Pool of Radiance (17 page)

Shal made a note to herself to send the seamstress flowers for her thoughtfulness. She had even remembered that Shal had mentioned purple was her favorite color. In the morning, Shal would brush the beautiful chimera leathers clean, but right now she wanted to luxuriate in the sensation of sleeping between clean sheets in a soft, feminine new nightgown. She bolted the door and secured the heavy wooden hatch that fit over the window opening, and then snuffed the flames of the room’s two lanterns before climbing into bed.

Surprisingly, sleep did not come quickly. When it did, Shal was plagued by visions of Ranthor pawing and clawing to get out of the crystal ball. “You should have warned me he was coming!” he shouted.

“But I couldn’t!” Shal shouted back. “I didn’t know how!”

“You should have known. You should have figured it out! Now, I walk the night like the skeletons you faced today! Aaaauuuggghhh!”

Once more the shadowy figure loomed behind Ranthor. He struggled even harder to escape the confines of the ball, but the dagger stabbed out again and again. With the coiled snake insignia on the attacker’s armband, it gave the doubly frightening impression of a snake striking repeatedly. The pounding of Ranthor’s fists against the crystal thundered in Shal’s ears, until finally silence exploded around her as his body slumped and slid down the inside of the globe like a discarded piece of clothing.

She woke to the feel of her own body flopping back and forth through no force of its own. She could feel sweat streaming down her front and back.

It was Sot who was shaking her shoulders. “I don’t make a habit of entering the rooms of my guests when they’re inside ‘em,” he explained hurriedly, “but I heard you scream, and I ran up here to see what was wrong. I pounded on the door, but you just kept screamin’.”

Shal shook herself to clear her head of the nightmare. It was bitterly real. She was sure her master was still suffering, tormented like those skeletons at Sokol Keep, and it was her fault. She wanted to leave immediately for Denlor’s tower, but Sot managed to quiet her down enough to convince her that she should at least wait till first light. He insisted she take several large gulps of his own house liquor. It was a powerful brew that burned all the way down with each swallow….

Shal slept till well after dawn, and there were no more nightmares. It was the grumblings of her familiar that finally woke her. … I might as well spend my time in a stable. At least I’d have oats and hay to keep me company, were the first words she actually comprehended. Each syllable seemed to echo in her brain like the clanging of a gong.

“Quiet!” Shal hissed, closing her eyes tighter.

I’m not making any noise, Mistress, retorted the familiar. To Shal, it sounded like the crash of thunder.

“Will you please shut up?” Shal shouted, then she clasped her hands to her ears to muffle the sound of her own voice.

Pardon me, but weren’t you planning to go to Denlor’s tower today to try to find our mast—uh, Ranthor’s murderer?

Shal sat up slowly and tried through tightly squinted eyelids to see where she had left the belt with the indigo cloth. Maybe if she covered it with a pillow, the familiar’s voice would be quieter inside her head. Better yet, maybe she wouldn’t be able to hear it at all. But she saw neither the belt nor the cloth; instead, a horse was standing directly in her way.

Comprehension came slowly, and Shal did her best to ignore the monstrous animal as she got up to splash water on her face and prepare to face the sunshine she could see trying to sneak through the closed window hatch.

“Yes, I’m planning to go to Denlor’s tower today,” she finally answered. “And this will be your chance to show that you’re good for something besides making wisecracks.”

That’s not fair! The horse stomped and whuffled agitatedly. You would have been nothing but orc fodder yesterday if I hadn’t reminded you about the Staff of Power.

“You’ll be orc fodder if you don’t give me a chance to wake up in peace!”

Hmph! The very idea!…

“There’s a deep, dark pocket just waiting for you, Cerulean.”

Is that an order, Mistress?

“It will be if you don’t get out of my brain—now!”

The horse hung its head and retreated to a corner of the room.

“And please, Cerulean, don’t sulk! It doesn’t become you at all.”

The big horse lifted its head and switched its tail. Switch. Switch. Switch. He whickered quietly as he eyed the ceiling and pawed the floor gently. Not a whisper of mental communication jarred Shal’s throbbing head as she carefully brushed her leathers and then took time to meditate and memorize her spells.

Much later, she ordered Cerulean into one of the pockets and took him out to the stable, where she let him out again and fed him apples and carrots. Finally she began to brush his coat to a high sheen. “How well did you know Ranthor, Cerulean?” Shal asked, electing to speak aloud as long as she was alone in the stable, except for a half dozen or so other horses.

