“This is my father’s drawing of the property, including the family living quarters,” Cadorna explained. “I believe the treasure is here,” he continued, pointing to a wall of an area labeled as a bedroom. “I don’t know if the bulk of the family holdings will be in coins or bullion, but I do have notes from my mother describing several family heirlooms that I expect will be there … if the treasure is still intact.”
“I don’t understand, Councilman Cadorna,” Tarl interrupted. “You implied earlier that I would have some special interest in this….”
“It is my plan, should you recover the treasure, to give a generous portion—let’s say fifteen percent—to the Tyrian temple.”
Tarl leaned forward, his interest obviously piqued. “Why haven’t you made this offer to the warrior clerics from the temple?”
“Simple. I consider the recovery of this treasure a personal matter. I’m not anxious to make this news public until such time as the treasure is actually in my hands,” explained Cadorna.
“You’ll forgive my straightforwardness here, Councilman,” said Ren, “but if I understand you correctly, you aren’t asking us to reclaim the textile house for human habitation.”
“That’s correct.”
“Then if the venture were made in daytime, when most of the creatures outside the walls sleep, what’s the difficulty? Is there something you aren’t telling us?”
Cadorna cleared his throat, and his eyes darted from side to side. “Yes, well … the, uh, the gnoll leader I mentioned … They say he’s as much a hyena in appearance—the mangy mane and yellowed teeth, you know—as any gnoll, but that he behaves like a man. Sometimes strangles his prey … even uses poisoned daggers. Highly ungnoll-like.” Cadorna didn’t wait for that to sink in, but instead plunged ahead. “A creature such as that might explain the, uh, difficulties experienced by the other two parties. With a superior intelligence leading them, the gnolls would indeed be formidable—even in daylight.”
At Cadorna’s words, Shal squeezed her mug of ale so hard that the pewter dented in her hands. Ale flowed over the top of the mug and onto the table. Almost in unison, Ren and Tarl reached over to calm her.
Cadorna pulled back, genuinely startled by her raw strength. When he was sure Ren and Tarl had calmed her down, he spoke to them as though she weren’t there. “What ails the poor woman?”
Tarl answered. “A friend of hers was killed recently … by a poisoned dagger.”
“And two people who were near him were killed by strangling,” said Shal, regaining her composure.
“Really?” Cadorna widened his eyes and reached forward in his best effort at a consoling gesture. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I was only relating rumors that I’d heard.” He stopped speaking long enough to look Shal square in the eyes. “You don’t think …?”
Shal didn’t respond. Instead, she turned to Ren, as if expecting him to offer some reason why Ranthor could or couldn’t have been killed by the creature Cadorna had described.
“A half-gnoll …” Ren shivered visibly. “I’ve never seen one. Half-orcs are disgusting enough, but I suppose anything’s possible.”
Ren rose to his feet and moved behind Tarl and Shal to face Cadorna with them. He placed a hand on one shoulder of each of his companions. “There seems to be good reason for each of you to do this. You can count me in if you’re of a mind to go.”
“My purpose in coming to Phlan hasn’t changed,” said Shal. “I’ll go.”
Tarl stood and held his hand out to Cadorna. “We’ll all go together, and if there’s treasure within those walls, we’ll bring it back to you.”
Cadorna extended his clammy palm to Tarl, and then in turn to Ren and Shal. That done, he left the inn with as much pomp as when he had entered. As he stepped onto the herald’s back and into the waiting carriage, he reminded himself to make arrangements that would guarantee receipt of the complete treasure upon their return.
It was nearly noon by the time the three of them were ready to leave Civilized Phlan. Ren was mounted atop the roan mare and Shal and Tarl on Cerulean.
“ ’Tis advisable to leave the city by boat if you’re inclined to be returnin’!” shouted one of the four guards from the wall as they approached.
“We have business in the uncivilized parts of the city,” shouted Ren in return. “We’d be obliged if you’d open the gates.”
The guard and one of his companions trudged down the stairway. “A mission for the council mayhaps?” asked the guard, eyeing the two well-armed men and the large young woman.
