“Me neither,” echoed Sot, eyeing the big man. “Ain’t he a sight, though. I guess I’ll have to be puttin’ up a sign for some new help around here.” His expression changed suddenly as he realized how his words might be interpreted. “Not because you won’t be coming back from the island, of course. I just mean that I … I can see you’ve got more important things to do with yourself than waiting on tables.”
Ren smiled and pulled out a stool for Shal from behind the bar.
Shal smiled, too, touched by Sot’s obvious concern for Ren. Then she shivered suddenly. It was possible, perhaps even likely, that they would be killed. She hadn’t realized that she had been avoiding the thought. She let out a slow breath and turned her mind to more immediate concerns. “Is Tarl here yet?” she asked as she started to sit down.
“Yeah. He just went out for a minute to check on your horse,” Sot replied.
Shal slapped one hand up to her mouth. “Cerulean! Excuse me … I should be seeing to my own horse. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Before Shal even reached the stable, the familiar was bombarding her with snide remarks. Oh, sure, off on an adventure, and you’re going to leave me cooling my heels in this pig sty. No, worse—you’d forgotten you even had a familiar, a faithful magical steed prepared to serve you regardless of the risk….
“Cerulean, I’m sorry. I’ve been so wrapped up in things that I didn’t even think to tell you about the trip I must make. I promise to have the innkeeper tend to you while I’m gone,” Shal said as she approached the huge horse’s stall.
Unnoticed by Shal, Tarl had entered the stable with a sack of corn fodder to spread in the horse’s trough. “Good morning, Shal,” he said, looking at her rather strangely. “Apologizing to your horse now, eh? I gathered yesterday that you were pretty chummy with him, but—”
“But he’s not a horse—” Shal began.
I’m not? Cerulean’s telepathic message interrupted Shal’s thought.
“I mean, he is a horse, but he’s more than that…. Oh, I don’t know what I mean! Could you … could you excuse us for a minute, Tarl?”
Tarl looked oddly at Shal once again and shrugged. Then he turned and headed slowly for the door, muttering all the while. “No problem, whatever, Shal. I don’t rate even so much as a ‘Good morning,’ but the horse gets a moment in private with you. That’s just fine,” he said, obviously a little confused.
As soon as Tarl closed the door, Shal turned to face her familiar. “You can’t come, Cerulean,” she insisted. “We’re taking a boat. We’ll probably have to scale walls. There’s no place to—”
No place to put me? Have you forgotten your legacy from Ranthor already? Not that I like being put in that thing, mind you. As I said before, it’s awfully dark in there. But if I’m not with you, I can’t possibly warn you of any danger, can I?
Shal threw up her hands. So much for feeling on top of things. How forgetful could she be? She pulled the Cloth of Many Pockets from her belt and held it out toward Cerulean. “So how do we go about this? For some reason I seem to have trouble picturing a great big horse like you jumping into one of these tiny little pockets.”
Just stand back and watch!
Shal opened the stall gate and backed up against the stable wall, holding out the small piece of cloth. To her horror, the giant horse began to paw the ground, then charged toward her, its ears flat against its head and its nostrils flaring. Just as she was certain she would be smashed against the wall, Cerulean reared, dived, and poured like so much liquid into one of the pockets in the cloth.
I hate doing that. I hope you can see why now. The familiar’s mental communication was muffled slightly by the cloth.
“You hate it! I’m amazed Ranthor didn’t die of a heart attack long ago! I hope your entrances into the outside world are a bit less dramatic. By the way, can you get out of there if I don’t summon you?”
You would have to ask that. Indeed I can—as long as you don’t tell me I can’t.
Shal looked down at the indigo cloth as she tucked it back into place inside her belt. She was about to reply again when she realized how foolish she must look-would look—if anyone were watching her, so she decided to try her hand at telepathy. I won’t tell you you can’t, but rest assured that if I find you in my lap at some awkward moment, you’ll be back in the dark until further notice. Understand?
Quite clear, Mistress.