How well do you know anyone? He summoned me when he was an apprentice—younger than you, even. I used to help him memorize his spells. I begged him to take me along to the tower of the red mage, but he could be a stubborn old goat. I’ll bet now he wishes he had listened to me.

Shal laughed. “I’m sure if he wishes anything, he wishes he had taken you.”

The horse stamped and shook its mane, obviously pleased by her apparently improving spirits.

“Cerulean, what do you know about the Wand of Wonder? Ranthor didn’t tell me much. I suppose you know what he said.”

He got the wand as a gift some time ago, Cerulean answered. I don’t keep track of years, but he was much younger then. Still danced regularly—

“Danced? Ranthor?” Shal looked dubious, with one eyebrow raised in surprise.

He loved to dance. Never went anywhere in those days without a woman on each arm. But as I was saying, he got the wand as a gift. Used it three times, as I remember.

The first time, he was deep in the Deadwood Forest, hunting secil. It’s a rare fungus he needed for a spell component. He was in quite a huff that day—swore I was stepping on every mushroom in sight—and he finally insisted I keep a good distance away from where he was working. Working—ha! Scrounging around on his hands and knees like some pauper, brushing dust into a bag. I, on the other hand, was exploring the area with dignity when I found the clump of secil. Did I step on it? No. I—

“The wand, Cerulean. What does this have to do with the Wand of Wonder?”

I was just getting to that, Mistress. Must you be so impatient? Anyhow, I didn’t step on it. I quite understandably happened to miss seeing another clump of insignificant fungus. It was brown, and spores puffed up everywhere when I stepped on it. The air was thick with the stuff, and it didn’t feel at all healthy. I could hardly breathe, and as far away as I was from Ranthor, he was still affected. He coughed and coughed, doubled over so bad he couldn’t even catch his breath to cast one of his spells. Finally he just pulled out the wand and managed to mutter a word or two.

“And?”

And all of a sudden bubbles started floating up everywhere—sticky ones that splattered icy water when they burst. The spores didn’t stand a chance. The ones that didn’t stick to the bubbles were doused to the ground when they burst, and the magical cold killed the fungus.

Naturally, Ranthor got his secil in the end, and he was quite pleased with the wand.

“You said you remember three times. What about the other two?” Shal asked.

The second time was just as successful. He was trapped between an umber hulk and a dragon—horrible things, umber hulks; look like giant beetles that walk upright. Anyway, one of his hands was hurt—Ranthor’s hands, I mean—so he couldn’t cast a spell, and that was before he had the Staff of Power. When he used the Wand of Wonder, the dragon suddenly sprouted huge worms all over its body. Well, the umber hulk simply went wild, what with worms being its preferred diet. It tore right past Ranthor and me and started attacking the dragon with its big pincers. Needless to say, we beat a hasty retreat.

“So why did Ranthor worry so much about using the wand?”

As I said, there was a third time. I was galloping with godspeed, with a foul wizard, one of Ranthor’s most powerful foes, chasing us on one of those flying carpets. Instead of just asking me to go faster, Ranthor whips out the wand, points it at the wizard and says, ‘Turtle speed.’ Before I could blink, I was the only thing going turtle speed, and the wizard was zooming by overhead. If there hadn’t been a tree in her way, we’d have been dead.

“Huh?” Shal waited for an explanation.

I slowed down so fast she overshot us. She tried to turn, but the carpet was still going at full speed, and she slammed into a tree. Wonderful old tree. Burned to a crisp when her acid blood spilled all over it and ignited the thing. Of course, the wizard went up—poof!—right along with it.

“Then that was still a positive effect, wasn’t it? So why should I worry about using the wand?”

As I said, Mistress, I was the one going turtle speed. Ranthor pitched over my head and flew almost as far as the other wizard. He swore that was when his rheumatism set in.

“Oh.” Shal couldn’t help but wonder if the wand wouldn’t be less dangerous if Ranthor had a different familiar.

I resent that!

“Sorry.” Shal hadn’t meant for Cerulean to “hear” that. She tried to change the subject. “Are you ready to go?”

“You’re asking the horse?” Ren had entered unnoticed and stood within a few feet of Shal. She almost fell into the feed trough at the sound of his voice.

“How did you get in here without my hearing you?” she demanded.

