Pool of Radiance (2 page)

As Shal reached the end of a long row of shelves, she wiped her brow and paused, turning to glance at herself in the large viewing mirror that Ranthor used to practice his gestures. Her shoulder-length hair, though matted with perspiration at the ends, was vibrant and silky and shimmered auburn red even in the dull light from the handful of lamps that lit her master’s huge laboratory. Her skin was clear and as smooth as polished ivory, and her nose and cheeks were fine and delicate. She couldn’t help but know she was attractive—just tall enough to set off her perfectly sculpted petite frame, and just saucy enough in her mannerisms to attract the attention of almost any man she took a fancy to.

From her studies under Ranthor, Shal had learned of the damage that certain powerful magic could do to the caster’s skin, hair, and overall vigor. She had discussed the subject with Ranthor on several occasions, expressing some of her fears. Ranthor had chided her for her vanity, but he also reminded her that beauty and magic were not mutually exclusive. “There are times,” he had said, “when you must use strong magic. There are other times when you can avoid it. But you must never get caught up in your fear of the physical consequences of spell-casting. It will hinder your ability to excel at your chosen profession.”

Nonetheless, Shal had still persisted in asking Ranthor about the effects of different spells. She knew that the Burning Hands spell was not one she wanted to use often. The Weather Control spells were not so bad—and, of course, they’d never hurt her at all if she didn’t figure out how they worked! She turned her attention back to the dusty shelves, wishing she knew a spell that would make the chore a little less tedious.

She thought about Ranthor, trying once more to picture him as an apprentice dusting shelves. As she did, a thought came to her. Of course! she reasoned. Why didn’t I think of it before? Ranthor would never pick up every vial and pouch. He’d use the very first cantrip he ever taught me! And here I thought I was going to be here till dusk!

She turned back to the row where she had left off, located a bit of elk horn dust in her pouch, and sprinkled it on the shelf. Then she whispered three arcane words and shouted, “Rasal!” Instantly the vials and components on the rack before her rose several inches from the shelves. As they hung there suspended, she quickly dusted the four tiers in a fraction of the time it would have taken her otherwise.

“Ah, yes, there are advantages to magic,” Shal said jubilantly. She moved on to the next rack of shelves and the next, repeating the same cantrip. After cleaning three more racks, she decided to try her hand at doing two at a time.

She concentrated a moment longer this time before incanting the words of the cantrip. To her delight, all of the items on both racks floated from the shelves. As before, she reached out with her dusting cloth, but this time, one of the magical items, a large crystal sphere, began to glow a bright blue. Shal leaped back, startled out of her wits. Instantly all of the components came crashing down with a terrifying clatter—except for the sphere. The sphere proceeded to glow ever brighter, its indigo light blazing like a hot flame, searing Shal’s wide-open eyes with its brilliance.

Instinctively she called out to Ranthor for help. But, of course, Ranthor wasn’t there. She realized, once she recovered from her initial start, that the glowing blue orb that hung before her was probably carrying a message from Ranthor. After all, blue was his favorite color, and there hadn’t been any word from him since he’d left.

Quickly Shal picked up the sphere, whisked it into the next chamber, and placed it on the casting stand. Ranthor’s words came back to her: “Concentration is the key here … Concentration, and not letting the ball touch anything before you’re completely finished with it”

But how had Ranthor raised the crystal to just the right distance above the casting stand? Shal didn’t know. Surely her master hadn’t used anything as mundane as the Raise Objects cantrip she had been practicing moments ago. … It couldn’t hurt to try, though, Shal thought. Slowly she waved her hands over the glowing ball as she had seen Ranthor do. Then, concentrating hard, she spoke the words of the cantrip. Moving so slowly that Shal could hardly detect it, the globe rose to a perfect hand’s height above the casting stand, just as it had for Ranthor! Again she focused her thoughts, staring into the brilliant swirls of blue, trying to envision her mentor. In a moment, she saw him.

She sucked in her breath. How could a man have changed so in a matter of days? Ranthor’s robes were torn to shreds. His hair was unkempt and wild-looking. And his eyes … his eyes were haunted-looking, as if he had seen sights no mortal eye should see.