“A mission for a council member,” Ren answered. “We’ll be returning toward evening by the same gate.”
“Ha! An optimist!” The guard slapped his thigh and chuckled for a moment. “Well, Tymora be with you,” he said, reaching for the latch mechanism that barred the gate. “You just holler when ya come back, and we’ll open the gate for ya. I won’t be holdin’ my breath a-waitin’, though, if you don’t mind.”
“Charming fellow,” Tarl whispered to Shal. “Just the sort you want guarding the city.”
“My hearin’s pretty good, cleric,” said the guard, wagging a finger at Tarl. “If you’re wantin’ inside later, you’ll show me some respect.”
“No offense intended, Captain.”
“None taken, cleric. Say an extra prayer to your god and be on your way. Daylight’s a-wastin’. One word o’ advice, though, before you go. If you don’t go lookin’ for trouble in the old city, you’re less apt to find it.”
Immediately beyond the gates stood some of the worst slums in the Realms—lean-tos, propped haphazardly against the new city’s tall stone walls, shacks waiting for the wind to disperse their pieces like dandelion seeds, long-abandoned buildings in an advanced state of decrepitude. The inhabitants were physical misfits and half-breeds, the only creatures despised enough by both humans and monsters to serve as go-betweens for the civilized and uncivilized parts of the city.
Even the horses lifted their heads high in a hopeless attempt to avoid the stench, high-stepping to keep their feet clear of the refuse that littered the alleyways. Cerulean barraged Shal with comments about the smells picked up by his superior olfactory senses. Shal hushed him by reminding him that horsemeat was undoubtedly a delicacy in these parts.
Unscathed except for the loss of a few copper pieces to insistent beggars, they soon passed into the square that surrounded Kuto’s Well. There was no sign of movement as they entered the ramshackle gateway, and they proceeded quietly past the buildings that lined the large square.
Shal mentally ran through the spells she had memorized that morning. She could feel the hairs on her neck bristle with the sense that they were being watched, and she could tell from Tarl’s tightening grip on her waist that he felt it, too. Ren drew out one of his short swords, and Tarl pulled his hammer from his belt. Behind them rose a loud squeal, and Cerulean instinctively spun around to face the sound. From the other direction came the unmistakable snorts and squeals of orcs. Cerulean spun again, positioning himself and his riders halfway between the two sounds, then backed toward the center of the square. Ren jerked the mare’s reins and followed.
Six orcs, all at least six feet tall where their mangy, manlike shoulders met their piglike heads, emerged from two shabby buildings, wielding clubs and axes and closing in on the three riders.
“Get ’em!” Ren hissed, shifting his weight in the saddle and extending his sword.
“No! Talk to them!” said Tarl firmly. “They must know they’re no match for the three of us. We’ll be able to find out more by talking.”
The orcs pressed forward, shouting in their own crude language of grunts and snorts.
Ren glanced at Tarl as though his head were on backward, but when the orcs came closer, he started to speak first in broken orcish and then in thieves’ cant, which they appeared to understand. “Stop right there,” Ren threatened, “or we’ll bash your heads in!”
The creatures stopped but continued to sn
ort and snuffle and brandish their weapons.
“We’re passing through this way. We don’t want trouble,” Ren continued.
“We kill! No trouble!” grunted the orc closest to Ren.
Ren pointed his short sword at the big orc and said, “I kill you, even less trouble.” Ren bared his teeth and clicked his tongue, readying the mare for a charge.
“We no kill! We no kill!” the ore snorted in panic. “Others kill. You worth much gold.”
Ren rushed the orc and grabbed it by the neck from behind. Then he pulled his blade high and tight under its neck. “Come again?”
“You same party open up Sokol Keep. Lord of the Ruins want you dead. Offer much gold for your heads. We not take. Others take!”
Ren glanced at Shal and Tarl, who were staring uncomprehendingly at the strange exchange. Ren repeated an abridged version of the conversation to them, then pushed the orc away with the flat of his blade. “Leave us alone and we don’t kill you. Touch us or send an alarm, and you die. All of you!” Ren bluffed a charge toward one group, and Shal and Tarl took the cue and charged a short distance toward the other. The orcs fled like kicked dogs into the surrounding buildings.