He reached for her hand and pulled her gently away from the feed trough and the dung gutter. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was just practicing my thieving skills. They’ve gotten a little rusty in the last year.”

“It seems to me they work just fine,” Shal said, a little defensively. “I guess I was concentrating on what I have to do today.”

“It could be tougher than you think to get into Denlor’s tower,” Ren said. “I went there to scout it last night, and the place is a regular fortress of magical traps. Even most of the creatures that gather outside the walls at night seem to be kept at bay by some force.”

“What do you mean, you went there last night?” Shal’s green eyes blazed, and she pushed Ren’s hand away. “You were supposed to get some rest so you’d be fresh for today.”

“Could you have slept with that stinking poultice on? I laid there till the stars came out, and then I got up and scrubbed myself with salts and lye and anything I could think of until I finally got rid of that stench. I couldn’t go anywhere undetected smelling like that. And I sure couldn’t hope to get very close to you.”

Shal blushed and turned to continue currying the horse. “Your girl friend … Tempest… must have been very special.”

Ren cocked his head, surprised that Shal would bring up the subject of Tempest.

Shal answered his unspoken question. “I know you’re only attracted to me because I remind you of her.”

Ren swallowed hard and was about to say something when Tarl entered the stable. He quickly took a step away from Shal.

“You’re moving easier than you were last night” Tarl said to Ren.

“Yeah. That poultice helped, but I think the workout I got washing it off probably did almost as much good.”

“Now, that’s a fine thank-you,” Tarl said with a smile. He turned to say good morning to Shal, but she spoke first. “Look, I don’t want to be rude, but I’d really like to get going.” Shal related the events of her dream the previous night and her sense that Ranthor’s soul was not at rest. “Are you sure you still want to come?” she asked when she was finished.

Ren’s acknowledgement was simple. He led out a roan mare from three stalls down and began to prepare her tack.

Tarl just looked up at Shal and said, “Can I ride with you?”

The streets of Phlan were mostly straight, and Ren led the way. In the heart of town, where the Laughing Goblin Inn was located, the streets bustled with activity. At every corner, peddlers touted their wares. As was his custom, Ren took in everything, watching for anything out of the ordinary. The closer they came to the outer walls of the civilized portion of the city, the sparser the crowds grew and the more wary Ren became.

Tarl wasn’t nearly so watchful, at least at the start. He gladly wrapped his arms around Shal’s waist and leaned his head gently against hers as they cantered to the farthest end of Civilized Phlan. What made a woman smell so good? he wondered, able for the first time that day to focus on something besides Anton and his own failings. Tarl had spent every ounce of healing that remained in him yesterday on Anton, and he knew his brothers continued to do the same daily, but if Anton had made any progress, it was measured in mustard grains.

Denlor’s tower and the high walls surrounding it were built of red brick, which stood out in bright contrast to the gray-black fortress at the edge of the city. From a distance, the tower appeared friendly and inviting, a testimony to the wizard’s benevolent character. But as they came closer, they could see that whole sections had been hammered away or blackened from repeated fires.

Ren reined his horse into the midst of a small grove of annonwood trees that paralleled one dilapidated wall of the keep, motioning for Shal to follow. More bushes than trees, the orange-leafed annonwoods made up the thick border of a small park at the farthest corner of the city. “I found this place last night when I scouted the tower,” Ren said in a hushed voice. “It has a sort of natural peace about it. It’s the peace of living things, not death like so much of Phlan. We can leave the horses here in safety and move under cover to the outer gates—”

“You may leave your horse if you want,” said Shal, interrupting, “but Cerulean is coming along with us. He was my master’s magical familiar, and now he’s mine. He can be of help to us while we’re trying to get through the magical barriers that guard this place.”

Ren’s first inclination was to argue the difficulties of trying to move inconspicuously with a huge war-horse tagging along, but Shal’s tone left no room for argument. Shrugging, Ren dismounted and led the way to the tower, working slowly and silently through the border of annonwoods until they reached the stretch of wall that marked the edge of Civilized Phlan. Again and again, he glanced behind him and off to both sides, as he had when they were riding, sure but not sure that they were being followed. He noticed nothing, not even a whisper or a misplaced scent. There was just an occasional shimmer of ocher light vanishing from the corner of his eye each time he turned. It could be the sun, it could be his own lack of sleep, it could be nothing at all. Ren glanced behind himself one final time before they dashed under the vine-covered arch that led to the grounds of the tower. Still he saw nothing.