And don’t sneer when you say that word! Shal knew her telepathic thought hit home when the familiar, for once, didn’t try to have the last word.
Tarl and Ren were just sitting down to breakfast with Sot when Shal came back. “Save any for me?” she asked, her appetite sparked as she entered to the smell of hot biscuits and porridge.
Sot looked on with a bemused smile as Tarl and Ren stumbled over each other to pull out a stool for Shal, but the young mage didn’t even notice. She was too worried about how to seat her much-enlarged frame down gracefully on the quaint stool. She wondered as she watched Tarl and Ren resume their seats how men could always sit down without looking awkward, no matter how big they were.
Tarl poured her a cup of milk and offered her the biscuits.
Ren leaned forward and began to speak eagerly. “Sot here says he had a grandfather who was doing guard duty at Sokol Keep during the time of the Dragon Run.”
Sot interrupted. “He was a guard there at the time, but he wasn’t on duty when the dragons struck. Otherwise, he never coulda given this to my dad.” So saying, Sot pulled a heavy bronze medallion out from beneath his shirt.
Tarl sucked in his breath as he saw the bronze piece. Quickly he plunked down the bowl of porridge he was handing to Shal, nearly spilling it, and extended his hand out toward Sot. “May I see that, please?”
“Sure.” Sot lifted the thick chain up over his head and handed the medallion across the table to Tarl.
“Do you know what this medallion is?” Tarl asked excitedly, running his fingers over its embossed surface and examining the inscriptions on either side of it.
Sot shook his head. “Why, no … I never did find out what that symbol on it stood for. It’s just somethin’ I’ve held on to since I was a kid ’cause my dad told me it was from my granddad.”
“It’s a special holy symbol of Tyr, the god I serve.” Tarl pulled out his own holy symbol and held the two up next to each other for comparison. The icon depicted on the front of each—a war hammer topped by a scale—was identical, but the runes were different. “Your grandfather must have been a cleric of Tyr. But he was in a sect that I’ve only heard about. They were said to have been very devout in their faith.”
“All I know is that my father always said Granddad was a guard at Sokol Keep. I guess I’d heard that there’d been a temple at the keep, but I never knew my grandfather was connected with it.” Sot pointed at the medallion. “Would that medal be of any use to you, seein’ as how you’re a cleric and all?”
Tarl’s heart leaped. “Absolutely! The power of my god flows through such holy symbols. They help protect the wearer.”
“Well, seein’ as how you’re the ones going off to a place that’s supposed to be overrun by ghosts an’ spirits, why don’t you take it? You can give it back to me if you—when you come back.” As he spoke, Sot reached out and folded Tarl’s hand over the medallion.
“Thank you most heartily!” Tarl said sincerely. “I’ll put this to good use.”
“Now, don’t be gettin’ mushy on me, young fella. You’ve got devils to face, and the town guards’ll be throwin’ you to ’em if you don’t get a move on. You’d all best be goin’ before they have to come for you.” Sot shooed the three out the door and called out to wish them luck as they started down the street.
Driven by nervous energy, the three quickly made their way to the city’s docks. The shoreline was crowded with vendors selling wares from incoming shipments, and the docks were lined with boats and small ships. The water of the Moonsea and the southeastern edge of the B
ay of Phlan was a brilliant tourmaline blue. To the east, the waters of the Stojanow belched into the bay, spreading their putrid stench into the bright, clear water.
No one had to tell the three where Thorn Island was. It was easily visible from the shore, and they could see why merchants sailed wide to avoid it. A dark shadow hung over the small, bleak island. It was as if, as they turned their heads to scan the horizon, someone dropped a translucent black scarf over their faces just as the island came into view. Almost as ominous were the charred walls of Sokol Keep itself, which jutted up, gray and desolate-looking, from the low slate cliffs that made up the island’s shoreline.
“That councilman did say something about a reward in this for us if we bring back information that helps them to recover the island, didn’t he?” Ren asked.