“They’ll alert every orc in the old city the minute we leave,” said Ren. “And with a price on our heads, you can bet they’ll find enough friends to come back and try again. The only reason they didn’t fight now is that they were scared to death. You can imagine how it must’ve sounded to them when they heard we had handled fifty or so orcs, goblins, and kobolds at Sokol Keep. Even a reward wasn’t tempting enough for just six of them to risk a fight.”
“I’m not waiting around to be fodder for a bunch of orcs,” Shal said. “Let’s get to the Cadorna place and find what we came for.” She spurred Cerulean ahead across the widest portion of the square, past the well site, and across to the opposite gateway.
Ren reined his mare up beside her and cautioned Shal as they reached the gateway. “We’ll find that half-gnoll, if there is such a creature, and we’ll find Cadorna’s treasure, if it exists. In the meantime, we need to move quietly and keep our ears and eyes open.”
“He’s right, Shal,” said Tarl. “Like it or not, the three of us are wanted by the Lord of the Ruins for what we did at Sokol Keep. We’ve got to be ready for anything from these creatures. There’s no sense in announcing we’re coming.”
Shal nodded and made sure Cerulean, too, understood the need for stealth. They passed silently into a portion of the old city that had once served as quarters for scholars. Every city of any size had such a place, but the extent of this one made Shal and the others realize how great a city Phlan must once have been. Small tutorial houses lined one entire wall of the immense square. Students trying to keep up with their studies must have spent countless hours in this place, grilling with other aspiring scholars in an attempt to pass the tests that allowed them to enter their chosen professions. Large schools, colleges, and trade houses filled one whole side of the square. At the center stood a huge building, lined with shuttered windows, only its roof damaged from dragon fire. The design of the building reminded Shal of other libraries she had seen, and there was little doubt that the building was in fact a library, but it was much bigger than the ones in either Arabel or even Suzail, the capital city of Cormyr.
Shal halted for a moment, tempted to explore the tremendous archives that remained within the great building. She knew that Tarl shared her fascination with books and scrolls. Who could tell what secrets might lie within those dusty tomes?
When she mentioned it, Ren stared at her in exasperation. “You’re the ones who have business in the textile house,” he said in a hushed, taut voice. “I haven’t had occasion to steal many books in my time, but I’d be willing to bet there’s some creature lurking among the shelves who’d make mincemeat of you in a second.”
Shal nodded reluctantly, and they continued on, their horses’ hooves barely a whisper on the dry, dusty earth of the streets. When they got closer to the wall that, according to the map, separated the scholars’ square from the ruins of the Cadorna textile complex, Ren reined the mare in behind some sort of school building and signaled for Shal to follow. Ren dismounted and tethered the mare. Shal and Tarl followed suit. Then Shal ordered Cerulean into the Cloth of Many Pockets.
The wall around the textile house showed signs of gnoll habitation. It was fortified with a tall, makeshift log stockade, with jerry-built towers protruding above the logs here and there. Spikes were pounded into the top of the logs that made up the wooden gate, and an assortment of heads in various stages of decay were skewered onto the spikes. Ren pointed toward the guards manning the towers and then whispered to Shal and Tarl. “Gnolls guard everything, but they’re terrible at it. When they aren’t sleeping, they aren’t paying attention, either. Remember, if we should have to fight them, they’re incredibly stupid. They’ll line up like toy soldiers before they attack. Just be careful not to get in the way of one of their clubs. They pack a mean swing.” He pointed at the ghoulish display of heads. “It’s surprising any of those heads are still in one piece.”
“What about the half-gnoll leader?” Shal asked.
“If there is such a monster, he might have enough brains and influence to organize their attacks.” Ren looked at Tarl. “I don’t go for yacking with orcs to get out of a fight, but fighting with gnolls can normally be avoided just by working quietly.”