“Shal, listen carefully. There is little time. I have risked everything to send this message to you. Despite our efforts, the beasts have somehow infiltrated the tower. My old friend is dead .. murdered. I must warn you to beware of the dragon of bronze. I have done all that I can to diminish its awesome power, but it still thrives. Shal, you must—”

“Ranthor! Look out!” Shal screamed wildly, but her words obviously didn’t penetrate through the crystal. A dark figure loomed behind her teacher, and before Shal could do or say any more, it began to slash savagely at him with a long black dagger. She could see no face, no features, only that the arm lashing out with the dagger was adorned with a bizarre snake’s-head armlet.

“Sha—!” Ranthor’s scream ended in a grotesque gurgle, and the crystal ball burst into shards and splinters.

Shal’s muscles went limp and she dropped to the floor. “My god! Oh, my god! Ranthor …”

Tears formed in her eyes, and she stared absently at her arms. Blood was welling up in a dozen places where fragments of crystal had embedded themselves in her flesh. Shal watched numbly as droplets of blood became engorged and then burst and trickled down her arms. She reached up and touched her face, brushing gently at more splinters lodged there.

“Damn it, Ranthor! Why didn’t you teach me more so I could warn you or cast a spell and save you? You should’ve taught me some way to help you! Damn! You can’t leave me like this! Please … come back!” In rapid succession, numbness turned to anger, anger to rage, rage to disbelief, and disbelief to depression. Sobs racked Shal’s small frame as she continued to sit, clutching her knees to her chest.

“Keep this scroll, Shal”

Shal bolted to a standing position. The voice was her master’s, and she had heard it as clearly as if he were standing beside her. Could he still be communicating with her through the crystal? No, the crystal was no more.

“Open it only if you have reason to believe I will not return…”

It was Ranthor’s voice once again, and this time Shal realized that he was not speaking to her himself. She remembered him telling her about Magic Mouth spells, which enabled wizards to leave messages in their own voices. What she was hearing, she knew, was from a spell he must have cast before he left. Something she had done, or something that happened, had triggered the voice.

Shal plucked the remaining fragments of crystal from her skin and clothing and hurried to her study area. Her master was no longer with her, but she could still observe his wishes.

There, on her study table where she had left it, was the scroll, a blue aura shimmering around it. Her hand trembled violently as she reached for the scroll. She didn’t want to read it, knowing that to do so was to admit that Ranthor was dead. Finally she clenched her teeth and picked up the carefully tied piece of parchment. As Shal unfastened the silk tie, the blue aura dispersed. She knew that if someone else had tried to open the scroll, his hand would have burned to cinders when he violated the magical seal. She placed one of her spellbooks on the top of the unfurled scroll and one at the bottom and sat down to read it.

Ranthor’s script was bold and fluid. He had always chided Shal for her sloppy penmanship, and as she recognized for the first time the full beauty of Ranthor’s writing, Shal vowed that she would work to improve her own.

My dearest Apprentice, Shal Bal of Cormyr,

I cannot know the exact circumstances that bring you to read this, only that, somehow, I have been taken from you and from the Realms we walked together as teacher and student. You can do nothing for me, except to follow my instructions one last time.

Go now to my personal chambers. The door will open at your bidding when you speak, with the full authority of magical command that I have taught you, the word “Halcyon.”

Use wisely the magical legacy and treasures you find within those walls. I know you can surpass me and become a great spell-caster—if that is your most sincere desire.

You have my eternal love. May the gods be with you.

Ranthor

Shal sat for a moment, dazed, staring at the letter. She read it through again, then cried aloud, “I don’t want your treasures, Ranthor! What kind of a ghoul do you think I am?” She was about to crumple the scroll and throw it across the room, when the center of the parchment began to smoke. A pale yellow flame licked up, burning an ever-widening circle in the paper. Shal quickly grabbed her spellbooks from the desk before they, too, were caught in the magical blaze. The fire stopped as suddenly as it had begun, leaving no damage whatsoever to her desk and not even a trace of the scroll Shal had just read.