“Personally, if we ever return from that place, the only reward I want is to serve Tyr,” said Tarl looking out at the blot of desolation defiling the bay.
Shal stared at the fortress with a mixture of fear and curiosity. “My master told me about such places—places enveloped in such darkness that they appear shadowed even in bright sunlight. He said it was almost always a sign that there were undead existing in torment.”
Tarl blanched at the word “undead.” He would rather face an army of orcs than another specter or wraith … or vampire. “Shal, I want you to wear this.” Tarl held out the medallion he had received from Sot. “I have my own holy symbol. I can probably protect Ren for a little while if we face any undead, but I don’t have the skills to keep them away from both of you. I don’t know how good you are at your magic, but with a holy symbol of Tyr protecting you, you should be even safer.”
Shal removed the chain from Tarl’s hand and looped it loosely around her neck. “Thank you, Tarl,” she said softly.
“C’mon, you two,” urged Ren. “If we’re not prepared for the worst now, we never will be.” Ren’s eyes scanned the docks, searching for a boat for hire. He didn’t expect to find anyone who would take them to Thorn Island. If they knew the destination, there might be precious few who’d be willing to even let them rent a boat. In fact, Ren fully expected that they might have to buy a boat outright.
Ten inquiries and an hour later, Ren finally found a crusty old boatman willing to part with a decrepit rowboat. “You’ll get your five silvers deposit returned when I get my boat back,” he cackled. The gnarly old man threw his head back and laughed hard. “But I won’t expect to be seein’ it ag’in till I get to the Abyss!” he called, laughing even harder.
As they started toward the boat to load their gear, a trumpet sounded behind them. They turned to see the trumpeter and a town crier, awaiting the approach of Porphyrys Cadorna on a speckled horse with a great feather plume attached to its bridle.
“Hear ye, hear ye!” the crier called loudly. “All stand and await the approach of the honorable Porphyrys Cadorna, Tenth Councilman of the City of Phlan.” The herald stood at attention while vendors, shoppers, and boatsmen milled about curiously.
Cadorna reined his mount to a stop immediately in front of Shal, Ren, and Tarl. He waved his hand over the three and let out a low whistle. The big inkeep, in particular, looked striking in his fitted armor, and together the three looked formidable. “I am impressed indeed,” said Cadorna, casting his eyes over the group. “Perhaps, unlike your unfortunate predecessors, you will be the first group worthy of the council’s trust. You are charged, as was explained to you last evening, with the task of discovering the secret surrounding the darkness that makes Sokol Keep and Thorn Island uninhabitable.”
Ren stifled a caustic reply. He knew that “worthy of the council’s trust” could be translated “who might come back alive,” but there was nothing to be gained by challenging the man. At least they weren’t being tossed over the wall of the city at night, which was widely rumored to be the fate of some criminals. “I don’t suppose you’d care to foot the bill for the boat, would you, Your Honor?”
“If you bring it back, I’ll buy it from you … for an excellent price,” said Cadorna with a grin. “Which reminds me … it has come to my attention that the Lord of the Ruins himself has somehow gotten wind of your impending venture. I suspect he’ll send some of the rabble from beyond the wall to harass you—orcs, goblins, kobolds perhaps. Surely nothing the three of you can’t handle.”
“The Lord of the Ruins?” Shal asked, wondering if her companions knew whom Cadorna was referring to.
Ren started to reply, but Cadorna quickly cut him off. “The hordes of monsters that plague our fair city are obviously controlled by someone or something, or they surely would have killed each other by now. Occasionally hobgoblins, orcs, or other humanoids we capture make mention of their leader, the ‘Lord of the Ruins.’ From all accounts, his power is awesome. Naturally he fights every effort of the council to regain sections of Old Phlan.”
Cadorna paused, as if expecting some sort of response. When there was none, he plunged ahead. “Of course, I’m sure the Lord of the Ruins would have no way of anticipating a party of three such as yourselves.”
