprise to himself. There could be several good reasons why the young paladin thwarted his detection magic: He might possess a magical item that gave proof against scrying devices, or he might be deflecting the magic. On the other hand, there were plenty of bad reasons, too. Kern, he observed suspiciously, was completely different from Miltiades. Where the elder wasted no motion and presented himself in few words, Kern was the oppositealways moving, even when seated. Oh, the youthful knight spoke like a paladin, yet not with the solemn depth of his comrade. He was too likable to be a paladin.
Like Miltiades, Kern carried his age well; he had passed at least thirty years but appeared to have lived only nineteen of them. Elminster had mentioned this one as well, saying he fought hordes of fiends to recover the famed Warhammer of Tyr and return it to its great altar in Phlan. Indeed, any who knew Kern’s name knew no one could match him with a warhammer.
Paladins are such odd creatures, thought Khelben. Pledged to live by a strict code of virtue, they should be ideally suited to lead a rescue, yet that very same code made them impossible to count on. With their often-strange and intractable senses of honor, they frequently jeopardized themselves and their missionsand that lay heavily upon Khelben’s mind.
“Miltiades has saved many maidens from myriad dangers,” said Kern with a bow to his friend. “I am honored to take part in this rescue! I thank Tyr for the opportunity! The cause is just, the Open Lord is deserved of our services, and the crime of kidnapping is an affront to Tyr!”
“Tyr be praised,” Miltiades echoed.
Aleena Paladinstar snorted in amusement. “The mere idea of saving a damsel in distress would make a paladin foam at the mouth.” She rose from her chair, and Miltiades and Kern stood as well. “Oh, sit down, for Tyr’s sake,” she snapped, crossing to a nearby table laden with mugs and bottles and pouring herself a cup of
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