"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 you will be sorry this conversation ended the way it did. I will personally make sure you are sufficiently regretful." The knight spun around and pushed his way through his men.

"Another friend gone, Stolen. Some days you just can't please anyone."

Seated high on Stolen's back, the ranger waded into the river until he was far to the north of the encampment. This section had been the campgrounds for countless invading armies in the old wars. The land was a flat plane with all timber and obstructions long ago removed. The poorest of the poor now lived here, north of New Phlan. These were the people living under the sky. Only the gods knew what they would do when winter came. Frost and sickness would kill most of them.

Happy to be out of the stable, Stolen rode hard. Ren merely guided him. They traveled to the southwest, circling wide around Phlan. The ranger wanted to reach Stormy Bay before noon. The fresh air felt good after the squalor of the city.

Arriving at the bay sooner than he had expected, Ren's attention was drawn to a campfire. Two druids rose to meet him.

"Finally, you've come! The fish is almost ruined," said a tall man. He turned from Ren and bent over a campfire to examine several bass sizzling in a large pan.

The woman directed her attention to Ren. "Please don't mind him. My cousin has a passion for food. We guessed you would get here by lunchtime. I am so happy we were right."

Ren stared. He was completely surprised that these people thought they knew him, but he also stared for another reason. The woman was nothing less than gorgeous. Short in stature but with an ample figure filling her druid robes, her skin was browned from the sun and her long brown hair fell in a shower around her hips. She had a way of looking at Ren that made him strangely uncomfortable.

"I am called Ren o' the Blade," he said, feeling self-conscious. "You must be mistaking me for someone else. You couldn't have known I was going to be here. I didn't know myself until I started riding." The ranger dismounted, wanting to get a better look at these two strangers.

Stolen bowed his head to the woman, something that surprised Ren, especially since the war-horse had never been trained to do such a thing. The woman produced a huge apple from somewhere in her robes and offered it to the horse. Stolen accepted it, enamored of the woman, much to Ren's dismay.

Without looking up from his cooking fire, the other druid spoke. "Please forgive my manners for not greeting you properly." He moved a pan of fish off the fire and straightened up to face Ren. "My name is Andoralson, and this lady is my cousin, Talenthia. We have been sent to help you find Phlan and return it to its proper place. What plans do you have?"

The woman scowled at her cousin, looking exasperated. "You could wait until he's had his lunch. He doesn't even know us. We owe him an explanation, at the very least."

Ren looked back and forth at the two strangers, completely confused and not knowing what to think. The ranger couldn't decide whether to trust them, although he found himself wanting to like them.

Stolen, on the other hand, knelt in the grass near the woman. Ren sighed; his steed looked more like a wide-eyed puppy than a noble war-horse. But animals usually had a sense about such things. Beside that, the fish smelled great. Fresh cooked food was something he could appreciate. He decided to give in, at least for now.

Ren reached into Stolen's saddlebags and brought out a large flask. "Um, I think this wine from Vaasa should go well with your fish," he said, still not quite comfortable.

"Just the thing to complete the meal," Talenthia said with a smile. She produced three wondrously crafted wooden chalices from a wicker hamper.

Serving up the fish on huge leaves, Andoralson told their story. "We've been sent here by our god, Sylvanus. Until now, my cousin and I have been traveling Faerun looking for a forest to call our own. But in many recent dreams, the plight of Phlan was made known to us. Phlan's disappearance has disturbed the equity of nature. Sylvanus tells us you have the best chance of restoring Phlan and restoring the balance."