Shal wanted to scream out, but the words from the scroll prompted her to action: “Go now to my personal chambers….” Shal swallowed hard, raised herself to her feet, and walked purposefully to the door of Ranthor’s quarters. Straightening her shoulders, she held her head high and cried, “Halcyon!” The great oak doors swung open at her command, and she walked in, her eyes wide, knowing that this room contained her master’s most cherished personal items and that he was entrusting all he had left therein to her.

She definitely did not expect, however, the stamping, snorting bluish-white stallion that stood proudly in the center of the room. “A magical steed for a magical journey.” Shal was startled once again by the sound of Ranthor’s voice, no doubt the product of another spell cast before he left for Phlan. “Trust his warnings and you won’t go wrong. I summoned this steed, my trusted familiar, when I was your age. Cerulean has served me well, and so he will serve you”

Shal had seen Ranthor riding the big white horse, but it had never occurred to her that the animal was anything other than just a horse. Shal had talked with Ranthor about familiars, intelligent animal companions many mages relied on for character judgments, a word of advice, or a second set of eyes during times of danger. Ranthor had said Shal would know when it was her time to summon a familiar, that the desire for trustworthy companionship grows stronger as a mage becomes more engrossed in his or her craft. At the time, Shal had taken that as one of Ranthor’s many gentle nudges to work harder at her magic.

Shal gingerly held her hand out toward the obviously high-strung horse, then sighed in relief as he relaxed, whuffled quietly, and nuzzled her hand. Next Cerulean nudged Shal’s shoulder and walked toward the back of the room. Shal followed him to a huge onyx table. Running her hands over its shiny black surface, she stared in awe at the array of magical items spread before her. She recognized two potions of healing that she had helped Ranthor collect ingredients for and the Wand of Wonder she had often seen in her master’s hand. There were also a small square of shimmering indigo velvet, a ring, and a straight rosewood staff that stood taller than Shal.

“I wish I could be here in person to guide you, Shal, but you must learn your craft by yourself” Ranthor’s voice, as preserved by his spell, was soft and gentle. She could sense his regret. “The items assembled before you are functional and powerful. They will aid you until you mature in your own spell-casting ability. The potions, of course, you already know how to use. The Wand of Wonder is simply pointed at a target in a time of need, while you express the need in the tongue of the arcane. But I must caution you: Do not use the wand unless you have no alternative. Its effects are always wondrous, as the name implies, but they are random, which can sometimes be dangerous. The Cloth of Many Pockets I have filled with everything you might need for a journey.”

“Everything I might need? In this?” Shal lifted the small square of velvet and unfolded it—again and again and again. Soon the blue cloth was spread over the entire table. Dozens of pockets covered its surface.

“Simply tell the cloth what you need. As long as it’s one of the things on the list you’ll find in the top right corner pocket, you’ll find it simply by reaching your hand into any one of the pockets. Try it. Say ‘Feed for my horse,’ and reach into any pocket.” Ranthor’s voice paused.

Shal felt as if she were being watched.” ‘Feed for my horse,’ ” she said self-consciously. Even after being told what would happen, Shal could hardly believe it when she reached into a pocket and removed a sack of oats and a feed bag. The cloth was an incredible resource, worth many thousands of gold pieces on the open market.

“Now pick up the staff.” The voice was again Ranthor’s, but this time it seemed to be coming from the other side of the room. He must have left yet another message preserved with a spell. Some day, Shal vowed, she would learn the spell Ranthor had used to communicate his final wishes. The voice went on:” This is the Staff of Power. Look carefully, and you will see many runes etched along its length.”

Shal hefted the staff, admiring its workmanship. It was much lighter than it appeared, and it was perfectly balanced, a splendid weapon even if it had no magic. The lower portion of the staff was polished to a smooth finish and tapered to an end just blunt and thick enough to support the weight of someone using it for a walking staff, but sharp enough to use as a weapon if need be. The rest of the staff, from a point about a foot off the ground to the large, perfectly smooth wooden ball that capped its end, was ringed with the carved figures of each of the benevolent gods of the Realms. As Ranthor had noted, the surfaces between the carvings were covered with ornately etched runes.