“Thank you, Councilman,” said Shal, comforted by his apparent confidence in them. “However, what we’ve heard of Sokol Keep”—she pointed to the island—“and what we’ve seen are hardly encouraging.”
Cadorna’s face formed its most sincerely sympathetic expression. “I’d be lying if I told you there was nothing to fear on Thorn Island. In the months since I’ve sat on the council, four parties have undertaken this mission, and none has … ah … been successful. But I sincerely believe that your chances for success are greater than those of the parties who have preceded you. I am, of course, here to see that you fulfill your sentence, but I am also here to wish you a safe and fruitful mission.”
Shal and Tarl bowed in the manner customary when taking leave of an official. Ren simply turned on his heels, stepped down into the boat, and snugged it up close to the mooring so the other two could board more easily.
Cadorna remained to watch as they rowed out into the bay. They just might be the ones I’ve been waiting for, he thought. I’ve waited too long for the chance to recover the dignity and position of the Cadorna family … and the fortune that is rightfully mine. If they succeed, it’ll be an ideal situation. They’ll receive a reward and recognition from the council. Phlan will prosper because shipping will increase greatly. I’ll be rewarded and will gain power within the council. And the Lord of the Ruins will be grateful because I tried to warn him! Cadorna shuddered at the indignities he had to bear to communicate with the Lord of the Ruins—sending messages through slime-bellied hobgoblins—but he grinned from ear to ear when he thought of the rewards. In exchange for passing on the simple message that a small, ill-matched party of three was headed for Sokol Keep on a reclamation mission, a highly promising meeting had been arranged between Cadorna and a certain sensual, doe-eyed woman, who just happened to be the daughter of the head councilman from Thentia. Still, Cadorna couldn’t wait for the day when the Lord of the Ruins would be forced to send messengers to him, instead of the other way around.
Shal was watching Ren row when they entered the dark veil that shadowed the island. She immediately felt her breath constrict, almost as if someone had pushed hard against her lungs. She thought at first that it could be her own fear finally getting the best of her, but a glance at the others told her that they felt it, too.
Tarl leaned forward in the boat and held up his holy symbol. “Bless me with the strength of your faith, Tyr. Grant us power over the darkness that reigns over this place.”
Whether coincidence or not, Shal immediately felt a loosening of her breathing. “Your god serves you well, friend.”
“I just hope that’s a sign that you’re the right man to have along on this trip,” said Ren, taking a deep breath.
Tarl didn’t respond. His prayer had been a reaction to his own terror. The pressure on his lungs had been a vivid reminder of the powerlessness he had felt that day in the graveyard. The
undead seemed to have the power to suck a person’s very life energies, making breathing, even the beating of the heart, things that couldn’t be taken for granted. Tarl couldn’t help feeling contempt for himself for not being able to help Anton or his other brothers when they needed him. He spoke once more, silently this time, to his god. My prayer was born out of fear for myself, but you responded nonetheless. Let this day enhance my faith and add a measure to my experience so I can better serve you and return to you and your servants what is rightfully yours.
Tarl lifted his head and pointed. “Over there, Ren. There’s a break in the rocks.”
“Not much of an opening,” said Shal, eyeing the small opening to which Tarl was pointing. “Are you sure you can get through there, Ren?”
“I’m about as handy in a boat as either of you are, which isn’t saying much,” Ren replied. “But I’ll jump out and pull the boat to shore if I have to.”
Shal laughed nervously. Ever since breakfast this morning, she had been stealing glances at Ren when she didn’t think he was looking. She hadn’t missed the fact that his ruddy complexion had grown paler as they drew closer to their destination. “I’d use a Navigation spell if I only had one,” she said. “But since I don’t, you’d better pull on those oars if you don’t want us to smash into those rocks.”
Ren managed to maneuver the boat between the two rocks unscathed, and in a few minutes they had beached the ancient rowboat on a sandy segment of shoreline.
“So we’re here. Now what?” asked Shal, looking anxiously toward the low, sheer cliffs that made the island a natural fortress.
Pool of Radiance Page 10