Ren led them to a point between two guard stations. Then he tossed up his hook and rope, and climbed up for a look. The setup looked perfect. A rooftop sloped down from just below the wall, nearly to the ground. He motioned for Shal and Tarl to follow, then slipped silently over the top. Shal hoisted herself up with an ease that belied her size and for just a moment was thankful for the dignity of not being helpless.
Tarl followed, but halfway up the rope, he stopped and plastered himself tight against the wall. The gnolls in the tower to their right were stirring, and one was looking his way. He couldn’t know that the uneven rooftop where Ren and Shal were concealed housed the mess where the next exchange of guards was finishing up their meal and getting ready for duty. Nor did Tarl know that, even if the gnolls had seen him pressed flat against the stockade, they would have been much more interested in lunch. Tarl clung to the rope, unmoving, till his arms ached. When finally the two tower guards lumbered down the ladder, not even waiting for their replacements, Tarl could barely haul himself up.
“What took you so long?” Ren hissed. Tarl just shook his head. “See that double chimney?” Ren whispered, pointing. He flared his nostrils and sniffed, a look of revulsion spreading over his face. “We’re on top of their mess hall. There’s bound to be gnolls inside, so move slowly and quietly. Taking his own advice, he slipped gently down from the roof to a small catwalk between two buildings. Like everything he was able to see from the rooftop, the catwalk was littered with rubbish. Ren helped Shal and Tarl ease their way down, and then he made his way carefully through the piles of refuse.
“If that map was accurate, one of those buildings over there should contain the bedroom we’re looking for.” Ren pointed across the littered courtyard, where three sentries were dozing with their backs against a timber frame complete with shackles and nails for holding and tormenting prisoners, of which there were none at the moment. “Gnoll justice,” Ren whispered with a sneer.
And then he saw the garden. The map had it marked “cook’s garden,” but instead of herbs and vegetables, there was only corruption and despoilment. Twisted, cracked plants, identifiable as cabbage only because of the color and vaguely overlapping leaves, sapped the soil in one corner of the garden. A tangle of brown, contorted vines, abominable mockeries of thyme and spearmint and other herbs, blighted another. Raised and trained as a ranger, Ren admired natural beauty above all else. The sight of the gnolls’ crude and intentionally vile parody of a garden caused something to snap inside of Ren. It was as though the defiled garden somehow signified the corruption that had led to
Tempest’s death. What was wrong with the assassin was the same thing that was wrong with this garden, was wrong with the gnolls that planted and neglected it. Ren was filled with rage of an intensity he hadn’t known since Tempest’s death.
“Look at that!” he said, pointing, fury contorting his face, and then louder, “It’s sick! It’s sick, like everything else in this parody of a world!”
Tarl could appreciate that the garden looked strange, ugly even, and Shal recognized that all of the plants were distorted, but when Ren stalked off toward the nearest open door, they had to assume that he had seen something they didn’t. In his rage, he moved with a speed they couldn’t match.
When they slipped through the doorway behind him, Ren had already crossed the room to the other side of an elaborate set of yellow curtains. He was in the process of strangling a robed gnoll in the crook of his big right arm. With his left hand, he clasped the creature’s hyena jaws so tightly that it couldn’t even scream. At the same time, he mashed the monster’s body downward so it couldn’t flail or struggle. They watched in awe as the body quivered one last time, and Ren silently lowered it to the floor.
Before they had time to react, Ren had passed between two incense stands and through a second yellow curtain and was slitting the throat of another one of the gangling hyena-men. As with the first, he muzzled it, then forced it to the floor so it made less sound in death than it had in life. Shal and Tarl stood dumbstruck. Having no idea what had caused such rage to possess their companion, they followed mutely and watched as he passed through yet another yellow curtain and dispatched a third robed gnoll in a similar fashion.
It wasn’t until Ren had slipped through the fourth curtain that he finally stopped short, and so did Tarl and Shal when they entered the cavernous golden room. Four more robed gnollish priests were kneeling before the dais of a shrine. A fifth, more elaborately attired, stood behind the shrine grunting an incantation over and over, which Ren realized was the same he had heard at Sokol Keep: “Power to the pool! Power to the pool!”
Pool of Radiance Page 17
